tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34124077820751870562024-03-13T12:53:46.083-07:00Writing is just luck, blood and glitterAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11681734867318424214noreply@blogger.comBlogger68125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3412407782075187056.post-70757952250227209192014-07-27T03:27:00.000-07:002014-07-27T03:27:05.784-07:00Like Two Things that Fucking Mystify MeThis post was going to be called: <i>Things Which Puzzle Me That I Could Solve In Seconds Via Google But I Don't Because I Want Some Mystery to Remain in the World</i>.<br />
<br />
I thought that was too long for the title bar, so compromised with the shorter, more swear-y, piratey version. It also started off saying 'Five Ordinary Things that Fucking Mystify Me', but I can't commit to anything, so now it's two. The gist is the same, anyway. Said gist being that there are things in the world that just make me scratch my head and <i>WONDER</i>. Why? Why do these things exist? Who invented them? What manner of people have purchased them in such numbers as to keep them on the shelves of shops? Most of these things aren't products, just things that flit through my mind at any given moment in time, usually when I'm supposed to be doing something more important, like keeping my attention on the road and my hands at ten and two.<br />
<br />
It's generally all manner of random shit. I spent an entire car journey wondering about the classification of Jaffa Cakes. I don't know if this is an England-only product, so for the rest of the world, I have drawn in glorious technicolour and MS Paint a stunning and entirely accurate picture of what a Jaffa cake is:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJygn3CYI-rgD9cJx6muTaMRnE4IfxorKsjt1Gq5yGL5UQNzypEvIg89JSMLvtxA5IwcNa6plKhdL1OvSyqddS-pE6L5-CSC4G2XmnvHj2e-ProvDAaz9uRWIh0pX48IB2WgsIZeqPzABH/s1600/jaffa.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJygn3CYI-rgD9cJx6muTaMRnE4IfxorKsjt1Gq5yGL5UQNzypEvIg89JSMLvtxA5IwcNa6plKhdL1OvSyqddS-pE6L5-CSC4G2XmnvHj2e-ProvDAaz9uRWIh0pX48IB2WgsIZeqPzABH/s1600/jaffa.png" height="286" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Very scientific</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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And just in case there are some MAD people out there who aren't blessed with immediately clarity due to the professionalism of my depiction, here's a photo I guess.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8h6snnixzLjwbdJKQq0YWpHgkG3AireGY6uoOom9FadASft5CTgFWsKxuX4FFuirXZ8ir6yDeebL-P-GSO8bQ1pi_NWg5kx51Gfol_FphvKw6Qu7v6jZYIJpuAYvL_l13dD4qm_3v74fe/s1600/jaffa1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8h6snnixzLjwbdJKQq0YWpHgkG3AireGY6uoOom9FadASft5CTgFWsKxuX4FFuirXZ8ir6yDeebL-P-GSO8bQ1pi_NWg5kx51Gfol_FphvKw6Qu7v6jZYIJpuAYvL_l13dD4qm_3v74fe/s1600/jaffa1.jpg" height="203" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not scientific. I think we can all agree mine was the superior depiction</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
So, yeah. That's a Jaffa Cake. It looks like a biscuit - it lives with the other biscuits on the biscuit aisle at the supermarket, and yet it is not called a Jaffa BISCUIT. Perhaps the whole packet is a cake, and I've just been going about it all wrong my entire life. It's entirely possible you're supposed to take them all out at once and eat them corn-on-the-cob style.<br />
<br />
But NO. They don't really possess the qualities needed to qualify for cake status. It's not big, there's no icing, you can't stick a birthday candle in one. On the other hand, they're not really biscuits either. They're far too soft to be a biscuit. You wouldn't dunk that in your cup of tea, you'd end up with melted chocolate and the sponge would suck up too much liquid and then there'd be nothing for it but tears and recriminations and regrets.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
CLEARLY, Jaffa Cakes need some new name, some new classification. Or, fuck it, I don't know, we could just go on calling them Jaffa Cakes because that's their name. Whatever.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
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That's the prognosis I came to during my car journey, in any case. I also spent at least fifteen minutes wondering if someone made a massive Jaffa Cake (I'm talking <i>Kayne's ego</i> big) and dropped it in the ocean, would it float?</div>
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<br /></div>
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The answer to that, I came to quite quickly: "Who the fuck cares, what is wrong with you - seriously, I think you need to see someone."</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Other shit that frightens and confuses me:</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><u>Fingerless Gloves</u></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><u><br /></u></span>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEL7O4TR_l__9TO3Z85WygBHP-PI819R1VBvok67io_tLoR8DlvPafkcqPZe_MpICljeZGo4AfqKfibcb1NdFoiMA5OJ80r94fCh8QFAJdWzeK3h52A6Q-KtWZ9JyW1TZPnNeRtLeOp-VW/s1600/gloves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEL7O4TR_l__9TO3Z85WygBHP-PI819R1VBvok67io_tLoR8DlvPafkcqPZe_MpICljeZGo4AfqKfibcb1NdFoiMA5OJ80r94fCh8QFAJdWzeK3h52A6Q-KtWZ9JyW1TZPnNeRtLeOp-VW/s1600/gloves.jpg" height="320" width="283" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look at all the things I can do! How warm is your palm right now? I bet it's hot, I bet it's burning.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;"><u><br /></u></span>
Like I said in my waffle of a preamble to this list, I'm not looking up the origins of these things until I've made some wild stabs in the dark of my own, so if anyone is thinking 'JUST GOOGLE IT, YOU IDIOT' well, you can just go Google your face. Yeah. Drop the mic and PEACE.<br />
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Uh, right, so, fingerless gloves.<br />
<br />
Who in their right mind sees a chilly morning, then looks at their gloves and snips the fingers off? Gloves are supposed to cover the whole hand area, INCLUDING THE FINGERS. THE FINGERS ARE ALWAYS THE FIRST THING TO GET COLD.<br />
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I literally can't think of a single reason fingerless gloves were invented, unless Hollywood purposefully made them so that when we see homeless men warming their hands over their fire-barrels in a movie we know they're really, really poor because they can't even afford a whole pair of gloves. It's plausible, I suppose, that there is some kind of glove shop in Hollywood that will sell homeless people either one full glove, fingers included, or two gloves without the fingers for the same price. But what the hell is he doing with all those disembodied glove fingers? Hat for a snake? And no, that wasn't innuendo but now I can't stop thinking about it.<br />
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Woolly condom. That's just wrong. Just wrong. I'm pleased to say after very tentatively searching around the internets for a little bit, that there are no woolly condoms on the market. The only thing I could find was this:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBr5ugdB8ovKxJT20rrxbT0ebb47vpRpqRM1zXphfeyeNVmQE5q6NQ6cOd_gjAXLEyaD7BT6hkj8RpgRlcMsC0LOTeEJIi9hhQIR8cshyWs1KhTqmzmc2_0AngOofaBrmGE5hha_GybGWz/s1600/whitewoollycondom.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBr5ugdB8ovKxJT20rrxbT0ebb47vpRpqRM1zXphfeyeNVmQE5q6NQ6cOd_gjAXLEyaD7BT6hkj8RpgRlcMsC0LOTeEJIi9hhQIR8cshyWs1KhTqmzmc2_0AngOofaBrmGE5hha_GybGWz/s1600/whitewoollycondom.png" height="400" width="197" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I don't know what the fuck is going on here, but that lady is really not happy about it. HER EYES ARE DEAD.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
So, okay. I admit defeat. I can't think of a single useful use for fingerless gloves other than to perpetuate a homeless stereotype, and possibly if there's a Russian violin player out there who is forced to perform outdoors and he needs ungloved fingers to play.<br />
<br />
Let's Google this bitch and find out what they're really for.<br />
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The first result is not really what I'm looking for, but it might be the best question I've ever seen asked on the internet, though it provokes a whole lot of other questions:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghOsmFisQxRm-YOcqfUK1ueM7SO7pzNmfgPdaB1v-AVHCrPiKaOVDz2GHoJ-ccNWU5-nFH4-0JkYFkUXwS1hM2hsu1BNBb8iW2LLzUWPn6aRkBdyDa8vPZyAckI8N4_aTwKtRI6ZNN28Ru/s1600/whattheactual.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghOsmFisQxRm-YOcqfUK1ueM7SO7pzNmfgPdaB1v-AVHCrPiKaOVDz2GHoJ-ccNWU5-nFH4-0JkYFkUXwS1hM2hsu1BNBb8iW2LLzUWPn6aRkBdyDa8vPZyAckI8N4_aTwKtRI6ZNN28Ru/s1600/whattheactual.png" height="140" width="400" /></a></div>
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So, at least we've established that fingerless gloves were not invented to help lizards in their fly fishing competitions. WHAT THE ACTUAL SHIT, YOU GUYS. Who ASKED that question?! And WHY?<br />
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You know what, I don't want to know what the real answer is. I'm not going to adhere to the person who responded to the lizard fishing question. From this day forth, if anyone asks me what fingerless gloves were invented for, I shall say 'To help lizards catch fish'.<br />
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I can't top that. Moving on.<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><u><br /></u></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><u>Pigs as Pets</u></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><u><br /></u></span>
There's a chance I might offend some people with this particular mind-bender of mine, but I'm sorry guys, I just don't get it. I like pigs, don't get me wrong, but I like them because they're delicious, not because they make good pets.<br />
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I am specifically talking about 'Teacup pigs'. I play a lot of Warcraft, and an online friend of mine is <i>obsessed </i>with motherfucking teacup pigs. I don't even know what they are. I'm pretty sure the clue is in the name, but like, the honey badger is badger, not honey, so how do I know that these aren't just teacups decorated with pigs?<br />
<br />
Well, that's a silly question, because my pig-obsessed friend babbles about how awesome they are and how she wants one to dress up in tiny clothes and fucking Instagram photos of it or something, I don't know, I tune her out after a while. I think if she is so set on dressing up a small thing she might as well have a baby. Human clothes are supposed to go on humans, and while it's hilarious to see grumpy cat in a Santa outfit, there are people (as with any portion of the population with similar interests) who go batshit crazy with dressing up their pets, making them get married, and on and on.<br />
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A dog can't tell you "No thank you, I do not wish to marry the poodle, in fact every time I see her I want to kill her. With my face." And I'm pretty sure there's no doggy divorce cou-- HANG ON A SECOND - WAS MARRYING DOGS TOGETHER LEGAL BEFORE GAY MARRIAGE WAS?<br />
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God, I got a bit taken off guard by that. But since I very much doubt a dog wedding is legally binding, it's all good. Jesus fucking Christ I was talking about pigs, how did I get to doggy weddings?<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9GvrgxcmG4ha7B7gfeInYqOaIiWdB6O2DoQPw6onstG3FPEbwwZBufQgqZl3i5pItIbusNxwUHYkFrBaIksk0HVVgwV_hePzYaMTVVh-ut5hn1fmcarR5hBQbGtCxWS5DlwXrvZPEQljV/s1600/Police-dog-wedding-in-Sri-010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9GvrgxcmG4ha7B7gfeInYqOaIiWdB6O2DoQPw6onstG3FPEbwwZBufQgqZl3i5pItIbusNxwUHYkFrBaIksk0HVVgwV_hePzYaMTVVh-ut5hn1fmcarR5hBQbGtCxWS5DlwXrvZPEQljV/s1600/Police-dog-wedding-in-Sri-010.jpg" height="240" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I have no idea what is happening, but it doesn't look consensual.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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So, anyway. The vague promise is of teeny pigs that never outgrow a teacup. Now, I'm no farmer, but I call bullshit immediately. TO GOOGLE!<br />
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Oh, hey, guess what? It's bullshit!<br />
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Hilariously, the very first hit Google tossed my way is 'NEVER BUY A TEACUP PIG'. Interesting. Go on? Yeah, they get big. I mean.. heavier than a Great Dane big, and they'll eat you out of house and home. Turns out - and you're not going to believe this - that teacup pigs are tiny because they're BABIES, and until Hollywood figures out how to halt the aging process altogether, everything has to grow up. These guys grow up, all right, up and out and down and around.. Holy shit, these pigs are fat.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlGLI4m7S5zNperWLebLfzNfOOx0iGLq2gAmr-swOAYGHKfpXjgaqT3vG7FahbjMqpzjY26Z4uG8ObuKvfkQPdPvz8Bv6ku28wviGcZ5rz9xnOOZZ7OLvBVlFWsNEKRNg9xLDeXDE_8DTp/s1600/38a75aafc9992fdbf8fd1abe754d8a92.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlGLI4m7S5zNperWLebLfzNfOOx0iGLq2gAmr-swOAYGHKfpXjgaqT3vG7FahbjMqpzjY26Z4uG8ObuKvfkQPdPvz8Bv6ku28wviGcZ5rz9xnOOZZ7OLvBVlFWsNEKRNg9xLDeXDE_8DTp/s1600/38a75aafc9992fdbf8fd1abe754d8a92.png" height="283" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Obligatory before and after shot. That is one delicio-- I mean big, pig.<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
There's also the fact that, sorry, <i>pigs just don't make good pets. </i>They're fine if you're looking to change your occupation to 'evil mob boss' or whatever, because they'll eat fucking anything, including peoples. If I fall asleep with my dog, all's cool. If I fall asleep with the cats, they'll plot and attack my feet, but that's because they're assholes. I don't want to fall asleep with a pig in case it figures I've been still for long enough and starts trying to eat my leg or whatever. They're also herd animals, so they'll be fucking miserable if you don't get a..<br />
<br />
Shit.<br />
<br />
What's the name for a group of pigs? It's a herd, right? Ah, shit, I better check.<br /><br />'A drift, drove, litter (young), sounder (of swine), team, passel (of hogs), singular (refers to a group of boars)'<br /><br />...<br />
<br />
WELL, THANKS A FUCKING LOT. THAT DOESN'T HELP AT ALL. ACTUALLY, IT DOES HELP, BUT IT HELPS TOO MUCH. (A streak of tigers? A tower of giraffes? A business of ferrets? This is made-up, right?) All right, through my advanced technique of searching (AKA clicking on more than one Google result) I have discerned that a group of pigs is PROBABLY a drift or a drove.<br />
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The fuck was I even talking about? Oh, right.<br />
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Pigs are herd animals and will be miserable unless you buy a DRIFT of them to pal around with. Cats and dogs are traditionally predator animals, and have been domesticated for centuries as pets. Pigs are traditionally prey animals and have been domesticated for centuries as dinner. A happy dog will greet your friends with a wagging tail; a happy pig will treat your friends like something that probably wants to eat it. And you, too, probably. I mean, if the world got turned on its head tomorrow and I got adopted by a tiger, no matter how long he was nice to me, I'd still know he had teeth.<br />
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In conclusion: Pigs are food, not friends.<br />
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Ahahahaha, a 'rhumba' of rattlesnakes. Who makes this shit up?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4BGSsdrzggG6YTEyXzlA6Fk2-AfRdgcY6dl-_HK89dNkVk7RKvV709u2b78K4RRtQeYIG8Ja5X2c4wbd9Be-GaxEYvdFVEfKSBprvoTGl25F0lIPYxu_c89ZbLbg2txli7J6dMSoJTQ6c/s1600/dancing_snakes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4BGSsdrzggG6YTEyXzlA6Fk2-AfRdgcY6dl-_HK89dNkVk7RKvV709u2b78K4RRtQeYIG8Ja5X2c4wbd9Be-GaxEYvdFVEfKSBprvoTGl25F0lIPYxu_c89ZbLbg2txli7J6dMSoJTQ6c/s1600/dancing_snakes.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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That's it, I'm done. Here is the collective list of other things that I was going to write about, but don't care enough to bother with:<br />
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What the fuck did cave-women use as tampons? Or did they use anything? Why did I think about this?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Who made up words and why do we still use them? There's got to be a point where were collectively say 'fuck it' and don't bother with all the silent letters anymore, surely.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
What are cotton buds for if you can't put them in your ears? Nothing as satisfying, probably.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
Why don't horse owners have to pick up after their horses when they shit? I mean, dog owners can legally be flayed alive for not scooping the poop. Horses have a lot more shit. Like, a lot. Is it really just because it's all biodegradable hay? Shit's shit, man. It all stinks.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
If traffic cones became cognitive and evil would we all just die like sheep? Or is this already happening, I don't even know.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Where do shoes on telephone wires come from and why? WHY? WHO TAKES THEIR SHOES OFF, TIES THEM TOGETHER, AND THROWS THEM ON TELEPHONE WIRES? EXPLAIN THIS BULLSHIT.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj07uxOK0mFd3j3T6V6Bto-5VyiefFqKc47Tr47cQUEc7jaAtH-YExrlJ7pjUfdU0XavX9xTFqFv1VsTq_w8IAzaKZllHV6GjLK4lq7N7TyxDhMWzvvzbu0xQ3dV_DrFvAuy7C-SKDL9vsv/s1600/Shoes_in_telephone_wire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj07uxOK0mFd3j3T6V6Bto-5VyiefFqKc47Tr47cQUEc7jaAtH-YExrlJ7pjUfdU0XavX9xTFqFv1VsTq_w8IAzaKZllHV6GjLK4lq7N7TyxDhMWzvvzbu0xQ3dV_DrFvAuy7C-SKDL9vsv/s1600/Shoes_in_telephone_wire.jpg" height="246" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">TELL ME YOUR SECRETS, ABANDONED SHOES.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Oh my God, it's a whole <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shoe_tossing" target="_blank">thing</a>.<br /><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11681734867318424214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3412407782075187056.post-87409689238139946132014-07-27T02:15:00.000-07:002014-07-27T02:15:28.348-07:00Et tu, brain?<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302947998px; line-height: 17.563634872436523px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
Don't you just love it when not only the world conspires to keep you from sleep <i>(Too hot! Too many loud idiots outside! Cats are playing war on my bed and my feet are the enemy!)</i> but also your own brain decides to chip in:</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302947998px; line-height: 17.563634872436523px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
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<span style="font-size: 13.63636302947998px;">"Oh hey, I know you want to sleep, and Imma get to that, but first, here's a clipshow of all the embarrassing stuff you've ever done? Ready? Ok, good."</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302947998px; line-height: 17.563634872436523px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
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Cue montage. That time I fell of my motorbike in front of a group of lads because I was showing off. I w<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">as going like 5mph, I didn't get hurt, but my bike was too heavy to pick up on my own.</span></div>
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<i>Sigh</i>.</div>
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The time I was a waitress and was asked to take a bottle of wine to a table. The manager didn't put it in an ice bucket, so I did it myself. It was red wine. I was like fifteen, I had no idea. I remember the conversation as I walked away from the table: "Is that red? We asked for red, didn't we? Why is it chilled? Perhaps it's to improve it." Yes. Yes, go with that. It's to improve it, nothing to do with the waitress being an IDIOT.</div>
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Hey, remember that brief period when you were eighteen and you thought it was cool to go everywhere with a red headscarf bandana thing wrapped around your right hand like you were part of the goddamn Crips or something? Ahaha! You looked so stupid!</div>
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And on, and on, and on..</div>
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Honestly, brain. There's no need to be such an asshole. I just wanted to sleep.</div>
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On the upside, I've woken up to discover Ramsay's new series of Hotel Hell has started. Fuck yeah, let's go bitch at people with G-Dog. I'll even recap it.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11681734867318424214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3412407782075187056.post-64166594149653580372014-05-28T05:06:00.001-07:002014-05-28T05:06:29.212-07:00And another thing...So, generally the stuff I talk about here isn't particularly ground-breaking and I don't intend it to be. My last post was about how <i>Two and a Half Men </i>is shit, and that's not exactly an insanely off-the-wall opinion to have. What I want to say today, though, will be trickier because it has a lot of buzzwords that make people's hackles rise as soon as they hear them.<br />
<br />
I read an article on <a href="http://www.policymic.com/articles/80229/23-inspiring-feminist-digital-campaigns-that-changed-the-world">inspiring feminist digital campaigns</a> yesterday. Some of them were awesome, you know? Good work, fellow boob-havers, march on, etc etc. I was sort of going to gloss over this part, but since I'm giving examples to the contrary in a moment on the same sort of thing, let's be fair and say that it's a VERY GOOD DAY when Amazon is compelled to stop selling t-shirts that encourage rape and violence.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqbtWWqx2LRBIaOIIw7Li04OJbdB3F-jlVFI1VjeTJIPWHA1x3QSNHGzqpbhgQ8qCgfBLv0l4ySn4hpNKNzorzsCZAkKHiQWiXCGnwgdiz6MuMLW4JXqMqcZ-c4KP7j8T0QTiYokxmG_f1/s1600/wtaf.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqbtWWqx2LRBIaOIIw7Li04OJbdB3F-jlVFI1VjeTJIPWHA1x3QSNHGzqpbhgQ8qCgfBLv0l4ySn4hpNKNzorzsCZAkKHiQWiXCGnwgdiz6MuMLW4JXqMqcZ-c4KP7j8T0QTiYokxmG_f1/s1600/wtaf.png" height="267" width="400" /></a></div>
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I mean, REALLY. You can't try to hide the message by making it a pink t-shirt, you tools. It would take someone a deal braver than I to wear one of these ironically, and I think it would take an actual caveperson to wear them proudly.<br />
<br />
Scroll down a little further, though, and there's a similar story which rubbed me the wrong way. Apparently I get all hot and bothered about t-shirts, whatever, that's something to jot down for my future therapist. I have already written the second part of this entry, all lit up with righteous fever and defending the freedom of speech and stamping my feet about silencing a portion of the community just because someone doesn't like it, and yes, you could call me a hypocrite for wagging my finger at one example and overriding another, but come on: there is a difference between arguing the merits of suggesting a good idea for keeping one's calm is to punch one's wife, and arguing against the wholesale removal of Disney t-shirts because the girl option didn't include the alternative of being Thor or whatever.<br />
<br />
I think we can all agree that the rape tshirt removal wasn't censorship - like, I'm sorry, are we offending the rapist portions of the community here? GOOD. But there's more to these Disney t-shirts that were forced off the line. Let me show you them:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDXTnCQDk0eglONrHSqvWpS5MSNKvPFzfDK5UE0IMR4YFuylPnRdvvZUm3zfge12LDkzK1F2sXyzsJJzoh8VE-yfXrMlK05BtgVK_FiLEPaFl_5lrkwGeQMHHMaEPdPHuEYqB0qywKPxTA/s1600/hero.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDXTnCQDk0eglONrHSqvWpS5MSNKvPFzfDK5UE0IMR4YFuylPnRdvvZUm3zfge12LDkzK1F2sXyzsJJzoh8VE-yfXrMlK05BtgVK_FiLEPaFl_5lrkwGeQMHHMaEPdPHuEYqB0qywKPxTA/s1600/hero.png" height="208" width="400" /></a></div>
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So, the one on the left is the girl's choice, and the one on the right is for boys. Apparently this means 'Girls can't be heroes'. I suppose no one thought of buying the blue one for their daughter.<br />
<br />
None of the heroes on the red t-shirt are women. They're the Avengers, and though I cannot back this claim up with comic book knowledge, my thorough awareness of the movie (Read: I watched it a bunch of times) tells me that the only female Avenger is Black Widow. If you're going to get pissed off that there's only one girl in the Avengers, go and tell Marvel or whatever. Maybe Disney started off thinking: Okay, we'll have the boys on the boy t-shirt and Black Widow on the girls' t-shirt, grand, good, marvelous.<br />
<br />
And then they saw Marvel's Black Widow.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2e6xCzRWjtIPkngAdyT32FJlAg0xsfmNYNcrYDa-ALl_ESeTfwk8l23ysH2S6ZUhyphenhyphen6cWTp3shVK4nTaARBs5Bc9w5YxQQOa1XCfI6VtTI6n-gQANvi-_r2sa4nOd0TF3HJfMDZ2f-R8Fj/s1600/bw.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2e6xCzRWjtIPkngAdyT32FJlAg0xsfmNYNcrYDa-ALl_ESeTfwk8l23ysH2S6ZUhyphenhyphen6cWTp3shVK4nTaARBs5Bc9w5YxQQOa1XCfI6VtTI6n-gQANvi-_r2sa4nOd0TF3HJfMDZ2f-R8Fj/s1600/bw.png" height="400" width="322" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Sup."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Okay, so she could have been zipped up and cleaned up a bit and de-gunned or whatever, but she still looks like she's made up out of boobs and black leather, and while that's cool with me (Costumes. Aw yisss) and more than cool for teenage (and older) boys, it probably isn't what the very same people who had these tshirts removed from sale want to see on their daughter's chest.<br />
<br />
I have gone WAY off topic. Again. I am trying to get to a place to segue in the stuff I wrote earlier, but I keep galloping off in the other direction.<br />
<br />
I'm not going to be able to find a smooth way into it, and I don't want to erase it because it felt important when I was writing it. I think in the end I was kind of mad that Disney, who seem to be taking such strides in the right direction with their movies (<i>Tangled</i> had the princess rescuing the prince, <i>Frozen</i>'s act of true love was between sisters) getting slammed for what was probably an off-hand decision. Sometimes a t-shirt is just a fucking t-shirt.<br />
<br />
There is no easy way to segue into what I wrote before, it'll have to be a smash-cut. Here it is:<br />
<br />
They're telling you censorship is a victory when it never is. They're saying that their freedom costs the voice of others, and that isn't freedom, that's profane and they're only doing it because someone is watching. No one is forcing them to put these clothes on their children.<br />
<br />
A solution could have been to make both versions of the tee for both genders, because you know what? Some girls want to be rescued. Yeah, sorry. For as many women there are who don't think men should be allowed to be saviours, there are girls who grew up with their minds in a tall tower, their hair tumbling down the vine-strewn sides, waiting to be rescued - not because they were tricked into that damn tower or because society made them think they had to brick up the doorway themselves, but because they wanted to be there. And for as many princesses there are, there are self-rescuing princesses, like me, who realised one day that 'Hey, if I hook my hair around this winch I can just climb out myself.." and then off they go to find a Prince, or a thief or a sailor or whoever they want. Whoever I want. Even if that's just me, because you don't need the Prince in the story to finish it.<br />
<br />
And you know what? Silencing everyone because you don't like what you hear doesn't lead to evolution. It just leads to silence. That's not the answer, otherwise what are we all doing here? Why have a voice if you can't speak? In the end words are just words, and the only one who can give them power is you, how you react to them, what shapes they weave in your mind when you read them and you can't blame someone else for how you react. That's a whole different world of brothers and fathers and rape cultures and victim blaming and all of it is important, but not all of it is important all the time - I mean of course, that perhaps you're not angry because a little girl is wearing a t-shirt that says 'I need a hero' emblazoned across it. Let them want a hero, if that's what they want. We're not all Buffy, some of us are Snow White and what am I even saying, I'm doing it too, I've just realised. Look at where we are. Look around at how far we've come. It's not always a Princess in that tower. Sometimes it's a Prince. So why can't a boy who knows at ten who he is better than I will ever know myself wear a t-shirt that says 'I need a hero'?<br />
<br />
Look how <i>big </i>the world just got.<br />
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And now, some pictures of the Avengers as women:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivNjfSr0ill01tYZp_MZABJ35R3_IA5mt4XXkY8im80SVVqUS9rNLJjsmllAZ_0pqQNKgxX9xwlRLwoh3FG4wMJ8ybuEBmjFzjMHc-gUo1iH8ca5kLHYV7_qV27ZepuugTz1HaOFuPv_tv/s1600/av1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivNjfSr0ill01tYZp_MZABJ35R3_IA5mt4XXkY8im80SVVqUS9rNLJjsmllAZ_0pqQNKgxX9xwlRLwoh3FG4wMJ8ybuEBmjFzjMHc-gUo1iH8ca5kLHYV7_qV27ZepuugTz1HaOFuPv_tv/s1600/av1.png" height="400" width="260" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4NtKlNjE7vLJN-LpxXZZd1s1l4uRQl3EtFACzUGWkQZoNrGFueiFV2XCmMCdvZ2WBloaNOkKWEbZ8pfkz3NP8MNPoWCH98dbfQ_Zvb9HyxJv1nJl-JT69DSYt62K9Zo20ukf5v6lGpzJm/s1600/av2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4NtKlNjE7vLJN-LpxXZZd1s1l4uRQl3EtFACzUGWkQZoNrGFueiFV2XCmMCdvZ2WBloaNOkKWEbZ8pfkz3NP8MNPoWCH98dbfQ_Zvb9HyxJv1nJl-JT69DSYt62K9Zo20ukf5v6lGpzJm/s1600/av2.png" height="400" width="297" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizJIugT2yycFXKcMRG2UfYtjKl9lwiH00dyrrPOZ_JEG2dW51gAykQne-2L9Z1p61fLiHNo9_mOYEtX5aV1xsOIu5shq-3WQfd8LvstzIFWbXWehRNYWL_-VyPIwNhA5ppN9_27yR9Ipp8/s1600/av.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizJIugT2yycFXKcMRG2UfYtjKl9lwiH00dyrrPOZ_JEG2dW51gAykQne-2L9Z1p61fLiHNo9_mOYEtX5aV1xsOIu5shq-3WQfd8LvstzIFWbXWehRNYWL_-VyPIwNhA5ppN9_27yR9Ipp8/s1600/av.png" height="400" width="291" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx-2Zs1l4EHytRpBHI8XFGmrGgRZMUmUBxxaSjdvMGWTRLy2TAi1KWxmCiExRj-L2QfecBVN4nfgUSXEpJyUZVwX-2_gDjK6uKVfyrFk-NGpnec9RTGBFhm6XhzC2KM1cUtMoPb8eqEqNc/s1600/av3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx-2Zs1l4EHytRpBHI8XFGmrGgRZMUmUBxxaSjdvMGWTRLy2TAi1KWxmCiExRj-L2QfecBVN4nfgUSXEpJyUZVwX-2_gDjK6uKVfyrFk-NGpnec9RTGBFhm6XhzC2KM1cUtMoPb8eqEqNc/s1600/av3.png" height="313" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Okay, this is just what they'd look like if they were POSED as Black Widow always is.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXqOYlt4CDKxcjkzpn-Huoa3OqvGkccf57odU3Xn6aCzi2Sx0X0_bKwEiWyfUyy8QNne1KywigPD1hEOYDG2B2wExH99I5zhz4PpO858vWycxAZVHJEW614itII3jzUQ-lUTaguAsyA-hI/s1600/av4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXqOYlt4CDKxcjkzpn-Huoa3OqvGkccf57odU3Xn6aCzi2Sx0X0_bKwEiWyfUyy8QNne1KywigPD1hEOYDG2B2wExH99I5zhz4PpO858vWycxAZVHJEW614itII3jzUQ-lUTaguAsyA-hI/s1600/av4.png" height="301" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And.. yeah, pretty much just because it gives me a lady boner.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9vQvLjo1bwcyDhYKmEMFgJC5H7vuaE1N5tiRl6Aka6-GsBQx4uyoJUqBtnOS15H9vkqeXZI5a4cuc-jRwpbdSSODEJwASKM9_oCCv5IUd9fmGw0IApVrUGboPqpqd28oDTtg00p29KSHe/s1600/av5.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9vQvLjo1bwcyDhYKmEMFgJC5H7vuaE1N5tiRl6Aka6-GsBQx4uyoJUqBtnOS15H9vkqeXZI5a4cuc-jRwpbdSSODEJwASKM9_oCCv5IUd9fmGw0IApVrUGboPqpqd28oDTtg00p29KSHe/s1600/av5.png" height="265" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No context.</td></tr>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11681734867318424214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3412407782075187056.post-3735605691696122112014-05-27T14:43:00.001-07:002014-05-27T15:24:24.273-07:00Insert Dr Horrible's part of 'On the Rise' here.So I have this big post I'm working on, which seemed like a good idea at the time, but since I underestimated my incredible powers of procrastination, confounded further by an attention span which can only be likened to that of a goldfish, it--<br />
<br />
Ooh, something shiny.<br />
<br />
Sorry, what was I saying? Oh yes. The big post. It's taking more time than I thought it would, mostly because of my inherent need to waffle on about things to a ridic extent. I touch-type extremely quickly, which means that something I had intended to confine to a sentence morphs and bloats into an entire page of alarmingly sharp tangents and mini-rants which have nothing to do with whatever it is I'm writing.<br />
<br />
They announced the list of what fledgling shows have been cancelled about a week ago, and also which new and ongoing shows have been renewed. I'm not going to lie, I was pretty pissed about it all.<br />
<br />
I watch all the shows. All of 'em. I'm supposed to recap them, but a good 90% of the time I do not, because I am the laziest person on the planet. There were some promising new sitcoms, in particular I was enjoying 'Surviving Jack' and 'Growing up Fisher', which have both been taken out back and shot in the head.<br />
<br />
Look, sitcoms these days are generally just vaguely amusing ways in which to kill 22 minutes. I'm not holding them up to sky-high standards, but there's a big difference between a likable cast with chemistry and motherfucking Two and a Half Men, or Anger Management, both of which make me <i>actually feel depressed </i>thinking about them. The idea of watching an episode is mortifying.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN7gALnHG-kbhS0LvM9tEh2vo_DzS8yDCZmVPaMO4_6YjyuKtd12Uve0u5fBwdq3ZsHBDrDiOi-6uWvQjUFHG6iZHmi47gRAVMc0p67xc6WBfI2bRhljHIpzbQCxXNIvfMsXjVyMP3MCm0/s1600/kid.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN7gALnHG-kbhS0LvM9tEh2vo_DzS8yDCZmVPaMO4_6YjyuKtd12Uve0u5fBwdq3ZsHBDrDiOi-6uWvQjUFHG6iZHmi47gRAVMc0p67xc6WBfI2bRhljHIpzbQCxXNIvfMsXjVyMP3MCm0/s1600/kid.png" height="225" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look what being on this show did to the kid. He's literally turning into a caveman and/or an inside-out conker shell.</td></tr>
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<br />
I have watched episodes in the past, mostly because I think it's dumb to offer an opinion on something you've never experienced yourself. I'm pretty sure I'd love zorbing, but I've never done it, and thus I do not give my opinion on the greatness or shittiness of rolling down hills in giant inflatable balls. So, because I've watched Two and a Half Men, I am allowed to call it as I see it - and what I see is hell. There is nothing funny about it. Not even in the slightest. It's soul-sucking. The poor writers have just given in to the banality of it all and written out every (even tiny) sliver of reliability or redeeming quality in John Cryer's character. I actually hate Alan Harper. There is also revulsion in there. He has become what they used to joke he was, which I guess makes him a joke. A bad, unfunny joke.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEvrcbZ9raDZAwGpBDOea1vxKcGhg57xJt3WiPG9SHui30bu2TgRaCLM6jvA7sFWTqsZ3HWLJ47O42dP4cE_SR025wHC0tvhPiB3rcprv7pO66CGC57JhLvTdBg2U25P9UKo6FSzqD2Nsv/s1600/alan.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEvrcbZ9raDZAwGpBDOea1vxKcGhg57xJt3WiPG9SHui30bu2TgRaCLM6jvA7sFWTqsZ3HWLJ47O42dP4cE_SR025wHC0tvhPiB3rcprv7pO66CGC57JhLvTdBg2U25P9UKo6FSzqD2Nsv/s1600/alan.png" height="400" width="279" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Hilarious." She deadpanned, knife in hand.</td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
There have, so far, been TWELVE seasons of this shite, and not even Charlie Sheen's meltdown could stop it. I like Ashton Kutcher's body as much as the next perv, but I can't even LOOK at you anymore, Kutch. I can't do it.<br />
<br />
Speaking of Charlie Sheen, he moved on to another depressing sitcom in which he STILL plays a guy named Charlie and we're STILL supposed to be able to suspend our disbelief to such an extent to believe that attractive women want to have sex with him. Why the fuck is he called Charlie in everything he plays, anyway? Can he just not deal with a character name, or is he just admitting he plays himself in all these fucking shows?<br />
<br />
Anger Management is in its second season, and it's just hit SIXTY episodes. That 'clunk' noise you heard was my jaw hitting the desk. <i>Firefly</i> gets cancelled one season in, <i>Game of Thrones </i>only lets us have ten episodes a season, and fucking TWO AND A HALF MEN has been on for TWELVE SEASONS and Anger Management is on a SIXTY EPISODE PLUS SEASON?<br />
<br />
Fuck this. Fuck everything. Everything is shit.<br />
<br />
I only had to watch two episodes of Anger Management to nail it for what it is - shit. The characters are so painfully generic it makes my teeth hurt just thinking about them. Let's see, we've got the old, white homophobic racist; the pretty, dumb, mean girl; a guy who looks like Shaggy and who is a stoner; and a gay male fashion designer. WOW. That's some GROUND-BREAKING STUFF, they really threw the book out of the window to come up with these exiting new characters. The only thing in this awful, awful show that isn't predictable is, again, how in the hell Charlie Sheen gets to bang a new beautiful woman every episode.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjmrXqHXxKbrE32fCL1a7ddxPQdOQ1KN6IjNNM3lBovtSffGEd8LikK5gKICeVya8iia8J_MEkqI14z6YPIklPv_V8n38ba_3fMDUL0wo4QxPKh79h3mj7B9rxwyWaa9Ko9qjTxk_A8ozT/s1600/am4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjmrXqHXxKbrE32fCL1a7ddxPQdOQ1KN6IjNNM3lBovtSffGEd8LikK5gKICeVya8iia8J_MEkqI14z6YPIklPv_V8n38ba_3fMDUL0wo4QxPKh79h3mj7B9rxwyWaa9Ko9qjTxk_A8ozT/s1600/am4.png" height="128" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Impossible. There's never any plot.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
I'm going to go and wash the rage off me now, with fire and brimstone and those little shell-shaped pumice stones.<br />
<br />
PEACE.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11681734867318424214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3412407782075187056.post-90354553683894755532014-05-02T12:33:00.000-07:002014-05-02T14:54:17.705-07:00I would have preferred to find a dead body. Or a serial killer. Or the dead body of a serial killer<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg305XQUD56CyqHvur0_fj3WYeeeykzVUH2KbJnoLBEIvQVSija8hXFh_HFaavuDT_BhgSZRh5NqlJynR-HF2Or5isx1rTEmBiUvJvoaUNAeufHm0BvB5mRrAR18K7cO_lwQQeO7AoUvz28/s1600/bin.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg305XQUD56CyqHvur0_fj3WYeeeykzVUH2KbJnoLBEIvQVSija8hXFh_HFaavuDT_BhgSZRh5NqlJynR-HF2Or5isx1rTEmBiUvJvoaUNAeufHm0BvB5mRrAR18K7cO_lwQQeO7AoUvz28/s1600/bin.png" height="216" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Ey, blanca. You in the bad part of the garden. Forget what you saw and keep walking, bitch."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
This happened to me today.<br />
<br />
It was pretty awful.<br />
<br />
We're having our annual ten minutes of sun in England at present, and thus I was inspired to try and pull up some of the weeds that have taken over my back garden in a complex and insidious society. Once I'd yanked the large, more powerful players in the Game of Weeds, the smaller ones came out easily.<br />
<br />
I was left standing on the battlefield. Alone. Victorious.<br />
<br />
Around me, the strewn corpses of my fallen enemies lay in varying degrees of wilt, littering my garden with their flimsy little bodies.<br />
<br />
No problem, right? In England we're supplied with a big green bin in which to dump all our gardening folderol, and so I waded towards it, a great lump of my weed massacre under one arm, and lifted the lid with my free hand--<br />
<br />
HOLY MOTHER OF GOD! WHAT IN THE NAME OF FUCKING FUCK IS THAT? IS THAT A FUCKING RAT?<br />
<br />
No. It was just a spider BIG enough to be a rat.<br />
<br />
I guess when you don't open a bin for six months, the King of all spiders moves in and makes it his territory. Actually, he was more of a drug lord cartel leader than a king. He had murder in mind as he looked at me with his cluster of gross eyes that might as well be FISH EGGS and wrrrrkkkkk that's why I don't eat roe anymore.<br />
<br />
Kingpin druglord spider had no fear of me. It just looked at me as I froze, and sniggered when I let the lid go and ran screaming through the neighbour's fence, leaving a Jen-shaped hole in my wake, as is necessary in all comedic situations.<br />
<br />
I think the fucker had a machete too, you know.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11681734867318424214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3412407782075187056.post-23383234891347235372014-04-08T10:21:00.000-07:002014-04-08T14:39:11.496-07:00Lazy Tuesday Picture ShowSoo.. A new season of Hell's Kitchen has started, and I should probably be recapping that, and Believe, and whichever of the other hundred or so TV shows turned up lately. I <i>should be, </i>but it's Sunday. It's, uh, God's day. I'm sure it says somewhere in the Bible about not recapping shitty reality TV on the seventh day. (That is to say, it was Sunday when I started writing this post, but then I fell asleep and stuff and then my time was taken up by staring at some trees or something, I don't know.)<br />
<br />
With that in mind, I skimmed my 'Shit from the web' folder and picked some photos at random to share with you and possibly/probably waffle on about them a bit.<br />
<br />
SO WTHOUT FURTHER ADO:<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvjFhZFBOgjgrdSh8HsUqu45RIeEeNr0FksKKyad7gsGCzDmGto9gSVw5TIFjk3CWQoJZSbfdquWMwvuGcTOphQJ7dUfEDSZcO2jCauOLFX4C2a-jwdBt6UFi3bVlUeC1zpZ1fbM1FHAQk/s1600/uwot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvjFhZFBOgjgrdSh8HsUqu45RIeEeNr0FksKKyad7gsGCzDmGto9gSVw5TIFjk3CWQoJZSbfdquWMwvuGcTOphQJ7dUfEDSZcO2jCauOLFX4C2a-jwdBt6UFi3bVlUeC1zpZ1fbM1FHAQk/s1600/uwot.jpg" height="400" width="395" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Yeah.. I don't really know what to say about this. I don't even know what newspaper it came from because I found it floating around the internet and engendering reactions from people akin to being told a loved one has died. People are just shuddering and passing it on, as I am doing now, to you. I'm not entirely sure WHY they're passing it on. It's not one of those mildly threatening chain-Facebook-mail letters: "BUY FROM GREGGS. OR YOU'LL GET THE GREYJOY TREATMENT!" (I've just noticed it says 'SUNDAY SPORT exclusive' in the middle, so I guess that's the mystery of what newspaper it came from solved.)<br />
<br />
Fancying food is weird. I mean, I get the appeal of chocolate sauce when engaging in bedroom shenanigans, even whipped cream; but that's because I get to lick it off cut muscles and strong arms and it gets licked off my-- Excuse me, I need a moment to fan myself with my hand and swoon a bit.<br />
<br />
<i>Ahem.</i> Sorry, got a bit distracted there. Anyway. Let me look this up and see if it's just urban legend, we?<br />
<br />
OH GOD, YOU GUYS, IT'S A THING, It's not even <i>only one thing,</i> it's a couple of different branches of the <i>same gross thing</i>. Apparently the urge to have sex with food is called sitophilia. By that, I don't mean having sex with food involved, like the aforementioned whipped cream and whatnot, I mean having sex with pasties like the gentleman in the photo above, or when Jason Biggs fucked an apple pie. (Although, to be fair to JB he wasn't sexually attracted to the pie, he just wanted to know what a ladygarden felt like.)<br />
<br />
So I guess licking chocolate sauce off someone is mildly kinky, but wandering through a supermarket and getting a semi because the French sticks look so damn <i>sexy </i>is sitophilia.<br />
<br />
Look, I generally don't give a crap what consenting adults do with/to each other. But for the love of all that's holy, if you're dumb enough to scald your prick in a pasty, do not go to a newspaper with your story. I did not want to know that there are people out there who purchase Greggs food for anything other than eating. Actually, considering the disgusting crap that place churns out, I presumed people just bought the stuff for the satisfaction of throwing it in the bin, not for any other kind of satisfaction.<br />
<br />
<i>“I have been into Greggs many, many times and never have I seen a sign warning you not to put your penis into one of their products – especially after it has been reheated. “That, to me, is a clear case of negligence and I intend to sue. I ran my helmet under cold water straight away but I’m still in agony and can barely walk. It’s covered in blisters. I may never be able to have sex with a pasty again."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
If this guy actually does sue, let's just hope he's laughed out of the courtroom lest it starts some kind of precedent. I really don't want to have to walk into a restaurant and have to deal with a little disclaimer at the bottom of the menu: "For oral use only. Management is not responsible for any injuries you may sustain if you misuse our food. With your dick."<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM2OpArBtHg7vlWJcabbDnjwmMwg0cZsm9TqmAZ33q2R7mqeL6Of2PEBf3GdkMtLBAW5rgnMegALMSbUcb1TodnV5rX1hfZBTU2gtS0M8VLElImwc0e0U0ctESBr5JR5sXvnqfPQEW7T13/s1600/woc02FQ.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM2OpArBtHg7vlWJcabbDnjwmMwg0cZsm9TqmAZ33q2R7mqeL6Of2PEBf3GdkMtLBAW5rgnMegALMSbUcb1TodnV5rX1hfZBTU2gtS0M8VLElImwc0e0U0ctESBr5JR5sXvnqfPQEW7T13/s1600/woc02FQ.jpg" height="316" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />
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<br />
I don't know why I find this so hilarious, but I do.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0cGyj63UqHU4zJrG6AIyJdaIfjv8YCb-CLgPwnRpT85NmQ8JQ58yl0CdFipZ8YuVWUP_WWmu7fy1Eu2aFo0ZJ-kJSPn84IkrGDTWhT0_HJ2UHp2jeb1rAAD9MctjHbczI_LyybLpc7Wnk/s1600/mon-mc-13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0cGyj63UqHU4zJrG6AIyJdaIfjv8YCb-CLgPwnRpT85NmQ8JQ58yl0CdFipZ8YuVWUP_WWmu7fy1Eu2aFo0ZJ-kJSPn84IkrGDTWhT0_HJ2UHp2jeb1rAAD9MctjHbczI_LyybLpc7Wnk/s1600/mon-mc-13.jpg" height="381" width="400" /></a></div>
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That's generally me most days. Only replace 'lazy' with.. well, with most of the words, really. 'Too lazy to sleep. Too lazy to human,'</div>
<br />
Too lazy to lazy.<br />
<br />
Man, I'm tired.<br />
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<br />
That's it. I got nothing else. I burnt myself out with the rant about the pasty-fucker up at the top there. I'm going to have a nap because quite frankly, writing blog posts is exhausting and I need one of those large, shiny muscular men with big leaves to fan me gently while I'm doing this.<br />
<br />
Everything is so <i>hard.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Peace, lovelies.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11681734867318424214noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3412407782075187056.post-32350019803886559512014-04-04T02:22:00.001-07:002014-04-04T02:28:44.320-07:00Writings and thingsSo, here's the deal. I'm a pretty terrible comedic writer, and I'm OK with that. I waffle, I ramble, I meander off-topic and never quite find whatever point it was I was trying to make.<br />
<br />
What I <i>am </i>pretty darn good at is fantasy fiction. I've been writing it since I was able to write, and I'm halfway through a manuscript which is frankly guaranteed to make me tens of dollars.<br />
<br />
This was going to be a long post full of vaguely interesting writing tips and maybe even some snippets of what I'm working on; bit I did not sleep AGAIN last night which is making every word some kind of agony to write.<br />
<br />
I seriously can't keep my stupid eyes open,<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXKC-1yq7IOo6M41j7G3FoTgBy44qV_AGVw3t6eML-XCd3fHsifJ7wfxJigFVb8KoDiyj_qIPvqVexHrNg6qA7k4jXVmdM4s_q24w9VGq-ukMW6fbdU5z7b3LW-schkziy85eWzBQH1Tcs/s1600/berry-break-16-213.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXKC-1yq7IOo6M41j7G3FoTgBy44qV_AGVw3t6eML-XCd3fHsifJ7wfxJigFVb8KoDiyj_qIPvqVexHrNg6qA7k4jXVmdM4s_q24w9VGq-ukMW6fbdU5z7b3LW-schkziy85eWzBQH1Tcs/s1600/berry-break-16-213.jpg" height="316" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11681734867318424214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3412407782075187056.post-70789383587508368552014-04-03T16:08:00.000-07:002014-04-03T16:08:20.459-07:00Don't laugh, it's a serious condition.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN8dQErtrg8LgJpRSNfwczF-gh2Pn7GhRSDoHI1c9zSlOYY68nS76fVhLtr-bxqEMnXmIzQdecoXPf3iLW38sqgHCEtWur4HKxtO0ItpD9T0CQxgLEZaYZe13IOml6j6VRgoSqJmwf_1CQ/s1600/electronics-pics-8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN8dQErtrg8LgJpRSNfwczF-gh2Pn7GhRSDoHI1c9zSlOYY68nS76fVhLtr-bxqEMnXmIzQdecoXPf3iLW38sqgHCEtWur4HKxtO0ItpD9T0CQxgLEZaYZe13IOml6j6VRgoSqJmwf_1CQ/s1600/electronics-pics-8.jpg" height="640" width="396" /></a></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11681734867318424214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3412407782075187056.post-77977621164780472182014-04-03T12:57:00.000-07:002014-04-03T12:57:08.272-07:00Here. Have all my NOPES.I'm not dead, I swear. I'm just a lazy asshole. I was going to post this whole thing yesterday but my intricate and frankly incredible drawing in Paint somehow disappeared and I lost the will to live.<br />
<br />
Instead, I offer up this mini-post that is mainly comprised of a photograph which terrified me to the depths of my soul and made me think of <a class="g-profile" href="https://plus.google.com/106014149098975688801" target="_blank">Amber</a>, because her fear of spiders makes my own seem like an insignificant sort of mild dislike, rather than the violent, hysterical phobia it is.<br />
<br />
So, sorry, Amber. But this is almost certainly your own fault. Every time you blog about spiders, one appears in my home. This is merely the age old tradition of a cluster of eyes for a cluster of eyes:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipQePNVN_5Q4oKrkcLLvLToWcdt2utYEbwNsCRvN71TlcrMtS9LS3LpfTRxSUwfLT6BirUhxexYu47LbfoSGmRxgqxK_ws8pdd1Vpl6NzqZdoKq1yADBkld-87s5GubmZnbVH0OBxRHXo7/s1600/clowncrab.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipQePNVN_5Q4oKrkcLLvLToWcdt2utYEbwNsCRvN71TlcrMtS9LS3LpfTRxSUwfLT6BirUhxexYu47LbfoSGmRxgqxK_ws8pdd1Vpl6NzqZdoKq1yADBkld-87s5GubmZnbVH0OBxRHXo7/s1600/clowncrab.jpg" height="250" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11681734867318424214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3412407782075187056.post-41459249630871700842013-11-16T12:54:00.001-08:002013-11-16T12:54:21.388-08:00Photographic ConfusionSo I have a photo on my wall.<br />
<br />
Many, in fact.<br />
<br />
I printed off a bunch of motivational quotes and whatnot to stick above my treadmill at eye level, so that when I feel like I can't go on and might well die, the quotes will guilt me into going on.<br />
<br />
One of them, though.. I don't know what it is about it, but I can't read it the way it's supposed to be read. Perhaps it's beacause I workout in the morning, or perhaps the peculiar mismatch of colours confuses and frightens me, but I started to write down over the last couple of months the weird things I read in place of what's actually there.<br />
<br />
What'll follow here is the ACTUAL photo, and then the list of things I've mistaken it for reading:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiue8NiXpV_5l2pFOrAD9nIDocE1-5VLueAld9nISRITB4NBGND-AfzTPXb0NnIIIOFz_Dtvswz6NYDbAF2zCNmBWxZwDPv11CHduE9OsBY9B6yKyFqIbkeWH8RG_fbvPhtmhXX6kJL9XKj/s1600/da-mo-224.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiue8NiXpV_5l2pFOrAD9nIDocE1-5VLueAld9nISRITB4NBGND-AfzTPXb0NnIIIOFz_Dtvswz6NYDbAF2zCNmBWxZwDPv11CHduE9OsBY9B6yKyFqIbkeWH8RG_fbvPhtmhXX6kJL9XKj/s400/da-mo-224.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Actual photo.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<i>Things I have mistakenly read it as saying:</i><br />
<br />
"Stop wrestling, you idiot."<br />
<br />
"Stop doing what she's doing."<br />
<br />
"Stop washing - silly doings!"<br />
<br />
"Stop doing the washing up!"<br />
<br />
"Swishing tart."<br />
<br />
"Cat, wish, art, oink." (Incidentally, that's the name of my gallery show in the trendiest part of London. Send me £50 and I'll send you an invite.)<br />
<br />
"Stop, wish, deny."<br />
<br />
"Stop washing your dong."<br />
<br />
"Wish-washing the step."<br />
<br />
So yeah, that's it's for now. I'll write an update in a while if anything else vaguely humourous comes from me mis-reading this or any other sign. There's a roadworks sign near where I live that says "HEAVY PLANT CROSSING" which always makes me giggle.<br />
<br />
<br />
Love you, awesome nerds.<br />
<br />
xAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11681734867318424214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3412407782075187056.post-3349741366381333342013-11-07T05:55:00.000-08:002013-11-07T05:56:08.676-08:00If you're a bird, you're an asshole.I do not much like birds.<br />
<br />
It is an irrational thing. I can certainly appreciate how beautiful some of them are, and I even think that Kingfishers are pretty cute, but they're all assholes, nonetheless. I think it's something about how graceless their movements are on the ground. They're too fast, too sudden. Calm down, bird, you asshole. Why are you jumping around like that anyway? Like, are you super busy? Do you have a bird-meeting to get to? An owl parliament? No? THEN GO SIT IN A TREE OR FLY OR SOMETHING, DO YOU KNOW HOW OFTEN I WOULD BE FLYING IF I COULD FLY? ALL THE GODDAMN TIME. SO GO DO IT.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I was lounging in my back garden this morning, minding my own business while my dog got to doing hers, and SUDDENLY a BIRD LANDED ON MY SHOULDER.<br />
<br />
Well, I was shocked.<br />
<br />
It was a little sparrow. I froze, it froze. Neither of us knew what the hell to do. I sensed the bird realised it had made a mistake but wasn't clever enough to work out how to rectify it.<br />
<br />
I just closed my eyes in case it was a crow in disguise, and someone told me when I was five that crows will peck out your sodding eyes if they're given half a chance, because they're even more asshole-y than most birds.<br />
<br />
Anyway, the whole encounter probably lasted less than a second before it took off and flew away, allowing me to un-freeze, dance the dance of the freaked out (many little hops, fingers flailing like out of control jazz-hands) and swallow a scream. I was in danger, man. You can't trust a bird.<br />
<br />
I was obviously not quick (or able) enough to take a photo for you guys, but I have done this drawing to accurately recreate what happened:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYzhPds076uuu8SQOy06kCH_xma7dXqSMjrM6GoDw2GgxgYNT6pxkyLRasw56b1q6D2ABpB-7PzHHU4mF9ixKZxfB4MwgWGDJMXE2sz-DBGef5qk_Tq4Zx3h1ttdZZ2uH3_PMHa1XGpGAA/s1600/asshole.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYzhPds076uuu8SQOy06kCH_xma7dXqSMjrM6GoDw2GgxgYNT6pxkyLRasw56b1q6D2ABpB-7PzHHU4mF9ixKZxfB4MwgWGDJMXE2sz-DBGef5qk_Tq4Zx3h1ttdZZ2uH3_PMHa1XGpGAA/s400/asshole.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
Frankly, I'm lucky I escaped with my life.<br />
<br />
UNTIL TOMORROW. PCE.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11681734867318424214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3412407782075187056.post-29573495344569748052013-11-03T12:36:00.002-08:002013-11-03T12:36:57.054-08:00That Outside Place.So, usually my spare time is generously divided between sleeping, eating and playing World of Warcraft. There's some televisual wonders thrown in there, as well as some running and general exercise-y activities to prevent me from slowly growing into my computer chair; but generally I like doing things that don't require me to go outside where there's all kinds of weather and strangers and situations I might not find interesting.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT2YFHe7iUzyByQf74bw2Qrh4fjd8SUetpy56joKSahMInMTpIcBsqMcszTwyGbaFR_FtOxj-phi9XFPPHwmzfj6vUH8LtzfTVB9QfhOzjzFd-aWd69MeG48iRssQH9pNO9pQwJYgzeJoM/s1600/weirdparty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT2YFHe7iUzyByQf74bw2Qrh4fjd8SUetpy56joKSahMInMTpIcBsqMcszTwyGbaFR_FtOxj-phi9XFPPHwmzfj6vUH8LtzfTVB9QfhOzjzFd-aWd69MeG48iRssQH9pNO9pQwJYgzeJoM/s400/weirdparty.jpg" width="393" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I just don't know what I would do here.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
I mean, don't get me wrong - I am a social person and I enjoy doing shit with people I know, but it's those unfortunate other people who I'm loathe to run into. This isn't just something I've created in my mind, either. This is a thing I have learned through experience. I lived in Manchester for two years after I ditched out of university (Do you know they make you learn stuff there? Yeah, I was shocked too) and during that period of time I was incredibly outgoing and even welcoming towards strangers. I used to walk around at night just because I liked how the city breathed after midnight. I was mugged four and a half times, accidentally engaged in a serious relationship with a corner-dwelling drug-dealer, and once ended up going to a midnight mass with a group of very religious people whom I thought were taking me to a killer nightclub.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjges_ahlMijyDYewGtDHjPdEQd64ZKZavCyBujz0ggz2Ct0Lnjvc9r0AJSVGGHDgjvCtOKMOfW6wvDmi7xUhSIyHhKhJKCEAi08LYGr5JnTL_ZkjK6-MmwdNq_H2HDoQ6heRHWZm-gsZ_8/s1600/coc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="332" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjges_ahlMijyDYewGtDHjPdEQd64ZKZavCyBujz0ggz2Ct0Lnjvc9r0AJSVGGHDgjvCtOKMOfW6wvDmi7xUhSIyHhKhJKCEAi08LYGr5JnTL_ZkjK6-MmwdNq_H2HDoQ6heRHWZm-gsZ_8/s400/coc.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Oh, you meant-- You meant an actual church. Ohhh."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
The drug-dealer thing wasn't actually a relationship, I hasten to add. I didn't even know he was a dealer. I just thought he was homeless. I used to talk to him for ages and was mildly amazed at how many people he seemed to know. Turned out he just thought I was really shy about asking to be one of his girls.<br />
<br />
Man. I did <i>not </i>want to be one of his girls.<br />
<br />
I have, therefore, spent enough time outside bumping around into, onto and around strangers. Once you've seen a homeless man defecating into an empty McDonald's bag, you've seen 'em all, and you're much less likely to come across that kind of scene while in the warm, snug walls of your own house.<br />
<br />
Today was a brisk, Autumn English day, and I ended up in the woods.<br />
<br />
They're nice woods, as woods go. Pretty trees and old waterfalls, stone statues dotted around between ancient rock seats that you can sit on and go "Hm." Or whatever you want to do, I suppose. There used to be a castle in the middle of it, but they've since made it into apartments, which pretty much sucks ass.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-PKOU_KxXe_kWmeygQg7rcKla3lH98efYGBvk83cND5C0O5PGAQ_JutpZugKlqczkEeot0Sbt2hAkvYt1nWbjQSYpygQgy_PAl6NorvCKwZbCWr2y2x0dzaUFTQG9sX2W6UNwEnxl55yP/s1600/stat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-PKOU_KxXe_kWmeygQg7rcKla3lH98efYGBvk83cND5C0O5PGAQ_JutpZugKlqczkEeot0Sbt2hAkvYt1nWbjQSYpygQgy_PAl6NorvCKwZbCWr2y2x0dzaUFTQG9sX2W6UNwEnxl55yP/s400/stat.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It was probably hard to make stone look like water back when this was made. At least, that's what I think it's supposed to be.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
I climbed three trees.<br />
<br />
I would have climbed more but there was this moment during the descent of the last one where I wasn't sure for a moment how I was going to get down, and therefore decided to stop pushing my luck.<br />
<br />
Next time I shall take more pictures.<br />
<br />
Hmph.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11681734867318424214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3412407782075187056.post-79795364743533169472013-11-01T19:52:00.001-07:002013-11-01T19:52:38.414-07:00This Post is Dedicated to AmberUGH, SPIDERS.<br />
<br />
<br />
Am I right? Of course I'm right.<br />
<br />
<br />
I can't pinpoint exactly the moment when spiders changed from fairly benign creatures who lived at my childhood home (all of whom were named Boris by my mother) to these hideously disjointed and unnerving creatures who frankly, look as if they could do with a good damn wash. All the Boris' were black. Black spiders. Spider-shaped, as spiders are supposed to be. I didn't care much about them to look very closely at them as a kid, but in my memory, they looked like this:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYR0RFX8kAZsXN3cqjSmvn6vVoHbbd81pZPE95ENInSNhMQwIVWAePyQhcNEvTJXZkz5nGvAl2sB-Lvsr7SqGz-tc9klaqeBmPFhbsqE0bCY513JZsp9mSQMZlT5RIZ5HBJIUjBTJ_Gk9l/s1600/boris.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYR0RFX8kAZsXN3cqjSmvn6vVoHbbd81pZPE95ENInSNhMQwIVWAePyQhcNEvTJXZkz5nGvAl2sB-Lvsr7SqGz-tc9klaqeBmPFhbsqE0bCY513JZsp9mSQMZlT5RIZ5HBJIUjBTJ_Gk9l/s400/boris.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Now, though? NOW?<br />
<br />
<br />
Whole different, dark game. Hunger Games, in fact. The spiders I find around my house are a sickly brown colour, too small to justify calling 999, but far too large to get anywhere near enough to squash. They're squat, terrifying beasts, malignant and malicious and I'm pretty sure are actually host to the souls of serial killers. Their horrid twisted legs are arranged poorly, LAZILY even. All the Boris' made sure they came out looking their best. Sleek and black in their dinner suits. Top hats. Silver-topped canes.<br />
<br />
<br />
But THESE motherfuckers? Oh no. They're wearing stained and faded combat pants on (EVEN THOUGH THEY NEVER SERVED) and some kind of nicotene-yellew string vest. They're the worst. They look like this:<br />
<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVv1mPBBVUsGVicBr1niCG8TRZWADijnithNXPuqqqJl9SgSY5EJcF4LeAcDdmiBaJkWnuh6tly5E17MD-82UDgUZCOkgObB0f6Zfv5BorYOKwVUvqB1AXMSvYZ67ANB2ALQCHkSRfu3WZ/s1600/spider.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVv1mPBBVUsGVicBr1niCG8TRZWADijnithNXPuqqqJl9SgSY5EJcF4LeAcDdmiBaJkWnuh6tly5E17MD-82UDgUZCOkgObB0f6Zfv5BorYOKwVUvqB1AXMSvYZ67ANB2ALQCHkSRfu3WZ/s400/spider.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
Pale brown, shifty-looking, twisted up and just.. THEY ALL LOOK DIRTY. I feel like they ought to have eyestalks, even though I'm fairly certain no spider does. ALL the legs on these spiders are stalks. Disjointed, disgusting, badly put-together stalks.<br />
<br />
<br />
UGH.<br />
<br />
<br />
Here, have all of my <i>nopes</i>.<br />
<br />
<br />
And when they die, the curl their grotesquely misshaped legs in on themselves and roll onto their back, giving the overall look of a teeny, HORRIFIC, inside-out sarlacc, ready and eager to digest your finger over a millenia if you're insane enough to pick it up. I do what any sane person would do - put a mug over it and wait for rescue to arrive.<br />
<br />
<br />
I have only recently found in myself the fear of spiders. In the past, I didn't care about them one way or anther, but I hated wasps with a passion. Now I know that wasps are dumb enough that you can give them a careless thwack with one hand and carry on your merry way, while they're still spinning around on the pavement trying to figure out what manner of train they just flew into. THE J-TRAIN, BITCH.<br />
<br />
<br />
Anyway. Spiders.<br />
<br />
<br />
When I was six years old I had my first sexual awakening by dancing after a gently flying ladybird until it was caught in a spiderweb. The spider came out, wrapped it up, and all I could do was watch. HEY, I don't fucking know why that was a sexual awakening, I just know that somehow it was. I HASTEN TO ADD that I had no sexual FEELINGS for the spider (Please, oh please, internet, please don't make attractions to spiders be a real thing. I'm not Googling it, just in case.) I just sort of watched the ladybird get wrapped up and devoured. More like a: "Shit. I'm a woman now."<br />
<br />
<br />
Can someone explain to me why spiders love bathrooms so much? Are they secretly using the powershower while I'm out, or maybe they're going to the toilet or brushing their teeth or-- I have no idea. Checking their make-up? I realise it's distinct possibility that it's because they climb up the plug-holes, but whatever. My theory is better.<br />
<br />
<br />
I actually had to stop leaving my clothes in the bathroom overnight. If I happen to have a particularly evil day, sometimes you just want to throw on your PJs, toss your day clothes on the bathroom floor and collapse face-first into bed, preferring to deal with tossing the clothes in the washing machine the next day.<br />
<br />
<br />
On one such occasion, I pulled a pair of jeans on that had been in the bathroom overnight, felt a tickle on my leg, gave it a shake, AND A SPIDER FELL OUT.<br />
<br />
<br />
YOU GUYS, <i>IT WAS ON ME</i>.<br />
<br />
<br />
....I have to go. The memory is still too traumatising. Oh god.<br />
<br />
<h4>
It was on me.</h4>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11681734867318424214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3412407782075187056.post-24837983747686502962013-10-27T14:04:00.003-07:002013-10-27T14:04:45.241-07:00How a Red Wedding GoesI can't stop listening to this. You should listen to it too:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://soundcloud.com/paola-bennet/timbers-wind">https://soundcloud.com/paola-bennet/timbers-wind</a><br />
<br />
It's a song inspired from the 'Red Wedding' episode of Game of Thrones. Go, listen. You'll be glad you did.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11681734867318424214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3412407782075187056.post-87814019505821073112013-10-01T16:07:00.001-07:002013-10-01T16:07:25.616-07:00Something something birthday.So, it's my birthday like, now.<br />
<br />
I have not abandoned this blog, nor will it remain dormant forever. I have had some ups and downs this year, but things are levelling out now and if the old gods and the new deem it so, I shall return with snark and sarcasm and all that kind of shit in the near future. The near furniture. I'm a little drunk.<br />
<br />
I would love to talk about the Breaking Bad finale right now, but I'm aware it's too soon. People haven't seen it. I have to restrain myself.<br />
<br />
So, I'll go continue to drink champagne and salute the stars and all that.<br />
<br />
PEACE.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11681734867318424214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3412407782075187056.post-30466843594110420582013-02-20T06:27:00.001-08:002013-02-20T06:44:21.944-08:00What I'm Watching WednesdayYesterday was traumatic.<br />
<br />
Play.com somehow knew I was mocking some of their more questionable products, and when I went to buy the things I'd spent all day choosing, my shopping basket was suddenly empty. EMPTY. Half of those things were impulse clicks, how the hell am I supposed to remember what I wanted to buy two hours ago when I was probably hungry?! That's just unreasonable. It was past one in the morning, so I cried a little and went to bed.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7nQ0w_A8f_3Od8UVbUGhYMPRWfxAxtjuktcuOM90UKLoo6VetAZT3sbuevSNzBevgcIxonfai6LGAGZMS8zPF0DcpCl8dz9bdllMUS597Jyz49ISIWgMukIvgQwpYcvrdHS7PAmJYPkqb/s1600/playcom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7nQ0w_A8f_3Od8UVbUGhYMPRWfxAxtjuktcuOM90UKLoo6VetAZT3sbuevSNzBevgcIxonfai6LGAGZMS8zPF0DcpCl8dz9bdllMUS597Jyz49ISIWgMukIvgQwpYcvrdHS7PAmJYPkqb/s400/playcom.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Today I have trawled back through all the sale pages and remembered most of the things I wanted. Two of them were wigs. I have exactly zero need for wigs, but for some reason I keep buying them. If I ever want to disappear, I'm set. I also bought a scarf that's also a hood, a masquerade mask (why? idk man) and a pair of tights that have tattoos all over them. Jesus, everything I've bought could be used as a disguise. Clearly I secretly want to run away and live a new life as a pink-haired, bemasked woman covered in leg tattoos. I'll discuss it with my therapist, don't worry.<br />
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<br />
<br />
ANYWAY, IT'S WEDNESDAY.<br />
<br />
There are so many good US TV shows on Tuesday nights, and I get to watch them on Wednesdays. I love Mathew Perry's new sitcom <i>Go on</i>, mostly because of Matthew Perry. I wasn't expecting to like it, but he's just so damn likeable. Today's episode involved a rather contrived plot involving a meditation retreat and off-colour jokes about boner cream, but there were three laugh-out-loud moments for me, and that's a rarity with TV shows. Usually if something funny happens I just exhale really fast down my nose in an amused fashion. The second laugh was a "HAH!" that was loud enough to startle the sleeping dog, and caused me to explain "That was funny," to her. Then I felt pretty dumb, because all she can understand is me making noises at her, and she can't eat those. Eating is her primary joy.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn7PqWpRhuFhZfjxGDhIfku0HGRl3APYBGRr9vh-bu_dCBrgfkj-gJ_6Gv0-E1nF9HckfUpN4XauTe2sZO9O5R209X2zsPAIINdnupnRpBRiGG__uqPoonKjsUSECwSEouAADlJk5mDpwx/s1600/goon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn7PqWpRhuFhZfjxGDhIfku0HGRl3APYBGRr9vh-bu_dCBrgfkj-gJ_6Gv0-E1nF9HckfUpN4XauTe2sZO9O5R209X2zsPAIINdnupnRpBRiGG__uqPoonKjsUSECwSEouAADlJk5mDpwx/s320/goon.jpg" width="311" /></a></div>
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<i>Smash </i>finally got opening credits, and they're delightfully gay. Lots of twirling and flashing lights and rah-rah music. I still don't understand why they brought in Jennifer Hudson, but she's got a pretty voice, so I'm okay with it. I'm sure they have been waiting for my approval.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7UpCmqc7cnmDuDYgGeWPhNj-ChRKXhCdHLf_nKStAKuks-LiwJyRZtFFGDq1qr_sFsqb_YFio-rx1rgNIpkBQyB3KTGf1Ux6exTZEwHaHVOUB0_an4zvPIL_Wo19KtRJlgDVpcjQhxWB9/s1600/smash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7UpCmqc7cnmDuDYgGeWPhNj-ChRKXhCdHLf_nKStAKuks-LiwJyRZtFFGDq1qr_sFsqb_YFio-rx1rgNIpkBQyB3KTGf1Ux6exTZEwHaHVOUB0_an4zvPIL_Wo19KtRJlgDVpcjQhxWB9/s400/smash.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<i>Raising Hope </i>is an okay show, and today's episode was above average for them. Cloris Leachman is a treasure and I want to give her hugs.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVGAfYuc6zV-eZkjZn8S7pgl0QmplpVMEZhRCc_cGK4ouw47SRRKIwG08R8StItrITLZSNLLWn2S3pwVrhL337m2T9ksXGV0RmFdxFaiQ6F4rrY7rywobJEheyKy8j4UERgvDrUSrSt6rZ/s1600/raising.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVGAfYuc6zV-eZkjZn8S7pgl0QmplpVMEZhRCc_cGK4ouw47SRRKIwG08R8StItrITLZSNLLWn2S3pwVrhL337m2T9ksXGV0RmFdxFaiQ6F4rrY7rywobJEheyKy8j4UERgvDrUSrSt6rZ/s400/raising.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<i>Cougar Town </i>continues to be a joy, despite the unfortunate name, though they recognise it's terrible and it's become a running joke in the opening credits. I like that, good on you, show. Don't take yourself too seriously. Though, as a person who has given up alcohol, watching people drink that much wine is depressing. Because I want to drink that much wine. But I have no self-control, so a glass turns into a bottle and then I'm running around semi-naked throwing garbage at the cops because it's <i>hilare. </i>Also, I want to play Penny Can. Someone play fucking Penny Can with me, for God's sake.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpwZU_uzyQnx9NYSBMhS2xRNmZQxhPaJWXKdGAobtL8zodlxmQq4fouaT4wGM2_3pcO6g9WwFxP4AijCtYNioRTLJ-_C0D3CgC88BdWhXQCzkiqXajGIJ3q2fCxGsUHkD_rwCfmDUDs3ya/s1600/penny.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpwZU_uzyQnx9NYSBMhS2xRNmZQxhPaJWXKdGAobtL8zodlxmQq4fouaT4wGM2_3pcO6g9WwFxP4AijCtYNioRTLJ-_C0D3CgC88BdWhXQCzkiqXajGIJ3q2fCxGsUHkD_rwCfmDUDs3ya/s400/penny.jpg" width="356" /></a></div>
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WHERE is my episode of <i>New Girl</i>?! I swear, US shows have the most frequent and baffling breaks. NO ONE CARES ABOUT THE SOUP-A-BOWL. Hmph.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk1Ab_eeQ20hXupeJmiccbdFff1lP5BdIcuUIULM-ZAhyphenhyphensWBAA9OsrZNEMq_H74v5DSIP4RB1eW_Cmc0JB6SVfRK9gWTQ2OZaCdrMFA8HyCqV3KL4GIFJ6BDym4ZMp_VGTL7n2_Pi3-BWQ/s1600/newgirl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk1Ab_eeQ20hXupeJmiccbdFff1lP5BdIcuUIULM-ZAhyphenhyphensWBAA9OsrZNEMq_H74v5DSIP4RB1eW_Cmc0JB6SVfRK9gWTQ2OZaCdrMFA8HyCqV3KL4GIFJ6BDym4ZMp_VGTL7n2_Pi3-BWQ/s400/newgirl.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I still have <i>Hart of Dixie, The Lying Game, </i>and <i>Bunheads </i>to watch. They are.. not good shows. But they're guilty pleasures, don't fucking judge me.<br />
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And look! Twelve days old now!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvTdMaH0WBqdnWdUOxDYlhVUJ5m9TO70XCShz6U3jlsXXo-OpxEmZ2mDS62IZklNu_ivMuCja5JfC170sm6MmbDLlAu19Mx23Ov6A3uAT7sHgCIUlQcFT01kCPwZUpFXvSyi6tYk8vTHWZ/s1600/kitty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="362" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvTdMaH0WBqdnWdUOxDYlhVUJ5m9TO70XCShz6U3jlsXXo-OpxEmZ2mDS62IZklNu_ivMuCja5JfC170sm6MmbDLlAu19Mx23Ov6A3uAT7sHgCIUlQcFT01kCPwZUpFXvSyi6tYk8vTHWZ/s400/kitty.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11681734867318424214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3412407782075187056.post-33813850019425101992013-02-19T12:52:00.000-08:002013-02-19T12:52:32.244-08:00Internets: Fuck, yeah!Play.com has a sale on. It's great because they sell some really needless junk that I derive pleasure from hoarding, but they also sell some super-stupid shit. It's a thin line between one and the other, but a line I have learned to enjoy treading. Today I have mostly been buying crap I don't need, and compiling a list of items that could be purchased from Play to make someone look like a total asshat.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8X_mpNBorLk4H6qdcMuJI4mflxe9kMEvwZBwbrZYre1vtC3y5XEwa3HATiXd_V8xQj6bkwYbGYf_3Qes8tOOMRE3FxzXE4zMOH2SUOMauL65jE6lJ9LJpb9QXFify687mPrBRW2W3O6Kg/s1600/play.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8X_mpNBorLk4H6qdcMuJI4mflxe9kMEvwZBwbrZYre1vtC3y5XEwa3HATiXd_V8xQj6bkwYbGYf_3Qes8tOOMRE3FxzXE4zMOH2SUOMauL65jE6lJ9LJpb9QXFify687mPrBRW2W3O6Kg/s1600/play.jpg" /></a></div>
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Firstly, the worst t-shirt ever. What exactly would you be trying to say about yourself if you wore this shirt in public? Not only are you a lousy human being, but you're a dirty pube-scratcher too? Who the hell even thought that was a funny slogan? Someone pitched that idea to someone else, and they agreed that it was a good idea. I think everyone can agree that this shirt would make a person look like a complete dickwad.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjObcXHgu-A0YCyjfMzQtIeytyQCJA4OQYU3YwcYSf5XN24uj3sIC7dMphznpBx8dNqCBr27OYYlZ0PV0z35kdTKd0UCEaIhWxHeyNWu6dlhLxFBFuMX3CoGCskB7HQCE0NMZob_uWs0Ksm/s1600/play11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjObcXHgu-A0YCyjfMzQtIeytyQCJA4OQYU3YwcYSf5XN24uj3sIC7dMphznpBx8dNqCBr27OYYlZ0PV0z35kdTKd0UCEaIhWxHeyNWu6dlhLxFBFuMX3CoGCskB7HQCE0NMZob_uWs0Ksm/s320/play11.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Aw yissssss, culturally insensitive items of clothing! Pair this with the shirt and you're onto a winner! Well, either that or really, really close to losing. Hard. Actually, now I come to write this I'm not actually sure if a fez is a culturally insensitive garment. I've only ever seen one during the move Aladdin, and on Tommy Cooper. Oh fuck, am <i>I </i>the culturally insensitive one?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNks4fSyUS0t7qVaOdyepBq8l7KLpBlsIYA7ydPnRu1w47o_mwZXXg1sPMiSmFIotegF6CJ18GxQAMXn9R_RXuxr6jhhhHHFUvhPDBBzoFkpQH43IlqBh7c3ZUteCvd1qC62eBgngSkEmH/s1600/play12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNks4fSyUS0t7qVaOdyepBq8l7KLpBlsIYA7ydPnRu1w47o_mwZXXg1sPMiSmFIotegF6CJ18GxQAMXn9R_RXuxr6jhhhHHFUvhPDBBzoFkpQH43IlqBh7c3ZUteCvd1qC62eBgngSkEmH/s320/play12.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Don't forget a douchey bit of accessorising. A blue rubber wristband with the word 'SORTED' emblazoned across it in that elvish-y font people use when they're trying to look sophisticated. PAPYRUS. Papyrus is the key to class.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRVc9fyz_7lZZ-v04faoCQ3lyoUnfSwtt5jm2CSijj4cbdLAg6WlgZC_L76MlAPj1pvKcxpYWAsjlL6ah3e6afhuOWyZW-hUYovsK_mAcXcLuOI8OD-Qt-RBgdSfkz0e6LMQWwFRKxivoY/s1600/play2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRVc9fyz_7lZZ-v04faoCQ3lyoUnfSwtt5jm2CSijj4cbdLAg6WlgZC_L76MlAPj1pvKcxpYWAsjlL6ah3e6afhuOWyZW-hUYovsK_mAcXcLuOI8OD-Qt-RBgdSfkz0e6LMQWwFRKxivoY/s1600/play2.jpg" /></a></div>
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A badge that looks like a Jammie Dodger. Hours of fun! Watch strangers grab vainly at your coat in the street, only to be FOILED by the cleverness of this incredibly realistic badge. So good you'll forget that you're a gargantuan tool for wearing it. Badges in general really, especially a large number of them pinned to a slouchie hat. I have this recurring fantasy in which Jigsaw from the Saw movies gets a bunch of hipsters in a dark room, and when he turns the lights on all the walls are covered in badges, with the pins out. They have to unironically wear a 90's cultural icon badge in order to be freed.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYxY1RsKbBp-FcK74dAiZWzUZd7BbglFVgOF8lqI_jCtpS4XKB2RO_wPaIYFv7JlFkZ6cRf-F8X8wUFELDG4YYkU3Veyb0oSm1M_NB1f22uuWO1zJ0ih2NWJkxyKIUeWoxqLIZTAeBuMdT/s1600/play3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYxY1RsKbBp-FcK74dAiZWzUZd7BbglFVgOF8lqI_jCtpS4XKB2RO_wPaIYFv7JlFkZ6cRf-F8X8wUFELDG4YYkU3Veyb0oSm1M_NB1f22uuWO1zJ0ih2NWJkxyKIUeWoxqLIZTAeBuMdT/s1600/play3.jpg" /></a></div>
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Well, shit. What use is there in having an iPad if you can't make it look like a criminal?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbV1tawRxrNAwiZCKS15LfTap9N4adv2ImJnPEMy7v7xObQXbK5GzDAgUrmxcj2yukKZ1qlWGFQCyQtZyCGCCzyXhCrqb3b6yn9QzTfLeNgm01yxpZF7ZqORWLp_UMt6eWfiRmG4G1xO2T/s1600/play5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbV1tawRxrNAwiZCKS15LfTap9N4adv2ImJnPEMy7v7xObQXbK5GzDAgUrmxcj2yukKZ1qlWGFQCyQtZyCGCCzyXhCrqb3b6yn9QzTfLeNgm01yxpZF7ZqORWLp_UMt6eWfiRmG4G1xO2T/s1600/play5.jpg" /></a></div>
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I have gone slightly off topic now, since there's no real way to wear this, but my god, WHAT A TITLE. I feel like this is a wild romp of a movie, with many thrills and spills. Also, probably a little bit racist.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF8GK41Fs8hCXherD7gSQqvspfBZs2sTjEgb5O0CyBjMLNhyphenhyphenHZJqEe6VxpKdOM613RF7n8VOoREEsMSLKU8nBAryAaQmLDRo-aqQ5oo_hKpHH5SNgv0Xajcl1UMEvDSafoM3xmboKF5AIC/s1600/play6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF8GK41Fs8hCXherD7gSQqvspfBZs2sTjEgb5O0CyBjMLNhyphenhyphenHZJqEe6VxpKdOM613RF7n8VOoREEsMSLKU8nBAryAaQmLDRo-aqQ5oo_hKpHH5SNgv0Xajcl1UMEvDSafoM3xmboKF5AIC/s1600/play6.jpg" /></a></div>
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LOOK, it's a MOUTH EXERCISER! It 'tones and refines the face, giving you a beautiful smile'. Fuck off. No it does not. It gives you a Clockwork Orange smile.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqMmnLJEiUhzaKu4iLx_XXx99YCQu5ZEuiNukrWFwGeEiSBbpoqIUtfDINvhS4SQJO0gqgakdkJQNF_Q-G0cDDAkQsrGOWdjzQT9AzfTyH4ArnD2P8VAhICEZbxK6QapMIoNwK7aQMpBtJ/s1600/play10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqMmnLJEiUhzaKu4iLx_XXx99YCQu5ZEuiNukrWFwGeEiSBbpoqIUtfDINvhS4SQJO0gqgakdkJQNF_Q-G0cDDAkQsrGOWdjzQT9AzfTyH4ArnD2P8VAhICEZbxK6QapMIoNwK7aQMpBtJ/s640/play10.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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This is not a licensed product. Someone gonna get sued. They're also going to be horribly murdered, probably by me, because if there's one thing the world needs LESS of, it's 50 Shades of Grey shit. Just looking at this makes me unreasonably angry. What about this is even remotely connected to that shitty book series anyway? I read those books so that I was legally entitled to spew bile and venom about them, and in none of them is Christian Grey described as a monotone beige, nor made of rubber, nor capable of growing four times his size in water.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJVmHAfUj6ETGfhQMfbFOB7tm2w0Sy0oRLPhqv3NDwPwCUgR2m1pmDMykC08EPGkEIJ_VwKlnO1UXLjYt_9ZV_sRL4jJ6txu437JAMWs177cReD_X-_naFEi6qCqGj7a5LjXer0OMR2aQl/s1600/play4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJVmHAfUj6ETGfhQMfbFOB7tm2w0Sy0oRLPhqv3NDwPwCUgR2m1pmDMykC08EPGkEIJ_VwKlnO1UXLjYt_9ZV_sRL4jJ6txu437JAMWs177cReD_X-_naFEi6qCqGj7a5LjXer0OMR2aQl/s400/play4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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That is the ugliest item of jewelry I've ever, <i>ever </i>seen. And I'm including the 'SORTED' wristband in that. LOOK HOW LARGE IT IS. Look at those dead black eyes. That's not a necklace, that's a weapon. You could use that sucker like a cat o' nine tails. Obviously, it's more of an 'owl of one tail', but whatever.</div>
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Usually I like to finish strong, but I just said 'owl of one tail', so I'm abandoning everything in shame. I was also going to include links to the aforementioned items, but honestly, if you want to buy any of them any obstacle I can put in your way is really a favour to you.</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11681734867318424214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3412407782075187056.post-24126641659852184792013-02-18T17:21:00.001-08:002013-02-18T17:21:29.843-08:00They're too cute, I can't stand it.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTiNuejUoQDtThqmE-s3Dx0Pcsxx_UD4InPylbaoSC3It0QENGcWGdaCCW5-1rXTKgZ7bLMhOtQtXsFBP9s40AgfTcb8NH8T5sMU3NsRhvPai2FyDbkFd8n5ECuknqfFpn-FmWrb2-zwGA/s1600/001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTiNuejUoQDtThqmE-s3Dx0Pcsxx_UD4InPylbaoSC3It0QENGcWGdaCCW5-1rXTKgZ7bLMhOtQtXsFBP9s40AgfTcb8NH8T5sMU3NsRhvPai2FyDbkFd8n5ECuknqfFpn-FmWrb2-zwGA/s640/001.JPG" width="476" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7-5XYGwV78toKJP2DJrMmGNx3KKFPvvmDtx95DbQGX9GkGR6PXneSx9lFeMqLUiARd-ePjD_m0hGbyf_xjNDqlaa2E-l8W9dxqqFaSDafi_1P5UsRWpZ9drU5sEFd_yzGMP63IYp1FZRF/s1600/010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7-5XYGwV78toKJP2DJrMmGNx3KKFPvvmDtx95DbQGX9GkGR6PXneSx9lFeMqLUiARd-ePjD_m0hGbyf_xjNDqlaa2E-l8W9dxqqFaSDafi_1P5UsRWpZ9drU5sEFd_yzGMP63IYp1FZRF/s640/010.JPG" width="478" /></a></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11681734867318424214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3412407782075187056.post-11412865977684273472013-02-18T12:32:00.001-08:002013-02-18T12:32:28.798-08:00OH MY GOD, THE FEELS.Ten days old. I think he's my favourite.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6hMRFdnH2iBP4E9C9hf9mWf-qlhqJerL7D1Y2fwXJ1j4I25cKvL4o4SVZaBvxaei1AXyTO95hA0V40GF_a0_sq4SRGiucJJDaRJ204mzifjS-C5PchZIL-_pkS4BIUkCB9lvf_qXs02Kx/s1600/008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6hMRFdnH2iBP4E9C9hf9mWf-qlhqJerL7D1Y2fwXJ1j4I25cKvL4o4SVZaBvxaei1AXyTO95hA0V40GF_a0_sq4SRGiucJJDaRJ204mzifjS-C5PchZIL-_pkS4BIUkCB9lvf_qXs02Kx/s640/008.JPG" width="478" /></a></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11681734867318424214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3412407782075187056.post-54419160487693364592013-02-18T04:30:00.001-08:002013-02-18T04:30:54.846-08:00Still makes me unreasonably angry..So, I just got done reading <a href="http://bizzybiz.blogspot.co.uk/">amberance's</a> most recent review of some chapters of <i>50 Shades Freed. </i>I haven't even read that damn book in forever and the reminders of it continue to enrage and baffle me. This book was a bestseller. People <i>love </i>it. People have in-depth and heated conversations over who is going to play Stupid Fucking Ana and Emotionally Crippled Christian in the FUCKING MOVIE. Why? WHY? UGH, IT MAKES NO SENSE. OF ALL THE BOOKS THAT COULD BE MADE INTO MOVIES, OF ALL THE BOOKS TO MAKE BESTSELLER LISTS, WHY IN THE FUCKING COOTER FAIRIES MUST IT BE FIFTY SHADES OF SHIT?<br />
<br />
Why.<br />
<br />
Whhhhyyy.<br />
<br />
The recap also made me remember the bemusement and anger I felt reading the first of that thrice-damned series of books. I'm pretty sure if you did a running tally of how many times a character 'gasps', then took a shot for each time you'd.. well, you'd be dead is what.<br />
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<br />
'He touches my hair and I gasp'.<br />
<br />
No you don't, you daft whore. You inhale sharply, or you take a breath, MAYBE. IF YOU WERE RAISED IN A LOCKED BASEMENT BY WOMBATS AND BADGERS FOR THE FIRST EIGHTEEN YEARS OF YOUR LIFE AND THEREFORE ARE UNUSED TO HUMAN INTERACTION. You don't GASP. That is an audible noise of shock and drama. If anyone gasped as much as Ana and Christian do in these fucking books they would pass out. In fact, 50 Shades of Grey is basically this:<br />
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fAOoD4755pI<br />
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It's that, plus a load of lumbering, laborious, libido-slaughtering sex scenes. Although, I would watch the movie if they had Alison Brie on board and allowed her to make any and all changes to the script/plot/characters she wanted.<br />
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<i>His pointer finger circled my puckered love cave. "Are you ready for this?" he mewled, smirking at me like a mother hamster about to eat her three-legged young.</i><br />
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So. Fucking. Sexy.<br />
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Excuse me, I have to go away and cry quietly to myself.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11681734867318424214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3412407782075187056.post-33365753728830091632013-02-17T16:18:00.001-08:002013-02-17T16:18:48.839-08:00More KITTIES! And STUFF!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The kittens are now nine days old and have opened their eyes. Except when they're sleeping. Here are some photos. You may 'squee' now:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJKsdRhtaK_dke2Z6AVna-FNkVerrCh9HCg9C8HoqahI5ViGxY0TrhN7G-SWoywTJl6rnDI2r-mCX3OlAt7OVYX57YoFdpg0wjZn_2UQ7Fx26MtRbiGZ7rWGumCslxOHa4OUNVzzul5zJG/s1600/009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJKsdRhtaK_dke2Z6AVna-FNkVerrCh9HCg9C8HoqahI5ViGxY0TrhN7G-SWoywTJl6rnDI2r-mCX3OlAt7OVYX57YoFdpg0wjZn_2UQ7Fx26MtRbiGZ7rWGumCslxOHa4OUNVzzul5zJG/s320/009.JPG" width="239" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1TWurlpsESzKDZtyyG0eFW9HNe_H6gqs5HtM_c0RTyx_U3SB0xJe7AyL2gycv4joJorBc8buRzOE51w3QxyxhKr8CrY-2fCwxtgVavyqA6FOK6m0EAKHRHcJSqJEUUwCja5qtWfo4ft9U/s1600/033.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1TWurlpsESzKDZtyyG0eFW9HNe_H6gqs5HtM_c0RTyx_U3SB0xJe7AyL2gycv4joJorBc8buRzOE51w3QxyxhKr8CrY-2fCwxtgVavyqA6FOK6m0EAKHRHcJSqJEUUwCja5qtWfo4ft9U/s320/033.JPG" width="239" /></a></div>
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<u><b>THINGS I FOUND ON THE INTERNET TODAY</b></u></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk5Yb0n9CyNCGJagPL4vfctJSag5Egm5AJwfkINCLQwgIEcdIJsvzkDNh9PNj2apLTzafNS_1bs3idqkTkTjtP-5kJ4rPsXLBgsKKa7AIs_eELxetESWCJTtEkXYYeBmXTv4K8LqgWprug/s1600/bbbbb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk5Yb0n9CyNCGJagPL4vfctJSag5Egm5AJwfkINCLQwgIEcdIJsvzkDNh9PNj2apLTzafNS_1bs3idqkTkTjtP-5kJ4rPsXLBgsKKa7AIs_eELxetESWCJTtEkXYYeBmXTv4K8LqgWprug/s400/bbbbb.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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This bathroom. I have need of it. Look at the walls and the mirror and that REALLY enthusiastic shower. Yes, I think I need this in my life. Sure, it looks vaguely like something an evil queen would have in her boudoir, but I think a little bit of mystery in the bathroom is a good thing. In fact, I think a lot of mystery in the bathroom in a good idea, especially when taking into account the bodily excretions of other people.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA0Trdoi_4a4TfcBjzmYVqtpaGQqDu1S3yIhzoTlB9uw_fOUAHk29iv9vKuzzDK1FOUnThlSsJzQkQuBKkOdmPbXVjLUBUr2iPfVONLBALAgr_8u36ndC0TUUFTaWzfKct1JBIgBsAau3D/s1600/daily-motivation-7-1.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA0Trdoi_4a4TfcBjzmYVqtpaGQqDu1S3yIhzoTlB9uw_fOUAHk29iv9vKuzzDK1FOUnThlSsJzQkQuBKkOdmPbXVjLUBUr2iPfVONLBALAgr_8u36ndC0TUUFTaWzfKct1JBIgBsAau3D/s400/daily-motivation-7-1.gif" width="400" /></a></div>
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This made me laugh until I cried. I have no idea why. I mean, it's quite sad. King Kong is clearly just trying to improve the diet of the other monster, but the other dude is all: "No, fuck you, I want a Double Down."</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_qRxS7ER-cphSJvkm6oTDRB74b216mQSFbRe2hRne0tyTiRzAFHP53K82xJQ2ELdZ9PoucvYGj2iTCG4W-qrz5JjWNZaaE7W8w1L3M6Yy6K9p03hB81wBg8pOcISqHo_Qhgtba359B5kO/s1600/mc-random-419.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_qRxS7ER-cphSJvkm6oTDRB74b216mQSFbRe2hRne0tyTiRzAFHP53K82xJQ2ELdZ9PoucvYGj2iTCG4W-qrz5JjWNZaaE7W8w1L3M6Yy6K9p03hB81wBg8pOcISqHo_Qhgtba359B5kO/s400/mc-random-419.jpg" width="303" /></a></div>
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Yep. That seems about right.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH1h_g5dwoxUE1FGAsKPpxltNbPM9pEsDvGYM0vs2pyPDrexK8ZGxHKhOScUdR2Zmk0cfsyedHpc2lsZio0O9Y-77Z30H0AK4Orch8OD32mQrTCh1ojitKgg-oNnkXSknshycycypuNg51/s1600/kids-room-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH1h_g5dwoxUE1FGAsKPpxltNbPM9pEsDvGYM0vs2pyPDrexK8ZGxHKhOScUdR2Zmk0cfsyedHpc2lsZio0O9Y-77Z30H0AK4Orch8OD32mQrTCh1ojitKgg-oNnkXSknshycycypuNg51/s400/kids-room-2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Step One: Acquire child,</div>
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Step Two: Buy this carpet for her,</div>
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Step Three: Return child, avoid jail, keep carpet for myself.</div>
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It is now THE WITCHING HOUR, so I have to get to bed before the trolls and 'tween things get me. Had a hilarious conversation with <a href="http://bizzybiz.blogspot.co.uk/">amberance</a>, so if you read my blog and not hers, then go read hers. She's funnier than I am.</div>
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TA-TA and GOOD NIGHT! <3</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11681734867318424214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3412407782075187056.post-25965715356479038862013-02-16T02:47:00.000-08:002013-02-16T02:47:22.686-08:00Daily.. motivation?I am the most attractive I've ever been right now. Red. Sweaty. In pain. I just finished what turned out to be a WHORE OF A GRUELING workout. It was a DVD, so I sort of laughed like a 50's black & white movie star [You know what I mean, right? Ho! Ho! Ho ho ho! Like that] and felt superior. "I'm a runner," I thought. "I run. These silly DVD's are designed for people who are not runners! It'll have no benefit for me!"<br />
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I'm an arrogant, stupid, KNOW-IT-NOTHING. Considered me completely and utterly humbled.<br />
<br />
I decided to work out rather than go to bed, but since my trainers are in the wash I couldn't go for a run, which is what lead to me flinging this fitness DVD across the room and into the Xbox. It's called.. HANG ON, LET ME GET IT.<br />
<br />
..<br />
<br />
..All right, so my legs won't work. I'll guess '<i>Ministry of Sound Hires a Steaming Hot Australian Chick from the Call on Me video to Destroy You with Aerobic and also Salsa moves that may or may not cause you to Fall Over your own Feet</i>'.<br />
<br />
Pretty sure it was something like that. I did the whole thing, start to finish - it was something like an hour and twenty minutes. Even when the perky Australian girl started to turn on me by making me jump around and do rib isolations and OH OH THIS ONE THING where you have to be in the squat position and then pulse your hips forwards until your thighs erupt into flames and you DIE.<br />
<br />
I wouldn't stop because my damn pride wouldn't let me. Consequently I completed the whole thing without skipping any parts, including the push-ups, crunches and planks.<br />
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I have a healthy respect for fitness DVDs now.<br />
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If you'll excuse me, I need to go and have a long hot bath and cry for a while.<br />
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<3<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11681734867318424214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3412407782075187056.post-20262402356396281182013-02-16T00:06:00.002-08:002013-02-16T02:16:06.252-08:00Kittens!So, the most significant thing that happened this month is that River finally had her kittens. You guys, did you know kittens are teeny? Did you know they squeak?! They are the most darling things I have ever set eyes on, and I want to keep them all and become a crazy cat lady. The Spy isn't having any of it though, and 4/5 have homes to go to once they're nine weeks old. I am going to cry and cry and be sad forever.<br />
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But enough with the depressing stuff! Kittens!!!!!<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ6p0IG5O6RHkrVRZPGPExalOTdU9qeUbBT4ms54q95daV_ikcdEkXqQN0-IyNjCtXsvDUR4G4nItMAoCuXEEWdreWBjWjcsgzpsSYJA8R4rYMg8YiqZDLObGPkW5QsY0WqNsVoOxexaJm/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ6p0IG5O6RHkrVRZPGPExalOTdU9qeUbBT4ms54q95daV_ikcdEkXqQN0-IyNjCtXsvDUR4G4nItMAoCuXEEWdreWBjWjcsgzpsSYJA8R4rYMg8YiqZDLObGPkW5QsY0WqNsVoOxexaJm/s400/1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's River having a rest after delivering three of the five kittens. Khaleesi is her sister, just hanging out giving kitty support. It was the most adorable thing ;_;</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr1ps66GFYpOBl_uHT1D5-pQ0j1cUBjtQsKc98IJKItpTXEGcdiYJGriBsNjyWiRJJtq2xqi-YwEQ8Tjcjrx3dKDoPSyjohVya3dfbiMILRUdMV1thPEdLC0AElE1Ao13pWvaRiY5VB_Zy/s1600/1kit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="388" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr1ps66GFYpOBl_uHT1D5-pQ0j1cUBjtQsKc98IJKItpTXEGcdiYJGriBsNjyWiRJJtq2xqi-YwEQ8Tjcjrx3dKDoPSyjohVya3dfbiMILRUdMV1thPEdLC0AElE1Ao13pWvaRiY5VB_Zy/s400/1kit.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I have nicknamed this one Fatty, because he's the biggest of the litter. Nicknamed in my head, blates. Apparently people like to name their own cats, whatevs.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOjqz09MQEESAbjQAdUgb9MbqbHidHXJfXfDaVmiQ1jEPv0kTVm3LjmaCGLZ0m7TQ1jlErYv5SL1Fc7I_LdWqDoBKicKhAalOdYT_qaBRnIZvfpNFJcR411hOBhC0I3L4e5Yqq6vYApZNJ/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOjqz09MQEESAbjQAdUgb9MbqbHidHXJfXfDaVmiQ1jEPv0kTVm3LjmaCGLZ0m7TQ1jlErYv5SL1Fc7I_LdWqDoBKicKhAalOdYT_qaBRnIZvfpNFJcR411hOBhC0I3L4e5Yqq6vYApZNJ/s400/2.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aunty Khaleesi stepping up to help feed the kittens. Albeit rather uselessly.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFvA_JqVg-noOgQCR-2PYggXLpsTQf2AsywcpHLvVuk_jgX2fP13rMdg1tY9RE-U51fgUGtxxZLiCbTdahOFtbhSQ6IHBtuzeyiJsRMWL4-IYmS6mEos2333BQ5WS2UbEAJtzU6UAhQJHi/s1600/4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="343" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFvA_JqVg-noOgQCR-2PYggXLpsTQf2AsywcpHLvVuk_jgX2fP13rMdg1tY9RE-U51fgUGtxxZLiCbTdahOFtbhSQ6IHBtuzeyiJsRMWL4-IYmS6mEos2333BQ5WS2UbEAJtzU6UAhQJHi/s400/4.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sorry about the quality of this one, I swear I didn't take it with a potato. LOOK AT HIS WITTLE FACE!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0zMC6ux4nqO4KyPIVrCPDxPUwGlmopjTXE6QFH99AEdxTYx3n1Ct6d4ZgXTSYgO0iK1YbAH0vb0KvaE29DFQz8NTtP3OkLUgM5gQoPH8E6LW2ledpdIY_IZ9luYvD3MQPpz4IW6lNRqBb/s1600/090.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0zMC6ux4nqO4KyPIVrCPDxPUwGlmopjTXE6QFH99AEdxTYx3n1Ct6d4ZgXTSYgO0iK1YbAH0vb0KvaE29DFQz8NTtP3OkLUgM5gQoPH8E6LW2ledpdIY_IZ9luYvD3MQPpz4IW6lNRqBb/s400/090.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">RAWRR I'M A TIGER!</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgekNnl06B8gfLMiq5p21zpBziVTSgVkuxkFfMhthGNGQDMJ3h5aGzA_PSL1jhQut5qIerRMG_lGSdlslTp6mM18-uWyr1xeFEUfdjWjjaoxPU5YxU1a58gHPxYCuSumo6GjbbzY0cQxaXN/s1600/087.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgekNnl06B8gfLMiq5p21zpBziVTSgVkuxkFfMhthGNGQDMJ3h5aGzA_PSL1jhQut5qIerRMG_lGSdlslTp6mM18-uWyr1xeFEUfdjWjjaoxPU5YxU1a58gHPxYCuSumo6GjbbzY0cQxaXN/s400/087.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh, all right. I'm a kitten. WHATCANISMELL?</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisHBFs_HzAmPwYtrBy-VnMva-CSx9th9NQEomozHYuHEpytQ44o54MoALhVd9B0BTijP0pUjyIWgcz7tFyTRmpMyq7aqf9K2dDrugHoDZ3cFVcui_lT0PSMs1NLL8k-bH6AypYjR8aaTRg/s1600/091.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisHBFs_HzAmPwYtrBy-VnMva-CSx9th9NQEomozHYuHEpytQ44o54MoALhVd9B0BTijP0pUjyIWgcz7tFyTRmpMyq7aqf9K2dDrugHoDZ3cFVcui_lT0PSMs1NLL8k-bH6AypYjR8aaTRg/s400/091.JPG" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">:p</td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
So yeah, kittens happened.<br />
<br />
Going through their birth with River was damaging. For me. Cats come out in embryonic sacs, so from where I was looking all I could see was River birthing a gloopy, inky black, shiny shadow that might or might not have been destined to go kill a gay pretender to the throne. But no, she ripped that sucker open and out came a kitty. Then Khaleesi ate the first placenta for her, while I dry-heaved. That wasn't pretty, y'all..<br />
<br />
Don't worry, though! River got her fair share of veiny, thick placenta as well, since there's one per kitten.<br />
<br />
They're a week old now, and I've just moved the nest from the spare room to our room where I can keep a better eye on them as they grow up a bit. There will be more kitty pictures as and when they decide to pose prettily for me.<br />
<br />
<u>THINGS I SAW ON THE INTERNET THIS WEEK</u><br />
<br />
Look at this. Just look at it:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJS2bRmL7cakwCyKQO4-nL_iMPg1KT59MCOhN1NQwcicgk2PAaDQCJKo7rBJ53BwHveL3OL5_oBat378-QvPpZOOhEx6RXxjT5Z4TRegBd-jBGIUn9-MvN3-VyCKDqmhMeA38kgofg3nz7/s1600/berry-break-3417.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJS2bRmL7cakwCyKQO4-nL_iMPg1KT59MCOhN1NQwcicgk2PAaDQCJKo7rBJ53BwHveL3OL5_oBat378-QvPpZOOhEx6RXxjT5Z4TRegBd-jBGIUn9-MvN3-VyCKDqmhMeA38kgofg3nz7/s400/berry-break-3417.jpg" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Everything in moderation... Hurr hurr hurr</td></tr>
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Doesn't that make you hungry?<br />
<br />
My God, I would eat all of those delicious little bastards.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDU1lAExdYhLWJ0XCYkwTwKgt_6lq8uuxV-EqObE3jHqkP87QWR3T1yliZlPiWAWW0wPo7cOcl4EeudGglshyphenhyphenpeIYn-IOv1QJCTaTE1KtbjxN4ABXiRdSdOKEq1btEXWAwvO8zxvXvP7n1/s1600/mc-random-346.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDU1lAExdYhLWJ0XCYkwTwKgt_6lq8uuxV-EqObE3jHqkP87QWR3T1yliZlPiWAWW0wPo7cOcl4EeudGglshyphenhyphenpeIYn-IOv1QJCTaTE1KtbjxN4ABXiRdSdOKEq1btEXWAwvO8zxvXvP7n1/s400/mc-random-346.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I want to be your friend, Zooey Deschanel.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
WORD, ZD. Getting up and waking up is hard. We should really just all zombie-walk around and bump affectionately into each other until we feel capable of more complex interations.<br />
<br />
And finally, before I climb back into bed for an hour (What? It's 8am on a Saturday, don't judge me) I will leave you with a NICE THOUGHT, because I am NICE like THAT:<br />
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peace, my lovelies xAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11681734867318424214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3412407782075187056.post-21359989602183025642013-02-15T23:10:00.000-08:002013-02-15T23:10:14.076-08:00Stopgap. No, stop it, gap.I have been quiet for nigh on two months being a naughty blogger and also generally being struck by that thing you get every now and again, wherein you thought yourself a PRESUMPTUOUS POMPOUS PRICK for daring to think anyone would be interested in the shit that comes out of your brainpan, even when translated to blog form.<br />
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In any case, my ego is back now, so that's over. In the middle of a big post, but this is just a little hello to the three people who used to read this (one of the three is just me in incognito mode :(( ) Hope you're all WELL and SPIFFY, chaps.<br />
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Post inc. ETA - I don't even know, something might happen, like lunch, or I might be hit by a meteorite, but avoiding all those things, I guess I'll have it up in a couple of hours. (THINGS HUGH HEFNER SAYS.)<br />
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pce lovelies<br />
<br />
xxxAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11681734867318424214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3412407782075187056.post-77711645342776929022012-12-25T01:16:00.001-08:002012-12-25T01:16:23.767-08:00Surrounded by wrapping paper, gently falling around my ears like so much confetti.THERE'S NO TIME LIMIT AS TO WHEN YOU CAN START DRINKING ON CHRISTMAS DAY, RIGHT?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11681734867318424214noreply@blogger.com1