About
I'm Laura Leu, a writer living in New York City. I enjoy telling strangers on the Internet my name, occupation and city of residence. If you're an editor who wants to give me work, you can read some clips below or take a look at my resume. If you're a horny old German man, you can watch this video of me playing my accordion while my friend pole-dancesYou can find me on Facebook, Twitter, Vimeo, or standing right behind you. Psych!
If you promise not to send me spam or pictures of your babies, you can e-mail me at laura.leu [at] gmail.com
stuff i've written
"Abnormal School," Time Out New York
"Inside the Mind of a Monster," Stuff magazine
A feature profile story on Arthur Shawcross, convicted serial killer and cannibal.
"Love Machine," NY Press
An essay about watching my ex-boyfriend have sex with a robot.
"Dating a Dreamboat," Women's Health magazine
A review on dating a male model.
"Bedroom Briefing," Stuff magazine
A recurring Q&A sex advice column.
"Fear of Clothing in Las Vegas," Stuff magazine
An interview with cover girl Nikki Cox
"TONYPD," Time Out New York
A recurring column, in which I dress like a cop and issue tickets to people for various misbehaviors.
"Soul Mates," Penthouse magazine
A regular sex column in Penthouse. In this installment: foot fetishes.
"Pop Vulture," Shock magazine
A parody of weekly celebrity tabloids.
"XXX-posure," Stuff magazine
A first-person narrative on becoming an extra in a porn movie.
"Hot Seat: Richard Simmons," Time Out New York
A Q&A interview with Richard Simmons.
"Why Karma is a Bitch," McSweeneys.net
A McSweeney's list in which I defend the Buddhist doctrine's cattiness.
At Pig Butchery 101, we also learned how to make a ham. The recipe is as follows:
Ingredients:
1 pig ass
1 baseball bat
Seasoning
Directions:
Beat ass with bat until tender. Season and let sit for 20-27 days, and then hang in cool, drafty area of your apartment for 16 weeks. If anyone asks why you have a bloody pig stump hanging from your ceiling, just tell them it’s art noir.
Adam and I went to the Brooklyn Kitchen’s Pig Butchery 101 class tonight. The first step was easy: crack open a beer.
My friend Phil is getting married, and in celebration of his impending bethrothal, the lovely Rebecca started a blog to display our favorite Phil moments. This one is mine. Christa, Phil’s soon-to-be missus, is one lucky lady.
This video is part of a series of stupid videos Phil and I took in one night, after going to Crazy Legs’ birthday party and then spending half the night on subway platforms because we got on the wrong train. It just goes to show that you can have fun anywhere with this guy. Someone should send him to Darfur to test this theory. —Laura
Please welcome the newest members of the Leu family, Noelle and Holly, two tree frogs I found inside my dad and stepmom’s house when I was home for the holidays. (Occasionally, frogs will stow away on outdoor plants that are brought inside at the end of the summer.) I found Noelle sitting under the Christmas tree, and Holly was hiding out in a Poinsettia plant. I believe that classifies them as members of the Amphibia-Yuletidea family, but I’m no scientist. Anyway, before my dad could shoo them outside where they would likely become froggy popsicles, I snatched them up and smuggled them back to NYC with me. I’ll try not to become one of those annoying mommies who’s constantly showing off the cutest thing that her children did, but Noelle eating a cricket? So flippin’ cute.
I’m definitely gonna have to hit up that Sex in the City tour.
I’m reading Plan Bee: Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About the Hardest-Working Creatures on the Planet, and I just got to the sexy part:
A virgin queen does all her mating within just a few days during her lifetime, and she hooks up with about a dozen drones in all … A drone attempting to mate with the queen uses his first four legs to grab her back, and then he quickly latches on to her with his last set of legs. In order to expose his reproductive parts, he literally turns his end of his abdomen inside out, and shoves his penis into the queen’s open sting chamber. It doesn’t take long before a tiny explosion takes place, and it’s forceful and loud enough for one to actually hear it. The drone shoots his sperm into the queen, after which time his genitals snap off and stay with the now-mated matriarch. The drone falls to his death, and the queen continues to mate with more drones.
To the huge stack of Verizon phone books in the hallway of my apartment building:
“You’re irrelevant” —The Internet
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” — The Environment
Pancake Puffs should be called Pancake Pffffts, since this was the deflated result of my first attempt with the as-seen-on-TV product. I would also like to reword their tag line “Just pour, flip and fill” to “Just pour, ‘flip,’ get batter everywhere, swear, flip, fill with the tiny bit of filling you can fit in such a small deformed nugget, and wish you had gotten the Perfect Pancake instead.”
This is the entire “fresh fish” section at a grocery store in Wisconsin: Lutefisk, Herring, de-shelled oysters, and imitation crab meat. Mercury poisoning will not be a concern while I’m here.
The Night Before Santacon
By Laura Leu
Twas the night before Santacon, when all through Gotham,
People were buying Christmas costumes, even Jews and Muslims.
The Santa suits were hung on their hangers with care,
In hopes they’d attract slutty elves and reindeer.
The friends were nestled, all snug in their beds,
While visions of tequila shots danced in their heads.
And oatmeal in the crockpot, and eggs in the fridge,
I laid down my head to sleep just a smidge.
When near my head, there arose such a beeping,
I hit the snooze button, I wasn’t done sleeping.
At the second alarm, I flew up like a flash,
To preheat the oven for the breakfast hotdish.
The sun shone through the windows, its rays in my kitchen,
It was barely dawn and things were about to get bitchin’!
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But my group of friends, in their red suits and beards!
With a thirst in their eyes and flasks in-hand,
I knew in a moment we’d be drunk by 11 A.M.
After breakfast and bloody marys, the first bar stop we came,
And we whistled and shouted and called them by name.
“Now, Jim Beam! Now, Grey Goose! Now, Dewars and Cuervo!
On, Coors Light! On, Miller! On Blue Moon and Michelob!
To the tip of our lips! To the bottom of our liver!
Now down the hatch! Down the hatch! Down the hatch quicker!”
And just as we were all getting our groove,
A jolly ol’ fellow said, “Santa’s on the move!”
And we moved and moved and did it all over again,
By mid-afternoon, we were all three sheets to the wind.
We sprang to the subway, stumbled onto the train,
Some championed on, others went home in pain.
And as we rode out of sight, Santa exclaimed with a warning,
“Happy Santacon to all, rehydrate for a hangover-free morning!”
