Why look at that! 'Looks like I've reached my Blogger sad-sack quota for the week. "Waah, I'm penniless!" "Waah, writing hurts my delicate, puny hands!" "Waah, vital, life-giving blood is spewing from my head!". Always the same.
Well I have a veritable FEAST of the senses here for you today at least.
1.) Suzie Templeton's Dog: Fancy dying a little inside? Then you're in luck because now you can experience Suzie Templeton's awesome fucking powers of stop motion and become a deadened shell of your former self! All at the same time!
1. B.) Technically speaking it's not half as good as Templeton's Oscar winning Peter and the Wolf however Youtube only has clips of that one, making it ever clearer that copyright infringement is a damned eternal tease : \
2.) Sex Guide - Dolphins: FAQ on Mating by Dragon-Wolfe Dolphinn: Do you ever feel rife with internal conflict? Like only one side of you is capable of action and the other can only repeatedly scream "Not during visiting hours"? Like one moment you're howling "SEA LICE. SEA LICE." but before you know it you're an arm deep in bottle-nose? Come friend, join Dragon-Wolfe Dolphinn in this wild and bile-inducing ride through an aquarium lifestyle that guarantees shame upon your family for generations to come.
3. Finally, Garfield Minus Garfield. This has been making the rounds lately but I can't tell you the misty-eyed awe I feel when I read it. I tell you, it's like looking in to some sort of cruel truth-mirror.
I was going to end this with a clip of my dog and I, but apparently my dog-talking voice sounds inexplicably like Moaning Myrtle.
Ah, lovely March weather. The sun is shining, birds are singing.
Oh yes, and I HEMORRHAGED today in class. A classmate was struggling to tell the story of the Townhall.com debacle in which a Republican journalist reviewed Mass Effect, evidently using the Ted Stevens Guide to the Internets.*
After he kept repeatedly calling it "some alien game" like some sort of n00b I replied to him in the way of "haha, yes it was called Mass Effect" followed immediately by a glorious fountain of blood streaming down my face from my nose. I must've looked like some deranged clown because it took at least twenty seconds to realise what the hell was happening, and during all that time I was still grinning like an idiot, blood pouring down my smiling cheeks. And on to my STAR WARS t-shirt that I was wearing just in case I felt like I was due a good beating outside after my class decided I was some sort of troglodytic freakshow who's been waiting for the mention of Mass Effect with baited breath. The sheer excitement of the conversation undoubtedly causing my nasal cavity to rupture in such explosive glee that my body could only relieve itself in the way of SPURTING BLOOD FUCKING EVERYWHERE.
But no, it wasn't that bad. In other news, I finally have a plotline! It only took three-to-four weeks! <3
Taken during my short trip to the 1970s last fall.
*A few gems:
It's called "Mass Effect" and it allows its players - universally male no doubt - to engage in the most realistic sex acts ever conceived. One can custom design the shape, form, bodies, race, hair style, breast size of the images they wish to "engage" and then watch in crystal clear, LCD, 54 inch screen, HD clarity as the video game "persons" hump in every form, format, multiple, gender-oriented possibility they can think of.
And because of the digital chip age in which we live - "Mass Effect" can be customized to sodomize whatever, whoever, however, the game player wishes. With it's "over the net" capabilities virtual orgasmic rape is just the push of a button away.
Much like how all of my attempts at a #1 smash hit sound suspiciously like fuckingProdigy , I've resigned myself to the fact that every time I try to write my disaster of a book I end up accidentally writing the first quarter of Slaughterhouse-Five.
Unfortunately the only other career possibilities my qualifications leave me with is as some sort of maudlin hippie vicar who reads Eliot in parks like a twat.
Despite my sweeping success as a waster, the countless hours I spend online and the exhausting effort I put in to Facebook Scrabble, for some reason my intention to get funds together for my five-month stay in England just isn't happening. What more can I do?! Even my half-assed attempts as a freelance music journalist just don't seem to be helping me find bags of money mysteriously placed in front of my house like I had expected. How do you all expect me to pay for the cache of weapons I'll inevitably have to buy to ward off feral London kids without supplying me with an infinite reservoir of cash? By actually working? Ho ho!
But if traveling to other countries penniless is anything like my Scrabble ability right now then I'm sure it'll be just fine.
