Frigid Bitch: It's like a 12-step program for assholes.
Lunch Lines: A noontime sentence.
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You there! The ugly one whose nose looks like a bike horn!
Can it possibly be a coincidence that last month's Frigid Bitch, the least-attended in history, was also the most successful? Yes! Surely! It must be a coincidence! Because the alternative is too horrible to contemplate.
But I'll tell you what's not too horrible to contemplate: your many debts and obligations. Not just to society, or to the Cheese of the Month Club, but to YOURSELF. Or, more specifically, to me. For you have made a commitment (willingly or otherwise) to accomplish something, anything, over the course of the next 11 months; and by gum I intend to hold you to it. Or to hold it against you. Anyway, I won't be satisfied until I'm holding something. OR SOMEONE.
For example: Brock promised to obtain some black prints, and to meet more overweight women. DTHMatt is working on his animation. Setch has a top-secret plan, probably to take over the world. Andy has decided to take up knitting. And I am perennially on the cusp of having a novel.
And so now, what of you, you bramble-thicket of lies? What have you done for us lately? And by us, I mean yourself.
Prepare to explain yourself next Friday -- the fifth -- at 9:00pm, at Cafe Royale in the miserable Tenderloin. The consequences of your continued failure to attend are simply too horrible to contemplate.
Shrilly,
Shiela

The kickoff of Frigid Bitch 3 (or whatever) was, possibly, the greatest FB meeting we have ever had, if I do say so myself. Thank heavens none of us ruined it by relenting to our vomitous cravings.

Attending: Brock, Matt who is Never Called Matthew, Daniel, Andy, and several bottles of wine. Also, Gavin Rossdale, and the rest of 1996. Twin Peaks' music cannot hold a candle -- not even a single dying firefly -- to Cafe Royale's angry mid-90s alternative radio. What a treat! I am confident that we have chosen an excellent location for the next year's gatherings, nasty neighborhood and lack of transit be damned.

Commitments: Brock seeks to obtain either some black prints or a Black Prince, and also some fag hags with eating disorders; Non-Matthew has his animationy project, and a weekly schedule (as yet undetermined) for working on Stuff. I too much hold myself to a schedule -- when I enforce specific "writing time," much to my surprise, I actually manage to produce things. Daniel, I assume, is working still on his SECRET PROJECT. And Andy, oh, he's a slippery devil. I forgot to get a promise from him.

Next month will be even better, and by better, I mean worse.