Mercury Finally Hits Adolescence

Observations from NASA's spacecraft Messenger today confirmed what we all knew was coming: Mercury the teenager. While planets Mars and Venus snickered in the background, Mercury at first refused to comment, saying only, "GOD! You guys...just leave me alone." "They think you look like the moon!" piped in an tactless Jupiter. Mars tried to hold it in but couldn't help himself: "Face...cheese face...impact basin cheese face..."

When plied with Twizzlers and attention—including willingness to see the planet's collection of soccer posters—the immature little rockpile finally opened up. "It sucks, actually," the planet moaned. "All of a sudden all these volcanic eruptions are all over my face, with molten muck bubbles everywhere. And what, now is a good time to send some spy cam to watch me break out?" It's not every day, however, that magnetic tornadoes appear on a planet's surface. "Tom Watters of the Smithsonian Institution said “We’re seeing a very dynamic planet that has a lot going on today." At least someone thinks I'm cool," huffed Mercury, before returning to his freshman year English homework.

Pony Seen Talking!

Dear Reader,
In celebration of this, the 100th posting of Talking Pony, I unveil to you yours truly's theatrical demo reel. As a result of viewing it, not only will you be convinced I can break a glass, talk next to a fence, answer a phone, and play with animals, your eyes will begin to glow like so many coveted, twinkling diamonds. Your whole mug will look like a Tiffany's counter as you consider the possibility of such an actress in either a horse costume or wielding cop paraphernalia as she lays down the law. You may even imagine me making you a sandwich, because you are hungry and have spent too much time browsing the internet. I hope you enjoy almond butter and jam, because that's what I've got in my fridge. If you want to go shopping, I'll make you something else...after all, what a multi-carated sweet face you've got.
Thanks for all the reading you've done thus far on my blog, even if you are only me writing it.
Love,
Audrey

Floaty Pen Oracle Self-Reflects

And so mote it be, Facade.com.

In the Place Where Words Should Go: Yummy

Yummy adj. The childish word for "delicious" employed by adults to either describe food that they are trying to convince another is palatable (ex. anything falling under the umbrella of poorly executed "health food"), create a mockup of their personality that attempts to coerce an audience to find them youthful and adorable, or out of sheer descriptive laziness.

A Brief Review of My Illustrious Career to Date: Update

+ A lady cop in Las Vegas, circa 1991

+ A hairstylist at a Japanese salon (dubbed)

+ A stewardess who hates it when people cry

+ The mom to a young boy who is advised by an imitation Robert Downey, Jr. to do coke before bed

+ A receptionist surrounded by vats of popcorn, a gospel choir, and a man in a Godzilla costume

+ A suspicious wife who sniffs her husband's crotch to investigate

+ The youngest sister, who secretly lapdances in Santa Fe, but isn't seducing the eldest sister's husband

+ A Grecian newscaster reporting on the activity of Furries

+ An eager would-be athlete using a serial rapist as a trainer

+ A lesbian stalker in love with bows, black, and tribal bands

+ A woman with a beehive who has fun barking like a dog and smashing cherry tomatoes on her face

These are some of the parts I have done in the last couple of years. These parts...and, you know, the like.

To review my original entry on the same topic, click here.

This Earth Day, Grass Dinosaur Fights Back

SANTA MONICA, CA—It was inevitable. Not forever would the excess of year-round green businesses, veganism, and recycled clothing in be tolerated. Not always would the sun shine uninterrupted by a startling roar. Eventually, a vagabond breed of metal dinosaurs would indeed come to wreck havoc, shooting precious water from their fang-filled mouths. When local environmental activists on their way to a drumming circle asked one such dinosaur by the 3rd Street Promenade to halt in its vicious ways, it only shrugged and said, "We're just trying to get you people to take a bath."

In the Place Where Words Should Go: LOL

LOL abbr. What you place in a sentence after something that is decidedly unfunny to anyone with the perspicacity to not bracket a joke with "LOL."

Hairspray is for Hiking

I am hardly out of shape, yet I cannot seem to hike Runyon Canyon in West Hollywood without curling over and feeling like I'm going to cough my lungs out my face. Why? Do all those hours clocked at the gym mean nothing?

As I'm asphyxiating two women jog by with the combined body fat of a single stick insect and perfect blow-outs. My addled respiratory system is temporarily set adrift from its desire for analgesics and mystified by their hair. Was there a stylist van at the foot of the trail I missed? Does the Botox in their foreheads mean no sweat will mar their enviable coifs? Are they actually lungless hiking puppets, sent by the city to fill yet another place to call "on location"?

In the great outdoors, filled with all that fine smoggy air, perhaps their helmet-y layers provide protection against the elements. Maybe the spray and lacquer that surrounds them acts like a buffer, makes purer molecules to breathe than what surrounds us on the climb. I imagine myself dressed as an apeable doll, my movable limbs film-worthy as in an up-do I arrive at the best place to view the Hollywood sign, take a deep breath, and await my close-up. If only that van did touch-ups at the top.

Mystery Solved: Survival of the Hipster

During the economic downturn of this last year-plus, one social group has emerged oddly unscathed, revealing to us all their deceptivity. Hipsters: how are they still able to afford $225 skinny jeans and $5 lattes? In this chilly fiscal climate, how is it their BMRs need only a diaphanous ethnic scarf atop their narrow UO duds to keep them warm? The answer, while simple, has eluded us all thus far: Hipsters are actually made of potato.

Potatoes never get cold. They just don't. Have you ever heard a potato complain about being put in the refrigerator, or told it needed to adopt a budget for hard times? Have you ever had to dissuade a potato from riding bikes to the print shop to pick up its latest band poster? No, you haven't, because you don't feel like driving either, especially if it means losing your good parking spot.

In order to maintain a certain lifestyle, you need to have the right friends. I mean you need to know people. And who knows more people than potatoes? They don't even have to go to sample sales, they get their Danish modern designs shipped direct. When it comes to culture and design, they've got good eyes. Don't believe the thick overlarge glasses; those are mere props to accentuate the socially awkward behavior and use of language. You expect so much: as if potatoes have practice with public speech!

Have you ever been privy to eco-friendly catering? If so, you have eaten with a fork made of potato. The only drawback is that you cannot use them with food cooked in alcohol, because they will disintegrate. Haven't you ever seen a hipster after a night at Spaceland or the Knitting Factory? He or she, resembling a mangled cat, paws at mascara stains and ripped jersey, barely suppressing an all-too-witchy mumbled "I'm meeeelting, I'm meeeelting!"

And by "witchy" I mean "starchy," because everybody knows pagans are made of carbs, and vegans hate Atkins, and spuds wear Grey Ant duds.

Q.E.D.

You can read about Hipsters On Ice here, and Potato.com here.

Pigeons Dangerously on Edge of Extinction; Cities Forced to Find Replacements

NEW YORK—Due to a recent discovery that pigeons are quickly becoming the latest animal to make the extinction list, city officials have been forced to replace the creatures commonly known as "flying rats" with colorful glass doppelgangers. Advocates for the once-populous birds were seen protesting as early as 6:30 this morning, claiming that the substitutes proved dissatisfactory, due to their lack of interest in such comestibles as old bagels, stale Cheez Doodles, and something from Papaya King. While these stand-ins do have the added feature of lighting up when plugged into sockets, "It's just not the same," sobbed an old man in Central Park. "How am I going to weave magic into the everyday landscape of urban life without those grey feathers?" chimed in a lurking shaman. "What am I going to needlessly insult?" added a passing tourist. One thing is certain: if Mayor Bloomberg doesn't act fast to partner with zoological specialists, the city filled with coos may soon fall silent.