Talking In Your Sleep

It’s gray. It’s cold. People are destroying Joshua Tree. The government is still shut down. Democracy is in free fall. Low rise jeans are making a comeback. And Trader Joe’s doesn’t sell orange juice concentrate anymore so basically we’re all gonna die of scurvy and asscrack exposure. On the plus side, this will only be annoying for a few more years because CLIMATE CHANGE. That’s assuming you don’t eat contaminated produce while the FDA inspectors are furloughed.

I’m in a really good place mentally. Obvs.

I blame it on this RAGING case of The Winters. Meteoric. Leviathan. You know, really, REALLY big. Like that pile of leggings that you have waiting by the front door nagging you to take them to the charity of your choice after that KonMari closet purge you did last weekend instead of taking down your Christmas decorations. Big like your post-holiday-sweets-vastly-expanded bootchee bootchee butt butt which has stretched out the ass of all of those leggings that you’re pretending might still be donation worthy instead of plain trash, delusionally daydreaming that some up-and-coming folk artist is looking for fun patterns to make some sort of lycra-infused quilt.

Sorry. That was totally uncalled for. Your ass is great and lycra fiber arts could TOTALLY be the next new thing.

I am just NOT a good person when I can’t feel my fingers. So for the sake of my family and my molars (there may be some grinding happening), I am on a quest to be cheerier. That doesn’t mean I’m going to cease to rail against the bullshit of this administration with more columns at McSweeney’s (OH HI! A NEW ONE IS HERE!). It just means I’m going to try and up our ukulele consumption.

Can I possibly uke every week between now and April? No idea. But it sounds like a more attainable goal than quitting carbs or swearing less. Plus for some reason you people seem to like the videos with the most fuckups. But if I try to do one every week, that means less time for practice.

What?! I do practice. Sometimes. Shut up, legging hoarder. (Oops. Did it again. I’m such a fucking asshole. It’s because my nose currently most resembles a frozen strawberry. Sorry.)

But if there’s one thing that consistently brings the internet joy, it’s another person voluntarily making an ass of themselves. I AM HERE FOR YOU, INTERNET. Practice and poise are OUT THE WINDOW. (Let’s pretend they were ever in the room.)

I can’t promise I’ll consistently shower before recording the video. I can’t promise I’ll get any of the words right. Also I can’t promise I’m going to pull this off. BUT I THINK WE WOULD ALL BENEFIT IF I TRIED, RIGHT?!

To that end, here is your second half-assed Ukulele Friday for 2019. Only 11 more before April. I can do this, right? Just give me some ideas for easy short songs. And maybe recommend a brand of dry shampoo.


  1. Today I picked out food using the “least likely to kill us even if it wasn’t inspected” method. Also, the shutdown has prevented me from spending my weekly quality time with Moke, the infant lowland gorilla at the National Zoo. What kind of epic fresh hell is this? Uke on, it’s good for us all!!!

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