Scenic Deviatory Mus, Muris

And since there's no one else around,
we let our hair grow long
and forget all we used to know,
then our skin gets thicker
from living out in the snow


The Main Building of Glasgow University from beyond the River Kelvin



The bell tower of the Main Building



The Cloisters leading to the Eastern Quadrangle



My oak tree



Evening over Great Western and Byres Road in Kirklee



3.30PM, Oran Mor



Raise your autumn arms to the heavens



Bridge over the River Kelvin (Botanic Gardens)



Westward on the River Kelvin (Botanic Gardens, my surrogate backyard)



Sleeping tree



Riverside couple



Rearview of a stroller passed by

On Airlane Infrarction of the Arctic Emotion

It's an odd moment to realise. The process of constructing enough lies in an attempt to save another is always going to hurt yourself, but somehow I have developed such a personality that I don't mind the damage. A result of years of beatings and thrashings finally to numbness. I think this is how the clarity has come to settle. Having edged away from the last bit of flogging, I've finally cleared through the echoes and dust and managed to carve out a spot for myself. People often say that you cannot recreate yourself or life, and maybe I'm a little farther behind on such things, but still here I am, a different person to 20 different people, new stories and ways of speaking. I'm almost proud of the amount of creativity involved, the deftness at which I can easily just ghost and give up one shell for the next. I've woven a million times these robes and masks, and they are becoming more and more complex. A menagerie nearly enough but without the cages. I have my own space where I alone exist and then the areas where all the costumes take their chance at the stage.
I think that not merging groups of friends was wisest, just streaming between them as I was always forced to do. I'm glad to have had this small touch of experience for the moment, now that I notice exactly what it is I've become, what I am yet to be. Very interesting to know that I was never very far off.

---

Enough of this, I shan't be sentimental because people expect me to feel guilty for my lack of emotional involvement. This especially holds true when I have merely 30 some odd hours til departure to the states. Well, that and I just saw an amazing concert headlined by Franz Ferdinand. Sure, they're spectacular and even gave away free singles on vinyl, but the highlight for me was the Ramonesish openers Kaiser Chiefs. Pure brilliance in terms of indie rock with an infusion of old school punk. I was blown away, literally, but that could have been the 5 beers and a ew cloves that I relished as my last thrill prior to returning to the hell that is America.
Unfortunately this entails a great deal of stress, not only on the home front, but also on the airline vs. my ego front. I don't much like being thought a terrorist, and I sure as hell would like an id card saying I'm not so that I could avoid getting the security wand up my freshly molested naughty bits. Alas, I also must endure a cumulative 12 hours of flight time in crap-class seating, ie. a small saet not wide enough for my shoulders and without the leg room I so desperately need. That and there's always the first-time flyer that can't shut up for the duration of the shite movie. Go figure.
But as always I shall plod on and wake up early tomorrow in order to do laundry and prepare for my last huzzah at the movies with the few "aquaintances" I have here. Another sodding day in which I am forced to feel completely crap and yet don't. Odd.
Cheers.

Kamikaze Typhoon Bettys

Mother, sweet mother,
Please don't discipline your hands.
Just kiss me in the morning,
In your dirtiest pants.

I've beens staring at printed notes of sheep gestation and feed and slaughter weights for more hours then is humanly normal or humane. Death, death to the man that subjugated our ovine brethren. Disgustipated suddenly is playing in my head, go figure. I can hear the screams of the carrots as well, but they're just a bunch of wussy (wimp + pussy) whiners. Go eat some cheese you douches. Speaking of douches, interesting piece of advice. When talking to people not from the U.S. refrain from referring to any person as a douche/douchebag, especially while mercilessly pummeling your liver with toxins (for all you no-brainers, that means drinking). The problem isn't that they don't understand the term douche/douchebag, more the way in which a person is like a douche/douchebag. I think it's just another one of the problems with the english language and slang of any sort. I watched a poor guy and his girlfriend try and explain the usage of douche to a kid from Germany who for the life of himself just couldnt grasp it. He seemed to think that the guy being referred to gave douches to other people, but he couldnt figure out if he sold them or performed them. Oi, the problems. I watched for about 30 minutes and lost interest when Kat came by to bother me at my bartending position. Note to all people throwing parties: never work the bar, or don't have me working the bar, I tend to horde beer for myself and become anal retentive about keeping the beer in a nice pattern and the table clean. I'm such a nerd, luckily certain Greek chicas dig this sort of thing.
I said it once before, and I'll say it again for good measure. I'm completely hot stuff, just not in America or to American women (this is why Guess Who are such badasses). Had I been told about this minor snafu earlier in life, I woulda totally been out of the country sooner. It just makes sense. But in the meantime, my name is Jonas, I'm carrying the wheel. And this has been a look into my ever-altering physical state.

Charactre Agenda From Lanark to Glasgow

And if it was just how you wanted
You'd be glued to his bones and his brainstem
And changing your image and attitudes

I sometimes miss Burgess Meredith up on the screen
leaning as he did with wry-ity
Just like jungle gyms and quarters spinning
he had that simple silver grin
like blank black photos we all thought never developed
People forget
People go on
The Sauchiehall hell we created is no different
much like a cat with no fangs and flat teeth
it makes much more sense through a window and rain
staring at the frames and finding the subtle touches
left of ourselves

---

It strikes me as odd how often things are completely different between one person and the next, just the way they see a color or feel a touch of wind. Is this, then, what lends itself to the charactre of a person, to their very nature of existence, because it seems more often that they never realise their perspective is so very individualised, complexed and complicated by the infinite myriad of circumstances and positions of everything else. Chaos to order, my dear, as always is the way with thought.

Nine Lives and the Power of Kats

Days don't end
Skins crawlin'
Pure mornin'

I feel a bit like a post-rock song these days, tied up in infinite depth, hoary, exasperated, completely third person disconnected looking down and away and yet all too fervently venting, emotional, thrashing at life and all there is. Mmm, post-rock. Silly me. Silly broken nose of mine (which by the way still feels funky 3 days after the fact... no more tickle fights methinks).
I feel I'm missing something that I know I had before. A piece of myself that I never remembered losing or discarding, but then again, nine lives is a long time to live and die within, a grave at the end and homes in between and all that jargon of long ago thought. I suppose I am admitting that despite my overall clarity and tranquility, if you will, I am at a loss for once, unsure, unstable, but undeniably enjoying the adventure. I think after all the adaptation and stretching of ideas over the past years I filled in all the crevices that housed every other emotion besides anger, because, of course, anger has no rational root and is never subdued by rationality. I'm just a bit of a dense cloud of sand and fog at the moment realising that maybe what I'm after is only inhibited by myself and not all the extrinsic forces I blame normally (it makes life a lot easier when you can simply point and say, "nyeh nyeh, its all their fault," much like the little kid you are at heart).
At the same time I feel numbed, I also have a sense of something waking up, maybe the very numbness, like pin needles in a wrist is subsiding, or it could be something far worse. I can't really conjecture or care to when all-in-all I'm not that concerned with the entire situation. Let that be a lesson, one day at a time without thought or worry can often lead to the best run ship, ie life. I'm really just an insensitive bastard and and ass, and most of all, just really feckin lazy.
It's fun, it's good, it puts me to sleep at night. I tend to wonder if what makes life so difficult is this emotional labeling, this identifying and leading ourselves down into a further caustic trembling, all the while I can hear Christmas Steps just trancing off oblivious and yet oddly passioned for something it doesn't seem to be a part of. We should all be post-rock, negligent to ourselves, subserviant to others, but then again, I've been away for a long while, traveled some perilous ways and places, and what is left may not be myself or anything remotely like it. Just a remote part of an idea I had as a child buttressed by the personalities of everyone I encountered along the way. But as long as there's a warm bed to go home to.

Close Encounter of the Greek Nature

I believe in a thing called love
Just listen to the rhythm of my heart
There's a chance we could make it now
We'll be rocking 'til the sun goes down
I believe in a thing called love
Ooh! Guitar!

Mmm, The Darkness. Soo, tasty. So yeah, I've typed about Greek food in Scotland, but I think I left out the hottie Greek women, or woman. But I'm just gonna keep leavin her out cos she's too damn cute for this hole of a webpage. At anyrate, I've been picking up itsy bits of the language whilst being laughed at by Akaterina. You'll have that. I'm an American, I suck as a person, but I'm weird. This makes me sexy, despite all my ill looking physical disparities. So SUCK IT AMERICA!!!!
Well there's my normal rant of superiority. If you haven't been keeping up on Foamy or Strongbad, I suggest you jump on the ball and get with the program before all the coolness is sucked out into the cosmos from within your tiny pecker or midden twat. And by this point you're once more saying that this rant is in no way, shape, or form anywhere near entertaining. Well, nay, I say to you, NAY and then a hearty mooo. I realise that the past, say 20 million, entries have been far below my standard of nonsense and hooplah, and not to mention the distinct lack of ricketa racketa. But, I'm sick, only for the past few days I'll grant you, but nonetheless, I've been sick in the head most if not all of my life. So, I am justified in my suckiness of craptacularity. Seeing as I no longer have a loyal reader fanbase-- ie. you all come once and never again, just like all the one night stands with your mom --you're totally missing the point. The point of this was just to express my opinion from moment to moment and without giving two shits, let alone one, about whichever way you lean on these issues of pointless, tactless, idiocy.
So I'm gonna go dunk my head in bleach and hopefully kill the majority of bacteria and virus capsids swimming around in my brain without damaging too much of my cerebral cortex. With any luck I'll be back up to rockin' out status, maybe even with my cock out, just in time for the A Silver Mount Zion concert at Oran Mor (my new fav all-time greatest venue). Sons and Daughters rocked it up and out there jsut about a week ago, and lemme tell you, the raw vocals totally owned the studio versions, not to say its all shite, far from it. But you have to respect the completely pure nature of live and shite soundboard vocals and instrument. I think it didna hurt that I was right at the stage feeling the guitarists boots slamming out the beat as he fixed everyone with a frigid fecking glare. Metal thrashing with booming bass and slamming drums. So it wis but a good show. One of many from which I'll take a way a button and maybe even a quality tshirt.
\m/ (><) \m/ Rock, Rock Hard, Rock for Life...

Samo Hung a Head on the Alley

Rebels are we, though heavy our hearts shall always be
Ah, no ball or chain no prison shall keep
We`re the rebels of the sacred heart
I said no ball or chain no prison shall keep
We`re the rebels of the sacred heart

So I wish that my shower faucet would end its tireless demonic posession and let me enjoy a nice hot shower instead of alternating between freezing fucking cold and completely skin peeling, bacteria obliterating hot. I take it by it's current, sudden spew of water from the shut-off nozzle that it knows I'm thinking ill thoughts. Rot in hell you craptacular piece of plumbing. I'll plumb you. Plumb you reeaaal good-like.
Simplicty is the order of things, not like the order of things really changes. Surely it seems to, with people coming and going and objects traversing the sky and stars, policies made and broken, friends forgotten, etc, etc, etc. I must remark how little it changes. It seems complicated, the whole lot of it, yes, but it isn't. We just can't resist the layering of the actions, one atop the other, that make it so, we expect to see such fantastic complexity that we will never fail to see it. There are desires, but they are merely desires, there are dreams, but they are but dreams. Life is life, it is unexplicable and delightful, and sodding hard without any doubt, but it is life. I've congradulated myself in this realisation, because it has been a long way to have come this far, a great exploration in idea and belief and abolishment of all restrictions. Brilliant really, because all along there is just life. Quiet and innervating, shy and firm. I am diluted, perhaps, well, more likely than not, simply am, without the perhaps, sans the corollaries. But at this point I fail to see where I should begin to be concerned.
I am restless in a new fashion. When I am truely tired I sleep and I sleep well, dreaming in black and white, vivid yellows even at times, all traversing and settlig. When I am restless I am unwearied and startlingly clear of purpose at any moment. Very unlike the insomnia, I almost welcome it, this trace of energy transducing to thought that recently just flows without hitch, weightless and streamed.
A pint of Hoegaarden and a window over the city of Glasgow was all I needed and had the other night. I was burning to do nothing but sit and listen. No clutter of thought, no digestion of motive or action. I looked out over the quiet campus in the wee hours of the morning through the lit glass of sleeping buildings and found it absolutely the most beautiful thing. So much like a toddler gently and slowly curling into slumber. So tumultuous, violently erupting into fits of tremors and howls, just then so absolutely silent and fading from the world, ignorant of every pain and parting that had and would occur. I could never do justice in human language all the things I see, or at least the way in which I have witnessed them. But I will sleep all the easier for their occurence, for their existence in these late evenings. Mush it all seems in retrospect but I have such clarity these past few days that I feel your foul opinions of my banter are just quite irrelevant.

Life Carries on in the People I Meet

The universe is shaped exactly like the earth
If you go straight long enough youll end up where you were

Moments of clarity, utter uncongestion of thoughts and mere emptying of all emotional channels. This weeks theme it seems, so clear and definite, a final sort of cathartic release that I still don't quite understand. Point A suddenly traveled directly to Go and missed all the rest of the universe. I could recall for the first time in some years all the facts about anything just effortlessly, so nietzchean, so pure. I almost fell over at the opportunities it presented, but I was completely too enthralled in it to realise all the potential of the moment. Only days before I had a shorter moment of such that I suddenly in class just stood up and decided defiantly that I would got to Tibet and Nepal. No real reason other than that which propels me seemed to call it so strongly and I for once was clear of consciousness enough to hear it. That is what I think I am to seek, the final absence, a sort of cleansing, a swift breeze to shuffle the litter out and allow me to hear it all for once, see exactly what lies before me.
Not to competely detract from the humour that once was in these spots, but I am coming into my time of year, it is winter after all. And recently I have reminisced less and less, deleting all the memories that seemed foreign and extraneous this time around. The useless is useless, no? or if nothing else merely needless for the moment while I have the distance to examine it. One more week til I'm at home again, back with my feline cousins and playing as I used to. So simplistic those two are, so oblivious to all the hardships and happy as well. But then again, I am too, or at least closer to it. Very satisying in that post-coital way. Like a clove and Stella in my hand with a bit of sweat on brow, I am a man hard-worked and underappreciated, but it matters little with a true sense of home at heart.
I'm still a step ahead of you, like an evening shadow as you walk east. I'll be out of your way soon enough, just as sure as the sun will set on me, it will set on you as well. But then again, I was always partial to the twilight and afterglow.

With Walnuts? With Walnuts?!!

Look at slow motion asleep at the door
Next to destruction, reach for the source
Get up, get up, get over, take me to your blackened sky

There's not enough fairy dust in the world for you to fly now. You're too much Dustin Hoffman and not enough Andrews as a boy. Yeah you may jump on beds but I doubt you could ever knit a dinner from thin air, now could you, tiny one. But maybe yet you can sew a shadow onto your face at night and make it all so very not Rufio. No more swords or words of hurrah, it seems, all ordinary and paisley-tied in tongue and cheek. Cat may be at play or a frog about to jump, but what can you do about it all as you fall faster asleep. It's all a lovely tra-la-la without the Pan, just a whistle in the distant hung aviary blue traveling along a thin wired wheel to a never seen land of ne'er do wells and thieves of soul.
So you simply see there's no way for you to quite get the jist. Straight lines are too few and far between in mind for you to tread lightly and blindly, blonde. Pick up the penguins and the moose, a few elk, and a whole score of ambiguity in boxes of overweight truth. You can't capture Marx or Monty but you can surely gleen that life is more than the obvious and extraordinary when there is absurdity in the pilot seat and hysterical glibness along for the ride.

Indiscreet Ingrids

We peered through the windows
New bottoms on barstools
But the people remain the same with prices inflating, inflating
As if saved from the gallows
There's a bellow of buzzers
And the people stop working and they're all so excited, excited.

I came across the realisation in cinematic mirror shards that as long as Bergman is beautiful and London is the scene for intrigue, I will always want to be Cary Grant.

---

So, I edited the post, sue me, I do it all the time you just never notice.
I realised that with all the things I've seen and done, with all that my still unaged eyes see, I seem to take the awe-striking moments for granted, and only later do I appreciate them in my memory, replaying every second. So here's what you are going to do. Come to Scotland. Fuck the cold weather, fuck the rain, fuck the sodding food and everything else. Come. Go to the highlands, or even the midlands, just to see the sun rise and set. It cannot be paralleled. Come, visit, stop being arses, and I'll stop editing posts when I get bored.

If One Were to Coagulate the Viscera

Anyone perfect must be lying,
Anything easy has its cost.
Anyone plain can be lovely,
Anyone loved can be lost

I'm all vaclempt, yet strangely not Yiddish, hmm, how odd. And another thing, my fingers are cold, so I may have some typing issues, don't laugh you jackhole in cunt, I kick you for it.
Just ritz bits and corduroy snaps
like goldfish and whale bone sails
nonsense
complete and utter nonsense, no?
eight year olds and portrait memories, nevermind the sturdy wooden legs.
At any rate, I wis quite excited about the whole thing of my final box arriving, but it was doomish, oh so doomed in doomishness. It came, opened and resealed, and most importantly missing some things that I's like back. So I appeal to you almighty internet, return to me my pen needles and tattoo art, most assuredly long lost already. Blah, Glasgow still shimmers, though, brightly these days as the sun sets now at 4 and rises around 8. It's really brilliant in fact, seeing as I am as always a bit of a shadow myself, what with the creepy looks and whatnot that I'm purported to have about me when I where a baseball cap. Nonetheless, maybe I'll seem more preppy once I own a GUVMA rugby jersey and get all muscle-y and calloused after hits and tackles and scrapes and cleatings.
I have to endeavor to pull my act together and resist the temptation to go and sit for hours on end after class tomorrow afternoon. I am a man on a mission, a mission to City Centre to retrieve several tickets for Flogging Molly in Edinburgh. It will most assuredly rock my nuts off hardcore. I wouldn't be surprised if I came back with a urinary problem. But then again, it may just end up being the clap or something. Traveling does so have this effect on me, the few instances of excitement and anticipation. Again to push on east over the hills to the coast once more and find ocean and sky tangled up and rolling again like some lovers quarrel gone awry. Hmm, poetry in motion perhaps much like Kerouac or Murakami. At any rate, I have an anatomy exam with my name on it which means I apparently need to accept responsibility. Fuck that, I'm gonna go do something non-productive. It wis the sole option in the whole bloody affair, hyah. Cheers at any rate, and watch out for your wee cotton socks, lass.

Saganaki Dreams

Here we are
Foreign to their world
Straight and composed
Your sermons I can do without
And I finally found that everybody loves to love you
When you're far away

So what, you may ask, is an average Friday night like in my city of warm weather eternal? Well, for one, it's toasty in so many ways, for another, well... I couldn't tell you seeing as I spend the majority off my tits in drunken debauchery with the multiple hotties that follow my every move. I have a sweet ass, I can't help it!
Apparently today, Saturday, was some holiday called Guy Fox day. It's like the fourth of July in the states, except their reason for setting off fireworks while freezing their tits off isn't as well grounded per se. Apparently, way back in the day, some random guy, let's just call him Guy, decided to try and burn the Brit's parliament to the ground. Possibly it was a good idea, maybe it was just plain assinine, I can't say cos honestly I couldn't really bring myself to entertain any sort of interest in the subject. At any rate, he, like all Scots, failed miserably much to the joy of the Brit wankers. So every November apparently, the Scots celebrate this grand failure of an event by setting off fireworks and drinking until they vomit profusely. Now maybe this strikes you as it does me, completely normal. But it is the only occasion that I know of that the Irish don't take part in but the Brits celebrate, only because they're so happy to have their fugly yellow building intact, go figure.
I personlly celebrated by going out to eat at a decent greek restaurant, still somewhat tainted by the British idea that everything different can be homogenized, such that the mousaka had a light tomato sauce over it... yeah, cos its oooooooh so normal. Nonetheless it was cheap and filling when coupled with a nice Pinot Grigio and a glass of port with chocolate gelato. I'm a lush I realize, but it's all in an attempt to prevent my expounding upon my new found hatred of all the "friends" (aka "aquaintances") I left in the states save one.
For now I shall wish you a wonderful Guy Fox day, go burn down some government buildings, blame it on me, I'm good at pissing those G-men off anyhow.
Cheers.

Squiggly Squiggly Trochlear Foramen

We can share the popcorn
And go to the pub at night
We can get right tanked up
And go home and have a fight

The mind is a funny place, not funny ha-ha, or even funy ha-HA, more funny you need to shut your face you daft little bastard you. Ok, maybe not even that. It's just funny, peculiar even, maybe even funny-peculiar, like your mom (speaking of which I've brought and introduced that phrase here in Glasgow, so far that land seems infertile much like your little sister). I think partly I'm intrigud because I have overall a great deal of control that is exercised over my thinking process, conscious imagination. There was 20 minutes of clear unconscious silence, no thought, just a sort of ruminant drifting nonsense. Patrick. Or was it Partick. Movies infusing with brain and cephalic vein with the lymh shuttling in. This is stream in winter, solid but mobile and completely fertile to the ideas of wine-o's and rum. Fucking incense and cigarette veins like coffee ice cream it's not the same as clove smell smooth and a bathroom mirror underlying the infraspinatus muscle. Fucking. I can remember a twelve second interval of coracoid process definition where the beginning was fuzzy but all resolved. Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind, each prayer offered off cue and against a god's will just for the sake of Alexander Pope. Stealing panties would have been a riot during the whole chinese experience no? No. Just couch diving and a Christmas card that seemed all too better than the last thing I could remember with tears attached. Panties itself is just a funny word, a bit inbetween forgetful misuse, a word for men but never a woman I've known, but have I known anyone or myself. All signs say yes in other people, acquaintance passive acceptance with scribbly scribbly scribbly squiggly words.
Yes it's true that the dining dead themselves see the plageristic misnomers in the cigarette burns and the obvious lack of humour in this entry. The last I admit was an inspired email, and it was a quick fix between my toes for heroin addicts and a snuff or two just for good measure. Am I ugly ot tangerine, or just an off chartreuse? Damn cinematic gaps filling with wedges. Aaaaaanyeay. Perhaps the best way for all of you to handle the situation is to just ignore me. Or have some fun and dream like I do.
It's pitch black at 6 o'clock now. Seduction is a bitch when it pulls on the left string, just a bit of a peal and a tintinabulatory Poe poem.

Hamate Processed Pagodas

You're awake and trying not to be
Wrapped around your pillow like a prawn
And the nighttime's wrapped around you
Will be until it drops you on the dawn
From the C train to the shiny tower
Kicked around til happy hour found you
Where you can drink that smirk right off your face

Finally my CDs arrived. Actually they came Monday, exactly 6 weeks after I took them to the Post Office. Thus I spent the last two days literally hunched over them listening feverishly. Of course the first disc out of the case was Astral Weeks because it doesn't get better than that, lemme tell ya. It was orgasmic, in fact, if I had a girlfriend right now, I would totally kick her to the curb. That's right, this shite is the dog's bollocks. I was off my tits for 48 hours because of this bloody pile of plastic, but then I had to attend class and visit my cow and fuzzy sheeo friends at the farm.
Alas, I feel I am justified in short-changing you in terms of my prosaic prescence because who really has taken the time to be present, seriously now. So I am off to buy liquor and sweets for the bday bash on Saturday. Rum soaked jelly babies are the sweet du jour, should be fuckin great lest that damn JAPpy midden got involved in the planning. Bollocks to her. Stuart Murdoch frequents my Safeway, too, thats swank if you didn't know.

OH.. don't go just yet.

CONGRATULATIONS IP 199.18.113.94, you and you alone have made it to like the bazillionth hit on my little thingy-ma-doo-thingy here. So go get yourself some cheesy popcorn.

Gothic Carolina Drawl

I have dreamed of a black car that shimmers and drives
Down the length of the evening to the carnival side
In a house where regret is a carousel ride
We are spinning and spinning and spinning and now

It's been brilliant weather here of late, cool and rainy mist in the morning drenching from the heavens opening up into a slate gray-blue ceiling lined with purple saffron and intense orange, almost magma-like as the sun crests spilling outward onto the hills at Loch Lohmond to the west. It happens like this every morning just in time for me to approach the corner of Byres Road past the Botanic Garden, the scent of spring evolving into autumn wandering into the intersection and mixing with the gasoline and oil and pavement of passing cars as they splatter rain water up and onto the cement sidewalks and ornate rod iron fencing guarding the garden entrance. Each and every day I stand there and see the sun slant through the steeple windows of an old gothic church now renovated and filled with a few pubs and dinner theatres, igniting a hallowed part of the world boiling over with magic unlike any other. It's absolutely peaceful amidst the heavy morning traffic with cold air whipping up the back of my coat shivering my spine and hairs along my neck as I hear the music of the city tapping against my feet, a gentle thud of tribal throngs. The land itself exudes something long sapped out from the ground stateside. It's no wonder people seem to seem so unarrogant yet proud when pride itself is in the soil, it gave birth to everything here in a quiet majesty, an indistinct regality that was never reserved for the blue blood alone. A nation of warriors indeed, silently carrying themselves as kings without thrones, a nation of equality amongst the inebriated, dark princes and even darker dames. It's the charm of a sweet drawn out drawl from the foothills of the Smokies, southern drawl slow and sultry, but underneath the hallow feeling of a sacred pulse throbbing in lofty sandstone heights, light ad air yet deep and trembling. Mother's hum as it were. Somewhere a the sheek cat is purring to the slow scratching of the silk soft fur of cheeks and chin. Mother's hum as it were.
The evening too shows golden on the loch stretching its thin legs over the colouring orchard aside my window clad in red and umber orange-brown yellow pluming up from the green undulations extending from the red brick face of old stone side buildings. Waning into the moonlight the night sweeps silver and illuminating pavement in molten sodium light feeding the nightlife of the unlevel youth craving infusions of abandonment. It's a crushing weight of a fifteen tog duvet with white shades of breathy exasperation rolling outward in the same singular silence, an acceptance of all the circumstances of difficulty in return for a separate peace.

Portrait of the Quim Raw and Abusive

I'm black and blue from the wind and the rain
Said I'm sorry for the lies and the pain
I never ever meant to make you cry
If I could take it back you know I would
I wanna burn up and die

Yeah, this is most likely going to manifest itself in a good il' fashioned vagina bashing, and no not the ones Pat Sajak surely enjoys behind the cameras. I just finished watching The Shape of Things and let me say that it only made me realize on this lovely hallmark holiday that you women suck sooo much. I could site numerous examples, including the trips to the hospital I've made to retrieve dunks from the ER when their so-called "friends" don't show up, but insead I'll just stick with the facts that are easily found. A.) All of you under the age of 30 tend to think that Mr. Perfect is in every way perfect disregarding the whole skew on the idea of perfection. Let's tackle this one from biblical standards. God (if you can call him that, because he's not, I am, but not him, different story/neurosis, don't like it, well just go on and die cos it's all just a fucked up nightmare anyway) created every wretched little sod in his image, no? Soooo, everyone just assumes that means that they're somehow less than him in some aspect because we all know your heads would fucking explode into piles of dog poo if you even began to accept the idea that good and evil and all the other qualitations you place on shite are just one big grat blob. They don't exist. Perfection included. Perhaps, and maybe you'll heads wil explode on this one, perhaps, you'tr made in a so-called god's image in that you are less than perfect and thus in your terms more perfect, ie. this god is completely imperfect by your standards and thus he is perfect in such a way. Sooooo, a Mr. Perfect will have problems and lots of them, but lets not forget, he'll obviously fancy you til youre old, gray, and sagging no regrets. B.) Under the age of 30 you're the least loyal creatures alive. Men who may call you dogs are obviously commenting you at this point because nowhere in your blood is an ounce of loyalty. I'm not in any way suggesting that men at certain ages are any better but I know many more of them that are tried and true to their friends and who more easily love and devote without question or waiver than you poor cunts. And 3.) you're by far the worst jufge of character yet the best manipulators. What's worse is you realize this and do not in any way shy from exercising these inborn abilities to better yourselves financially and such. Sure go ahead, take advantage of the generous nature of some men, but never show them an ounce of kindness. Sure you may not have asked for such things, but that's the point, they're providing your bit of midden arse with something you may need because it's nice and kind and decent. Normal people would repay them in kindness and loyalty and, ahem, friendship. Somewhere along the line I think you all missed that memo and seem to think that such kindness deserves only to be repaed with wrath and ill temperament.
So let this be one of my possible PSA's, men may be easily amused by women and their bodies, but it's in our sexual nature. Don't think that we are merely stupid because we have to follow to an extent this dictated behavior. Nor should you all assume that we are approaching you for a fondle or a fiddle at every moment. The great majority of good men are indeed the quieter ones, much more happily amused by your simple company and conversation than by the jiggle of your bosom. Men of lower form are the type to always approach with cunning and smart lines, and they give us all a reputation to tear down.
In short, watch the movie if you can find it in the states, and then just bash yourself over the head because you probably deserve it. I know at least one of you personally who does but is quite out of reach at the moment.

Polyoestrus Colloquialisms

Tuesday it's raining and I'm pulling on my shoes
I guess I quit believing in the early morning news
A boy orders coffee and he settles down to think
How the women that you love sometimes
Are the water that you drink

If you have ever wondered about Glasgow at night, its simply velvet wandering amdist dulcet tones, even in Goven, the rougher area along Clyde. The Blue Nile is extrmemly accurate in its sonic portrayal of such, just the quiet footsteps of amn against pavement and the sleek words of man against himself. It's a place of music unbeknownst to everyone, except for me of course because I am, simply stated, the awesomest. I've lost my Canuck accent apparently, and its slowly becoming a bit more rambunctious and fiesty. However, I seem to lose it everytime I speak with the Americans, which is quite unfortunately really.
It was quite brilliant the other night when I stumbled along Ashton Lane and found Brel. Now we all know what this place is, so why should I bother explaining it to you sods again. Because it's fun, dur! The pub is a Belgian bar. Namely they serve only Belgian beers and wines, ie Hooegarden, several different varieties at that. Oh its tasty, but I still enjoy the more quiet attitude that surounds Bonham's or the Lock during the weekdays when I can get a pint of Bellhaven for two quid. Oh the things I have time for, you wouldn't believe. Which brings me to my next topic, sheep make the best lovers... just kidding, only the females do. But no, I have a further point. Wait, shite, do I? Yes I DO!
I've entered my second full week of classes. Yeah, that's right, while you poor sods are gettin a click from mid terms I'm busy sitting on my ass not doing a damn thing for my grad classes. Shall we discuss why? Well, I'll give you a hint, everyone except for 20 or so people are under 18. In short, I'm the youngest of the oldest in all my classes, and there are only 4 other 22 year olds, about 16 or so people 24 and older (33 being the oldest and bitchiest) and then 80 some odd little teeny toiny boppers with beaver pelts and floofy skirts for normal garb. Ai, it's rough having to go to classes where I listen to professors go on about material I had in high school and 100 or 200 level courses. But tis what tis, and all that rot. I get along fairly well with my new fangled A4 paper and binder. They only have two-hole punches, and it's eating away at me that there is one less hole for me to insert things into. Sickos. I know what you wis thinking, i ought to give you a slap, but I'm lazy.
I realize that this wis not exactly the humour you were lookin for, but I haven't really come across the best of stories as of yet. Though there is the whole doppelganger phenomenon, meaning I am slowly replacing you all with people here, because suprisingly my mind can only create a limited number of facial configurations (I estimated it to be into the thousands, but permutated it could add up to something like at least 2 million, ballpark). I should just say bollocks to the lot of it and find better rubbish for villainy since it is a desire I will eventually need to explore a little further than I already have. That reminds me... I had a very disturbing dream. Not the type that you would sit and say, "that is complete and utter shite, radge wee midden fucking haunting my dreams, you got bollocks" sort of shite. Well, it is, but not really to the point I would refer to anyone in a dream as psycho. Makes a man wonder what exactly he came upon in his sleep, whether it was a manifestation of subconscious or an exploration of another's psyche, unintentional perhaps, but thorough. I awoke wondering if my conscience finally had a bit of the pagan kicked out of it, I felt moral for a moment, proper fucked in the same instant. I shook it off and moved on with the day, but it still is a bit of rubbish. Being demon spawn just isn't as easy as it looks in the movies, lemme tell ya. So for now all ya radge wee middens and proper cunt gents, cheers.

The Man of La-Munchy

Get me high, you blow my mind
You make my mundane life all worth while
You give me reason, give me rhyme
Do anything for you just, give me a sign
Movie star, dunno where you are

Sod it. Yes it sounds mean, but it's my new favorite thing to say when I'm piss drunk in a pub. It's kind of funny that no matter where I go I manage to find people that greatly resemble people I left behind. I've met a rather large man, though only as young as me and with much more hair and a less crafted taste in alcohol and film, but still, the love of cloves can only point to that other person. And then there's the short blonde, true to her hair color when tipsy, she's got the same build, well nearly so, and the same sort of humor as another person. WEIRD. Just friggin disturbing. More so is the fact that the interplay is almost exactly as that I left behind. The same sort of verbal exchanges and random interjections, not to mention the more than explicit sexual inuendo. It's brilliant. I bought maybe 6 drinks on the night but somehow drank more than 10 myself... I dunno how it happened, I blame it on me buying rounds early on in the evening at around 5 when people first began arriving, and then everyone else buying later on in the evening, around 7, when I was hitting my stride of being completely knobbed. It's a great feeling to pass out at 10 and wake up at noon, and of course no one here thats local thinks a thing of you being totally inebriated because for the most part they are, too. The cabbies still make the quiet conversation, but this time you're more than able to understand on the first go and you make him feel at home because the accent comes out so fluidly much like the drool once youre curled up in bed toasty in the 40 degree room. Too bad that I will probably not enjoy such forays that much this coming term. Much to do most days of the week with classes beginning at 9 most days. And then xmas, well while being my favorite holy day, only because the gifts and snow (yes I'm shallow, get over yourself or just shut your sodding mouth), will be spent with family and then back here trying to lay the ground work for my lambing hours to be done come my spring break. That's right, I don't get to enjoy my month of freedom come march until next year, unless I get otherwise slagged as far as plans go. And finally there's the summer, much like the spring this summer is going to be mostly a thing of enjoyment on a farm. I hopefully will find a brilliant apartment and just stow the lot of shite there while I spend 10 more weeks aside from the 2 I spend lambing in the spring doing things to do with the smart pigs, and the dairy cattle, and something of some sort else. Hopefully this will let me enjoy my next 3 years after in hobnobbing and snogging with the local goddesses as opposed to chopping up the little bleaters and such rot. For those who are coming next year, perhaps a better plan is for one of my holidays when I can be more of a guide in the better ways to spend ones time.
As for my current form of entertainment seeing as I tend to get isolated by the whole "I don't know you so I'm not going to bothering contacting you" thing (though the few that I live with that do this are in no way people I'd enjoy a regular visit from per se, they, too, are similar to people I've known and long since lost contact with due to their egos becoming very similar to the metlife blimp), it tends to come from my preordained media center called my laptop and mostly takes the form of episodes of Invader Zim (great cartoon, brilliantly thought out) and a wonderful show called Coupling (better than Friends because the comedy is far superior). Trust me, watch Coupling at least once, preferably the later episodes like season 2 or 3, you'll get hooked and understand. They sell the DVD's for christsake, just go buy them ya prats. And although back in the states you bollock-driven cods are eating dinner, I here must abed, with of course my girlie girl, who's far better looking than all of you. Don't doubt it. You can never know the beauty my imagination can create. But oh, you will, when I rule the world! (Pinky & the Brain theme plays in the background)!!!!!!! <-- extra thingies for emphasis of super cool more betterness

A Little Wanker, Please

You say I'm blind
I think you're wrong
Harriet's got a song

It's really cool and all that American culture has become pervasive throughout many other continents, though at times it seems a rather ill planned ego massage to certain types and breeds a lot of hoity-toity and aloof types (yes I said hoity-toity get over yourself), but I have one question. Did the bad fashion have to come, too? I when did those stupid fuzzy running suits become cool, they weren't cool where I lived, and when did mens stupid fuzzy running suits become the thing to wear. I'll grant the women's some leeway, I mean I saw them but not at clubs like here and not in the numbers I see them. But guys, come on now, what happened to good ol jeans and a nice J Crew shirt. Fuzzy jumpsuits? Why? I mean the only people that really wore these type of things back in the states, well at least the only women, were the ones that just though they were funny and wore them around the house, or the more tragic ones thought themselves thuggish eye candy and wanted to ride on someone's g-unit. Yeah, um.... yeah. Well. Maybe, and this is the only room I'm granting them, just maybe, it's because they want to identify with their African-American heritage. Well, ok, fine. Wait, waaaaaaaaaaaaait. I have no real problem with anyone of AfAm descent (shortened cos I'm lazy, not disrespectful), but seriously, when was it ever cool to idolize people in prison or once in prison. Isn't that kind of non-progressive, if not regressive and completely idiotic. Sure, there was a great plight, but I'd to think people would rather idolize King (who by the way went to jail, I realize, but oh wait, it wasn't for killing someone, thats right, obviously he can't be idolized cos he didnt stick the man, rather he stuck it to the man). So, its a sensitive topic, but maybe just all of you, all of you, not jsut some being refered to as all, are a bunch of buttholes. And I'm a buthole, too. But so are you, so butthole butthole butthole butthole. Hehe, butthole. It becomes funny after saying like 20 times, HA, butthole. Well, alright buttholes, I'm gonna go be a butthole and where my boxers on my head and socks on my hands, cos I had a friend once who did that after he got out of prison.

Oops We Made a Mistake

So what if you catch me where would we land
In somebodys life for taking his hands
Sing to me hope as shes thrown on the sand
All of your worth is rated again

We came in search of intelligent life, oops, we made a mistake. I've thoroughly enjoyed my time here thus far. The older locals, seasoned and humorous as they are, are also very inviting, very warm. It makes my life a bit easier to be able to be afforded this sort of banter and environment, but it is only, unfortunately, isolated to cabs. Here by far the people have yet to lose the art of taxi small talk. I'm genuinely optimitstic about this fact. However, it seems that I may never escape the overwhelming amount of stupid/cliquey people that seem to be spawning. My first meeting, first meeting!, of the vet students and profs I end up with the pratish teeny bopper skanks from london sitting next to me complaining about being hungover on a Monday morning. Well, no shit, this is why you normally try to not imbibe that much the night before a meeting. Duh.
I'm even less hopeful considering an overwhelming number of the students in my program are fresh out of high school. That's right, 18 year olds. Yippee. Woo. See in the UK the veterinary program is considered a bachelors course, ie I'll graduate with what's known as a BVMS here, but in the US its known as a DVM. A DVM here is equivalent to a doctorate. Soooo that means I'm stuck with multiple banes of existance.
Things looked up when I attended matriculation and ran into five American vet students three of whom are living just upstairs. Pretty cool, though I'd prefer to meet more international types, I'd settle for these people for the time. I mean they are my age or a couple yeas older. But oh wait, they only hang out with each other, cos its too much to ask that on the way out they slam on the door. Meh, they're like the rest of the lot in the states, only worried where their next cocktail is coming from, never really up for having an adventure or playing cards.
So the curse lives on, unthwarted by change of pace and scenery. Too bad I'm not more patient because apparently by the time I turn 30, everyone will be more attuned to my way of life. But where does that leave me in 10 years exactly? Blah blah blah, life goes on and Corky will always be retarded like everyone else. Get on the bandwagon, people. I'm this close to taking the path to meglomaniacal world domination. All I gotta do is train me some dolphins, maybe an orca or two.
In lighter, non-judgemental news, I woulda posted some pictures of the botanic gardens that reside next door, but alas, the network connection isn't letting me connect to the software needed to do it. But by xmas I'll get them up, especially the psychotic squirrel photo, it's a classic.

Jet Lagged to Mars and Back

This vacation's useless
These white pills aren't kind
I've given a lot of thought on this 13-hour drive
I missed the grinding concrete where we sat past 8 or 9
And slowly finished laughing in the glow of our headlights

I don't think I even remotely remembered the best quote I came across since I got here... strangely enough it was on the wall of a pub, go figure.

"The supreme quality of great men is the ability to rest" --Highland proverb

Oh My Wicket's All Sticky

Could my mind ever lose its train by the light like that?
Been spinning a siren wine

Sooooooooooooo, amid the Glaswegian accents and the so-called "bad weather", I am thoroughly enjoying the odd little creatures I am beginning to call my fellow countrymen. For your utter information, Scotland is a nation of warriors... It's even written on them, literally in the traditional Pictish manner. Of course this makes sense to anyone who knows the etymology of the Picts, or even if you just have an ounce of the most subdued common sense. The word Pict of course is from the Latin, because the Romans ran up to these hard-asses and on turning tail and running back down the highlands realized they were for the most part covered head to toe in tattoos and paint. Now that's a race of people after my own heart if nothing else. Utterly amazing people, or so one would think. Yes I slept all of 3 hours on the plane, thanks to some bloody American idiot who couldn't shut his mouth for the benefit of others. Once that ordeal was well past and my knee decided that it could actually move again, I took to finding the residences, an adventure in and of itself. A long trip up and down hills and looking the wrong way numerous times when crossing because my brain has atrophied in soo many areas that its far too funny. But after wandering aimlessly for about 3 miles, I came across yes, a beautiful piece of architecture. Tall, but not so tall as expected, a bit gaunt really, but brilliantly bright and shining. No you twit... Not the damned building, but the German hottie that walked me to the the central services building. That's right, certifiable hottie material. Sad to say she's not the only beautiful person in this area. Within a half hour of waling about the roundabouts and Byres Road and Great Western I witnessed a mixture of by far the most numerous beautiful people in the world, or at least enough to outnumber everyone in the state of Ohio. Yes, that means you, you poor souls. As lovely as you might seem, you cannot compete with the European blood. No seriously, you'd smell like butt if looks could smell... Ok, I kid, I kid because I love, ok, maybe I don't love, but that's only because as a male of my species I'm incapable of such things.
Enough of the German girl, she'll return no doubt, because all women wont me... shh, don't pop my bubble, it's lovely. At any rate, I set out further to be the most productive as possible given the impending jet lag. Yes, well, that was just retarded of me. The banks here hate me to say the least. You literally have to jump through hoops, first a big one (very easy if you're not vertically challenged) then a smaller one (midgets forget it, I can't do, you can't do it, the Smurfs have a fraction of a chance). So it's all very simple really. In order to have a bank account you must have a confirmation of address. Because as we all know, the banks want to make sure that if need be they can send you all your money back. Wait... waaaaaaaaaaaaaaait. Ok. Just think about that for a few minutes. So since I'm not a residence of more the 3 years in the UK, I cannot have a.) a debit card and b.)a chequing account, yes chequing, not checking. So that kinda leads me into a nice small corner financially. Alas, in order to even get the minimum at these lovely institutions you need to present your passport and initial deposit. Oh wait, did I not tell you before... You'll also nee to submit to a complete background check and also you must present offer of work/course acceptance depending on the situation as well as confirmation of address in the UK. Well, I may have told you to have the letter addressed to the bank on the phone, but what I didn't tell you was I lied and it should be addressed to yourself. And they can't just fax the letters over, its too easy to forge, because there have been a rash of forged deposits lately, and we just don't want money that doesn't belong here. Quick, someone give me a gun, oh wait, UK outlawed them... and they're cracking down on binge drinking... I'm fucked.
Well, so I figured at least I could get a mobile (pronounced mobyle, kinda like tire is spelled tyre but pronounced tyre... It makes no sense I know, cos then shouldn't it be pronounced tir or aspofjgmsdgnd, some friggin consistency is all I ask), but I keep hitting unforeseen brick walls. The mobile phone company wants proof of address as well in order to enter into contract for monthly pay (aka. the cheaper route) yet that from the university won't do. No, no, it has to come from a bank, meaning I have to have a bank statement, meaning I have to have an account at a local bank because nothing from outside the UK is good, it has cooties, no seriously, it has a disease called cooties, if they touch it they scream at you moronically. These are my adventures. Coupled with the fact that my boxes of clothes and textbooks are slow to arrive, well, its enough to just make me mad. Not irate mad, I was there from the plane and the bank people, no no, I mean mad mad, like howling Murdock mad as opposed to BA Barracus mad. So tired of typing this, but I figure at least it will narrow the question field down. So read it dammit. In the meantime, I'm gonna go get me some of that German chickie. Or maybe a lightbulb for my freakin lamp!

Tap Shoe Clad Benedictine Ocelots

Excuse me too busy you're writing a tragedy
These mess-ups you bubble wrap
When you've no idea what you're like

Believe it or not, the world is flat and filled with gooey boston cream filling, and moving oneself in any way shape and form is a multistage process. Sure there's the boxing of stuff, ya know, the sparring and jabbing and the hyenas whooping and whatnot, but that's not what I mean. You will always have the physical baggage, the boxes and totes and random other items that in and of itself cause a problem, but lest we forget the rest I will continue to expound. Over there you got yer mental baggage, mostly of the thought and obligation variety, which if you ferget to attend to them, they haunt you like yer baby by your sister's mother. Well, maybe only if you live in Alabama. Or Kentucky. Or West Virginia. Okay, lets just extend it to anywhere in the lower forty-eight states until further notice. But I regress, to a cat, cos everyone wants to pass as cats... big, big stars. Maybe we all have reasons for that. But I digress. The emotional baggage, unaforementioned until now, is by far the trickiest and slimiest coagulating ink you'll ever come across. Maybe if I weren't so a glutton for punishment with burning bridges and cutting ties and slapping penguins on the ass... damn interspecies harassment suits. One of these days I'll have a dream. A dream of a world covered by humans, humans in orgies, orgies of sex, sex of... of... um... yeah, well any way, penguins. Those bastages of the avian world, the butts of jokes. Ha, flightless lil fuckers. But yes, yes, I will proceed. The boxes were packaged and arranged and things gotten rid of and sold and given away. The mass of junk I "need" now sits here in a nice quiet room in the hills of a Scottish city. One thing to relax about. As for the mental luggage, well I never tote much of that behind. I like to consider it an evolution as generations of children begin to abide by their own desires rather than altruistic motivations. Hence, I tend to lack the real need for friends, no offense to those that might still be out there. I enjoy those I have, but I trust them only superficially, only enough to put everyone at ease. Because sometimes I park in handicap spaces while handicap people make handicap faces... I'm an asshole, plain and simple. As for the emotional baggage, well lets just say that its long in tow. It's hard to place it where it belongs when no one wants to own up to responsibility other than me. It's life. It's like an accordion. I can't finish that simile, but you know what, I'm tired.
This, this is the nice new scene I need. I still have the feeling people will be people and lack the ability to accept or even like the person that I am, and again I'll have to adopt more "socially acceptable" outward traits. Just because thy tend to dislike my frank expressions, and lack the ability to grasp my sense of humour so that I am forced to regurgitate their expressions and others for a laugh. I'm a random thinker, so my sense of humour tends to lack a clear pattern as well. That's why it's funny. Don't laugh though, it's cool. I think I'm just cranky with all the stuff I have to do and have been doing. Not that I should really have to explain this post's utter depressing theme and lack of true humor that would tickle yer lil funny bone in yer lil funny lookin' arm. That'll teach you to play with gators in the jello bowl. Damn Aryan bastards. See, makes no sense, but nonetheless funny.
Whatever, I'm going to bed, five hours before all yall, so mnyeh, mnyeh on you.

Corporate Hate Mongers Peddle Sticky Palms

Yeah photographic indecency noted and ignored
Cos this is my dream and hollow psychiatruc domicile
They all spread pills in pink bunny suits saying this is
A barry manilow suite

Holy shite...
That's just all I can say. I stumbled across this in search of a "made in vagina tshirt". No, its not there, but so many others I've been looking for were. Not to mention those I never would've dreamed of finding. It's awesome, so awesome, so much awesomer than you. I'm leaving now. Toodles, kiss my ass, I'm Glasgow bound biatches!

Stroller Ejector Seats Mandatory

The news that truly shocks
Is the empty, empty page
While the final rattle rocks
Its empty, empty cage
And I can't handle this

Whoa. Whooooooooooa. Hold on. I think... I think that... yup, those two things actually have some relation. Whoa, I'm blowin my freakin mind here. WHOA. I mean, like, whoa, dude. Okay, enough of the throw-back phrases already, let's get to some bitching and stitching, yeehaw. Yes I realize I've long been absent from the airways. I can only assume you've been rocking yourselves to sleep at night in a tight balled fetal position muttering something to the effect of "daddy will come to get me, daddy will come to get me," etc, etc just don't bunch your panties too high up your ass. You'll give yerself a hemorrhoid or something or rather, worse yet a polyp or polynytyl cyst. But I shan't apologize, it was a much needed vacation from everyone and their mother. Which brings me to point number one. I give it such designation, not because it's the most important or anything, and not really cos I came across it first in this rant, nor is it even indicative of more points to come. For all I know I could be tapped out in two more sentences. I am a little rusty you know. But at any rate I'm rocking out the laptop today, migrating through the last little bit of he unexplored abyss of the internet when I begin to hit this grossly over-protective string of obtusely self-ordained know-it-all political personages that sent me into a tirade in my small enclosure I've been recently relocated to. To which I responded by taking a shower and a 3 hour nap. What can I say, I have priorities and getting excited about pointless social commentary that only theorizes of solving problems from within an already crumbling and tainted system is just that, pointless. So I shrug. Mnyeh. Not my fight, not my cause, not my care. Just don't come near me with yor morals and we'll all be hunky-dory. Oh where did I lose the initial effort of this post. Perhaps it was between the bathroom and the hallway, or down the drain with the toothpaste. Seriously, though, why is it that people must do things en masse, ie. with the most people they can possibly get to attend a single event as simple as dinner at a restaurant. Especially, and this is key to the whole idea of dinner (seriously, it is, I will expound), when some of the people rate nowhere on your list of close friends or are partway on your list of total creepydos. Meals are meant to share community, to build it. So why try to make an event of massive amounts of people many of whom you really don't like. Oh, that's right, I'm forgetting that you're only cool if everyone and their mom tries to attend.
It could just be me though, I have long been the type to stand it alone. While people enjoy having their army of syncophants to use as shields and bolsters, I've managed for the most part to remain raw and esposed, much like half my nerves considering the number of peeves I have. In a capitalist society it seems so odd that people are constantly reaching out for community, large community, while verbally assaulting the entire idea of socialism as impossible. Am I missing something? Perhaps, considering I often think of how wonderful socialism is as well as communism in theory, though admit hindered due to human nature of greed, all the while I avert myself from community, from people in general always attempting to be a ghost of sorts, just so I can serve my own ideas/thoughts/feelings/whims, overall control over life. Quick, someeone solve that conundrum, realign the zodiac and create a utopian society. Quick like a rabbit! Hmm. I've ranted much too much without humour or any sort of laughable affect. Oi where did I go awry. Sure there was that time in the womb when I took a boot to the noggin, but it was a good day otherwise. I mean I did discover my big toe that day.
I wasn't going to post anything yet, this is a bit off the cuff and dribbling down my chin. I had every bit of intent of unveiling yet another stunning version of this massive steaming load of toilet clamour with a new brilliant sour bit of doo-doo once I had reached home. Yes, I am already referring to it as home. As far as I'm concerned I will move nowhere else afterword for one reason or the other. Most likely the latter because the former is far too obvious and the latter has that bi of menagerie and small wadded bits of gum. I mean the former could be jsut as glamourous, but since when do hotdogs ever beat out badgers in a baseball game. And I'm not talking one of those summer exhibition jaunts. I'm talkin' full-out 4 wicket knuckle rubbing mayhem, baby. But of course as you can see, this whole plan went down the drain. As I said, too many stupid people to piss me off. I'm not saying that people should keep their opinons to themselves, just to clarify. I'm saying just don't do cheap crack and watchout for the carnies this year. The inbreeding has given way to third AND fourth nipples galore. Nipply nipplefests, that's what I'm talkin' bout, Jebus, yeah Jebus, yeah.

Laxative Mens Rea Coils & Stubble Rubbing Nubs

Waking up with an ugly face
Winston Churchhill in drag
Looking for a new maternal embrace
Another tired old gag
Am i just a walking bag of chewed up dust and bones

You may or may not have noticed that these little finds were used as place holders on thecornerstory.blogspot.com, but they're here now, just for the pure entertainment value. They make no sense really, but neither did the magazine they came out of, so I guess there was never much to be expected.

Car-driven sunspots hard rocking the ecstasy
Shiv-ing some carbide saw blades into sand
With these fuming dunes just clapping for thunder
We roll
Over these fertile footprints landed in gray third gravity
Cos it’s just an orbiting notion of tambourine clang
Swinging these planets on low-impact runners from a cancer
Well we’ve eaten our carotenoids lycopenes or even MAOI's
Yet somewhere in the fuzzy tempest tantrum we sucked down
Every last gel tab acronym
Yeah but it still tastes like life
Courted by the physics of a sunstroke slathered in SPF one million
I am safe in batting and lilac artificiality
Cos everyone knows sterility is the smell of everyday adventure
Can’t help but wonder what cosmic colon might shite
This next out moment sideways through pornographic piles
Jogging next year for a six day savior clinical in Adventism
For a nineteen thirty-something corvette steaming country roads
To emulsification
Something’s a bit off but it’s too long to state Frank-like
Just keep your minds numbed for the Susanine stutter
Of an abbreviated indecision

Cairo was a city just like Jersey in some time
When swaggering stars would kick off a volleyball in tap shoes
A lil' rin tin tin tippy tap salute to Ra
And comets would fall across a mis-measured rotunda
Maybe they thought that Alexandria was a fortune 500
But Bill Gates of course would’ve been forced to resign as head smartass
They did their labor like all good little nomadic undulations
Everyone’s seen their brick by brick play of masonry dust
Those vast temples we call asymmetrical abstraction
Kandinsky should have at least done some lifting despite the union
But I was lazy then too
Cos Cairo was just a city once
A small crazy town of two or three horses and a spittoon
Where we would waltz our women and whiskey dance our way
Cracking hissing rattlers in the jaw with particle beams
Another sarsaparilla don’t mind if I do
But make it Evian brand sans fluoride, microbes, and those flavin thingies
To my left I'd see Gene Autry gumming on to Pecos Bill
While Paul would set his hand on the butt end and sweet talk some babe
Of course John Wayne would want in to see
This lovely little mad house we'd made of ourselves
But we have standards to keep
No wannabes allowed in our egocentric buffalo hunts
Only cos this was Cairo you know in the days of the city
Brick streets and carriages all clacking with hoof beat beatniks
The French firing their muskets at guerilla Indians tongue-in-cheek intact
And the kindly queen taking her head from the block whistling Dixie
What pharaohs these mortals be
Sipping Tangueray on their front porches in the summer ghetto rambles
Cos Cairo was a tiny little town before it was this
Before the presidents wanted the sex and cigar fights were abundant
Should we duel anon noon you say
We'll just have to see
Cos I hear the Beatles are playing by Golden Gate tomorrow
They are more than the funky grunge answer to U2
Yeah Cairo was a city once just like Jersey shore ways
Where tipsy toddlers scuff there knees giving head to the confusion
Of this simple prayer

What You Crave

His goal in life was to be an echo
The type of sound that floats around
And then back down like a feather
But in the deep chrome canyons of the loudest manhattans
No one could hear him

Now you might be wondering if changing the address while keeping the same ugly ass aluminum siding is really wortwhile. Well just so you know, it is, every penny of it. And just like that in a flash the new nook was created and a clue left so that you the reader might find this little corner of disorganized thought and spiffy chaos. I have a bit of what is called paranoia, which leads to a problem when people link their site to mine making it all too easy for people they and I know to get here, which just isn't good. Too many people knowing what goes on in my life does not being me comfort, I'd rather hold that in check if I ever am to be approached for a game of "cards" leaving the deck stacked in this manner seeing as I have a bit of knowledge of everyone. So you might have found your way back to this place, and I must admit it shouldn't have been very hard seeing as I didn't try very hard to hide it. You could have even googled or yahooed it to find the new address assuming the bots finally cataloged the change. The point is I always quite fancied being a ghost, and so as I do every so often (just about every four years or so) I disappear and only resurface to surprise and scare people then disappearing only to be unremembered again. And so on, and so forth. It may seem old and immature but I started doing ti a long time ago and feel it is only right to finish what I started as long as there's a place to move to and a home to find. We have our traditions as silly as they may seem.
White Castle, that's what I crave, well I did crave awhile ago, but then again you'll have that when watching Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle. While not entirely identical in nature but similar enough to be true to the coe beliefs, the movie mirrored many a late night trip in the ghettos of the land of clevs made by me and a few of my now termed "acquaintances" in search of drunk food and burgers (fur burgers that is) from Taco Hell to White Castle with the orders of 40 or more sliders per person to Wendy's to Steak 'n Shake with the stoner waiter ready to sell the "Tak-hom-a-sak" sign and the plates and forks (but not the knives) to Denny's with groups of up to but not exceeding 50 to Chuck's Diner and of course to the great Best Steak and Gyro ("goddamn Arabs always stickin their dicks in the mayonnaise" (no offense, honest to god quote from some guy in line) and "ain't no cheeeeeeese on my goddamn samich" (same guy) and "my name ain't mother fucker, my name's Ray" (big African-American cook dealing with same guy in line)). I mean, at 3 in the friggin morning when you're blitzed off your rocker, it's hard to really make it succinctly to any destination, especially when you're amidst a great deabte over the better drunk food. Oh the memories, like little Kodak developed pictures ensured of having the best quality and color balance due to their stringent processing techiques, all shuffled away in little laquered boxes in my mind. Alas, I only have fice more weeks left in this rat hole off a city and then it's off to the hometown to pack and ship and prep for the flight to Glasgow which is in six weeks. No, what I crave now is a whiskey to ease my mind of my best friend who seemingly cares little for me or my departure seeing as I've yet to hear from them in two months. But I will leave just the same. Friendships that are only kept alive by one side are never worth the effort, it's a two way street as they say, I've just been walking all of mine alone. But that's for another boy's blog, this man has other things to be busied with, more important things to worry about than those people that only worry about themselves. Let that be a lesson, some of us are only steadfast, so long as we have something to be steadfast for. All the rest is sand.

Woo I Have Makeup On

Blue-eyed boy meets a brown-eyed girl
Oh oh oh, the sweetest thing

Udderly amazing how the title and lyrics seem to relate on no level whatsoever, this is the silliness. It's sinister really, this silliness, so sinister in fact that it would give you mismatched sock pairs if it knew that you didn't have foot fungus. Coz it's a fungi... get it fungi=fun guy, ok, nevermind, it might have been just the slightest bit over your head, although I hear your mom gives- nevermind. That was a bit uncalled for I suppose, you'll be crying yourself to sleep tonight on your huuuuuuuuuuuuuge pilla.
At any rate, you should check the link for a good silly time. It has always been my policy to find goths funny. Now to most goths I've encountered this is counterintuitive, ie. it makes no sense. I guess I'm supposed to be afraid of the face makeup because Bredan Lee was some kind of bad-ass in a movie called The Crow and had makeup on. I know nothing about that. I've never even heard of these movie things. And as far as the Lee family is concerned, Brandon, or Brendon, or whatever, couldn't have been a bad-ass because he he didn't spend a good year in a body brace like his father did. Now Bruce Lee, he was a bad-ass. Hands down, he was one of those guys that you meet but never in a martial arts match. Whoa tangent. Back to silly goths. I have a few issues with this lil kid, mainly he's a lil kid, which I think is just another reason it's becoming more hysterical to me. Now if the guy were, say, 30-40 years old, I might be a lil freaked, especially if he was practiced in so-called "vampirism". I'm sorry, but a 13 year-old spouting off on how he's a warlock vampire is just reminiscent of 4 grade when everyone wanted to be a hobbit or a wizard or a dwarf or elf. Just you watch, he'll be playing D&D with the big boys once he hits high school. Wooooooooooooo scary. Oh and his choice of msic and film, let me just say, if you're trying to convince me of your ad-ass nature and power or whatever, why don't you just go ahead and conjure up a level 85 wivern or whatever they're called, because you obviously have a lot of these stereotypes you choose to throw around a bit skewed. This lil kid ain't goth, he's if anything a poser, and he doesn't even know what a poser is or that the tem went out a few years ago along with punk, except in Britain where punk is still an awesome movement. I somehow doubt that watching The Crow and listening to Marilyn Manson makes you goth. But I don't want to insult, merely poke fun. Silly goths, always taking themselves sooo seriously. It's a good waste of time, though, to skim these things, it's almost better than watching South Park or Family Guy.
In other events, I actually survived the supposed physical I had to undergo for work, although I still cannot work until they do my background check because everyone knows I robbed like 10 banks in 3 months last year (that's right FBI, it was me, muahahaha). No, seriously, I'm a bad-ass, such in fact, I need to go buy makeup tomorrow. And a honking big red nose. May I borrow your bosoms madam, thank you, *honka-honka* (wtf?). It was a bit of an annoyance seeing as the only thing they did was of course the dreaded drug-urine test. This of course is where you submit your heroin or crack or cocaine or dope or pcp or special k or lsd or whatever you may be currently produsing or using and they check it for urine (ummmmm). At any rate, I passed, urine free as always because I only buy the best of the best, because I respect my body. I was astonished to find out I had diabetes. I mean, is that what all those injections were for, I never knew! This really changes everything you realize, I'll have to find more intelligent doctors in the future. So after all this, I now have to wait and see when I can actually begin laboring once more and get paid for the whole spiel. I think I'll call and harass them everyday this week. It seemed to work for U of Glasgow. Never underestimate the squeaky wheel's ability to get the grease. And just so you know, I intend to take this knowledge on the road to every bar and place of loose women until I receive the proper "greasing". I am a man on a mission, an uncouth one at that (uncouth mission that is, I am a couth man, no seriously I am, nuh uh, don't be mean now, sheesh).

Before You Go on Home

Are you so lonely
you don't even know me
but you'd like to stone me

The neuroticism has passed to a great extent seemingly after a few confrontations last night. Very cathartic in a forked tongue sort of manner. It was so wondermous in fact, that I slept the whole night and even woke up early enough to go do more paperwork for the retards that are hiring me. Spectacular. I delight in how much I enjoy tearing people new ones, especially justly doing so. Mmm. At any rate, it was needed, and so was the frosty I just ate. My diabetes said "no", but my choco region of my brain said "who the finizzle are you"? I'm weak, I realize these things.
What's really cool, and probably also contributing to my mood swing is the change of season. Now you're saying, "what change of season?" or, "it's the middle of summer, and my dangley thingies are sticking together". But there's a change. I actually just smelled it outside, the smell of crunchy leaves and cool evenings to come. Mmm, autumn. Now I get to look forward to getting stronger. Yeah all mentally and emotionally and crap, but also physically. My body is on an archaic cycle it seems, which has nothing to do with zodiac or anything, seeing as I'm a fire sign, these should be my strong months. Further proof for you astrology weirdos that horrorscopes are useless. But at any rate, its a circadian thing, kinda like sex drives, only mine is vastly different and seemingly feral in nature. Spring throws all things off balance and apparently my testosterone goes through the roof, or so my physician has noted in my blood work (every 3 months or so it gets done, if I remember), it then plateaus at a high level for summer before dropping off for autumn and hitting an all-time low for winter, not that it fails to exist mind you. The same goes for my strength, though, I tend to gain muscle and feel leaner and stronger during the autumn and winter, contrary to most circadian or natural rhythms or cycles, but then again it is my most active time of year. And unlike most people, SAD only affects me in the summer, go figure.
Yes, I belong in a zoo. I realize this and once I have the time to waste, I'll live in one until I get bored. It'll be bloody brilliant.
I've decided on my housing for this coming year as well. I'll bite the bullet and risk a self-catered suite where I'll get my own bathroom and such. It'll be a pain because I hate sharing a kitchen to people who can't cook or don't clean their mess, but I'll have my own bloody shower still. This dorm, too, allows people to stay overnight as long as they sign in at the front desk for fire safety purposes, which is an improvement from the catered dorm I was looking into originally that, due to the amount of underclassmen, disallowed overnight guests (now children, no hanky panky... If I hear any slap and tickle you'll get a demerit). Not that my social life in the sheets needs this sort of room or anything, but I like to give myself any advantage possible, it's just good business to be prepared for the "business", ya know. Well, I should get to sleeping soon seeing as I have a small amount of celebrating to do tomorrow with some friends. I've been waiting for people to be free to go do stuff, but that never happened, so I pulled some strings and called in the A squad, so as to rock out in the right fashion (ie. low key, small group, witty crowd, no flakes). Look out, Wink, I'm coming to hit up the beer list once again, how I've missed thee!!!

Quote of the Moment: "I didn't think she was born, I thought she just congealed in a gutter somewhere."

Whatever I Want, Gosh!!!

To the night another body
To the night another name

I hope yall liked my little joke with the cat and the cackling, yeah it was pretty swank I thought. In other news, the great and powerful letter arrived from Glasgow allowing me to finish my aplication for a visa (ejector seat) so I can be this much closer to screwing you all and going over mnyah. That's right, I said, you festering dewberry.
Now with your extra free time that I know you've all accumulated since I first made the decision to remove the horrible catalyst of problems named Ben, you should all venture out to the nearest theater and see Napoleon Dynamite. It is by far the most bestest movie I've seen since Saved (I'm filled with Christ's love (throws bible)). I could expound on its greatness, but I could in no way do it justice. Now I must be getting back to making that big bag of liver spots for you all. Then it's off to your mom's house for a little evening "refreshment".

Melanoma Is Just Fancy Talk for Sexified!!!

Lazy locomotives
Wherever you may roll
I think you have no motive
I know you have no home

No, I don't have melanoma, but then again, I could, my family is predisposed to moles; thus I have several... hundred, several hundred that is. Not that they're noticeable or ugly like freckles (hahahahaha, freckle freaks, I could feel sorry for all of you, but then again, that would require me to stop thinking about myself, and seriously what man ever does that... come on now). No my little marks are pretty well hidden of their own will, and the one that wasn't, well it met with an untimely demise known as the knife. Now there's an interesting occurrence. The chance to watch minor surgery be performed on yourself is, i must say, quite awesome. You should feel something, but thanks to the wondermousness of lidocaine, you stay totally unawares (must make note to steal massive quantities along with ketamine). It's bloody brilliant. No really, moles are pretty damn vascular (squamous cell cancer-like, minus the metastisis), so it gets really kinda messy unless the doc knows what they're doing (yo, Angela!). But then you gotta watch out for Scott Baio, and heaven forbid Ziggy should show up cuz then you know trouble is on its way. Wait, what was I talking about?
I was pleasantly reassured that I am not the only person with an extremely erratic albeit dry and hilarious wit when a woman from my building crossed my path today, literally. I was waiting to pull in the garage and had my headlights on as she was exiting the garage carrying some collapsed cardboard boxes. Now, a normal person would merely zip in front of me and then go into the building, but this woman, she was a card she was. So much so that if I'm as big a weird as I know I am, then she's probably a little weird. But let's not forget that I'm a big weird, shall we, that's the important part. Label away, as long as I'm clam chowder I won't raise too big a stink. But anyway, despite her age, she picked up her cardboard boxes like old fashion fans and did a nice little can-can across my headlights and into the building. No, seriously, she did, it was awesome. She exited the "stage" to a grand round of applause from moi. If only more of you lame-o's would watch some Monty Python or some Marx Brothers you could maybe be half as cool as this middle-aged woman, and maybe an eighth as cool as me. Yes, I'm aware that and eighth of zero is still zero, jackass. Don't ruin my puny thunder. Bloody poof. Anyhoo. I stumbled upon something wondermous on the intarnet this evening when I was bouncing from blog to blog to blog, but I don't know if blockquoting it is worthwhile since no one seems to have the same or any literary taste as I do. Once more, watch Monty Python, Flying Circus, The Life of Brian, anything. I think I'll blockwuote it, only because I like it and dammit if I'm not at least a smidge more important than you think I am, you dodgy lil bugger.
Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeh, I won't. I did, but that was satisfyng enough for me. I really don't need everyone and their mom judging my literary taste, questioning my artisticness and whatnot, you, you, you... JUDGERS! Yeah, I don't know what's up with that either. Go listen to Traffic by Stereophonics, or maybe even Black and Blue by Counting Crows. Personally, I'm gonna get back to watching BBCAmerica because I've become addicted to Changing Rooms and Ground Force America and House Invaders. It's like Trading Spaces only with accents from everywhere in the UK. The truth is I secretly just like typing the emphasis tags, which is: , but you can't see them, so nyeh on you.

If You're Feeling Sinister

See that idiot walk
See that idiot talk
See that idiot chalk up his name on the blackboard

Sooooooooooooo I filled all my cd cases once again. Eight hundred thirty-two and no hundreths CD's. Thought I'd type that one out for ya just to piss yall off (why the hell did he make me read all that when all he had to type was 832). No, seriously I know what you're thinking, it's a gift. But I seriously spent an entire week burning CD's night and day, from Scottish indie to trance techno to American ambient, I have soooo many titles it'll tittlate your ear (no not like Kelly, cuz no one's that good). For the most part I've been utilizing good ol DC++ and my vpn action to campus to exploit the poor users on i2hub. However, what I can't find I merely jack from the local government (thanks public library, hey FBI, try and stop that shite, jackasses).
It's not that I hate the government, I'm not anarchist... oh wait, yes I am. I hate the government, but over and above that, I hate musicians like Metallica. Hmm, we have billions of dollars in cold hard cash, what else do we need... how about more cash and some blow. Lars, you go get the blow and bash kids heads in for downloading our music because you're more believable as a psychotic. See, I can understand if you're a poor struggling musician, but with all respect, if that's you then I highly doubt you'll be losing that much money to little kids and mp3's. Hello, rich jackasses, if you're sooooo worried about money, why don't you create music that doesn't suck and is original. And how about you spend more than 4 months out of rehab at a time and release an album more than once every 20 years. That could be a start. So yeah, until you record asses stop pretending like CD production is an expensive industry and cut prices in half, then yeah, I'm gonna pirate like no other and buy only those albums that I know the money is well spent on (hello indie rockers). Did yall know that the 26 or so bucks you spend on a CD usually goes to pay for its marketing, the CD itself normally only costs like upward of 2 dollars to make. The studio production is all funded by the bands (there go the tic prices). Fight the man. He sucks and I do not like him.
But I've gotten away from myself. I hate the government and in specifics, the bible thumping government that represents itself and ideals that are far beyond human ability. And now I hear about this group that's all sorts of pissed at Macy's because they refuse to say merry xmas in their commercials and such. Um, may I just say wtf? No, seriously, wtf? I mean in 20 years Australia is still gonna be all like wtf? See it's this type of person that causes such problems with censorship because they're the people that forget you can turn the radio off. They argue that this whole thing is taking the christ out of xmas so to speak. Am I wrong or is it really a parental issue, or more precisely a family value issue. The only reason commerical marketing has an effect is because the family often over-commercializes the holiday to begin with (ie. spoiled brats with big gifts). The control is in your hands, you can't blame smart people for finding the loop holes and lapses you created jackass. Get out of my mall and stop killing trees with your damn pamphlets, or I'm gonan go call Greenpeace on your waspy ass. The Jewish folk complain all the time and with good reason, do you listen to them. Of course not, because PC is only bad when it hits you upside the head.
So as you can see I hate everyone, even you. Ok, I tolerate you and you, and you're just dumb but malleable, oh and you, well you're just fun to make fun of, so I can't hate you. But I hate you all! Go get jobs or something, stop hanging around my store all the time. Git! You punks with yer drugs, and then the whores come into town. Buy the groceries this week, no I think I'll spend the money on the whores! I really don't know where I'm going with this, because if there are people I do like, it's gotta be the whores. Keep at it ladies, the rest of you, well you just make me sick.
I'll be damned if I didn't just create something beautiful here, because if I didn't I probably just crapped myself.

Where's the Tongue? (oh, it's chicken)

Son, can you play me a melody?
I'm not really sure how it goes
But it's sad and it's sweet and I knew it complete
When I wore a younger man's clothes

You could feel it those mornings, smell it even, the unparalleled smell of a morning where the panes of glass above his head were frosted over in pleasant patterns and fogged from the warm blasts issuing boisterously from the heating ducts rattling slightly, but soothing throughout the calm awakening effervescing warmth to comfort. The smell of fresh soap and scented powder slipped past the door sitting slightly ajar as the sound of clanking forks against Corel dishware eased into the hushed consciousness that pleasantly lifted filling young eyes with the gleam of anticipation—SNOW! Assuredly the white world was there just beyond the glass all glimmered and glistened and full of grand escapades and childish innocence and forgetfulness of life all together. Bound in snow pants and thick warm boots the wintry world could not mount any assault against his happiness for even escape was assured to a warm nestled bed and hot chocolate in mugs too big for his hands.

You know, Italian women all have really big, uh, ummm, hands, yeah hands. In my sleeplessness I tend to remember the small things. No, not that, that's not small at all, we've been over this before. I can definitely say that most things are far too large for my hands, metaphysically speaking that is, but I've been groomed for it I suppose. Oh, but I do miss something very much. There's just something very sleep inducing about a woman sleeping next to you. I think tv and a pbj samich is in order. Maybe a soda, yes I said soda.

Ackem

Relief from muscular pain
And my faint heart beats away
Are my hands on the controls

INSOMNIA!!!  Of course it's self-imposed, silly, because I have nothing better to do than think of everything that's occured in the last 10 years or so.  No most people worry, I can say I do as much, but this for the most part is not at all the source of sleeplessness.  On the contrary, it may indeed have a slight bit to do with it, but the majority of the situation is due to what I have come to term as memory backwash.  Now exercise with me if you will, your memory.  Do you recall almost everything you've done today, yesterday, if you think hard enough even last week?  If you can then you're a freak and welcome to my world.  The moment my mind hits el pillow, it tends to wander and should it sniff out something in the ol memory and begin to replay the entire incident, well all psychological hell breaks loose.  This is what I get for being an empath with a photographic memory (what's really cool is I can also smell/taste/feel while recalling, creepy yes, but not so creepy as my dreaming the future).
But what am I doing complaining.  Why would you the incompetant and oft disputably illiterate reader want with my two cents about my own problems.  If its misery you want for company, well just remember this, I'm sadistic, so go find your damn misery somewheres else.  This not able to sleep isn't all bad, considering I'm working on my second spindle of pirated CD's in one week.  It's safe to say I'm an addict to new music.  I stumbled upon The Reindeer Section, you all should immediately look into them, they rock, but not harder than Tracy.  (Oh how I wish I had my music box now, ALAS!)  Ocean Colour Scene and Stereophonics are pretty swank too, but again, don't take my word for it.  Oi, I can see this is shaping up to be a rather unentertaining bloggit doodle.  I'd mend it, but I have to mend my pants first, but then I'd have to actually buy pants to mend.  Do you follow?  Hmm, well, maybe you are a bit less dodgy than I first expected. 
I see they've made this all the more confusing albeit easier for those less accustomed to HTML.  Well, phlagrngit to them I say.  Though I can now upload a nice image just for shits and giggles... I'll make it a pic of what I'm looking for.  If any of you happen to find it, just point me in the direction.

Trollin' Trollin' Trollin'

I know I don't understand how they forget
how some will just pass us by
and take whay they can get

Yes I do think I will make a small habit of wasting time writing tiny little blogisms in the middle of the day as an attache to the blogism containing the notification of ramifications of my acceptification (?). In other words, just to annoy you, I'm gonna tell you I did a whole lot in a little time just so I could sit on my ass and grunt at the idiocy of reality tv. Which reminds me: if you haven't seen it, its just awesome.
So I found out that above and beyond ye ol county clerk of courts needing to be involved, I have to take my pretty lil ol' copy down to the state capital and have yet another government authority stamp and initial it. When will the madness end!
AAA informed as well that buying a one way ticket is far more expensive than roundtrip, which makes me wonder, why am I paying twice as much for half the flight time as those getting twice the flight time? Did I miss something here. Is it somehow more expensive to fly me there, but absolutely free to fly me back? I'm a little confused on this. The new upside I discovered today is I get to purchase hundreds of dollars of transformer equipment to power my electronics that were made here in the US of assholes. I always delight at the thought of accidentally crippling the infrastructure of electrical power, it makes me giddy. But now I must check student universe to see if I can find a cheaper flight leaving around the 20th. Otherwise I'm gonna have to sell my left arm to pay my way over and then act as a gigolo to local females to pay off everything else. No downsides there as you can see.

Sit Ubu Sit, Good Dog (whoof!)

I'm gonna go to sleep
And let this wash all over me
We don't really want a monster taking over
Tip toeing, tying down
We don't want the loonies takin' over
Tip toeing, tying down our arms

Maybe I made a mistake. I'm psyched, always will be, but I mean, well. So in order to apply for a bloody visa you have to jump through some hoops. For Italy, apparently, if you're breathing, you're good to go (it doesn't hurt if you have huge knockers and are a floozey (wtf, what am i talking about?)). That is, as long as you have your passport. But the UK, the good ol' bloody U to the K -ster. Well they only want my unborn children, but you know what, that can't have em, not one I tell you! Well, maybe the ugly one, with down syndrome, but that's it! No others! Ok, they can have the one with the helmet and knee pads, I guess it can be a compromise. But seriously, I have to have paperwork out my patootey in order to get this piece of paper: the letter I've yet to receive, copies of my passport (doesnt end there), and bank records. That's right, the UK wants to know how much money, I am going to spend in there lil ol' country. Hey, dumbasses, I'm a student, I'm POOR! I am going to drop 26,000 pounds sterling in Scotland per year. Is that enough to be allowed in?
As for the passport, oi, to even think of the hoops, flaming ones, BIG flamers, oi. Not only do I need copies, but they have to be certified copies (wtf does that mean?). Apparently I have to endeavor to make the perfect copy, ie. a.)you have to be able to see the picture and 2.)you have to be able to read off the information and make fun of the picture. The fun continues as you go to get the copies notarized (stamped with a funny stamp that embosses them followed by signed and witnessed, go figure because these pictures might look like me, but they're really not, just trying to play a big trick on ya). So now you have what looks like a really professionally done Kinko's job, you have job security in being able to master any copy machine. Oh crap, I forgot, YOU'RE NOT DONE. Noooow you have to go to the federal building and get Uncle Sam, you know the uncle I'm talking about, the one that molests little children and taxpayers, and ask him real nice-like while rubbing his chest to rubberstamp your little piece of paper. OI.
Color me Ubu and stick me on a production label. Don't get me wrong, I know things aren't a walk in the park, but I really hate being unlazy.