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.
28 September 2004
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.
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.
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!
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.
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!
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!
26 August 2004
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.
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.
17 August 2004
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.
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
1 August 2004
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.
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.
28 July 2004
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).
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).
24 July 2004
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."
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."
22 July 2004
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".
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".
21 July 2004
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.
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.
19 July 2004
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.
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.
18 July 2004
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 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.
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.
16 July 2004
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.
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.
14 July 2004
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.
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.
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.
13 July 2004
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.
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.
12 July 2004
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.
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.
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