Lost Blueprint

LOST BLUEPRINT: Serious, slanted, fictional journalism



by Mandy Meander
International Correspondent

Lost Blueprint is expanding its operations and now we're going to cover international affairs and the people having them.

I was assigned to cover the Pope's trip to Turkey (the Pope--official motto: Stop fucking, pagans!), which would have been great if I could've actually traveled to Turkey or at least had a friend who traveled to Turkey and carried some sort of recording device and a press pass and who also had access to the entourage the Pope is no doubt dragging through Turkey and who also did not laugh like Beavis and Butthead any time someone said the word, "Turkey" or "Pope."

None of these things have materialized, however, which is going to make covering the story somewhat difficult. But only if I'm required to state facts, which I'm not. I'm required to make predictions.

I predict the Pope will fuck up again and say something rude and callous like, "I so don't get why you ass wipes are so pissed." I also think the state of relations between the Middle East and the West will gradually deteriorate in the coming months. Though, what shithead can't see that coming? I also think you should read this for a factually accurate account of the Pope's trip to Turkey.


BEARS, um . . .

by Paint Thompson


Let's just not talk about it.



by Prissy McMouth

I have been doing extensive research on holiday depression and I've found out a few very interesting facts.

First, the best way to combat holiday depression is to get really, really drunk for as long as you can. Please note, I am not saying as often as you can. I'm saying, start drinking now and don't stop until March. This will make the whole world seem kinder, gentler, and blurrier. And that's what you want for the holidays--blurriness.

Second, pass out as much as possible. Try to keep a bowl of mashed potatoes at your side at all times. It's the perfect cushion for a heavy head and the perfect holiday party accessory.

Third, and you may have to practice this, DO NOT PASS OUT FOR SO LONG THAT YOU SOBER UP! Sobriety is the enemy here and you want to fight it like, um, oh hell--insert current in-poor-taste-war-in-Iraq joke here.

What I'm saying is: Wake up drunk and keep drinking. You should practice this now because Thanksgiving is moments away and the subtle nuances among drunkeness, passed outness, and sobriety are chillingly minute.

Happy Thanksgiving!


by LuLu LaRue
Media Watcher

Best TV of the week: Tyra Banks on her show discussing funky farts with Janet Jackson. Beat that, Charlie Rose.



by PhD McGee

1. When they said they realized it was an "Ill-conceived project," what they meant was, "All our advertisers are pulling out so now we're not making any money."
2.OJ is particularly difficult to work with, especially since he insists on deleting the "If" in "If I did it."
3. OJ Simpson is so last century.


by Paint Thompson

Oh, yeah. The Bears won on Sunday. The real question is: What food are you gonna have at your Super Bowl party? Huh? What?



by Paint Thompson

Wanna hear a joke? The Tribune company is selling off their assets and the Cubs are considered an asset. Ha! Ha! Isn't that funny?

Seriously, that's not what this column is about. The Cubs may be on the block and if they're sold for what they're worth, hell, I have $2.23 in change in my pocket.

Ha! Kidding! I tease because I love.

Anyway, we here at Lost Blueprint have spent quite a bit of time considering possible buyers for the Cubs and here's what we came up with:

1. Paris Hilton--because, like, ohmygod, Wrigley Field would make such a cool club. That's hot. Is this my real hair?

2. George W. Bush--obviously, this fucker's gonna be out of a job soon (and by "soon" I mean, "two years let's hope it goes fast"), so he'll need something to do. Except that if he buys the Cubs, he'll be living in Chicago. Oh, who are we kidding, if Bush buys the Cubs, Cheney would be running the show anyway. Except that means Cheney would be living in Chicago. Yikes.

3. The Wirtz family--Pro: they're Chicagoans; con: we'll never again see a televised Cubs game. Wait. Is that a con?

4. Bill Murray--Pleaseohpleaseohpleaseohplease . . .



by PhD McGee
Grammar Snob

Let's talk about using nouns as verbs. Sometimes, this works--like with "fork." As a noun, you can say, "I like to use a fork when I eat meat." As a verb, you can say, "I forked that pig in the eye until it fell over dead. Then I had bacon for breakfast."

"Wrench" is another good one. "I used a wrench to fix the pipes." That works. "I wrenched that piece of green bean out of my teeth and flung it across the room." That works, too. It's colorful.

However, some nouns are staunchly nounly and should have absolutely nothing to do with any other word form, especially verbs.

"Messenger" for example. Don't say, "When I messengered, there were no leave-your-bag buildings and I used to get stoned out of my head and jam through the Loop in winter after it just snowed during rush hour on a fixed gear and it was fucking amazing." See, that's bad. Not the inebriated fixed gear in a blizzard part. What's bad is you didn't "messenger," you were a messenger. You either are or you aren't. You don't do messenger. Unless you get lucky at a raging loft party, in which case, check back in a few weeks for my upcoming article on birth control.

Another case of felonious use of verbized nouns: "text." Don't say, "I texted you to pick me up from jail after they let me out, where the fuck were you, you asshole?" See, "text" is a noun, so there's no past tense of it. It's just there, in all its noun glory, a text in the past, a text in the present, a text in the future. You could say, "I sent you a text." Or, better, "I sent you a text message to tell you you're a freak from hell and stop stalking me." Although, maybe you shouldn't be texting a message like that. Maybe you should have your bodyguard Bruno deliver that one in person.



by Paint Thompson

Right now I'm doing the happy dance where I roll my arms in front of me like I'm churning butter and with my legs, I'm doing the Irish jig.

Oh, and NBC? That radio ad you had on to promote last night's game, you know, the one with the guy with the fake New York accent trying to be confrontational but actually being passive aggressive, the guy who was continually saying, "fahgedabowdidt"? That was stupid.



by Lost Blueprint Editorial Board

Don't let the door hit you on the way out.



by Paint Thompson



Concert Review: Twilight Singers

by Razz Trumble

I love Greg Dulli. I don't normally go for dudes, but I love Greg Dulli. If he were ice cream, I'd put him in a sugar cone and lick him. If he were hummus, I'd scoop him up with pita bread and eat him. If he were a lovingly-made microbrew from Wisconsin, I'd get drunk off a case of him. Well, two cases of him.

But that would mean I'd have to put an end to him and that would be the greatest tragedy to hit civilization since the invention of boy bands.

The CDs I have of the Twilight Singers are prettily produced. There's an aerial quality to them--layers of vocals and strings. But their live show at Double Door on Wednesday night was all balls out guitar crunching rock and screaming vocals and perfectly-timed background vocals and smashing drums and driving bass lines and it so fucking rocked I almost forgot to get drunk. I could listen to Greg Dulli scream into a microphone for the rest of my life, and I'm happy to say that on Wednesday night, I realized I could listen to the rest of that band play whatever they wanted to play on whatever instrument they wanted to play it for the rest of my life, too.

Mark Lanegan sang three songs. He sounds just like the singer from Screaming Trees, which is good, since he is.

The drummer deserves special mention since he just beat the hell out of that drum set all night and it was so good I kept bebopping around the Double Door like an electrified fish.

Cover songs thrown into the mix throughout the night:
Amazing Grace (!)
She Loves You (Yeah, Yeah, Yeah)
Killing Moon

The only bad part of this show is that it ended.

To summate, drink beer. And go see the Twilight Singers.


Why Is My Mood Ring Always Black?

by Prissy McMouth

1. Because it's dark at 5pm so I fall asleep at work, which hurts my neck
2. Because the Dan Ryan construction project is going to be finished ahead of schedule and I placed a bet with my bookie that it'd be three weeks overdue
3. My bookie is annoying
4. The Bears are undefeated and I bet that they would've lost two by now
5. My bookie is annoying
6. I may or may not have a gambling problem
7. My choice for governor in the upcoming election is either a slimey incumbent with nebulous, possibly nefarious, ties to corrupt campaigning or a smokey-voiced makeup-challenged challenger with former, possibly current, ties to an indicted felon
8. I've seen the slimey incumbent jogging in my neighborhood and it makes me never want to eat again
9. The amount of time I spend on the Brown Line staring out at the North Side is approximately the same amount of time it's been since the Cubs played well enough to make it to the post season
10. The race for Cook County Board President so closely parallels a Greek tragedy and so forces the word "nepotism" out of the mouths of people who normally would not say the word "nepotism" that I actually considered voting Republican and in the three seconds it took me to register this thought my body convulsed at which point I promptly regurgitated my breakfast, which really pisses me off because I hate it when I pay good money at Denny's for a plate of Moons Over My Hammy and don't get to enjoy it.