Posts in Drunk

Psycho Suzie’s and the Fu Manchu

published by Fran Shea

I can’t wait to turn 40.

Jen did it and she got a Fu Manchu AND pickles. It was a very special evening – one she will never remember.jen-and-the-fu-manchu

See how the Fu Manchu put her under his spell? Isn’t he cunning? Poor Jen, she never had a chance.

Night of 1,000 Bloggers – ON ICE!

published by Fran Shea

Keegan’s Pub was crawling with local bloggers last night. I, too, left my secret headquarters and mingled with fellow pasty-faced Minnesotans. Aside from the table-raping, the evening was pleasant. Nobody noticed that I was suited up and ready for a blogathlon – I have been training all winter for this event – mostly sitting. Also, the interest I’ve had in other “things” and “people” has had to take a back-seat to my “writing”. The only thing that would have made the night more awesome is if James Lileks and I could have performed our Ice Revue. One word: Magic. Here’s a photo of me taken by a fellow blogger :

fran-at-keegans

Doesn’t it look like I’m having fun?! I always have fun when I drink flat Pepsi. Notice my delicate pinky-finger. Notice the food on my sweater and in my hair. Somebody must have thrown that at me because I don’t even eat anymore. I just drink flat Pepsi.  The Nihilist in Golf Pants was also there… he may or may not remember the event. He was with a fellow that had wonderfully shaped eyebrows and spoke of gopher-holes. I think he was talking about gopher-holes. I was so busy staring at the miracle of a man-in-his-third-trimester that I lost track of the conversation.

May my suffering bring you joy

published by Fran Shea

Only my fellow Minnesotans and residents of Chicken, Alaska can truly understand what it means to be cold. I am intrigued by deadly weather. Cold that can freeze a limb solid. Cold that flattens your car tires. Cold that makes your eyeballs feel funny. I braved the extreme cold today.

Twice.

-21° is COLD. But a Mexican Omelette was whispering my name with such longing… I put on every bit of clothing I own and headed outside. The car actually told me to F – Off. I reminded it that we were both in this together and that if it cooperated I would fill it up with Premium Gasoline. Foolish car, choosing gasoline over Mexican Omelette!

When I was safely inside of Hot Plate I laughed… Oh, how I laughed – and saluted the outdoors for being a worthy adversary. Later that day (that SAME day) I went outside again. I actually ran to the studio. It took 1.5 seconds. Luckily my exposed body part (my bottom) was unharmed.

Where was I? Oh, yes. I risked my limbs (and bottom) to run to the studio and lay out previously written cards. Three birthday cards. The metal type was awfully cold. I wanted to lick it but I exercised restraint.

In your own urineGet out of my room.

My tiny friends.

I’ll tell you what

published by Fran Shea

Uh. December is, like, over. I don’t even care. Good riddance you ungrateful pig. You think you’re so great with your Christmas and your Hanukkah and your Britney Spears’ birthday. I’ve had it. I think we all have. Even with all of these Feast Days I managed to squeeze in our long-awaited catalog creation. And don’t think I forgot about my 25-birthday-cards. Self-imposed deadlines are the only way to get anything done. You know what else works? Pretending someone is going to kill you if you don’t get something done. SO, I scrounged up some images and wrote some lines. Yeah, yeah – I’ve not set the type or done layouts or pulled any proofs – mere formalities. And anyway, my shop elves will do it while I’m ringing in the New Year in lovely Brainerd, Minnesota. Here are a few images/lines – they’ll be 15% funnier after I’ve had my way with them. And another thing: they’re not all birthday cards. I’m not some sort of one-trick pony.

Boys playing marbles

You make this, you live.

Good luck.

 

Man with a christmas tree

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Shhhh. Nobody’ll even notice us.

 

Very old man

Eh? What’s that? Whose birthday? Who are you? Get out of my room.
cutting_plie_26906_lg1 
   Happy Birthday, you tool.
Man writing
…and in conclusion – quit calling me a pussy.
Sincerely,
Pevenshire Wiffynuts
_algebra_lg
x=get me the f*ck out of here.
Baby banging spoon
Congratulations.
I said, CONGRATULATIONS!
Boy with hoop
If you’re old enough to remember this game
you are probably sitting in your own urine.


Man with microscope
Thanks for coming to my birthday party, my tiny friends.
••••••••••••
Alright, that’ll do. I’ll post more after the elves work it out. Oh, and if you see a woman running around Brainerd in giant underpants and Sorel Boots it’s not me. Happy New Year!!!

 

 

 

 

No karaoke at the VFW

published by Fran Shea

Last Sunday, the basement of the Uptown VFW became home to the i Like You craft fair. The Uptown VFW seems to be three floors of basement. Wait, that’s every VFW. The water-stained, drop ceiling has soaked in more than 50 years of delicious cigarette smoke. The vinyl, accordion fold wall was straight out of my grandparent’s house. I felt like having a poached egg or a ham salad sandwich.

Oh, the VFW… so similar to the church basement. Or maybe a bomb shelter. A bomb shelter with awesome junk in it. I recently spent an evening in a VFW for the karaoke portion of a friend’s birthday party.

Again, we were in the basement but I swear we didn’t go downstairs. I knew the night was over when I saw this:

leg-under-stall1-180x240

I won’t say whose leg that body was attached to. That’s a silent shame she must carry to her grave. Note the glass of water I kindly placed by her body.

But enough about nighttime VFW! Here’s a photo I took of the Daytime VFW:jen-at-vfw