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.

The White Zone Is for Loading and Unloading Only

Cos I'm leaving on a jetplane
Don't know when I'll be back again

That's right wee lads and lasses, I had a dream, a dream interrupted by a phone ring and thick Scottish accent. The accent said nothing of course, but the voice, well the voice said much including the phrase "offer you a place in September", which sounded more like "Septembah" with the last syllable getting the higher pitch as if it were a question. So now, I begin the short process of visa application and booking a plane ticket.
I just have to wait until my letter arrives next week. And then I have to send home for copies of my passport, certified ones, that is. Where I get those I have no clue. But dammit if I'm not going to apply for a 5 year visa. Mmmm, Scotland, I imagine it tastes kinda like haggis, which I suppose I can get used to. I mean I got used to this city and its funky-ass smell.

Coriander Benevolence

Every day I wake up and it's Sunday
Whatever's in my head won't go away
The radio is playing all the usual
And what's a wonderwall anyway

Seemingly the cat grass, now slightly damaged by the ravenous critters that abide this flat, is doing quite well and is a big hit, at least with the imp. He seems to find it more of a plaything than an actual food source, so let it not be said that humans are the only species to do such.
On a more frustrating note, My tshirt and music box have yet to arrive after more than a month, yet I'm strangely billed for these items. Go figure. Now you'd to think that the postal service has had enough of ruining my mail and packages, but apparently I'm very wrong. At least I didn't lose over a hundred bucks in comics like my friend. It seemed so much simpler to ship them home from his temporary residence in Olympia, but he didn't insure it. The box was conveniently "damaged", the damage consisting of an oddly enough fist-sized/shaped hole in the side of said box accompanied by a more than obvious knife cut through double-layered duct tape and packaging tape (the heavy duty kind, were talking the strings going through it and stuff). A so-called "common" accident. Well, let's see, if it's so common, don't you think you might want to take a look into the cause of said problem before you decide to go hiking up the postage again. Seriously, wtf Postmaster General, or should I call you by your real title, Assmaster Cockmonger. That's right, I know who you really are, you can't fool me.
Ok, so the weirdness has not yet dissipated, it's not my fault, it's yours of course, always is, so stop blaming me. The thrill of the moment was making my first ever international long distance phone call to Scotland. No reason for making except, oh yeah, They've been giving me the run-around for about 2 months now. And let me tell ya, there's nothing better than getting only 2 hours of sleep and waking up at 6 to call a foreign country and get, you guessed it, the voicemail. That's right, my contact wasn't even in the office today, might not be tomorrow. Go figure. But I have decided in my newly acquired ultimate apathetic state, one in which I am motivated by pure malice in all actions for lack of care of anything else, to call everyday this week if I have to. This in conjunction with finding someplace better to live since I tire of this apartment building and the two Indian (non-Native American) families that live above and below me, who during this religious season of theirs have stopped bathing and have been playing loud, weird-ass music, yet the moment my bass goes a lil too loud and vibrates the floor oh so slightly that I can't even feel it, I get people pounding on the door for the music to be shut off. Have I mentioned how much I hate people and public libraries that don't open until noon during the week. But as the imp so aptly puts it, "I will f*** you up!", of course he promptly turns tail afterwards and runs away, but still. He's the mongoloid of the family.

Don't Spurt That in My Direction

Crimson and clover, over and over.
Our house in the middle of the street, why did we ever meet?
Started my rock 'n roll fantasy.
Don't don't, don't let's start, why did we ever part?
Kick start my rock 'n rollen heart.

The innate desire to imbibe. This is what I feel. Deeply at that, perhaps to quench the burn of creation or desire, or simply the burn of passion in general. Nonetheless, what is it about getting drunk that is so appealing. Well, I'll tell you. I have no idea. None. To get krunked, drunk, shit-faced, plastered, hammered, fucked up, is a mystery. But on to the more important issues.
The cat grass I've been growing has actually sprouted. It's soooo cool, hundreds of little shoots bent toward the window just stretching out to warm themselves. Now grass isn't normally a challenge to grow, nor do I normally attempt to keep it long and thick seeing as I spend numerous hours cutting it while I'm at home. But for me, anything green tends to have an aversion. No seriously, I touch a flower and a day later and it's dead. Perhaps it's just one of those pesky side effects of being devil-spawn. Who knows. What's worse about the grass is that it does it's job, ie. it attracts the cats. Now this wouldn't be a problem except that if they eat it now, it ain't gonna grow all that much. But I seem to be the only one in this mediocre household to grasp that concept. Stupid fuzzy ass bastards. Shave your noggins and let some air in.
Well, that seems to be all on the botany channel, so I'm off to get me some more alcomohol. Note to all alcoholics that don't already know: bubbly stuff gets you drunk faster. Probably has something to do with oxygen binding to the alcohol and hemaglobin and making it less readily available to alcohol dehydrogenase. Just a thought. Keep your tv tuned to the same bat time, ssame bat channel youngins!

Play It Again Sam

Next door the tv's flashing
Blue frames on the wall
It's a comedy of errors, you see
It's about taking a fall

So what does one without a job do per se during the day whilst the rest of the world leads active, productive, mediocre lives? Why of course pirate CD's galore from classic Brit punk like The Clash to the more fun loving Irish punk of The Dropkick Murphy's to the brilliance of Scottish indie rockers The Reindeer Section, and let's not forget Bif Naked, those wacky Canadians, or At the Drive-In or The Von Bondies. Yeah I'm a freak, but most of the world is, deal with it and let's move along. Not only have I been abusing the wonderful world of vpn in order to gain access to these materials, but the public library has even aided in my quest for some of the music I've long been trying to get my hands on. In fact my current request number in there system is idling somewhere around 30 albums. Now this added to the current number of 650 titles I already possess, makes me one hell of a music pack rat. If you have any suggestions of bands, just send em my way, they'll get tacked on to my list and if I have money I'll actually buy it if I like it, if I have no money I'll burn it if I like it, and if I hate it, well then I just delete it. No harm, no foul.
I've also been watching a number of movies as well as Flying Circus episodes repeatedly. Playing them over and over and over again. Mostly because I simply love certain movies. Im Juli being one of the few on my very bestest favoritest list of movies I ever liked. Waterworld I'm afraid never made it to that list, such a shame I suppose. Wait, waaaaaaaaaaaaaaiiit.... nevermind, if you miss the goddamn sarcasm it's your own fault.
Other than that, in accordance with the laws of updating people on all that my meager life encompasses, I can only tell you that I have done nothing short of drive around pointlessly and walk around at blockbuster and the park and the block. Yup, exciting ain't it. Why I bother to type anything is beyond me seeing as I've yet to be thoroughly entertaining, and since my more thought-provoking and poetical prosaic styles of writing are greatly unappreciated by most of the people I've come in contact with, I'm forced to spare you all of that as well. Unfortunate, really, I am damn good at those things. But here we shall start a poll. All those in favor of reading something more prosy/poetic/thoughtful (albeit happiness and lightheartedness not guaranteed). See that kanji, yeah that one, to the right, no that's your left, your other right, there ya go. Yeah, click that see how it takes you to your email, goooooooood. Just type out something witty and in response to the poll, or just something witty that I can plagiarize for my own peace of mind and send it. Thus I will have something more better than do syntax to create. I know, I'm a creep. You could even say I'm a weirdo, what the hell am I doin' here. I don't belong here. I should copyright that, seeing as I just made it up on the spot, right here. No, seriously I did. Fiiiiiiiiiine don't believe me, but you'll be the first to be beaten off my huuuuuuge gates when I'm rich.

Do the Pod People Ever Use Gravy?

Vindicated
I am selfish, I am wrong
I am right, I swear I'm right
I knew it all along

I am hereby exercising my right to bitch. I feel it is my turn seeing as I've been nice and quiet and all smiley and whatnot, but dammit if I don't have plenty to complain about on a regular basis. So spurred by the House of Lords' declaration of spanking as legal, I too will take the superfluous and shove it in your face because I wanna. What're you gonna do about it? Go tell your mom I'll see her tomorrow night, that'd be constructive.
Wait, dammit, I lost all my rage. Damn you all and your ability to unfocus me.
It has come to my attention that I am becoming more of a "bad" replicant, if you will. I may have my faults, all bazillion and a half of them, but they keep me warm at night and serve other purposes like survival in this over stigmatized, anti-cultural, conformist society. Thus the reason for multiple personalities being witnessed by different acquaintances. But the problem seems to be that I am not a double, nor a doppelganger, I am the original; however, it seems that more and more friends (read: people on permanent time out) are taking new acquaintances and trying to impart likes and dislikes that are oddly similar to mine. Now this can seem all too paranoid, but the overlap is very eerie, not to mention it renders me obsolete. I suppose I have it coming in many ways, I'm not easy to get along with and can be seemingly moody, I have scored myself with numerous "sins", and I do often prefer to just be alone for the sake of my own sanity. But this isn't about me, it's about people being bastages and rendering me useless and bored. In conjunction with this, I'm gonna go ahead and say that you, yes, you (you know who you are), are an ant compared to me and so you can rage and piss and moan and take your little war as far as you want because the only thing it does is annoy me in the slightest. I just don't care, but I do want you to stop being a friggin sissy and just sit the fuck down and decide what you really want and stop bitching about getting there and just go, do it. Seriously people, this learned helplessness shit has to stop somewhere. I'm sitting here in limbo until I get a big fat envelope from Glasgow. In the meantime I'm looking for a job and keeping myself busy, but I'm not bitching about being stuck without employment, nor do I when the subject is broached, I leave it at, "life sucks, buy a helmet".
And for the majority of you who have made it onto my permanent timeout list, well, this is the last bit I have to say to the many of you unless I'm otherwise prompted (I can safely say that the first discoverers of this blog are not included on this list; furthermore, I apologize for the excessive bitching and the lack of humour, I know how much yall hate it, but things must be done at times, oh and I still need those dvds back whenever you are done with 'em). It was no one or two instances that put you onto this black list, just suffice it to say that you all need to learn how to follow through with your promises, whether understood or formal or verbal or whatever. Enough of this say one thing and do another, enough with the twisting of words and desire for melodrama (not that this isn't classifiable as such), but seriously. Finally, for all those who've said "you can't understand" to me in regards to any sort of relationship issue/pain/whatever simply because my tally of serious relationships is kinda lame, you forget that to be human is to be empathetic and imaginative, to be able to divine the nature of anything with a little thought and creativity and care about those around you. If that makes no sense I'll dumb it down: the heart can understand anything if you allow it to, it can accept any burden and any person as well as their faults. So, the next time you think I'm too thick to know what it feels like to be human, yall can just fuck off. I am vindicated.
For godsakes, I wish you'd all just stop trying to be something because people think that's who you are, or you want people to think that's who you are. Now you're saying "what about you changing your hair and growing a goatee, blah blah blah, yakity schmakity". To that I reply that I do things for fun, never because it's expected or because I think I'll be cooler (there's no real hope for that to ever occur). This brings me to another PSA point: stop getting so defensive the moment you have to own up to something, just admit it and everyone else just let it go, leave them alone. Sheesh.
Oi, I'm all bitched out almost, I swear. And then, I suppose I can say that maybe I'm not the most mature/smart person all the time, but I can say that I have at least remained loyal to both those who asked and those who haven't. Maybe it's time some of you should do the same instead of merely reaping it for entertainment. Value it for companionship, for support, for whatever love may be there, but never forget that it's a two way street, others expect that you will be there as they were for you.

We now rejoin our regularly scheduled program.

Go Get 'Em Tiger

Trollin', trollin' trollin'
Lakes and streams are swollen
Fingers nearly frozen, Walleye!!!!
Through wind and rainy weather
We're in this boat together
Six packs, lures and leeches by our side

Muahaha. And you thought I was dead. Figures, you sadistic lil' bastaads. Well as you can tell by now, I can't be killed. They've tried and failed miserably. No, seriously. They sent this giant chicken at me with a chainsaw, but it couldn't stop me because I'm immortal (there are trees and mountains and magic... everywhere, magic). No, seriously. Just wait til the scientists get a hold of me and label me some sort of freak. No, the correct answer is "you were a freak from the day you were born, Freak". Dur.
Anyhoo, I can already see this is turning into a weird sorta deja vu thing, what with the strippers and booze and creepy lookin guys sitting in the corner with their hands under the table, goo. But the fourth of Julia came and went with a mild fizzle and a bit of an odd radioactive green glow (stupid old TV's we found in Chernoble) not to mention a complete lack of communication with the outside world. I hope you damn pyros were stupid enough and are now handless or at least one armed, god knows the world needs more bandits (jokes on you, there is no god). And for those of you that tried the soda can trick with your bonfire... Well I'm only sorry if there is any wood permanently embedded in your genitals (if only Bob Dole would read this blog, ED may have been permanently cured). I remember back when I was the third Hardy boy, wood was plentiful, and many odd little woodland creatures would gnaw on it. Those were the days, the days before Higgins. Personally, I spent much time sleeping but only because I never get to sleep from day to day, what with my busy schedule (shed-JOOL) and all, as well as watching movies and even had the nice occasion to golf (by the way I am a golf demagogue). Now normally I don't mind slow people on the course because then I don't feel so bad on the chance occurrence of me schnarking the fuck up all over the course. But when you have pro-wannabes hugging your ass and literally a small army of tiny Japanese people in front of you, the game tends to lose its splendor. Seriously, who lets a novtet of golfers on a course... Oh, wait, that's right, they didn't all pay, go figure. Well-to-do Asians cheating a golf course out of money, there's something in the spirit of nationalism and capitalism.
But I'm beginning to rant I see, which leads me to believe that the brain cancer may have some side effects. Now I'm not talkin cool side effects like John Travolta in Phenomenon, you know, the whole smart thing, moving things with mind thing; no, I'm talkin the whole stupid thing, the waving penii at traffic on Tuesdays thing, the extremely attractive to women thing, the sensitivity to bright lights thing, and the diarrhea of the mouth thing. Ok, I made up the part about sensitivity to bright lights, I got a bit carried away on that one I must admit. But for now, this shout out goes to Spieder-man, keep on truckin ol skool style, yo! And for the rest of you:
MAYOR THIS-->
(left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot...)


(oh the Family Guy references are on a rampage, and FREUNLAVIN! SCHMOIL! with the Aqua Teen Hunger Force)

Kerneled Brain Matter on the Dashboard

I backed my car into a cop car the other day
Well he just drove off sometimes life's ok
I ran my mouth off a bit too much oh what can i say
Well you just laughed it off it was all ok
And we'll all float on ok

Dichotomies. Or as I like to call them those double-meaning-word-thingies-that-I-can't-remember-the-name-for-because-I-gave-myself-a-brain-aneurysm. Nevertheless they are the future and the past... and the subjunctive? Ok, well maybe only if it's a lettuce subjunctive because I know I don't eat nearly enough leafy things. Forging ahead, I have come to discover that my cats have cabin fever and require a road trip (ro-ADD tree-OP). Coming to such a conclusion only took a 4 am wake up call from the beast viz wet paw slap to the face (I shortly thereafter discovered that a drunken friend had left the topmost toilet seat up allowing for the perfect perch). It was, however, prior to this that I decided that all friends are hereby suspended of said title. Unfortunately, at just over a year old, neither of the small mammaries can rent a vehicle. So, being their cohabitant, I get the glares of disrespect and the constant purposeful trips and shoves to which I respond "why you be frontin, foozaaaaaay!" And then with the bithch slaps and oh my, all hell breaks loose and I end up in the emergency room.
Where's this going, you may ask? I'm not tellin'. But only because I haven't decided. I think I just want to bury my nose and nuzzle in some Modest Mouse rolling around in notebook pages and air guitaring the whole way. I could always go for a brisk sprinkler run like when we were kids and the summer sun would bake skin brown, and little girls' lips would turn blue from the water, I was never cold enough to leave. I was standing at the store the other day and there was a man next to me with no pants on. So i asked whats with the no pants thing goin on. And he asked me whats with the whole shorts wearing thing goin on over your way. And I thought 'fair enough' and took my shorts off.
Now you're thinking that this post has absolutely nothing to do with nothing. If that were the case then you're completely contradicting yourself, or are you? Oooooo, spooky. Word of warning for all you pyros out there: water puts the fire out. To get a bigger fire throw some gas on it. If you happen to notice that its not hot enough to melt metal beer cans here's a fun game to play: take a full can of soda and chuck it into the center of the fire (quick like a rabbit), then stand really close. And don't forget, firecrackers never really work as effectively as when they're closed up in your hand.
Enjoy the summer, suckers. I gots me some sleddin' to do.