Wednesday, November 28, 2007

Another One Cites the Bust (Or, Hussbucket)

I've mentioned having a couple of favorite words that I've stolen...namely the words shitbox and junkshow.

Recently, I myself coined a term that I've grown awfully fond much so that I submitted it to one of my favorite websites for entrance into a certain downlow, down-n-dirty lexicon:

My very own word is...


Click the links above to see its definitions and sample usage.

How I came to the phrase, I'm not entirely sure.

I do know I had the wherewithal to submit it to Urban Dictionary under duress from my friend Tarek.

Its a combination of the word hussy - always a good time - and this random story I have from long ago:

For some reason, my high school used this jingle to taunt a rival school:

Hookers in Tallmadge
They Have Their Own Union
Hookers in Tallmadge
Are More Fun
Than a Bucket of Pigs

Clearly I grew up in the Midwest.

Anyway, "more fun than a bucket of pigs" and hussy just seemed right together...hence hussbucket.

There you go - feel free to use it at your discretion.

And...for the record...Tallmadge really does have a lot of hookers.

No joke.

ADDENDUM: I should have googled the term first...apparently, there's a cricket player in Australia who goes by the nickmame HussBucket...and it's on a few MySpace (hurl) pages...and hussbucket seems more and more like something that's been out there on its own, without aid of my invention.


In the words of the late great Emily Litella:


For Your Googly Eyes Only (Or, Our Feature Presentation)

After nearly three years of writing BV, I sort of stumbled on a weekly feature - equal parts rewind and Hardy Boys style investigation...

Here's this week's list of titilating, nearly-disturbing, vexing, and entirely random Google searches that brought folks here:

[Ron] Perelman's Jewelry
Best Fudge on Long Island

Goodbye Blue Monday Analysis

Eyebrow Threading - Buffalo
Real Air Steward

When We Made Love You Used to Cry

Midget Escort

Aquarius the Slut
jing og jang* personal favorite:

Sandy Duncan in Leotard on YouTube

*Apparently, I speak Danish...sometimes.

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

The Old Man and the Hee (Or, Thank You For Provoking)

There's this guy - an older man - who yells at pedestrians on my street every day.

Most of the time, what he yells is nonsensical yet friendly.

He yells things like:

"Can you believe this fuckin' weather! Fuckbags."


"Fuckin' Yankees suck. How the fuck are you?"

But, this week, he's taken a turn: he's gotten borderline pornographic and way-more-than-friendly.

On Sunday, I overheard him telling a woman carrying her groceries home:

"Can you believe what I did? I went right up to this lady and said 'I want to cover you in whipped cream and lick your whole naked body and put a cherry on top.' Can you believe I said that to her? Can you?"

Clearly, the female stranger he was addressing couldn't - or didn't want to - believe it.

Stunned - she kept on walking.

Yesterday, I heard him yelling at another older man across the street:

"You know what I say when people ask me if I still get wood at my age? I say 'Every time the goddamn wind blows!' That's what I tell 'em. Every time the wind blows. Can you believe it? Can you fuckin' believe that?"

The other older guy flipped him the bird and kept on walking.

You know I'm waiting - desperately - for him to accost me just to see what he says.

Since I'm frequently mistaken for a police officer on my street, it may never happen.

Monday, November 26, 2007

The Displeasure Principal (Or, Camp Esther)

Last night I finally watched the excellent (and frightening) documentary Jesus Camp. I realize I'm about a year behind the curve here, but what can I say.

Watching this film made me entirely grateful that I was raised in a tolerant family. I'm not against organized religion at all, but I am wholeheartedly against the hypocritical "license to judge" that sometimes comes with membership to religious groups (specifically the zealous Christian Evangelicals profiled in Jesus Camp).

Anyway, my point here is not to spew from my tiny leftist soapbox.

Growing up, one of my best friends went to church every Sunday. Occasionally, he would tell me about how fun Sunday School was. And once, after hearing such a tall tale of kickin' it with Christ on Sunday, I asked my mother:

"Why don't we go to church?"

My mother - ever the diplomat of child development - asked me:

"Do you want to go to church?"

"Yeah. It sounds like fun."

And so, to satisfy my curiosity, we went the following Sunday with my friend's family.

I'm not exactly sure what I thought was going to happen at Sunday School, but I'll just say this:



Instead of making me feel at ease in this new environment, my Sunday School teacher immediately started drilling me - the new kid - with questions about the Bible in front of the 20-odd children in class.

"Name the twelve apostles," I was quickly commanded by Mr. Sadist On-Sunday.

I broke out in a sweat, feeling the eyes of all of the other kids on me. I honestly had no clue where to start with the assignment at hand and my mind started latching onto the only Biblical names I knew:





At this point, I was ready to cause a distraction ("Look! There's Jesus!") so I could barrel out the door in a fevered jail-break.

All I could think was: "If I can't mind my mother upstairs, I'll just go stand outside by the car for an hour or two...or go get a Clamwich at the Friendly's across the street."

I was trapped - sweating - and hate-hate-hating this thing called Sunday School.

I went for broke with the only other Biblical name I could think of. I had seen a semi-glamorous TV movie with Victoria Principal somewhere around that time, so I said:

"Queen Esther?"

The teacher then called me - ever so sensitively - an idiot.

How's that for the love of Christ?

On the car ride home, my mom could sense something was up.

"We don't have to go back, do we?" she asked me.

In knowing gratitude, I just shook my head no.

Sunday, November 25, 2007

Guess Again (Or, A Remix)

Yes, I've been light on writing and heavy on everything else this week...

In keeping with that theme...

Here's a remix of something I posted a while back.

Let's see if I get back to words tomorrow...

Or Tuesday...

Or Thursday...

Until then:


Saturday, November 24, 2007

Jive Turkey (Or, It's My Turd)

Last night, my friend Torrey had a leftover/Thanksgiving rerun party.

At one point - well past bottle of wine #5 - we were playing ye olde dinner party game of: "Which three celebrities would you like to have dinner with?" and my friend Anne - a little inebriated - said:

"Wait - whose turd is it next?"

At the very least, that's what everyone thought she said.

Not letting Thanksgiving stop me from my usual smartassery, I launched into a version of Miss Diana Ross's song "It's My Turn" reimagined as...

You guessed it...

"It's My Turd"

It's my turd...
I thought I had to pee
I hope you have T.P.
This time's just for me

Because it's my turd
With no apologies
It might be a bit uncouth
So please let me Febreze

Because it's my turd
I stand and say goodbye
I sure would like to flush
And let that BM slide...

Yes, what would a holiday be without a little ditty about shit.

Up next: Joni Mitchell's "River" reimagined as "Turdie":

I wish I had a turdie so long
I would teach my feet to fly
Oh I wish I had a turdie
I could skate away on

Friday, November 23, 2007

Punchline (Or, A Note From a Guest Editor)

So, recently, I posted a story about last year's Thanksgiving - in which my mother heartily refused a gift of new kitchen equipment.

And, this week, my momma got to reading BV and had to weigh in on that story:

"I laughed my ass off...but I hate to left something out. Something big."

I knew there was a turn I missed - a punchline that needed to frolic in the light of day.

So - here's an addendum to: "Blame It On the Feign":

Last year, I was also in charge of carving the turkey and was issued a brokedown looking electric knife to use for the job. I found the blade, plugged the bitch in, and went to town on the turkey.


Just like every other busted tool in my mother's kitchen, the electric knife wasn't working either. The blade kept flying out of the socket when it was turned on, forcing me to keep the thing turned off while hacking away at the turkey. I finally gave up and used a regular knife to slice the meat from the bird.

After the mafia-like-shakedown I received when I complained about all of the other non-functioning items, I decided to stand mute on this one.

Later on, my stepdad was cleaning up the kitchen and doing the dishes.

"Hey, where's the other electric knife blade?" he asked me.

"Huh? What other blade?"

"There are two blades for that knife - they move back and forth together."

"Oh. I thought there was only one."

"You mean you carved the turkey with only one blade in it? How did it work?"

"It didn't."

"You carved the turkey with one blade? Why didn't you say something?"

"Well," I said to my stepdad, "Since everything else in this so-called kitchen is beyond repair, I figured the knife was busted too - so I just went with it."

We started to laugh - hard.

Before I said anything more, I could feel my mother's presence just outside the kitchen's entrance.

"What are you laughing about?" she mock-growled.

Sensing another shakedown - we both replied in unison:


Wednesday, November 21, 2007

Google Dolls (Or, Something Like a Feature)

Yeah, I'm lazy.

Here's this week's list of random Google queries that got folks here:

Films on Hai
Sexy Buffalo Bitch
Monster Fucker
Sexy Monster Films
PJ Harvey My Humps
Midget Male
Little Edie
Crazy Eye
The Big K Buffalo
Obsessed With Yoga

And my personal favorite...

Nice Penis

Monday, November 19, 2007

Give One (Or, World)

Ok, so I had every intention of spending this week traveling.

Somehow, I lost track of time in September and never got around to booking a flight somewhere since I thought I had a couple of months before Thanksgiving.

Honestly, I still feel like it's September.

Anyway, in lieu of a sexy trip to the Caribbean or Europe or Kalamazoo, here's a video that always makes me smile, laugh, and wish I was a paid escort - New Order's "World".


Turkey Lurkey Time (Or, A Word From Our Sponsors)

I'm behind (again) on stories (again) although I have a backlog of stories about food (again) and Thanksgiving (yes, again). So, in the meantime, here's something fast and furious...or slow and sloppy...depending on your taste.

Enjoy - be right back.

Thursday, November 15, 2007

Madonna Of the Bitchslaps (Or, A Present)

I posted a while back about my pleasure in watching and rewatching and rewatching the early 90s soon-to-be-cable-camp classic Body of Evidence.

Here's a little slap-and-slap-and-tickle reel I made of my favorite clips.


P.S. Gl├╝ckliches Geburtstag sexy Weibchen!

Goo Goo Google (Or, The Little Engine That Could)

I'm working on a very special post for a very special someone...

In the meantime, here's this week's list of Google search queries that brought folks to BV:

Backdoor Entry
Lumpy Tits
Pissycat Dolls
Buffalo Penis

Proud Slut
Loud Slut personal favorite:

Not My First Time at the Rodeo

Today someone did a google image search for "pubic perm" which led them to: Ogilvy Home Perm (Now for Pubes!).

Ah...the joys of having a nearly three-year-old blog. Good times...

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Rotoscope Cinemascope (Or, Destiny)

As I'm chugging through work, my iTunes is chugging along via random shuffle, which is always a good time.

Well...sometimes it's a good time.

I had to avoid using random shuffle for a looooong while. One afternoon once upon a time, I heard Judas Priest's "Ram It Down" directly followed by Ethel Merman singing "If I Knew You Were Comin' I'd've Baked a Cake".

Some might say that's me in a nutshell...

Anyway, I just heard Zero 7's always lovely "Destiny" via random...and I forgot how much I love the video for the song.


Tuesday, November 13, 2007

Mr. Hyde (Or, A Rush of Blood Sugar to the Head)

I'm tempted to spend the next week (leading up to Thanksgiving) talking about food...

A decade ago, I worked for a small design company. Our office was housed in a huge floor-through loft space in an old underwear factory. My work space was in a shared grid of three other desks - all of which were occupied by women.

Two months after this set-up was configured, the three women's, um, cycles all, um, synced up.

I know this because they all talked about it - non-stop - when that time of the month came a-calling.

When Flo was in town, I would bait them with questions like:

"Did you know PMS is a social construct?"

"Did you know PMS only exists in Western Culture?"

"Did you know it's all in your head?"

I don't have to say - that line of questioning went over extremely well.

Anyway, the point of this story isn't related to women's reproductive health. This story's more about my own struggles with a certain personal demon...

Low. Blood. Sugar.

Now, my mother claims that my saying I have blood sugar issues is really a license to be a royal dick now and then. But I think it's more real than imagined.

You see, when I worked at this little design company, the three women I sat near collectively kept a drawer full of food (pretzels, nuts, protein bars) to fend me off when my maniacal, hungry side broke through.

One of them said - "We might all get PMS at the same time, but you're a bitch every damn day before lunch."

The food drawer in question came into being when I nearly reduced our office manager to tears over an order of recordable CDs. I'd asked and asked and asked her to order them day after day after day. After a week of no CDs, I finally confronted her:

"Are the CDs in yet?"

"Oh. They're out."

"Who's out?"



"Yeah. I called everyone."

"I find it hard to believe that the entire Eastern seaboard is 'out of CDs'."


"You're lazy. Step to it. NOW."

The whole event was witnessed by my three deskmates - thus, the drawer. Although they were impressed by my bitchery, they were more than a little scared.

After nearly two years of working with me, the three of them got a system down. Before I even had the chance to roll my eyes - or even think about rolling my eyes, I would be pelted in the head with sourdough pretzels or cookies or half a sandwich.

Sunday, November 11, 2007

Easy Bake Sunday (Or, Overheard Part 800)

I once overheard this exchange on the subway:

MAN: Baby, I don't want you to work out too much.

WOMAN: Why not? I like to.

MAN: But I don't want you to lose that hot back you got baby.

WOMAN: Don't worry - I won't lose my back. I just do cardio...maybe work on my legs. Just do some squabs and some sit-ups.

Yes, squabs.

Saturday, November 10, 2007

Blame It On the Feign (Or, Technical Difficulties)

As the Thanksgiving holiday approaches, I find myself thinking more and more about food.

Of course, I don't need Thanksgiving as an excuse to think about food.

I also need to qualify that by saying "thinking more and more about food" I really mean "eating more and more food like it's Thankgiving every goddamn day."

That's another story.

So, last year, I went to see my parents for Thanksgiving. My mother - in a triumph of the human spirit - decided to cook the whole meal herself.

I also need to qualify that by saying "cook the whole meal herself" really meant "cook the whole meal with my forced assistance."

We both were terrified.

To add to the horror at hand, I should mention that my family's kitchen - while amped up with newfangled appliances, is a junkshow of broken accessories and worn-out hand devices. Basically, any time I tried to put my limited cooking skill to use, I was doubly challenged by having to work with tools that were busted beyond reason.

For example, the toaster oven has to practically implode to char or toast or heat anything.

And my mother's electric handmixer, despite being a lovely mid-century shade of avocado, is so brokedown, that both mixers no longer lock into the base - making anything close to "mixing" damn near impossible.

"Um, Mom. You should get a new one of these. This shit's busted."

"Just keep the mixer jammed hard into the bowl. It works. Trust me."

I shrugged my shoulders and worked that mixer (which I later figured out was a wedding gift to my mother...making the thing four years older than me) as best I could.

As we sweated and toiled and thrashed around the kitchen with various antique hand appliances, I asked:

"Hey mom. How about for Christmas I buy you a KitchenAid mixer and a new toaster oven and a new..."

Before I could finish the list of intended gifts, I got a hard pinch to my upper arm.

"Don't you dare buy me any new kitchen shit," she said through clenched teeth.

Wincing from the pinch, I wailed: "Why not? Nothing works!"

"Don't you get it - I can blame my not cooking on all this crap. If I get stuff that works in here, people will start to expect things."

"Like decent meals?"

"Exactly," she said. "Now, let's pretend this conversation never happened."

I laughed, feeling like I'd just been given the shake-down by a mob boss.

Friday, November 09, 2007

Tracted, Tracting, Traction (Or, Overheard)

Overheard a few days ago on the street:

"He keeps abstracting me from what I'm supposed to be doin'. How'm I supposed to work when I'm abstracted all the time?"

I could only smile - after all, I find myself abstracted on a daily basis.

Lounge It Up (Or Graphic Content)

The word lounge used in contexts like:

Teacher's Lounge
Men's Lounge
Ladies' Lounge

Always makes me laugh.

Since my mother is an educator, I know all about the first one. Yes, the clich├ęs are all duly earned - Teacher's Lounges are nothing but smoke-filled dens of iniquity and hang-outs for wanna-be burlesque performers.

The second is just comical. Do men ever need to lay down, take a break, and "lounge" after they take a piss or use a stall...?

Er...scratch that. I really dig Men's Lounge all of a sudden.

Same goes for Ladies' Lounge...but after what I just said about its male equivalent, it doesn't seem as silly.

Wherever am I going with this?

Even I don't know.

I did post a page (accessible via the sidebar, clicking here or clicking the animation above) of past BV banners.

Yes, it's a lounge.

Well, it's really more of a graveyard...but lounge just sounds more appealing.

Wednesday, November 07, 2007

Friends Are Mean, Hilarious (Or, Ohh Mandee...She Came and She Gave...)

About this time of year...about two years ago...I got a breathless call from my friend Torrey.

"Quick - tell me your mailing address. I'm sending you a gift."

As soon as I rattled off my address, he hung up the phone - faster than greased lightning - before I had a chance to bug and pester and ask and ask and ask about what kind of gift I should be expecting.

Naturally, I forgot about said gift entirely.


Six weeks later, I got my first issue of...

Teen Vogue.

I was so thrilled, I pitched the first issue into my on-street recycling bin without even tearing open the magazine's cellophane wrapper.

Finally remembering the promise of that gift, I called Torrey immediately to thank him effusively for such an appropriate present.

"Did you see who it was addressed to?" Torrey asked - cackling.

"No way. I threw that fucker out."

"Dumbass. Now you have to wait until next month. Next time, look at it before you toss it."

Four weeks went by...and yet another pesky issue of Teen Vogue showed up in my mailbox. This time, I checked the address label. It was my address, all right. But the person the magazine was shipped to wasn't me.

Oh. No.

The Teen Vogue subscription was in the name of one Mandee Messersmith.

Long story.

("She's my daughter. She's my sister. She's my daughter and my sister!")

Anyway, I called Torrey to applaud his bitchery and share the laugh that was now over two months in the making. I continued - diligently - to pitch Teen Vogue into the recycling bin unopened every month.

However, a few months after the start of my subscription, I started to receive other mail addressed to Miss Mandee. Nearly every two weeks, Mandee was invited to this-or-that shopping event at Barney's...this-or-that product testing at Bloomingdale's...this-or-that special concert for Teen Vogue subscribers. Mandee was getting free gifts and special deals and survey questionnaires like she was a real person.

I realized - as per the invites and gifts and Manhattan address - that Mandee was something of a Teen Vogue It-Girl - despite being decidedly fictional.

It all came to a head when Mandee was upgraded to a free subscription to Teen Vogue...and a free subscription to Lucky...and two free handbags...all for filling out a survey about what kind of, like, boys she likes and what, um, fashion she loves.

I just had to fill that out for her, you see.

Now, to add to my fictional family, someone named Chip Messersmith is now getting mail via my address too.

How I fit a family of three and a staff of four into my cramped apartment, I have no idea.

Thankfully, fictional folks take up less closet space than real ones.

Google Me, Google You (Or, It's the Best I Can Do)

This week in Google search queries that brought folks to BV:

Rendered Blonde
Monster Fucker
How to Void Curved Left Dick
Easy Slut
Valerie Solaris
18 Wheeler Drawing

And my personal favorite....

Are Pisces Sluts?

A Different Kind of Crack (Or, Who Knew Part 72)

I just received this today via email...

New Drug Alert!
Florida sheriff's bulletin warns of purported new human waste high

Now, I love a good poo joke as much as the next person...but is this real - can this be real?

If gives ye olde drug critique "This is some really good shit" a whole new meaning.

Tuesday, November 06, 2007

Tour of Duty (Or, Bulgarian Rhapsody)

Since I'm an unofficial member of Bulgaria's Gay Tourism Board, I feel compelled to post's another video by Azis called "Nikoj ne mozhe" courtesy of Attempted Entertainment...not quite as steamy as that other video, but there are still some interesting things going on here...


Monday, November 05, 2007

The Time Is Now (Or, I Lied)

As Miss Roisin Murphy is poised to be this year's great big gay sensation (well, in Europe anyway), I find myself listening to an awful lot of Moloko right now. iTunes finally has their greatest hits collection well as the above video for "The Time Is Now".

I'm afraid LeBoobTube doesn't do it much justice - this is an exquisitely photographed video.

Below is Moloko's first video - "Fun For Me" - which still makes me laugh if only for this line:

"I dreamt that the boogeyman went down on Mr. Spock"

That and the fact that Miss Murphy was rocking deeply ironic acrylic nails way way way before anyone else.


Yeah, Yeah, Yeah (Or, Several Excuses Disguised as a Drawing)

I know I've been a lameass lame-o lamewad assmunch for not posting I apologize. I have lots to say, no time to say it, and a to-do list that gives me a panic attack every time I glance its way.'s a single drawing to hold you over.

I promise to be back in full force shortly.*

*Samantha Fox not included.

Friday, November 02, 2007

For No Good Reason #1001 (Or, Drawings)

Stories just aren't coming today...stay tuned until tomorrow....

In the meantime - a drawing.

Or two.

Thursday, November 01, 2007

What's In A Name - Answers 1 and 2 (Or, Never Say Never)

So, a couple of weeks ago, I posted a little animation about the source of the name Buffalo Void. a swash of great are sources 1 and 2.

Maybe in a couple of weeks, I'll post 3 and 4...

Above: Neneh Cherry's "Buffalo Stance"

Below: Romeo Void's "Never Say Never"


That Pesky White Stuff (Or, That's Not Dandruff)

This made me laugh and laugh and laugh...

Big ups to Big Daddy for posting it.