Shrink Wrapped: Renee Miller Edition

(Interview conducted by Katrina Monroe)

When vodka becomes sentient and decides to drink all of US for a change, Renee Miller will be the only one left standing, provided she finds a suitable straw in time. She writes what she lives and that is Fucked Up Shit that ping-pongs between funny as hell and the kind of shit you tell your therapist about. MIND FUCK is of the former; HUNGER is of the latter.

bio-drinkingSTOP FIDGETING, Renee. I was only kidding about the vodka. OKAY. Okay. Fine. You can have some. But you have to share.

When was the last time you saw something that wasn’t there? How could you be sure it wasn’t there in the first place? What’s that pill bottle you keep shaking?

I saw something just the other day. It was a shadow, sort of. When I turned it was gone, so I assumed it wasn’t there. I guess I can’t be sure of that. Maybe my house is haunted.

What pill bottle?

*You can’t fit that entire bottle in your—okay, I guess you can. Still a shitty hiding spot.*

How would you explain ugly Christmas sweaters to an alien?

I have a hard time explaining those to myself. Should an alien ask during my pre-probe interrogation, I’d just bend over and wait.

*Standard operating procedure then, eh?*

You’re walking down the street and you see a human hand blocking a storm drain. Do you assume it’s real or fake? Why?

I assume it’s fake, so I can keep walking. Then, when I’m a safe distance away, I’ll consider that my assumption was wrong and try to figure out where it came from. I didn’t leave it there, that’s for sure and I resent the implication.

*Because you’re SO CAREFUL about your discards, right? Do we need to bring up the couch incident?*

You’re stranded on a desert island with the last five people you talked to. Cannibalism is inevitable, so let’s skip to the good stuff. Who gets eaten first?

So, I’d be stranded with you (Katrina), Christian, my daughter, a lovely woman named Laurie and Mike, who works in frozen foods at our grocery store. I won’t be eaten first, because I’m an aggressive personality and I only get worse when I’m hungry, so good luck trying to eat me, Katrina. Get that out of your head right now.

*I will not and you can’t make me.*

Christian talks fancy, so I’d like to keep him around for a while. He’d probably be second or third, depending on how he plays his cards. My daughter is obviously not on the menu, because I ruined my bikini body to give her life. Not taking it away just yet. Laurie would be chewy, so she’d have to marinate too long, and I was going to say I could never eat you, but then I laughed, because… never mind.

It’d have to be Mike. I’m sure he’ll understand.

*Working in frozen foods does give you a certain viewpoint toward life. *

Now that you’re full, it’s sexin’ time. Same five people (though I guess we’re down one, aren’t we?), which one will end up under the banana-leaf shelter for a night of grunting with you? Why?

Ha! Well, again, the kid is out. Mike’s dead, and I’m not into that shit. Laurie would probably stab me for trying, so it’s between you and Christian. How about both? Is that greedy? Come on. I bet it’d be a learning experience for all of us.

painted whore

*Unless Christian somehow grew a vagina (wouldn’t THAT be a trick), no thanks. Although, if he were to be a distant participant, VERY distant, and he closed his eyes… No. Never mind. I’ll just wait over here roasting bits of Mike thigh.*

Drop the bottle, Miller. You’re not quite done yet. Take a look at this. With both eyes, please, you’re not a fucking pirate. What do you see?

ink-blot-1

I saw this picture once of a dog costume on Amazon, but I can’t find it now. Basically, it’s a baby costume. When you put it on your dog the poor thing looks like some kind of horrific alien doll thing, and it’s pissed at you. Probably going to shit in your boots or something. Maybe eat your face off while you sleep.

*If you so much as look at my cat that way again, you and I will have words. Also, I’m pretty sure Christian is squatting over your shoe. Going to need to take care of that. No, it’s not my fault. Just go.*

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