Megan Lent Makes Pie Charts – Tarantino

by Megan Lent

Ready to stock up on adrenaline shots on get all Van Gogh on some dude while dancing to Stealers Wheel? Then here’s a handy guide to making your own classic in the style of Knoxville’s finest.

Filmography-of-Quentin-Tarantino

Megan_Lent

Megan Lent

Megan Lent is a wonderfully unsuccessful blogger who likes to whine about literature at http://apostrophetothestars.blogspot.com/, and occasionally contributes to the steamy world of small-press fiction at Metazen and Housefire. She was the 62nd best speller in California in eighth grade, and used to run a brothel out of her parents’ house in Chicago. She lives in LA.

10 Things Student Protestors at My College Should Actually be Protesting – Megan Lent

funny occupy protestI go to the major university in Los Angeles that did not, I am told by people who follow sports, win the late-November rivalry football game. Lately, Occupy protestors have moved on campus with their tents. Because we are not run by total pieces of shit, the authorities have yet to pepper spray anyone. It’s just kids in tents with signs, and the occasional rally.

Now, I’ve attended a couple of these rallies. I’m almost comically liberal: my dorm room is decorated with press clippings from the JFK years, George Stephanopoulos’ memoir, a drawing I made of Jon Stewart making out with Senator Barbara Boxer, and Seasons 1-4 of The West Wing (later seasons do not count due to an abject lack of Rob Lowe.) So, a Re-fund CA/Occupy rally should really be up my alley. This is not the case. And it is not the case because I’m an admirer of focus, and a rally which begins with a listing of valid grievances pertaining to impending tuition hikes, which then turns into some chanting about making banks pay, which then turns into the custodians demanding a pay raise, which then turns into a speech about immigration – all in the space of about twenty minutes – is not a focused rally.

I think that what these protestors need is a clear voice. A writer. A prophet. And I think I know a little something about prophets, or at least about talking more loudly and coherently than everyone else. So, here we go: my list of exactly, specifically, and accurately what the student protestors at my college should actually be protesting. [Read more...]

Imaginary F**king with Megan Lent – Wolverine

Imaginary Fucking with Megan Lent – Part 4 of 4

See part 1 and part 2 and part 3 of this series.

I think everyone has at least one fictional or deceased person who they’d absolutely love to bang. I have many. I know that this is weird concept. I also know that I like it. It’s like vaginas; they look like little aliens, but I still like having one. Of course, for breakfast this morning, I dipped powdered sugar donuts in a Go Girl. Just because I like something, doesn’t make it normal.

I know what you’re thinking. The answer is no. No, I do not want to fuck Hugh Jackman. I do not want to fuck Stan Lee. I want to fuck Wolverine. He has claws for fingers that I think would feel really good skimming my face, and he’d be really useful for slicing the skin of off my apples and the crusts off of my bread. He’s trustworthy and rugged and always saying things like, “I like to smoke and Canada and claws and cool.” I saw Captain America, and Chris Evans was pretty hot (or, at least hot enough for me to have a dream about visiting a Billy Joel-themed amusement park with him and my mother), but no other comic book hero gets me all hot and bothered quite like Wolverine does. I tried to explain this to a male friend once, and he basically told me I was crazy. He later told me he had a childhood infatuation with Mary-Kate and Ashley Olson, which is, actually, the exact same thing.

Think about it: most children who got on the Olson train dismounted after the twins’ finished up their straight-to-VHS series of mysteries and musical beach parties, which ultimately gave way to a very pathetic attempt at an actual film career. Not this guy. No, he followed their careers. He bought hats from their fashion line. He saw New York Minute four times in theatres. The Olson twins had a raw talent, which was simultaneously enhanced and mined by corrupt powers. The only way to achieve their true essence was to destroy their humanity, thus forming strange, otherworldly beings, who were followed and worshipped by the gays, the mentally unstable, and the socially outcast – segments of society usually drawn in by tales of a band of mutants. Wolverine’s pure strength was brought to its highest, adamantium-induced glory, but at the hands of evil scientists, thus turning him into something that was simultaneously the highest form of man and a completely inhuman creature.

In other words, Mary-Kate and Ashley are fucking X-men.

About the Ranter:

Megan_Lent

 

Megan Lent

Megan Lent is a wonderfully unsuccessful blogger who likes to whine about literature at http://apostrophetothestars.blogspot.com/, and occasionally contributes to the steamy world of small-press fiction at Metazen and Housefire. She was the 62nd best speller in California in eighth grade, and used to run a brothel out of her parents’ house in Chicago. She lives in LA.

Imaginary F**king with Megan Lent – John Cusack

Imaginary Fucking with Megan Lent – Part 3 of 4

See part 1 and part 2 of this series.

I think everyone has at least one fictional or deceased person who they’d absolutely love to bang. I have many. I know that this is weird concept. I also know that I like it. It’s like vaginas; they look like little aliens, but I still like having one. Of course, for breakfast this morning, I dipped powdered sugar donuts in a Go Girl. Just because I like something, doesn’t make it normal.

I am not an idiot. I know that John Cusack is a real person, and I also know that he is currently alive (I mean, if you consider having to pretend to like Jeremy Piven living). But I do not want to have sex with John Cusack. I want to have sex with John Cusack. I want the skinny dark-eyed Irish boy wearing a trench coat outside of my bedroom window, discussing improvements in walkie-talkie technology with Anthony Michael Hall and arguing about records with Jack Black. I want to say things like, “ooh, you can blast in MY eyes” (get it? Like Say Anything…? But with semen?) and “ooh, you can run away with MY jury” (like a vagina!) and “ooh, you must love dogs…and…like….pussy.”

I think that women such as myself who grew up surrounded by the Cus, have been spoiled for real-life romance: I only really want to date people that Johnny C has played. (Or voiced. The con man he “played” in Anastasia is kind of totally dreamy for an animated Russian.) I used to date a guy whose name was only two letters off from his sister’s name solely because this reminded me of the John/Joan Cusack dynamic. My closest male friend is pretty much Lloyd Dobler: he’s sensitive and emotional and listens to me play fake femme punk songs about boys I secretly still love, and I loaned him a pen once and he was like, “she gave me a pen and I gave her my heart,” except he didn’t say heart, he said “bagel,” but that’s beside the point. The Grosse Point Blank, if you will. John Cusack is probably an abominable human being whose onscreen persona has ruined me for actual, three-dimensional people, but I will definitely always be in love with him (or the fake-him, or whatever; this is too meta, even for me).

About the Ranter:

Megan_Lent

 

Megan Lent

Megan Lent is a wonderfully unsuccessful blogger who likes to whine about literature at http://apostrophetothestars.blogspot.com/, and occasionally contributes to the steamy world of small-press fiction at Metazen and Housefire. She was the 62nd best speller in California in eighth grade, and used to run a brothel out of her parents’ house in Chicago. She lives in LA.

Imaginary F**king with Megan Lent – F. Scott Fitzgerald

Imaginary Fucking with Megan Lent – Part 2 of 4

See part 1 of this series.

I think everyone has at least one fictional or deceased person who they’d absolutely love to bang. I have many. I know that this is weird concept. I also know that I like it. It’s like vaginas; they look like little aliens, but I still like having one. Of course, for breakfast this morning, I dipped powdered sugar donuts in a Go Girl. Just because I like something, doesn’t make it normal.

fitzgeraldI was going to include Jay Gatsby on this list, but that just felt wrong. Because I don’t love Jay Gatsby; I love Scott Fitzy’s impossibly amazing brain. Yeah, he was an alcoholic and was married to a legitimately insane woman and, if Ernest Hemingway is to be believed, he didn’t have the biggest Eiffel Tower in the Parisian expat community, if you know what I mean (penis. I mean penis). But he wrote The Great fucking Gatsby. I honestly do not give a fuck he is responsible for the creation of Brad Pitt Ages Backwards Like A Less Dumb Forrest Gump. Saying that The Great Gatsby is not enough would be like saying that The Godfather is not enough: Francis Ford Coppola is an incredible director, and always will be considered an incredible director, even if his next film is Drive Angry 2: Yes, Nic Cage is My Nephew.  

A possible date with a reanimated S-Fitz would, I think, go something like this:

I descend the staircase of my shitty North Campus dorm and see him standing at the bottom, so Irish and golden that I want to touch myself harder than the Divinyls putting on suntan lotion with an oven mitt. “Why, Scott,” I say, “you caught me off-guard. I still have so much laundry to do.” He smiles and nods as my mistress (who coquettishly insists that she’s only my roommate, but if I don’t stop writing parenthetical romantic situations with Jazz Age authors, she’ll move out) walks by. We laugh about how funny it would be if she got in a car accident outside of her husband’s gas station underneath some sort of blatantly metaphoric billboard.

We then go to my room with a pint of Häagen Dazs – I’d wanted Ben & Jerry’s, but Scott said something about preferring brands that espoused racial purity – and I turn on Real Housewives of New Jersey (because he went to Princeton, get it?) As we watch Theresa and Jacqueline debate the proper size of silicone “bubbies” to purchase, I can’t help but feel like my existence could be nothing short of a symbol – no, the essence, the purest form – of the American dream, the blue future of jazz and impermanence and beauty. As I watch his flagpole rise to attention at my awe-inspiring display of the spirit of liberty, I tell him that I never really liked The Sun Also Rises, and he proposes on the spot.

About the Ranter:

Megan_Lent

 

Megan Lent

Megan Lent is a wonderfully unsuccessful blogger who likes to whine about literature at http://apostrophetothestars.blogspot.com/, and occasionally contributes to the steamy world of small-press fiction at Metazen and Housefire. She was the 62nd best speller in California in eighth grade, and used to run a brothel out of her parents’ house in Chicago. She lives in LA.

Imaginary F**king with Megan Lent – Josh Lyman

Imaginary Fucking with Megan Lent – Part 1 of 4

by Megan Lent

I think everyone has at least one fictional or deceased person who they’d absolutely love to bang. I have many. Someone once referred to Voltaire as “Megan Lent’s Justin Beiber.” I don’t know if the kids still dig the Beibs (or if anyone ever actually called him “the Beibs”), but I do know that I get a total word-boner every time I talk about Candide, so it’s entirely possible that Justin Beiber was just everybody else’s Voltaire.

I know that this is weird concept. I also know that I like it. It’s like vaginas; they look like little aliens, but I still like having one. Of course, for breakfast this morning, I dipped powdered sugar donuts in a Go Girl. Just because I like something, doesn’t make it normal.

josh lymanBradley Whitford haunted my childhood as the smarmy, evil WASP who terrorized Adam Sandler in the modern horror epic Billy Madison. And then I started watching The West Wing, and my entire view of male sexiness did a 180. I mean, Josh has a receding Jewfro and dresses the way you’d think the deputy chief of staff would dress. But he’s brilliant and sarcastic and brutal and, like the rest of the supremely awesome Bartlet administration, at once idealistic and completely aware of the limitations of government. I just want to play with his hair and listen to him talk about financial policy forever and ever and ever (and maybe bring in Rob Lowe for some political sexual innuendos, wink wink.)

It is important to note that this is the only TV character I chose to include on my list of imaginary orgasm-donors, and that fact does not in any way represent how I feel about television. I love television. If I was to write a series of articles entitled “20th Century Inventions I Would Have Sex With,” television would be near the top of the list, just below the Internet, and just above the push-lamp. It’s just that I’d totally fuck Josh Lyman, but I’d never fuck Bradley Whitford. The man was on a buddy cop show with Colin Hanks, for chrissakes – and if you didn’t notice the innate douchebaggery of that premise, please reread that statement with emphasis on the phrases BUDDY COP SHOW and COLIN GODDAMN HANKS. Jesse Pinkman is basically every guy I liked in high school, Michael Bluth is a bona fide DILF, Charlie Kelly is like a walking shot of spray paint to the brain; likewise, Aaron Paul, Jason Bateman, and Charlie Day are exactly the kind of men I “accidentally run into” at the Starbucks in Studio City (never mind that I live a good thirty minutes from Studio City, or that I occasionally plan my caffeine fixes around various menfolk’s Twitter updates.) Not Whitford. Never.

But I would hide secretary Donna Moss in some White House closet just to work (or be) under Josh Lyman for ten minutes.

Megan Lent Makes Pie Charts – Irony

by Megan Lent

Because “rain on your wedding day” is unfortunate, but really only ironic if you happen to be a meteorologist who picked the date for your nuptials solely because you specifically predicted that the weather was to be 100% sunny.