I hate being crazy. Okay, I love it usually... but I hate hate hate it when I'm waiting for... say... Christmas presents. Yeah... Christmas presents... and I want to find out if I'm getting any and I can't peek and I have to wait wait wait and I wanna present! But what if there aren't any presents? What if Santa doesn't exist, or maybe he does, but he's not going to visit because I haven't been good enough? WHAT OF THAT???
Hello again.
Let's not worry about Christmas. It's just a metaphor.
Let's talk about Halloween! I think (think think) I'm going to be a skater witch. Youtube it. I just need a gang... anyone into it? And the use of a skateboard. Although, if I was badass enough, I'd steal a skateboard like the chick in the film.
I also watched Ghostbusters the other day and had a real hankering for a ghostbusters uniform. That could definately be reused. What other costume ideas? Hmm... well, neither of mine are very skanky and I may be breaking some sort of rule that way. But busting makes me feel good! And skater witches are hot just cause they're so badass and don't follow the rules. I dunno. What are you kids going to be for halloween? Should we start throwing out suggestions? I know part of the fun is the suprise of a great costume... but F that! I have very few readers and we'll keep it hush hush. Right guys?
Oooh - maybe I could go as a Magic 8 Ball!
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Who would win in a fight to the death - Oprah Winfrey or Martha Stewart?
Slick blonde hair covers the woman's features in the cell beside her.
Oprah sighs and continues to wait, hoping it's not who she thinks. The woman
moves for the first time, coughing and spitting out something that looks like
congealed blood. She comes to, shaking the hair out of her face.
"Martha?" Oprah whispers.
The woman is in an obvious daze and doesn't seem to register her words.
"Martha Steeeewart!" Oprah enunciates, as if introducing a guest.
Martha looks and a hoarse laugh escapes her throat.
"He's finally got us." she croaks.
"It couldn't last forever," Oprah smiles back.
"How long have you been up?"
"A couple hours. You look like hell."
"You haven't had 3 hours of make up, yourself."
A sharp metallic thud interrupts the chatter as soft footsteps enter the corridor.
"You have a debt to pay." The newcomer announces, "Are you ready?"
"Yes." The women echo and follow him to a noisy, pitch black arena. They're
separated to opposite ends and a blinding blue light changes the rowdy crowd to
silent spectators.
"Finally." The deep voice seems to come from inside the mind of every creature and
humanoid.
"Centuries ago you came to this planet as refugees and criminals. You've lived many
lives and have at times sought to redeem your sins. Did you think you could earn
my forgiveness? Did you think the KING OF PLUTO would soften with time?! You know
the tradition. Justice for one, freedom for the other. Decide your fate. Only one will
live."
A buzzer rings, the crowd roars and Oprah pushes the muscles of her human body
to the limit, sprinting across the dirt as Martha grabs a nearby chain and swings it
overhead. Winfrey dives, kicking Stewart's legs out from under her. The women
grapple on the ground, chain wrapping around them. It's like a black and white
cookie gone bad. Muscles shaking, sweat pouring out as each woman takes turns
pinning the other as hair rips from skulls, eyes from sockets, breasts from bras.
Oprah lands on top and manages to maneuver the chain around Martha's throat,
pulling tight. "My sister," she sobs, tears mixing with blood as the life fades from
her opponent. A sudden, sharp pain registers in Winfrey's side, but like jogging
cramps, she ignores it until she's sure Stewart dead.
Oprah falls back and removes an embedded shiv. Medics assist her, joking "Always
bet on black!" Oprah wretches at the bad joke and her brutality, but is relieved she will live to host
another day and no longer have to hide from Pluto's violent ruler.
Back home, Winfrey discovers the "Shiv" Stewart stuck in her actually contains
genetic material that results in a Martha clone 9 months later. And that's a
good thing. Because they were ACTUAL sisters, on Pluto, those many centuries
ago... and had tag teamed the Queen Mom who'd died after a rather violent orgasm.
So... that's how/why that all happened.
Oprah sighs and continues to wait, hoping it's not who she thinks. The woman
moves for the first time, coughing and spitting out something that looks like
congealed blood. She comes to, shaking the hair out of her face.
"Martha?" Oprah whispers.
The woman is in an obvious daze and doesn't seem to register her words.
"Martha Steeeewart!" Oprah enunciates, as if introducing a guest.
Martha looks and a hoarse laugh escapes her throat.
"He's finally got us." she croaks.
"It couldn't last forever," Oprah smiles back.
"How long have you been up?"
"A couple hours. You look like hell."
"You haven't had 3 hours of make up, yourself."
A sharp metallic thud interrupts the chatter as soft footsteps enter the corridor.
"You have a debt to pay." The newcomer announces, "Are you ready?"
"Yes." The women echo and follow him to a noisy, pitch black arena. They're
separated to opposite ends and a blinding blue light changes the rowdy crowd to
silent spectators.
"Finally." The deep voice seems to come from inside the mind of every creature and
humanoid.
"Centuries ago you came to this planet as refugees and criminals. You've lived many
lives and have at times sought to redeem your sins. Did you think you could earn
my forgiveness? Did you think the KING OF PLUTO would soften with time?! You know
the tradition. Justice for one, freedom for the other. Decide your fate. Only one will
live."
A buzzer rings, the crowd roars and Oprah pushes the muscles of her human body
to the limit, sprinting across the dirt as Martha grabs a nearby chain and swings it
overhead. Winfrey dives, kicking Stewart's legs out from under her. The women
grapple on the ground, chain wrapping around them. It's like a black and white
cookie gone bad. Muscles shaking, sweat pouring out as each woman takes turns
pinning the other as hair rips from skulls, eyes from sockets, breasts from bras.
Oprah lands on top and manages to maneuver the chain around Martha's throat,
pulling tight. "My sister," she sobs, tears mixing with blood as the life fades from
her opponent. A sudden, sharp pain registers in Winfrey's side, but like jogging
cramps, she ignores it until she's sure Stewart dead.
Oprah falls back and removes an embedded shiv. Medics assist her, joking "Always
bet on black!" Oprah wretches at the bad joke and her brutality, but is relieved she will live to host
another day and no longer have to hide from Pluto's violent ruler.
Back home, Winfrey discovers the "Shiv" Stewart stuck in her actually contains
genetic material that results in a Martha clone 9 months later. And that's a
good thing. Because they were ACTUAL sisters, on Pluto, those many centuries
ago... and had tag teamed the Queen Mom who'd died after a rather violent orgasm.
So... that's how/why that all happened.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Pre School Jitters - Philosophy with Hilary Duff
Another sleepy, too excited to sleep, but will sleep soon and grog it up in the morning post. (Note to self: buy instant coffee. Yesssss.)
My first day of classes are tomorrow... I'm getting excited. I'm prattling non-stop in my head after getting the course outline for General Studies (It's the foundations of "western thought" - philosophy type stuff). Oh geez. I need to sleep. My brain is aching to chew on the meaning of life. It starts tomorrow. Am I ready? Both fuck yes, and hell no. But mostly fuck yes.
Deep Thoughts
I watched a chick flick today called "Raise Your Voice" and yes, it was awful. Just tripe. Worst chick flick ever, I want it to die. It's like a Hilary Duff song. I CAN'T HANDLE IT. Anyway. Horrible.
However, during my constant mocking of the film, I got in a slightly philosophical debate with my friend Asha. This douche-bag loser who likes Hilary comforts her by saying "Artists experience pain differently" like an artists pain was more meaningful, or something. And I yelled at the TV a little. Then Asha AGREED with the movie, and I had to think about it awhile, but I suppose she's right. It was just the acting that threw me off Asha, and it's certainly not to say anyone's pain's more meaningful, but different is just too strong of a word. Duh. Anyway. That's pretty deep. But, don't watch the movie.
Don't.
Unless you like Hilary Duff, then you'll probably like it. I just don't like her. She reminds me of savage garden in the way that I feel like I'm naturally and instinctually her enemy. She just bristles my fur.
Right. I'm getting out my stupid now so I can be smart tomorrow. Stop judging me blog. I've missed you. I had to write something. HI READERS! Yowza! Magic 8 Ball is in my car and giving me puppy dog eyes every time I sit beside him. Have a question?
My first day of classes are tomorrow... I'm getting excited. I'm prattling non-stop in my head after getting the course outline for General Studies (It's the foundations of "western thought" - philosophy type stuff). Oh geez. I need to sleep. My brain is aching to chew on the meaning of life. It starts tomorrow. Am I ready? Both fuck yes, and hell no. But mostly fuck yes.
Deep Thoughts
I watched a chick flick today called "Raise Your Voice" and yes, it was awful. Just tripe. Worst chick flick ever, I want it to die. It's like a Hilary Duff song. I CAN'T HANDLE IT. Anyway. Horrible.
However, during my constant mocking of the film, I got in a slightly philosophical debate with my friend Asha. This douche-bag loser who likes Hilary comforts her by saying "Artists experience pain differently" like an artists pain was more meaningful, or something. And I yelled at the TV a little. Then Asha AGREED with the movie, and I had to think about it awhile, but I suppose she's right. It was just the acting that threw me off Asha, and it's certainly not to say anyone's pain's more meaningful, but different is just too strong of a word. Duh. Anyway. That's pretty deep. But, don't watch the movie.
Don't.
Unless you like Hilary Duff, then you'll probably like it. I just don't like her. She reminds me of savage garden in the way that I feel like I'm naturally and instinctually her enemy. She just bristles my fur.
Right. I'm getting out my stupid now so I can be smart tomorrow. Stop judging me blog. I've missed you. I had to write something. HI READERS! Yowza! Magic 8 Ball is in my car and giving me puppy dog eyes every time I sit beside him. Have a question?
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