The Crown of Bañals


A stage in a crappy New England theater. A sloppily made bed “stands” (figuratively)  stage left. A lamp, some other furniture. A copy of Bonjour Tristesse and a bottle of buffered analgesic “stand” (figuratively) on the night-stand table. A silent 5-year old squirms weirdly in a  corner. He can be played by an adult if you don’t have convenient access to 5-year-old actors when you’re staging this play. Make sure no one from the theater company comes out and says anything before the play starts, no matter how imperative they make their fundraising/development efforts sound.

Someone named GRASS-FED CRABGRASS struts all sexy-like onstage, sits down at a desk, opens her white Apple laptop. She’s a regular woman in a red bustier, except she’s wearing a giant papîer-mache  frog-person mask. Close on her heels is an ELDERLY GREMLIN, WITH GNARLED WALKING STICK AND TOGA.

GRASS-FED CRABGRASS: I hate your blog.


GFCG: Well… it’s different that I hate it. Since I’m the “audience.” [Runs finger absently, erotically across her laptop’s roof]

EG: How you know you’re the audience? Maybe I’m the only audience I care about.

GFCG: Clearly that’s not true. Otherwise there’d be way more nudity and self-involvement. It’s clear from the way you write that you care a lot about whoever your “audience” is. Me. [Heterosexual, North American pornography is projected on the wall behind EG and GFCG]

[A long pause.]

GFCG: I’m bored. With this blog. With this… “demimonde.”

EG [Plaintively, pleadingly]: I am, too! What should we do?

CG: We’re not doing anything. There’s no “we.” I’m just telling you this. You do whatever you want. I’m going to the FastHaus. [The FastHaus is a trendy nightclub where no food or drinks are served, where supersexxy urban dwellers go to not ingest any calories, to dance, to make sex with each other, to lose weight. NO PETS, NO DRUGS, reads a flashing neon sign]

EG: This is depressing. I’m all alone, and you’re right here. You’re so close, but I cannot touch you. [Begins doing fake/funny mime-moves with his hands. “Invisible wall,” “Frozen cowboy,” etc.]

CG: You’re depressing. I’m a skinny fridge filled with low-cal pudding. I’m gorgeous. I’m empty. But for the pudding. The pudding is what I feel. And I almost feel… that you…. You. Are my pudding. My “pud-pud.” [A teensy pause.] This is fucked up.


A library. William Flesch, a professor of English Literature at Brandeis University and author of two books, Comeuppance and Generosity and the Limits of Authority, sits at a desk, writing long-hand with great concentration. His legs are crossed, and he wags his ankle.

The elderly gremlin walks in. He watches Flesch write for a few moments, then turns and plaintively addresses the audience.

EG: Is it somehow illegal for me to include the real-life figure of William Flesch, whom I’ve never met, in this fiction? Surely Flesch will find this web-page — perhaps an enterprising toady will forward it to him. A web-savvy loved one will alert him to its presence. Its presence will rear itself, immutably, in the snack bar of a bowling alley on a lightless afternoon. I don’t think I’m breaking any laws. But am I being an asshole? I haven’t read his work. I just wanted to point out that I think it’s “funny” that he wrote this book, Comeuppance, which is about the “biological components of fiction,” and that his name is Flesch. Surely a man of his apparent erudition (based only on his C.V., I guess) has already come up with a multitude of hilarious puns and careful witticisms about his name. He’s probably been getting comments about his name at least since high-school, or even earlier. Anyway, that’s the only reason we’re here: His name is Flesch, and he wrote about the biological components of fiction. Gah.

[Flesch sets down his pen, cocks his head thoughtfully, then rises to exit. He and the Gremlin spar playfully for a moment. Flesch throws a few skilled roundhouse kicks and Muay Thai elbows, before he exits, stage right.]


A coffee shop on a college campus. Everyone is naked.

JEAN: I like it best of all of us! Of the three of us, I’m the one who likes it best!

PAULA: Poppycock! I think it’s tops! I regard everything, always, that peers into my purview, and of all that multipicity I swear to Christ it’s I who dig it most!

PRISCILLA: Eff that, bitches! Tis I, tis I, tis I who wants to hug the monolith with maximal, earnest vigor!! Gahh!!!!!!!!!!!



If you arrived at this web-page by googling “what is heterosexual food?“, I’d just like to say:

Stick around!
Click around”!

I hope you enjoy my home-page!

And perhaps find the answer to your question.

Kind regards,



mostly because her name sounds like a Martin Amis character’s name. She also has nice hair

I accidentally shat in breadstixxxx’s oatmeal just now. I am going to go to jail on tax fraud. Jail is going to suck so badly, I’m worried.

this isn’t that bad, is it? I guess it is if you needed to dial 911 –



GET IT????

“Monty Pynchon”

why didn’t I buy this book directly from SPD when I was in Chicago?

I’m stressed out and not paying attention to this blog post

I’m never smoking pot again

My thoughts about “B. Francis’s new band” TBD. it’s not in bad taste that his wife is channeling kim deal, because… kim deals not dead. this single sorta sounds like “seether.” scratch it, she’s channeling Veruca Salt. I feel like I am very far from home, and I miss all my old homies, except I am at my desk, I am sitting at work, I am right where I should be — what gives, Lord?

at the Center for Curatorial Studies/
Hessel Museum of Art there is a show that opens this Sunday, April 19th.

Changing Light Bulbs In Thin Air
Including works by Christian Andersson, Tauba Auerbach, Brian Clifton, Zak Kitnick,
Runo Lagomarsino, Adam Putnam, Matthew Sheridan Smith, Mungo Thomson, and Garth Weiser.
A constellation of works by nine artists interested in shifts and breaks in the flow of comprehension and perception.
Curated by Summer Guthery

there is a free chartered bus on April 19th that leaves New York
from 10th Ave and 23rd St at 11:00am and returns from CCS at 4:00pm.

Thom Pain (Based on Nothing)

If you live in the San Francisco Bay Area and have $15, then this is not optional:

You must go see Will Eno‘s Thom Pain (Based on Nothing) opening March 13 at the Cutting Ball theater.

Click “here” to buy “tickets”!

I saw Tragedy: A Tragedy when it was at the Berkeley Reperatory Theater last year, and it was brilliant. His self-interview in the Believer was one of the best things that magazine published that year. Go to this fucking show!!!!

An Interview with Fleshspotte

A national magazine flew me to Florence to interview this Welsh bubblegum noise band called Fleshspotte. The magazine took care of all my expenses. I had sex with each band member (there are four), then flew home and wrote this profile. The national magazine (glossy, renowned) killed the piece. I was going to try to sell it to the Utne Reader, or PawHunkies, or Mother Jones, or MeatSpace, or the Labia Quarterly, or AngerBlog Monthly, or ShameSpiralz, or Cat Fancy, or the New York Times Magazine, or Labial Frottage Nudity dot com, or Andrew, Stop It! (UK), or Sassy, or Andrew, You’re Hurting My Feelings, or Crude Futures, or George, or Salon, or the Atlantic, or the Daily Beast, but then I figured: Hey! Why not give it to Good Jobbbbbb: The Online Journal of Success?


Fleshspotte knows noise. These four gay Danish guys all went to Harvard and Juliard and the Welsh School of Fashion and the Fashion Institute of Technology and the London School for Economists (where, famously, Mick Jagger and Muriel Spark both lost their virginity– to each other), and Wheaton, and Wharton, and Whimpleton, and Skronksville Community College, and Labial Stop It Andrew I Feel Like This Is Directed Toward Me, Even Though I Can Already Hear You Assuring Me It’s Not, and Yale (actually, only the drummer, Bløckfro, went to Yale, and he dropped…in! For a cuppa. He wrote a tiny, fake thesis on Magnus Mills.)

I caught up with the group for grouper and coffee-toffee BlandishMints® (to clear the grouper aftertaste from our young and pouting moufs) at a Danish or Welsh–style tavern on the outskirts of town. There was a really groovy decor in the cafe, and all the waitresses and baristas looked like Jon Kricfalusi’s “Sody Pop.”


After we had eaten, I had the great opportunity to ask these shredly tuna-poppers some questions.

GOODJOBBBB: So, how’s your new record

DOWAJJAHH: it’s cool, i’m proud of it

GJ: What else

MOUTHRAH: i like it too

GJ: Cool, you play guitar?

M: Yeah, bass

GJ: Cool, what are your influences lol

M: I like sock-monkeys

D: Yeah, we all listen to a lot of grant green, esp. the best-of

GJ: That’s interesting, bc I don’t hear a lot of jazz in your sound

D: Yeah

M: yeah, i can see that

G: so, is tour really hard

M: we haven’t been touring, but we’re looking fwd to it, I love it, sleeping in the road, sometimes I think that’s what the beatles meant “why don’t we do it in the road,” are they talking about touring

g: i never thought of that

m: neither did i

g: ummmmmmmm so this is going to sound weird but where do women fit into your songs

m: the back door! lol

l: dude no let me answer that we actually do consider ourselves feminists coming out of a strong tradition of welsh punk and jazz having solidarity with the feminist movements both in denmark and stretching all the way to the far east of wales — if you look at the early early jazz/punk records from danish or welsh groups like sister axe, beat nappsty, titty and the napsters, and chewy chewstonia, all those guys, whether it’s there in the lyrics, in the modalities, or even a shout-out in the liner notes, there’s a really rich tradition of feminist and post-feminist ideology in their work

g: i always read that engagement as being ironic and sort of satirical

l: that’s certainly an element, that’s certainly present in that work, but that’s not what we’ve taken from it. we love da ladies ruff ruff lol

g: this has been so much fun, can I come back and interview you again?

d: no lol