28 September 2004

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.

26 September 2004

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.

22 September 2004

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

18 September 2004

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!

8 September 2004

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.

4 September 2004

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!