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As Bryan Borland’s closest frenemy, I have of course not read or bought his brilliant new book, My Life as Adam. I have seen the artistry on the front cover. It’s very intense. I have lived Spammed and seen the coming of Adam in twilight technicolor. The way Bryan cuts through his butter bread and shouts out to all the boys who wronged us.

Listen, I would purchase it and read it. Really I would. But you see two years ago Bryan bought me a Wally Lamb book. They are epics and I’m 3/5 of the way through it. If I stop now, it would be an insult to Bryan, now wouldn’t it?

I hear the format is nice. Call me critical but I doubt the font is in bookman old style, which is unfortunate because I’d give him a higher rating for the right font.

I give a thumbs down to Bryan’s acknowledgements, which don’t include Medicated Lady, for shit’s sake. Fuck that. This book sucks.

And besides, a guttural voice in me says: Why pay for the cow when I already got the milk free, see?

Rating: 72-hour Suckage*

*A note on the rating system: being obsessed with ticks and the transmission of lyme disease or worse, my rating system is not based on the number of ticks that I would give your book. Instead, it’s based on the amount of time that the tick is imbedded in your skin. The longer the tick stays on you, the worse it is and so the more suckage hours, the worse the book is. There are very obvious reasons why Bryan’s book scored higher than the 36-hour suckage mark that it usually takes to transmit Lyme Disease.

A fun excerpt from the life and times, baby.

ML: I was the innocent victim of a wasp sting.
ML: [indecipherable words strung together with inappropriate pauses]
Bryan: Hey, you—
ML: mrph [unimaginable babbling]
B: So, basically, you sound just like Person X when he has neurological reactions to migraines.
ML: How do you feel?
“Unnamed Person”: Much better. I was a human geyser. But I’m looking damn good today in my skinny jeans and white belt.
ML: Is it called a human flute? Flue? A slat? [the word ML was looking for was “funnel”]
B: [indecipherable response as ML tries to think clearly]
B: Girl?
B: Call me if you need an am-bu-lance. It too expensive to actually call the am-bu-lance.
ML: meep
B: [pretends to understand and obviously didn’t hear ML]
ML: Stoppit
B: Cheerio, chappie
ML: I will have to execute a name change on new doggie if I get her. Obviously, I like maggie but she looks just like an Emma to me, too. Or Emmie. What is your reaction to having it be a fatty cyst?
B: Please I ain’t Karen. I have superpowers and the ability to communicate with the dead.

Dear Viewers,

See more of my luminous hair, this time at Bryan’s site, where the new vlog is posted.   I think you’ll agree that no one can watch this video and think we are anything less than professional.

Love,

MedicatedLady

The long-awaited video debut of MedicatedLady and Bryan Borland – together:

*The poem read by MedicatedLady in the video is “Disappointment” by Mike Topp.

Guest blog post by Bryan Borland, in MedicatedLady’s absence

Dear Readers,

I was honored when MedicatedLady asked me to write a guest-post in her absence. Well, not so much honored as burdened. And she didn’t ask me so much as I demanded. Such is our relationship. 

MedicatedLady is, at this moment, touring our nation’s capitol. Her trip is unrelated to the House’s recent passing of healthcare legislation, though, even so, a group of teabaggers resolved not to pay for MedicatedLady’s medication through public funding and took to protesting her visit. MedicatedLady did happen to snap a photograph of one of their crudely-drawn signs (Damn those Republicans!):

In other news, MedicatedLady would like for me report that the closest she’s come to an intimate encounter with a man while on this trip was when she entered a taxi to discover the cabbie had recently completed an intimate encounter with himself. To distract MedicatedLady, he then proceeded to blast the news at eardrum-bursting levels and got snippy with MedicatedLady when she couldn’t hear or understand his probing questions (which, no doubt, were meant to fuel future self-gratuity).  Being the gracious woman she is, MedicatedLady simply stared straight ahead and shook her luminous hair until she arrived at her destination.

For your further entertainment, I will now provide a sampling of text messages I’ve received from MedicatedLady in the last month or so:

My dog just peed on me.

Say to yourself, herbs! With an audible “h.” This will bring you joy.

OMG severe storms make my ovaries and left knee hurt.

You can expect more of our mutual charm when MedicatedLady and I finally video-blog together the first weekend in April.  We’ll be handing out advice to you, Dear Readers, so if there are any problems in your life you would like us to address, now is the time to send in your questions.  For example, are you having trouble with the menz?  Do you suffer from paraurisis, the disorder that makes urination in public places near impossible?  Are you allergic to love and love byproducts?  Did your cleaning lady break your vacuum cleaner?  Do you have trouble spelling the word vacuum?  Do you hate MedicatedLady because she has a cleaning lady?  Does your dog shit on the floor and grind it into the tile to spite you?  Does your mother hate the purse you carry?  Did you lose your virginity to a mode of transportation? Do you constantly get mistaken for a 12-year-old girl? We can help you out with these issues and more, so don’t be shy.

We certainly won’t.

Bryan

Bryan has answered seven pressing questions (seven, because he refused to answer any more or less because of his ocd). Enjoy.

1. Do you find Nestle Crunch bars slightly more satisfying than love? Be honest.

When I was young, I did find Nestle Crunch bars more satisfying than love. But, truth be told, love to me then was make believing my high school girlfriend at the time (we’ll call her Melody Eclair) was actually a sophomore named Bo while a certain third wheel rocked herself crazily in the corner of my black Chevy S-10. Now, when pressed, I’d have to say the only thing I find more satisfying than love is a good creme brulee, so long as the layer on top gives you that little crunch.

2. What does it mean if a guy has medium-sized feet and squinty eyes? Don’t lie.

It means orgasm is probably out of the question for all involved.

3. I haven’t gotten a text in hours. Why is this happening to me?

Because you say things like, “I thought you’d never wanted to hear from me again,” “cooooooookies,” and “my dog peed on me.”

4. When are you going to provide me with a homecooked meal again?

You’ve requested Hamburger Helper of the Cheeseburger Macaroni variety. While technically this meal is beneath my level of skill, I will make this for you next Tuesday, with brownies for dessert.

5. Who would win in a break-neck, all-goes fight between bindo and Val?

I’m going with Val. I have a feeling she knows how to throw elbows. Bindo would get distracted by something depressing and write a wonderful poem about it, though.

6. Who let the dogs out? And what the hell was up with all the coconut in the Bahamas?

You let the dogs out, just the same way that you lost your room key and foolishly thought that, because we spent thousands of dollars to go on a trip together, I wanted to spend time with you. As far as the coconuts go, I didn’t see them. I was more impressed with all the men in speedos, which I don’t think you noticed because you hadn’t hit puberty yet.

7. Don’t you secretly wish you had a Blackberry Curve instead of dinky iPhone?

Never. All your readers who have iPhones should download the free App “words with friends” and challenge me, PoeticGrin, to a battle.

He summons me on stage
Let’s do a runthrough
He welcomes my impromptus
the dancing grooves of my pulsing neurons that say
YES, YES, YES
with good humor
a sort of warm embrace if we embraced
co-mingled with the excitement of the next best show
coming to town
he know he’ll be in the front row
free VIP just because he knows me
always cheering at the end
pitying me at the end
wanting an encore.

I’m happy to oblige.

Being a fag doesn’t seem that hard
what’s discrimination to you
what’s civil rights to you
don’t you care too much about your red vests and purple stripes
the gel in your hair, the lotion on your skin
walking in high heels
like sissy boys
queerflies
the unnatural
the unwanted
the disembowed
the goddamned

Group think equals group fabulousness?

Fags of the worse sort
striking down as they are stricken down
Try fighting slurs that the gays fling about
carelessly
hag as if insulting good friends
girlfriends
isn’t the same thing
as the jocks, the Christians, the Muslims, the Red Texans shouting
fag
fucking fag
goddamned fag
fucking die fag

Bunny and I met recently through Bryan and we’ve fallen in love. He’s also our Asian love child, which has a little bit of an Oedipus-esque twist minus the shame and eyegauging, and I am happy to share the fruits of our love with all of my dear readers.

I. From dearest Bunny Belletryst.

Careful, my medicated lady, for if
you prescribe, know this, a narcotic, is what
you’ll imbibe.
A bunny leaps,
reads the label, but what it should say,
is a bunny takes you, takes you,
may lead you astray.

Should my jolly roger affect you lightly, pop a few like jolly ranchers…
Should my taste suit you, a Pavlov-drooling, babbling, witty banter…
take more. take more. take more.

What’s your dosage, my lady?
Can you take the bunny-pill pledge, Lady?
If you think the shoddy design on the old bottle is faded,
just read the poem,
the inscription, get jaded.

A bunny leaps and leaps and leaps.
And so will you, come, creep
to my bottle, hold out your hand.
Look before you leap,
or you may never understand.

II.
From MedicatedLady to Bunny.

An indelible duo
of heart and head
Your Honey to my Bunny.

Twenty-four hours is too long to decide to love.
Let’s make it snappy
and I’ll give you double snaps
and a freckled smile
not much to give
but what I have.

It’s not that I think I’m good
it’s that I know you are
and I’m happy
to follow you
wherever your bunny trails may lead.

See Bunny’s blog at http://brbelletryst.wordpress.com/.

Bindo let me interview him for my blog. You know you will giggle as I did. (I suppose I should admit I’m not sure if the pronounciation is biiiiindo or beeendo.)

Bindo’s note to you, dear reader. Before I answered any of Medicated Lady’s questions, I felt it necessary to put on Beck’s “Sea Changes” undoubtedly, the most depressing record ever made. Hmm, where are my smokes? Ah, here they are! OK, everything is in place, Ashtray? Check!…Lighter?..Check!.. Coffee? Check! And now……

1. Can you describe your Dark Place? 

Very dark, like a black hole, but with a great paint job and tasteful window treatments.

2. Where does your writing inspiration come from? 

It comes from years of being on the road, smoking, drinking coffee, drugs and booze, hundred’s of dead end jobs and a ridiculous amount of meaningless sex.

3. How did Bindo, the writer, become Bindo, the writer?

After being fired or quitting hundreds of dead end jobs (for good and not so good reasons), it occurred to me that I wasn’t good at anything except writing about not being good at anything.

4. In a no-holds barred, caged fight, who would you want as your “wrasslin” ally: Bryan or me? Also, who would you be up against?  

That’s tough, because you are both extremely cute and I am shallow on many levels. But I think considering everything, I would have you on my team because I could sit back, light a smoke and watch your luminous hair flying as you leap through the air to put the kabash on our opponents…

Segue way?

That would have to be Bryan and The Dalai Lama. First, well ya know, I get to wrestle with Bryan but mostly, I just like to win.

5. I’m at my happiest when I’m terribly depressed. I am allergic to fire ant venom. Is there any circumstance in which you’d ever want to be eaten by a grizzly bear?

Funny you should ask. I was out hunting bear, back in my Hemmingway days. I had a big grizzly in my sight, pulled the trigger and fired. The bear dropped to the ground. I ran over and the bear was no where. I felt a tap on my shoulder, turned and saw the grizzly. He said, “you have two choices: One, I maul and eat you or Two, you let me have my way with you.”

At the time I was feeling very prolific and didn’t want to die at the moment, which is always a strange feeling, so I opted for backdoor number two. Well, I was depressed over my rape and was going home. When I saw the grizzly again, I sighted him up and pulled the trigger. He dropped like a bad habit. I ran over to celebrate my victory over the horny bear but he was no where to be found. Suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned and there he was with a grizzly smile. He looked at me and said, “You’re not here for hunting are you?”

Be sure to check out bindo’s site:http://bindo.wordpress.com/

Bryan has also reviewed one of bindo’s books on his blog: http://poeticgrin.com/2009/07/03/smoke-breaks-by-bindo/

SOB with me

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