I made a new word -- Vageinstein!

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Let's say you were talking about how your new boyfriend is really good in bed, you could say:

"He's a real Vageinstein!"

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Copyright and Restricted Rights Notice

© 2009 All rights reserved. Unauthorized use prohibited.

The term "Vageinstein" and all variants, spellings, depictions, or uses thereof may not be reproduced in whole or in part, used, sold, modified, or transmitted to any third party without Loland Kapuchinski’s Weblog's and/or its affiliates' and/or associated legal entities' prior written approval, and these licensees may only display, publish, copy, print, post or use "Vageinstein" pending agreements entered into by the licensee and Loland Kapuchinski’s Weblog and/or its affiliates and/or associated legal entities, subject to fair use, such as limited copying for purposes of scientific research and criticism. By accessing Loland Kapuchinski's Weblog you acknowledge the terms and conditions contained herein and agree to comply with them.

Loland Kapuchinski's Weblog may cede or otherwise transfer its rights and obligations to the concept "Vageinstein" in terms of these terms and conditions to a third party. Any failure on the part of Loland Kapuchinski's Weblog to enforce any right toward the concept "Vageinstein" in terms hereof shall in no means constitute a concision or waiver of these rights. If any term or condition stated herein is declared invalid, the remaining terms and conditions will remain in full force and effect.

The introduction to my 2002 book: Cinematic Dwarves

Subtitled: How Chad Lowe and the Black Hand of Elite Hollywood Short Guys Control the Industry.


My wife Jane enjoys a few glasses of red wine before bed, and she has the cutest chubby little fingers. I love each and every one of them, but they just don't possess the nimbleness required to handle a wineglass. A few years ago, Jane spilled a little vino into the laptop that the book I was writing was on. The data was irretrievable, but I forgave my wife instantly and completely. I never make fun of her fingers, which I call "my nummy widdle sausages" but now I remove all glassware from her hand and serve her her wine in a large-handled plastic safety container reminding her "We don't want any accidents!"

All I have left from my years of exhaustive documentation and writing are these intro passages from the inner and outer jacket.


The journey of research and realization recounted in this novel stems from a very personal experience. I saw Wesley Snipes and how short he was in the D.C. train station. I wasn't taking a train. I was just buying a pretzel. Wesley Snipes was dazzlingly good looking and dapper in his purple hat and on his way to the NCAAP awards being held in D.C. the same night as my cousin's wedding. Wesley Snipes is a good egg for going to that NCAAP awards show. He's great. I love his movies and I once edited some slander out of his wikipedia page, so it is not lightly or with any malice that I tell you: Wesley Snipes was not an inch over five feet tall. I had to actually squat to look at his face under the brim of his purple hat. It was no trick of the light. It's not like you need to have shortdar. It's not like gaydar or toupeedar, requiring skills of nuanced judgment that are not universal. Even children are accurate in gauging if someone is taller or shorter than them.

I saw a little Piven at a baseball game and he was great, but he was so tiny. He looked like a baby with his round head and chubby cheeks. He was a manbaby. I wanted to pick him up, and I don't know, just hold him? I'm pretty sure I asked. You've got to ask the tough questions, sometimes. Hard-hitting, mind-punishing questions. Questions I call "The Noodle Busters." Like why is Wesley Snipes so short? Why are a lot of celebrities kind of short? You ask questions then those questions start asking questions.

I hope this book asks those hard questions, then answers those questions harder. My research has inexorably concluded this worldwide conspiracy of Elite Hollywood Short People goes on right in front of our faces in our movies, our television shows, and our commercials. Piece together the snugly fitting fragments:

• Movie and TV studio sets need to be locked down because they are designed by a closed cadre of workmen who have taken an oath never to tell the public they build their sets in 7/10 scale.

• Ask any Director and he will tell you. Directing a movie is largely about one thing: framing the shots so that these tiny individuals don't look as bizarre on camera as they do in real life. It's called "forced perspective" and it's not always possible. In the movie Minority Report, normal-sized actor Max Von Sydow was paired with thumb-sized boy man Tom Cruise and Stephen Spielberg tried to get them as far away from each other as he could every shot, but it still looks like Max could pop off Tom's head and swallow it like a pill.

• Did you know Tom Cruise is careful never to be photgraphed with any coins or dollar bills or any universally sized item that people could use to get a sense of the scale of the actor?

• Did you know if Mel Gibson was just an inch taller, he wouldn't be an anti-semite, a heretic, or an alcoholic? Like Robert Downey Jr. and most other short people, Mel just can't process alcohol or major religions.

• Did you know the average height for Australians is 5' 1"? But converted to Australian (or Crookaroo) that's 5'11"!

• Did you know Chris O'Donnell used to live in a toadstool like a Smurf? The man is three apples high.

• Did you know a lot of these short actors like Wesley Snipes have great bodies because it's easier for short people to work out? How far do you lift a weight? An arm length. Shorter arms means you're moving it less of a distance. He's probably got a really high metabolism like a squirrel. That's just science. Plus they have to work out because otherwise they'd look confusingly like girls. If you or me were short we'd have an awesome body too.
  

Wesley Snipes is fit as a fiddle and could literally beat me up with one hand tied behind his back. He could beat me up with the hand that was tied up, because his thumb is stronger than my whole body. But I was hit by an epiphanic thunderbolt the moment I saw how short Wesley Snipes is. It all unraveled for me, the curtain flew back and I could see the men working behind the scenes. The Scientologists. Entertainment lawyers. The men who make special shoes for Russell Crowe, who has feet like a Geisha. A petite but sinister shadow conspiracy concieved in Australia and now run by Chad Lowe, a modern day Adam Weishaupt. This is the story of scores of other smart vicious men in the spirit of Napoleon. This is the story of the schemes and plots these gnomes conduct on a massive scale. It is a story of thousands of California co-conspirators and millions of their unwilling, unwitting benefactors -- movie audiences everywhere. This is the story of a Chad Lowe you didn't meet when he played that retarded kid on that show. Subtle and brilliant, Chad Lowe is a ruthless mastermind with thirsts for cocaine and grisly porn and a taste for vengeance.

This is the story of the littlest guys and the biggest lies, propped up by a complex architecture of misinformation and intrigue that spreads to every facet of the entertainment industry. We must out all the closeted short people, to cleanse our society from their lies, and for the common dignity of short people everywhere. It is misogyny to suggest that women, in all cases, be shorter than men. It would improve the mental health of short men to know that their favorite actors are themselves tiny despite mad attempts to avoid the fact. Disseminating this information can stop these little fellows from manipulating our minds and the movie industry. Metaphorically, we don't want them jumping out of the pies they're baked in and biting us on the finger like Jack did to the giant. This is the story of Cinematic Dwarves.



It should be noted that not all celebrities are short. I saw Famke Janssen once and she's about six foot. I saw her lift a horse cart that had fallen on a peasant girl. Then she broke coins with her bare hands in an ale house as the villagers cheered.

Christmas in Other Countries

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In England they call Santa Claus "Mr. John Claus" and he wears a red deerstalker cap and smokes a calabash. Children are not permitted to sit on his lap but they can exchange brief nods from across the train station as he reads the paper. On Christmas, English kids eat pudding that is not from single-serve containers and a type of duck called "Goose." Good children receive pepper candies and buttered chestnuts and naughty children get the business with a riding crop on their bare bottoms until their buttocks shine striped hot and red.

In Italy Santa Claus is named Rizzo Claus and he wears fingerless gloves and a red speedo, dropping gold chains and dirty comic books into the pointy shoes of little Italian children, who leave out a little dab of hair gel for him next to a potted olive tree.

On the island of Malau it is the oldest unmarried child's responsibility to provide a Christmas feast for the family. They often tell a story there about a Malausi girl who had gotten a moorhen after one year's holiday celebration, promising to fatten it up for the next Christmas dinner. But the girl had started feeding it by hand, and by the monsoon season they were allowing it to walk around the hut like one of the family. They even named the moorhen "Pete." When Christmastime came around again, she did not think she had it in her to put Pete on the chopping block. So they ate the dog.

In Bulgaria it is not Santa who hands out toys and presents but his sinister companion, Lurthamog. Lurthamog of the Fallen Darkness, Slayer of Light! Lurthamog has six rotating sets of horns on his head, both his fangs and eyes are located in a gigantic wolf's jaw, and he is commonly depicted with a massive barbed penis. "Be nice this Christmas," say the old Bulgarian grandmothers "Or you'll get it in the ass with Lurthamog's spiked shaft!" And no one sets out a Christmas dinner table like the Bulgarians: Warm Cabbage Slaw, Cooked Cabbage, Cabbage in Water, Pan Cabbage, Cabbage Mush, Brown Cabbage & Beets with Cabbage sauce, and for dessert, a crisp wedge of room-temperature Christmas Cabbage!

In Ireland Christmas comes for the children one or two days late. On the morning of the 25th, children usually just find the person they suspect may be their father passed out in a "Yule Puddle" near the fireplace. Christmas Day is the one day Irish children are not allowed to say "Fuck" during their prayers. No, it does not snow in Ireland, that's actually dandruff, but it is festive nonetheless.

In Detroit they invented this spurious holiday called Kwanzaa to take advantage of day-after sales at the Zayre's. Santa Claus is depicted as a black man with a white beard, but most black kids know he is really a white. Kwanzaa is a time to wear tall brimless cylindrical hats.

In Texas they start celebrating Christmas on October 5 because there's no law against that or anything else. They string lights around the Christmas Tumbleweed and re-gift the bullets and bolo ties and Bible Books-on-CD they got last year. After a Christmas dinner of ribs and beef ribs, they attend church in an aluminum sided warehouse right off a ramp on Highway 44 to hear Rev. Jimmy Ray's homily on how Christmas didn't matter to Jimmy Ray back when he was in a motorcycle gang dealing angel dust up and down that same 44. It's actually pretty entertaining and worth a couple bucks in the tray -- It's Christmas.

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If I Was Stranded on an Island and Could Only Bring Four Recipes...

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Coconut Surprise

Sandy's Cream of Coconut Soup

Seawater Pot Pies

Gangrenous Foot Salad

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100 Formerly Private Secret Shames of Loland Kapuchinski (redacted version)

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1. REDACTED
   



2. REDACTED
   



3. REDACTED
   



4. Cold sores that make policemen ask “Are you alright, sir?”
   



5. REDACTED
   



6. Bushy chest hair trimmed so it looks like I have pectoral muscles under tee shirt
   



7. REDACTED
   



8. REDACTED
   



9. REDACTED
   



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12. Nancy Sinatra Syndrome
    



13. REDACTED
    



14. Manifold appreciation for the female form
    



15. Allergies
    



16. Not actually allergic to anything, just crying
    



17. REDACTED
    



18. Fountain soda syrup-to-soda mix ratio judgmentalism causing friction between me and Tania, the local gas station attendant.
    



19. REDACTED
    



20. Motorcycle into pool -- not good for either. I thought it would be like peanut butter and chocolate
    



21. REDACTED
    



22. PORTION REDACTED …but in my defense, she was super ugly
    



23. Saving the world, one me at a time



24. REDACTED
    



25. Proud of being excellent sandwich delivery boy
    



26. Fake lower voice still quite high
    



27. Seen PORTION REDACTED four times already this year
    



28. Pooped the bed at camp
    



29. As often as I was able
    



30. REDACTED
    



31. REDACTED
    



32. Tattoo half-done for eight years. I kept falling asleep. Apparently this Vegas scumbag tattoo institution a $75 dollar cab ride away from the Flaming O has some code of tattoo scumbag junkie ethics that says you can’t tattoo someone who is enjoying a well-earned nap after winning $1100. After all, why would I want to sleep through someone coloring my flesh with a vibrating needle? And these scammer druggies wanted to charge us $300 an hour for the time we spent asleep on two of their many chairs. PORTION REDACTED So it says “Mot” and I think I like it that way, because Mom actually hated tattoos.
    



33. Vermouth drinker
    



34. "Sympathetic pregnancy pains" just vermouth sick
    



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38. Hate U2
    



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40. Into radio rap
    



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43. Easily startled
    



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47. Know too many Rush lyrics
    



48. Mind is not for rent
    



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50. They don’t call me “Kid Genius” as much anymore .
    



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52. “Plumber’s elbow” actually “tennis elbow”
    



53. “Tennis elbow” actually from pulling it
    



54. “Third nipple” actually huge disgusting mole
    



55. REDACTED
    



56. Pee-hole in penis seems to be frowning. Frowning when I look at it. If you were facing it, it would look to be smiling, but no one faces it.
    



57. REDACTED
    



58. I used to rap about bowel movements and chewing tobacco with a kid from Immaculate Conception named Pat Flynn, who had no rap name other than Pat Flynn. This is from a rap about using the bathroom, “Bowl Rocker.” “I like to loop it. I eat it then I poop it. When I’m on the mic I get stupid. You poop. I poop. We poop-ed.”
    



59. Pat Flynn and I lost a talent show to good-looking lip-syncers, sisters who also did magic tricks, tarnishing the music industry permanently for us.
    



60. REDACTED
    



61. Ninety-eight year old grandma leaves me a message -- it took me two weeks to even listen -- I don’t sweat it because that bitch will live to a thousand.
    



62. Mock ghetto
    



63. Faux French
    



64. Der baddener German
    



65. REDACTED
    



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67. REDACTED
    



68. Hands soft as lilies
    



69. Decreasing appreciation for my affected, arty penmanship in digital society
    



70. Worst analgrams ever
    



71. Anagrams even worse
    



72. Hundreds of exactly halfway finished palindromes
    



73. REDACTED
    



74. Xanadu, man. He roller skated right into that wall. That's love!
    



75. REDACTED
    



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78. Onion did not use my story idea “Kansas Schools to Begin Teaching Deckard Was Not a Replicant.”
    



79. Still haven’t decided on weblog name
    



80. What month is this? And the year? Help me out on the day while you’re at it. Then I haven’t missed it! Oh, I did miss it? I missed it.
    



81. I have never learned Grace, the prayer Catholics say before dinner, or I guess eating, but not breakfast. I never learned Grace because we say it together. I don’t even know how it starts. But my being a lousy Catholic is a whole different breast-beating six-volume list of shames in and of itself.
    



82. Hummingbirds and jaguars (I’m still listening to the Frente! album!)
    



83. West Texas, then West Allis have bemulleted my person. While my actual hair appears normal, there is a perceptible “shadow mullet” hanging over me.
    



84. Summer sausage and sardines in mustard? Pumpernickel pickle-lily cucumber sandwiches? Commit to a comic diet, why don’t you?
    



85. Nicknamed roomate's girlfriend with messed-up hand “J.T.”
    



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Phoning the end in...

Who am I kidding? Not one thing on this list brings me down one notch. I am the notch. As same as I ever was. I will remain the quiet storm, while you are just posing like a fronter. Smell my ass at your leisure, fronter.

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Slogans for Cities in Wisconsin

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Milwaukee

Your town's clock tower is pathetic.

Kenosha
Next three exits!

Slinger
Still callin' margarine oleo.

Egg Harbor
Get your FIBs out!

La Crosse
The city, not the super lame sport.

Wyalusing
Wyalusing is for lovers.

West Salem
Home of Harlin Garland's Home.

Janesville
We got a Mills Fleet Farm and a Blain's Farm and Fleet. Beat that New York City!

Sparta
This is Sparta, WI!!!

Cedarburg
Cedarburg: Where you're the black person!

Spring Green
The Green Apple

Minocqua
If you like rustic, try Minocqua! Everybody works at the mill and we're all using the old twenty dollar bills and drinking malted milk. There's no place to find condoms. Our Blockbuster is mostly tapes. We've still got a problem with drunk Indians on Main Street! It's the Yahtzee on sixes of rustic.

Cudahy
Dress casual!

Racine
Better than, or as good as, Kenosha.

Mazomanie
Home of the ugliest nude beach on the planet. Yikes!

Ashwaubenon
Hi-Class!

West Allis
Sunday! Sunday! Sunday!

When I was in high school I thought there was an actual place near Fox Point called "Locke's Point." I couldn't work it into a slogan.

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I Wrote Some Limericks in a Bad Mood

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Nantucket

There once was a young man named Charles
Who cried as he stood on the gallows
He fell with a thwack
It all went black
And he made a sound like Charo.


There was a man who left his scabies untreated.
It got so gross that he couldn't beat it.
Quoth he "I'm not a looney Lou,
I got these at Harvard U.
Natalie Portman could've had these sweet nits!"


There was a man who feared falling the worst
Because he lived a life so cursed
He slipped when it was raining and pouring
Off the Chrysler Building's dirigible mooring
Onto a pointy-helmeted German tourist


There was my high school girl and wow.
She hasn't lost a step and how.
Her geezer wears mock turtlenecks
And drives a Porsche and they have sex?
(She's renting out her vagina now.)


There was a young lady with a body like a sack
But I think I'll still try to take a crack
If she's got at least one breast
Then she's passed my one test
God's gift to fat chicks is back!


There remains a gal from Nantucket
Who poops in my cock-shaped nuggets
During the ass sex
I read her the classics
As for her one boob, I juggles it


There once was kind of a racist
Who hated the look on their faces,
"I want to kick in
their lazy grins
Right through their Shamrock Shakes."


There was a Limericist whose job was cushy
Though his meter and grammar were mussy
He got as rich as the Buddha
Writing Limericks that were screwed-up
With rhymes as slant as Chinese pussy


There was a woman named Oprah
Who could have run for Pope-rah
But she had to kick G. I. Joe's ass
With a hood/mask
As Commander of the C.O.B.R.A.


I feel better now. God bless Ernesto Limericks!

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DVDS I Have Not Liked Recently

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The Onion Movie/DVD

It's a car crash you can't turn your head away from, but then you see a busted-up baby seat and you turn your head away, but then you want to see if the baby was thrown clear so you look back, and then you see that the crash has killed a cheerleader, and thrown her sweater off and she was wearing a purple bra, so you pull out your penis and start to masturbate, but then you realize your whole family is in the car, and you turn back away from the crash site to see if your family has noticed and they have. And that's just the first fifteen minutes!
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What's up with my "Specialty" kisses?

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Wouldn’t you like to know? Well, okay.

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What are you, holding a book? You've got use your hands, your arms, your body. Amateur!

The Tough but Tender
This is the one where I grab my wife’s body and slam it against my own, but right before I plant her one, I slow down, giving her just one tiny peck on her top lip, soft and gentle as moonbeams.

Butter P
I sneak around her from behind and hum with my mouth on her jugular, humming using more and more nasal cavity, to transfer the more and more vibration to her neck. I flourish it with butterfly kisses on the chin and jaw, but it‘s not the main event. The name Butter P comes from a dead cat. This is another one for when she is not in the mood.

Red Alert
This is the one where I whip my shirt off while going in for the first kiss, so there’s no confusion. There is nothing worse than a confused woman. With Red Alert, I treat the whole thing like it’s my birthday, there’s a lot of slobber at first but the bedclothes don’t even get damp, and pretty soon everything is fine in my head again, and then she’s talking about her day, or whatever she talks about.

Jazz
The one where I brush a strand of hair from her brow, cup her sun-dappled jowl, look lovingly into her eyes, then trumpet farting noises on her chubby cheeks until she is able to buck me off.

The old Rope-a-Dope
Where I fall on the couch with her on top. If you’re on the bottom, you still have to pull them closer and tighter. This avoids any “Am I crushing you?” response, ‘cause if she gets that into her head you might not pull this deal off. She thinks she is kissing me with this one. I say “You’re frisky today” and it comes off like it was all her idea.

Jane!
I say Jane! really loud like I have something super important to say, but then I just kiss her, Jane, and that is the super important thing.

El Que
Unsneaking a kiss. The one where I turn my face in the same direction when she starts up a kiss, so she has to weave and bob so our noses don‘t bump. She usually doesn’t have to do any work. I am the kisser here. And then I actively try to block her nose with my nose. This kiss is good for being passive-aggressive.

Secret CIA kisses
Public displays of affection are not permitted in my culture, so in a bar or on the softball field or in the presence of children, I go in for what looks like a whisper, but just kissy blow in her ear instead, with kind of a pusst pusst pusst. And then we laugh, making it look like just a joke.

Snaggles
Nipping at her earlobe with my chipped tooth. This is not very erotic for her or me but is good for waking her up.

Spindrift
This involves spinning her around before a kiss. Turning her around is ostensibly for getting a 360 degree view of her. She likes the idea of me checking out her ass and this or that outfit. But it’s more about the spinning, which always feels a little like love. Easy on this one, good kisses are dizzying enough. Don’t try this before or right after Tough but Tender. It will look foolish, and could be potentially damaging to the lady.

Daddy
Daddy is just a hug, but it is the tightest, most full-body hug I offer. I keep my hands open because it increases the hug coverage along with using my head and shoulders to really press that hug in there. Guaranteed to make her feel like a tiny little girl. It is very similar to my hug Hold On! but the cheeks are not touching, no Eskimo kisses, and no hand in the back pocket. This is for when she needs a safe, serious hug.

Some people don‘t name their kisses, but in order to know something you have to call it a name, like how Thor named his hammer or wrestlers name their suplexes. I’m not even telling you some of my more special kisses, like Apollo or Viper, as you will just knock your own wife’s dirty socks off without giving Loland the credit. It’s not really about kisses though, it’s about the sincerity.

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10 Things Kids Could Do Instead of Smoking.

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There’s so many things kids could be doing besides smoking!

Kids could be:

Chucking shit at a beehive.

Rhyming using swear words.

Perfecting a new two-handed masturbation technique.

Drinking codeine cough syrup and standing in the exact middle of the park.

Skipping stones. It’s not gay if you’re really good at it. You don't have to skip there or anything.

Going on a homeless watching expedition.

Catching moths and feeding them to Chad’s gerbil Chuckle Chomps.

Discussing the latest Hustler.

Performing pudding-cupilingus.

Checking the factory dumpsters for sharp metal rubbish resembling throwing stars.

Bothering the garbage men. Cripes, I wanted to be a garbage man!

You know what? Fuck it. Kids should smoke.

Kapuchinski Family Heraldic Items

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The more esteemed and historical the family, the more complex the coat-of-arms chosen to represent it. My family crest is impressive, having been borne in a long line of Crusaders, Philosopher-Kings, Barrel Magnates, plus the regular Sluts and Ball Hogs.

Family motto: Ecce! which is Latin for “Hey you!”

The Falcon Rampart upon a golden egg - the falcon represents skills, the egg, bills.

The man-bear fighting a jackelope - obvious meaning.

Background field of what I think are blue bennys.

Exterior Ornament: A very hairy baby.

A purple tent, because we’re in tents like that.

10 barrels. Why so many barrels? My family was into barrels. Having a barrel was like owning a car back then. Having 10 barrels was like owning a fricking spaceship.

My all-in-one scanner has recently been demoted from 4-function to 2-function, so I can't show you it now, but I will update this post. Do you want a fax?

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Powers Received After Being Bitten by a Radioactive Hawkwind:

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Major Powers:

The Power Hawkwind = The power to grow any moustache instantaneously.

The Power Hawkspace = Teleportation through space, but only from Stonehenge to the Hammersmith Odeon and back.

The Power Huw = The power to summon The Hawkfriends (including Klaatu and those who have been bitten by the Wereslade).

The Power Celestial = The power to completely control, with the mind, all the functions of cellular phones with a Hawkwind ringtone.

Minor Powers:

Instinctive knowledge of how to fly any intergalactic space vessel.

Regrowing bush on shnaved schnizz instantaneously.

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