Irony is such a liar. She never took a day of Latin in her life. I took it in ninth grade because I had to and it bit my ass and my bitter Jesuit priest teacher scared the hell out of me. But we are Jewish and we can sing real good.
There was this woman in the bookstore who came up to the counter about five minutes after we were supposed to close (God, I hate those people) came up to the counter and asked if we had any books on Celtic Shamanism. I giggled and pointed out that this is shoreline Connecticut, so of course we didn't. But we did have many books on baking white bread. This was after one of our cash registers and the computer that tells us what books our warehouse is carrying died. It was a fun evening. But my school stuff is basically all done, and so is my shopping. So bring on the goddamn holiday cheer

Still no new posts. God, we suck.
Ok so um. Um. Interesting things. See, lots of occurences have been occuring, but we make it our policy not to say anything even vaguely salient or topical. Hey, you know what? That place that Saddam was hiding in looks an awful lot like my apartment in DC. Or should I say my ex-apartment. The dimensions were about the same, although his decor was a bit better. And he probably had fewer rats. Oh dear, I'm digressing back to relevance. Can't have that.

I have absolutely nothing else to say. Well, actually, I'm just brimming with news and witticisms and pithy observations, but I just can't bring myself to write them down for some reason.
Anyway, I'm off for the next week or so, and Dinoface has apparently slipped down a crack in the floor of the universe again, so you people are on your own. We shall return briefly around the holidays to say funny things and make your lives worth living, and then we shall fade back into the woodwork. Like weevils. Or termites. In the meantime, um...I swear, I can speak Latin.

Right, well- I really should post something, but I'm too tired to be entertaining so I'm putting something old up. This was actually on the site for about 5 minutes a few months ago, but was taken down at the request of its owner. But see, a couple things. One, it's far too funny to languish in unread oblivion and two, I don't think he _really_ minded since there isn't a chance in hell you could figure out who wrote it just by reading it. So here it is, for your amusement.
This is a transcript of a conversation I had with a ....slightly drunk college friend on msn messenger. I've removed my responses because they were pretty much all along the lines of "uhuh....yeah....what? wait, what? what the fuck is wrong with you? WHAT?" but other than that, nothing has been added, deleted or altered. I honestly have never seen anyone drunker than this, and that's saying a lot. Enjoy.

Cojme on please help me. I need help.I need a bush bitch. I needsome girl who has never seen the western world....otherwise.....have you ever seen raw?
I'm very drunk.grrr.what have you done for me lately? though I'm very drunk
so I feel very much in an unfair position. i CAN'T TYPE fast enough.a random girl said "make ove to me tonight… I want you to fuck the shit out of me".
hey, I have no control. but she is not here at the mo, fuckjer. cos I'm feeeling pain.whatever, I'm feeling it! hah, I'm drunk.but I don't understand why you are having issues constantly! go bob! could this be love? the random jamainon.urr…
wat the hell is going on… I'M VEY MUCH HERE- about these crazy mutha fucka bring it alright? So.um. I'm going to hit him. you just seen rocky? it wasn't boring…
I need to hurt you. I'm going to hurt you. where's your mully…where's you're mutha fucka.I can't type this fast..really.come on!what? what the fuck!am i going to get mss kicked1. um. Fuci. no! so what am I to do? I sprained my twelth eye!
she is going to die. without her phone…You. ]I'm duubk.what? what, amverydrunk
hi. mutha fucks.s.a.a.grr whqt do I do know, ha, bloody hah-it's not like thepeople who care. I neeed to speed thss up, I'm under pressure,I need the money..whay, shouldnt I BE? the company owe mea couple of hundred pounds!
yes, it's my fault, of coujrse.um.whR.at..."What are you at 9i'm sorry a freined has more nouse that you"? OK I'm responsible for th\t-you're fucked! but, if you work it, you're top profile. hey, we alla re].um, ask me to your house. COS IT'LLBE FUN.#\\i hope before the secret service get there first. man, the historians will love thid=s. THIS IS WEIRD. but I am good at finding who he is.
comeon I stinll work for the republicanns!
I know who he is, but as much as I love the bbc, i am not gong to give away my oosition. but you'd fall down.
ergh, the eternalflayt]]]]]]
flaw
um
this is a bit odd. can you tellme if this is real or not?
because a few people thought we killed the people. I'm too drunk to understand how drunk I am? WELL hrunI understand that you're too drunk to appreciate.
You I'll leave you to style me1.
HEY, YOU STILLL THERE? okay, what do you reckon] youy are great.my muse,
yipee] um. I'm just going to see nice guyys, rathsr than... nice guys
um
I don't know what is going to happen. I rallly I have never fucked…
excuse me, but i feell a king pin moment! You guys go for the glory fo god!!!
We feel the emoment!
what the fuck
fuck the mormons..no, just, for a moment, feeling insecure].rock and roll.
I fell like an old man cos my nephew deserver is
and he is a legend in the uk! we just need to be bad boy s!
HELLO
hi
you are fit, honest;ley. though the people wo don't carf afe enjojing the geme.
who is he???
fot point.
Foit point.
No. you are not going to explode.
you are going to help me find
a faux point!
in five minutes
what's that? I don't know...it's myjob
I've manaded to convince them that I am a white just telling kokes....is I'k bad,..well me!
Heam got here a keep up to dT=ATE ON the wisden score, um, thisis odd. yhis is offline I HOPE. tally ho bitch.
what do you freckon I'm up here for? hey, weree nt allmdimbasses!
bugger!
dumb anericans]
so hard and firm. are you hard, or do I have to stake you again, and again, andabain, etc
erm.
my word, i am tired. jus as well the hell nouth is also below me #
this is idd.odd. my head turned into mush an age ago!
me are in my flat.
what am I to do?
good ideqa again, but you are bad people you advocate it1.
FUCK]!]i SHOUld nefver have told the opposition
oh, fuck you
so,what do I do I know. you what? I don't know. can I ask for invited +
Listen, Mr President.I don't like you and it is going to take alot to convine me that you are free.
free of WHAT? you giant twit
free ofthe government. what do to you want yo ne free of, other than calling me a big crusacean… yes!
but I taste si good. why are they out so early? are they worried t giive secrets?
We are democrats!
whis is tricjy
45grrr
not fudt grr
45grrr]. feelabit shitty now. takk about intelligr.
what the fuck, couldn't type unto; every lettwas analysed
grrr
I'm th uk government....at least I can light a toast of marmite whilst way!
fuck it, wht am I supposed to do
hey, isn't that the power orf education?

ORF
ORF

ORF
ORF
ORF

it's a tricky littlre bugget
burrer
bugger
why am I weird?

Okay. I'm finally posting. I'm not too boring; I'm just too lazy and nothing particularly eventful has happened. Oh, except two large schools in Boston that shall remain nameless are just fucking retarded. They told me that they wouldn't start looking at my application until I sent in an official UConn transcript for the two English classes I took in high school. UConn does not have the transcripts because I took the classes in high school. They're ruining my mirthful holiday season and turning it into a big ball of wintery stress.The school that Puppy goes to, however, actually has humans working in the admissions office rather than droids, and they have already admitted me. Bless their hearts.
In other news, I was looking through my old english binder because Irony and I were talking about funny things drawn on notebooks, because we are stupid. I found some of my old tests and decided it's a good thing that Dr. D liked me because I tended to get snotty towards the end of my essays. For instance, the entire last two paragraphs of one of my Turn of the Screw essays discusses how James uses parenthetical expressions that go on long enough for the reader to forget what the damn subject was. Also, his chapters plod along like someone trying to push a log up a hill in the snow only to heave said log off a cliff at the end of the chapter with maximum force to try and capture the reader's interest. I went on to say that it didn't work and that I rather wished that I was in Turn of the Screw so Ms. Jessel could kill me and put me out of my Freudian-psychobabble-reading misery. I got a 99 on that test, so I'm betting she wasn't too fond of James either. Most of the rest of the binder is poetry analysis and babbling about dactylic trimeter and other such completely useless information and some note from the Fiend about how a girl in our class was dressed like his gramma's house. I miss that class. We did nothing and got college credit for it, much like...actual college.

Well, I AM Caligula. But Caligula's picture is just too damn big. So you'll just have to keep in mind, without visual aids, that I am Caligula.

We'll be back soon. Honest. Currently I'm too busy to speak to you people, and the dinosaur is too boring.

Well, that entire thing was the single best game I have ever seen live. Sublime. Just sublime. I knew Aaron had it in him. I've been saying it for weeks. Ask the dinosaur if you don't believe me. I love the Yankees. I love baseball. I love life. All hail the return of Bucky Fucking Dent.

So the coverage has been much better in the past couple days. It would be beyond even my capacity for hubris and egocentrism to suggest that Monsieur McCarver read this site and decided to clean up his act. See? I AM tethered to reality. But obviously someone spoke to the dude, because it's been, you know, watchable lately.
Also, how much fun was today? Pedro Martinez is such a petulant little twat.

Diatribe.
Why, why why. Why does FOX have the contract to air the playoffs and the series. Well that's a dumb question, they have the contract because they bid approximately a misquillion dollars for it. But...but....why were they even allowed to bid? I mean is there a god or not? I have never ever ever seen coverage this terrible. The camerawork looks like it was done by a Martian, or someone from Wales, or someone else who knew nothing about baseball. They cut away from the ump who's about to reverse the foul call to show a shot of fans in the bleacher seats. They show a replay of an uncontroversial play SIX times. They, being Fox, load the screen with logos and graphics and flashy lights and just general wanking. I know that postseason play is a bit of a spectacle and they want ratings. But this is baseball, not the fucking WWF.
All this, however, is piddling peanuts compared to the commentary. First of all far be it from me to make an assumption but I was under the impression that postseason coverage, as it goes out to a national audience, is supposed to be neutral. And they get- Tim McCarver? Excuse me but wasn't this man _fired_ from an earlier commentating job because he was....terrible? Wasn't it the Yankees who fired him? Why, I believe it was! Yes I'm sure he's neutral. The coverage so far has been so blatantly anti-Yankees that it is unbelievable. And yes, I'm a Yankee fan. But I don't expect the announcers to be pro-NY- i expect them to at least display a semblance of neutrality. It is making me sick. Not only that, but their commentary has been puerile and simplistic and just flat out stupid. And I mean, trailer park-stupid. When they aren't stating the obvious they're getting their facts wrong, and when they're not doing that they're going off on rambling discussions of utterly irrelevant wank like which celebrities they've seen sitting in the front row of basketball games. Watching the game tonight I didn't even notice the Yankees were losing because I was too busy screaming at the announcers.
In sum, I would like to submit a plea to the Commisioner of baseball. Please, please do not let Fox get their grubby little hands on the postseason next year. This is a travesty. And please please, Mr Steinbrenner, go to Congress and get some sort of Constitutional amendment that would ban Fox from ever, ever airing the yanks again. Yankee baseball is one of the last bastions of purity and elegance in this country. Letting the fucking Fox network anywhere near it is like taking the Hope Diamond and painting it hot pink. Or serving truffles to the Osbornes. And to you, Mr Tim McCarver, I say this- you've been fired from announcer jobs twice. Even the METS fired you. Jesus Christ, can you not take a hint? Get off my television before I throw up. Go back to Philadelphia. They have no standards in Pennsylvania.
Oh by the way, the Yankees lost. That kind of blew also.

A baseball post is needed. Firstly, I need to tell you that Susan Waldman makes me want to become a serial killer, so I can only watch her for about five seconds. So I can never stick around to watch the post game show, so I've never heard Aaron Boone talk before. Tonight though, I caught a few minutes of some show on YES, and got to hear Mr Wonderful speak. I am so, so unhappy about this. How incredibly unfortunate is his voice. Very well, I will put it out of my head. I think I've mentioned my little love-hate relationship with reality. Well, good old Aaron's voice is going in the Vault, along with the "Bowling Pin of the Month" photos- damn you, j j abrams.
Other than that, well...let's see. Ok, I've never said this before and I'll never say it again, but I do hope the Red Sox beat Oakland. Only because it's going to be so much fun to cream their lily white asses in the next round. Who has tickets, you ask? Why, I believe that _I_ do. I have to go cackle now.
Also, go here and look at this. Turn your sound way up. www.weebl2.pwp.blueyonder.co.uk/data/toons/badger.swf

Oh you sad, sad people. Must I shove my point down your throats? Oh also, while the dinosaur refers to you as the Quintet, I am more cultured and have therefore settled upon the moniker "Security Council" for our exalted Five Readers. I was going to call you the Quincunx, but that's a book and it was crap so, the security council you are.
PS You- you're too young for me. Also, I have in my time known many Evil English Boys and even Evil English Noble Boys. And they are all crap. I find this whole thing pathetic. Having said that, please feel free to email me if you'd like my phone number.
Reality has absolutely no place in my life. I'm not sure if I find this comforting or severely disturbing. Discuss.

Huh. Irony has apparently decided to write Cosmo's 'It's Sexy To Be Single,' column this year. And just in case you're all wondering what happened to dear cynical, evil Irony, the single people bit was sarcastic. I know, it made me want to retch too. But really, she didn't mean it. Though we do enjoy buying school supplies. Especially elementary school supplies because you got to buy shiny new colored pencils and crayons every year because you always lost them. Oh! And stickers. I love me some stickers.
But yes, Irony was being sarcastic. Worry not, faithful quintet of readers.

You there. Yeah, you, the too-tan blonde woman in the Lily Pulitzer. Okay, first of all, Lily Pulitzer? When are all you pastel rejects from Greenwich and West Palm going to realize that Lily Pulitzer makes everyone look like a toddler. Little a-line sundresses with huge pink pastel flowers and neck scarves? Over-accessorized four year old. But more importantly, I know for a fact that that sky blue Hermes calf-skin bag set you back at least $4,000. I've seen it in various magazines and on the Hermes webpage. $4,000 for a bag that will be entirely too summery in a month and you can't put a freaking tip in the jar? Come on, lady, unless that bag was your entire divorce settlement after your husband ran off with his secretary who is a member of a minority and enjoys cooking and raising children, you're going to Stingy People Hell. In Stingy People Hell there are endless waffles and only a teaspoon of maple syrup. However, the nice man from Brooklyn who gave me a $5 tip for remembering he wanted extra cheese is going to Endless Rib Night Heaven. There will also be barbeque sauce.

Ok maybe a bit of explanation needed there. Simon Who Is Called Simon says that iodine can go directly from a solid to a gas. And a person could too, apparently, if you froze them and then chucked them into the sun. This is good to know. I will make use of this information.

Iodine!

Er...is there _anything_ that can change from a solid to a gas? I mean besides Dark Heart? (Or Darkheart, if you want to be pedantic like the reptile). No, honestly, I want to know. The only thing I remember from high school science is that I wrote a book about bagels to demonstrate osmosis. And it fucking ruled. So please someone email me and tell me about this solid/gas thing. Because that would be really cool.
In other news I would like to point out that it is now officially International Talk Like a Pirate Day. Yearh.
One other thing...my friend Simon, whom I shall call Simon Who Is Called Simon, took me up on the dare and went to the babybaby page. Here's what worries me. Not only did he take the time to email me FOUR MEGS of a song, just to torment me, but....the song he sent me was, apparently, about a little boy named Russel. Now, Simon might not be the real name of Simon Who Is Called Simon- you never know. But I can assure you that his name is not Russel. In fact the only Russel I've ever heard of is in "A Lapdance is So Much Better When The Stripper is Crying", by the Bloodhound Gang. Who the hell is named Russel? And why would Simon Who is Called Simon send me that song? MY name sure as hell is not Russel. I am somewhere between intrigued and skeeved out.
More later.

Right, so today the eye doctor told me that my eyes have an unusually steep slope to them which will make getting contacts more difficult than it should be. Of course. But Irony has abnormally large optic nerves, so it's okay.
And as I share Irony's attraction to effeminate cocky little bastards, I also hold Darkheart personally responsible. And that book Are You My Mommy? is responsible for my hesitancy to commit because of fear of abandonment. That, and guys get really boring after awhile. Probably because none of them turn into red clouds with disembodied glowy eyes. How am I supposed to remain interested when my boyfriends can't change from a solid to a gas? Simpletons.

Hmm, the Dino doubleposted again. I tell her to give up the methamphetamines, but she doesn't listen. I deleted it, because lately we've been trying to shore up her self-esteem, as she is currently a Minion in a sandwich shop.

Also, Dark Heart from the Care Bears movie is cute.
I fully realize that there are at least seventeen things wrong with that sentence. But it just had to be said. And yes I know he's like thirteen so please don't call ....whoever it is you call when people like me say thirteen-year olds are cute. He is a cartoon. He is allowed to be cute. And here's the thing- this explains so much. I must have watched that movie a squillion times between the ages of 3 and 6, and it's like...hotwired into my brain. THIS is why I am attracted to young-looking slightly effeminate boys with hearts of pure evil. It's NOT that something's wrong with me! I just apparently have some neural pathways that fused in the wrong, wrong way and I completely absolve myself of any responsibility. Hey, doesn't that make me a good American? I'm a victim! Wow, this....it just explains so much. All of my fourth year of college, for one thing. I mean, it was a big enough revelation, realizing that half my speech patterns are based on You Can't Do That On Television, but this is even huger.
In other news, were any of you watching the Yankees on YES tonight? Did you hear what Michael Kay said? There was this silence, round about the 8th, so I guess they were talking amongst themselves and not- this bears repeating, not- into the mics, and all of a sudden out of nowhere comes "do they HAVE any landmarks in this town, Ken?" And then there was....more silence. As, I'm assuming, Michael and Ken giggled in silent horror and the network executives screamed things that make paint peel. It was the funniest thing I've ever heard and here's why- the Yankees were playing in Baltimore. If you've been there you know that it DOES have a landmark- it's called the Slum, and it's pretty much the part of town from the northern border to the southern border. Other than that...I think there's some grass and a tree somewhere near Fells Point. God bless you, Michael Kay. May your buildings go condo.

In her rant about devilchildren Irony forgot to mention the grape juice kids from the Welch's commercials. Now, I love grape juice. I have a temple to it in the fridge. But Holy Toast-Eating Christ, those Welch's children are the most obnoxious little 'I'm the most adorable creature in the world except I'm NOT' beasts in the world. They're all going to end up living in someone's basement collecting insects.
Also, my job sucks beyond any reasonable bounds. I did not sign on to wash dishes. I'm not made to wash dishes. Especially when no moisturizer is around. And listen here, all you asshole tourists from New York, unless you want me to take your cheap American beer and shove it up your asses you better learn some damn patience. Also, anyone who needs a beer that badly at 2:00 PM after being out on a freaking boat all day has a major problem. I was standing for nine hours, I needed the damn beer.
God, I better marry rich

Two things. Number A. Johnny Depp is not human. I'm not entirely sure which planet it is he comes from, but they really ought to run tours to it. Oy vey. I'm philosophically opposed to gushing so that's all I'll say about that. And fourthly, several of my overseas friends feel I am being a bit harsh when it comes to tv children and their adorable little antics. This is because they have not yet been subjected to the commercials to which I referred in the previous post. To them I say: www.babybaby.com. If you don't trust me, just go see for yourself. Have a great time! And don't say I didn't warn you.

All kittens gone. All gone. The goddamn world is full of illegitimate kittens. You can hardly walk on our rivers for stepping on burlap sacks filled with kittens. And yet people came and took ours away. Even Harry. They took Harry. I will be fine once I have hit something. A small child, for preference.
Looking back on the posts of the past couple months I realize it's been absolutely ages since I said anything even remotely clever or interesting. This is mainly because I am no longer working at the Damn Hell Ass-Sucking Job of Poo, which gave me ample time in which to stare blankly at the screen. Now that I am no longer indentured to the Ass-Sucking Boss of Poo, I basically go online to check email. But I promise I'll be better. I really am quite clever you know, and if I gave it a second's thought I'm sure I could remember some of the interesting things which have happened to me lately. Let's see. Think......think....uh.....
Hmm, Connecticut really IS like a postcard. It's very pretty, utterly two-dimensional and there's absolutely nothing you can do with it.
I may drive up to the far northeast corner of the state and see if there's a stamp there.

Oh, the bit at the bottom is completely accurate. Irony manages to tune out all conversation that doesn't directly involve her. Wonderful skill, that. Also, I'm the coolest Last Unicorn ever. And people need to stop adopting our kittens. I think we should say they have rabies or mad cow or something.

Err..except for that bit at the end, which I totally object to. I am not self absorbed. I'm merely self aware. If that makes me aware of how fucking cool I am, so be it.

Someone please explain to me how a drive can be 170 miles one way and then 280 coming back. ON THE SAME ROADS. A) Mapquest can kiss my shiny metal ass and B)....what the FUCK is wrong with I-90?

Why does Albany still exist?
More later.

All the cats have been named now. Newt, Gink, Gollum and Trogdor. And we still can't find the fourth kitten and it's horribly depressing because I keep thinking of it all alone in the woods like that poor baby bird from that book Are You My Mommy? In happier news, the kittens are learning socialization skills. Meaning they bat around a tinfoil ball and play with twine. It's nice to have another purpose for tinfoil. You know, besides those hats we make that keep Cookie from reading our thoughts.

Yeah. So. The cats. Irony and I should really stop naming everything ever because naturally we name the cats. And we can't keep the cats. The Father That...uh...Is will not let us keep four (five) cats. Hell, I can't justify adding more animals to our zoo. But...there's Newt and Moose and Stewie and Yet To Be Named One and Two. They just sit there and look all cute and disgruntled and it takes a half hour to round them all up and get them back into the cage because they run and hide under everything in the garage and it's just...so help me, it's cute. But it's okay that it's cute because they're cats and not people. I have to go belittle someone now. Anyone.

We haven't forgotten you, honest. We've just been far too busy being cool to attend to your needs. Check your mail- an apology should be forthcoming. Yes.
So, so many things going on here. Let's see. We have been infected with cats. One showed up on our porch, and it was doing that thing kittens do with the eyes and the fur and the mewling and what were we expected to do? So that one's been living in our garage. Then we realize that it just gave birth (it isn't more than 7 months old, goddamn teeenage pregnancies) so we've been spending the past week trawling around the woods behind our house to find its kittens. Which we did, all four of them. They are stupidly insanely cute and I have been trying to get in touch with my Inner Shithead but she appears to be asleep. So three of them, plus the mother, are now living in our garage. The fourth one ran off. Which means we have to spend more time slogging around in the goddamn woods. I am sick to death of nature touching me. Wet things were in my hair and crawly things on my limbs. This shall not stand. If we don't find the thing soon, I may have to napalm our entire neighborhood. But in the meantime, does anyone want a kitten? Anyone?
Also, I am being screwed by my credit card, who sent a bill to the wrong address- needless to say I did not pay it and now am being slammed with late fees. If this ends up buggering my credit I'm not sure what I will do, but see above re: napalm.
I shouldn't be doing this now. Am far too tired to be witty.

Okay, I really didn't post it twice, that was a blogger thingie. I can't quite figure out how I didn't catch the "dreaming a book" bit. 'Cause...uh, 'reading' and 'dreaming,' really not terribly similar. Also, in the pool today Irony and I made up the best story ever. It had everything from abstract art to a rotting, magical ham. And also, jail. But not one of those cool lesbian ones.
The other night I had a dream where I couldn't find my locker or remember the combination. It was worse than that dream where there were thirteen of us and some guy that looked like Marilyn Manson as Willy Wonka was killing us off one by one and we were stuck in this aquamarine hotel room.
And Jesus Christ, Count of Monte Cristo is the worst movie ever. I mean, Jesus Christ. They don't even AGE after 16 years; they just have beards. What the hell is that shit?

I am getting a bit worried about the dinosaur. Not only did she doublepost her last effort, she used the phrase "I'm dreaming this big long book." Now, I am wracking my brain to determine exactly what level of fucked-upedness is necessary to type 'dreaming' for 'reading'. There are a....lot....of letters different there, hon. But I should be quiet. Considering that I beat the crap out of her almost every day for real, it seems just egregious to cyberbash her. So I'll stop.
I have no news. This is why I haven't posted. All I do is look for jobs. Stupid, stupid fucking country where we're expected to have MONEY if we want to do things. All I really want to do is get on a really nice boat and sail it around the Caribbean till I drop dead from happiness. And yet I have doubts that anyone will ever pay me to do this. So. I have stared at my resume for so long now that the words "education" "experience" and in fact any of the words included therein produce in me a visceral response akin to what happens when you stick someone's face in a pile of dragon poo. I can't take this anymore. I am fucking smarter than all of you people! I hate you all.

This update is for my faithful friend, Buttons. She told me if I didn't update soon, she and the five other readers would stage some kind of protest. If only I had something of substance to write about. Let's see...So this morning, or yesterday morning, really, I had to wake up at 5:45. Of course, that means I just didn't go to sleep. I took a couple of those Tylenol PM, but all they did was keep me in a state of half-sleep for three hours. You know, you start to doze off and then you jolt yourself awake. Yeah, for three hours. It was especially irksome because the previous night I had a dream that was so lovely I forced myself to go back to sleep to continue dreaming it.
Also, I'm reading this big long book about a 19th century London prostitute. It makes me so happy that I was born in the 20th century. Good old indoor plumbing, and lack of manky food. And television. Speaking of television, you know who's cute in a geeky sort of way? Adam Brody. You just want to take him home and listen to indie rock with him. After buying him a new wardrobe.
Lastly, why didn't the witch just kill Snow White straight off? Can't have been a very good bad witch if she left such a big loophole. Honestly. I'd think it'd be common sense

Okay, so at the request of Dahlink, and to a lesser extent Irony, I'm posting something. A couple months ago, I bought a tin of mints. They were called Enlightenmints and they were tiny and quite strong. Tonight, before I went out I opened the tin and discovered that the mints had grown some kind of clear, fibrous hair. D'you know that Simpsons episode where Lisa creates Lutherans? Yeah, Irony adopted that philosophy. Eventhough I threw the mints away she fished them out of the garbage and made little flags for them that said "We love you, Dinosaur" and put them on my bed. Irony has some serious issues. She thinks she is the god of the mints. That means I'm gonna get the gift certificate. This is after our father personified our fan. He is called Mr. Fan. He wears a hat and likes brownies.
Also, Band of Brothers is fabulous. It should be called "Easy Company: The Hottest Battalion" or "Hot Dark-Haired Boys With Guns: A Retrospective." It's got lovely boys, explosions and no women. By the end of the series almost all of the uglies are weeded out, leaving only the pretty ones. With guns. And humor. And last night after Band of Brothers, Nip/Tuck was on. Have the five of you seen Nip/Tuck? It has two brothers, Doctor Bland and Doctor Yum. Doctor Yum is evil, but we love him anyway. Because he's yummy and we're shallow and attracted to things that are not good for us. Queer Eye for the Straight Guy was also on. They're the sweetest bunch of gay men ever. One of them is our cat in human form. We always knew we had a little gay boy cat. Now he's on television.

Ok there was this great post here, about how I was tailed all day by the Firies from Labyrinth and the goddamn Skeksies from the Dark Crystal and also the talking cream puff from Young Sherlock Holmes, and about how this went on for around four hours before I realized I had rather a high fever, and about how the moral of the story was that most people get shivers and sniffles when they're sick, but I get haunted by muppets. And it was beautiful. The Dinosaur, however, vetoed the post on the grounds that, in order to make the narrative flow more pleasing, I took a bit where I played a song on CD and changed it to it having been played on the radio. Apparently the rusty little alethiometer in her head clanged or something, and she's been guilting me about lying to the blog. A little ditty about pots, kettles, and their exchange of color-related insults does come to mind, but I am far too holy to stoop to such a level. I am the God of the Mints. The greatest thing about that statement is that nobody, anywhere, ever, will actually be able to disprove it.
On another note...Band of Brothers. Yes. And yes again. That casting director is going to have my babies. On anotherother note, here's what I've learned from Nip/Tuck. You can have 19th-century muttonchops, a receding hairline, and a penchant for bright orange shirts, but NONE of this matters if you have lovely squinty eyes and a soul of pure evil. Boy readers, take note of this. There is hope.

Right. My computer is a wretched, despicable trumped-up toaster. I want to shove an english muffin in the disk drive. Every damn diddly picture that I've taken on my digital camera for the past year is gone. Every song I downloaded. Bye bye, songs. But geeyarr, those were some mighty fine pirates. And also, I want some pasta sausage. And a strawberry tart.

Dear 7 People Who Read This Thing,
Please click on our WMD donation button doohicky. If we get enough donations we get a snazzy prize, and then we will do something for YOU. What, you ask? Well we can't tell you. But just sit back and imagine how wondrously funky and apocalicious your reward will be. Go on, imagine.

Ahhh, summer. Isn't summer great? I think this whole global warming thing has gotten a bad rap and I'd like to set the record straight. Assuming that all the hype about global warming is true, well...what's the big deal, bitch? I LOVE this. I say let it continue! We could take boats everywhere instead of driving and we'd be tan all year round and also thin because it's too hot to eat anything but smoked salmon and ice cream sandwiches. Um, not at the same time. And everywhere would have that great sultry Tennesee-Williamsesque weather, and we could lounge about in February wearing sun dresses and drinking mint juleps and fanning ourselves idly with the golden tresses of lanky shirtless men and....uh, got carried away. What was my point? Oh yes. This post is directed mainly at The Chump, who in particular has no reason to bitch as he's got central air. What's the problem with it being hot? Bakingly, ear-meltingly, running-around-on-mercury-while-wearing-wool hot. Do you people not remember winter? Do you not remember it SUCKING? Snow is fun for exactly the length of time needed to build a two-headed snowman with angry eyebrows, and then it's just sludge. Cold is just....it just sucks. I don't even want to bother describing how it sucks. I'm going to go to the North Pole with a thousand cases of pre- CFC laws hairspray, and I'm just going to go to town. Yes the Ozone layer was nice, but it's time to live in the Now. Embrace the horror, my fellow mammals- go buy a boat and a straw hat and quit complaining. Ok, I have to go. It's way too damn hot to sit around in this stuffy room.

Ok well, have taken down the Pisshead thing as its author was not amused. Hrmph. I'd have been honored, but what are you gonna do. Going off to sulk in the pool.
You can't really sulk when you're lying in a pool, can you? You can just, maybe, sort of....bask in a disgruntled fashion. Yes. Well that's what I'm going to do.

[DELETED!!]

Lies. All lies. I am not insane.
On a completely unrelated note, we should really bring back the Reaching Dowel. Remember the Reaching Dowel? Whatever happened to that? I'm sick of having to move to get things. Things should come to ME.

Yeah. She really is that insane. And can I just say that my dancing Strong Bad icon fills me with great joy? As does his exclamation of 'Oooh, electronic mail,' everytime I get an email. And who's that guy? You know, that guy. No, not Eleanor.

Today A Person, nickname to be decided later, told me I was a cock. He also told me I was crap. He wanted a mention on this page, although I can't imagine why as nobody ever gets referred to here unless they've done something horribly, horribly wrong. So let's see. Nope, he hasn't done anything obnoxious in at least the past two years. Although he does get turned on by libraries, and he's afraid of extinct fish. So I suppose he's weird enough to talk about for a while. Ok, Person, I'm going to call you Coin Toss Boy for now. Happy?

Wow, dating's fun when you're not going out with some future-planning psycho. Especially first dates when they humor you and find your eccentricities cute. Plus, Dunkin' Donuts is apparently open 24 hours a day and anyone who knows me knows that the best way to end a date is to get me a sprinkled donut, as sprinkled donuts are at the top of the donut hierarchy. On the downside, while frolicking in the waves on the beach in my pretty little sundress I kicked a horseshoe crab. Bet I pissed it off pretty badly. Good thing it was dark out, as my slightly wavy hair warped into scary Medusa-like coiffure sometime during my beach romp. Also, the complete onslaught of freckles has made me think that perhaps I should just wear pigtails, get a golden retriever and tie different-colored bandanas around my stonewashed jeans to fully embrace my Punkyness.

The sun was out again today. And I don't know if it's global warming or some ozone layer issue, but the sun is so strong that I'm getting the tan it usually takes three weeks to achieve in two days. Okay, so my eyelids are a bit burnt. And also, freckles are coming out and strengthening my resemblance to Punky Brewster circa 1986. So I have a date tomorrow. Silly Boy's initial plan was that we would each think of five things to do and then we'd pick one. I think he forgot we live in Connecticut. Everyone who lives in Connecticut knows that there are about four things to do in the summer: mini golf, diner, movie or cliff diving at forbidden quarry. Oh, and driving around aimlessly. Ideas online have proved fruitless as the only local activities for tomorrow night are Overeaters Anonymous meetings and women's self defense classes. I suspect the Overeaters Anonymous meeting will lack snackfoods. Sigh.

Here are some things that I hate.
-People with ski racks on their cars
-Sun shining off bumpers, making it appear that there are flashing lights in my rearview mirror
-Everybody who drives a white car
These things are DIVERSIONS.
Having said that, here's a completely hypothetical conversation between a fictitious cop and an equally fictitious girl.
"Do you know how fast you were going, ma'am?"
"err...."
"Any particular reason you needed to drive that fast?"
"Uh....I'm really sorry, officer...I'm in labor."
Maybe time to bat eyelashes now. Yes. Bat them.
"That's interesting....you don't look in the least bit pregnant."
"Uh...it's premature."
Cop laughs. Cop gives girl a warning.
Speeding tickets are things that happen to other people.
PS That time in Ohio doesn't count. Anyone with half a brain knows that the only thing you can do in Ohio is leave it, as soon as possible, preferably leaving jet fuel trails in your wake.

Dear God,
It's me, Irony. I take back everything I said about you. Remember when I said you were a hideous evil lesbian bitch obsessed with obstructing my every happiness? Yeah, I take that back. Also the remark about the cockroaches. Thoroughly uncalled for. I see that now.
Only one more week and then out of DC forever. Human beings weren't meant to live in this town. You know what they call people who've been here for more than ten years? Cave dwellers. And not in that cute, tangly hair, filthy yet sexy animal skin wearing way. In the grunting, hopping, club-wielding troglodyte kind of way. So it's three months of lying in the pool at home and then back to London and I am in fact so happy about this that I should stop talking about it, as this is a site for bitching. Also I'm so sunburned that it hurts my fingers to type. You know what I saw today? The Sun! Remember that thing? Big, yellowish, warmish, kind of far away, makes it light out during the day? Well it apparently got bored of whatever debauched singles holiday it was off on and finally decided to grace us with its presence. All this rain is horrible and here's why. Southern Connecticut has gotten so bloody verdant it looks like some primordial rainforest. It's so egregiously green that my eyes have fogged over. Any more rain and several species of giant paleolithic fern would probably de-extinctionize themselves. And I don't know about you but I've seen pictures of what some of those ferns looked like, and they seemed a bit carnivorous to me. How ignominious would it be to be slurped to death by a giant plant? Pretty damn ignominious. And also sticky. Which is why I'm so pleased it's finally quit raining.

Ahhhhhh new york all this week. You know the greatest thing about new york? It isn't DC. Glory glory hallelujah. I may chain myself to a parking meter and refuse to leave.
More later.

So I was browsing through one of those dream dictionaries the other day and I have to say I found it completely unsatisfactory. There was no entry for 'apocalypse.' That's one of the prevalent themes in my dreams; most notably the one where I had to stop the apocalypse. And then go back again and stop it more quickly and efficiently. Also, while there is an entry for 'explosion,' there's no entry for 'explosives.' I feel that's unfair to those of us whose dreams contain C4. What about us, huh? What about us? And why the hell is a duck the symbol of female friendship? It's a duck, dammit.

Ok this only even begins to make sense if you saw Futurama last night. But we don't really care- read it anyway.


Irony:
Sniff. nobody ever threw me a funeral.
A Dinosaur:
That's because you want to be frozen
Irony:
although i did - true!. Go you.
A Dinosaur:
Yes
Irony:
What about you?
A Dinosaur:
I want a pyramid built. Or a viking funeral. Or both
Irony:
well _obviously_
Irony:
ooooh! i'll build you a pyramid, bury some slaves alive with you, then light the whole thing on fire and chuck it down a waterfall. Now that’s love.
A Dinosaur:
As long as they don't steal my valuables
Irony:
no see, because they'll be cursed.
A Dinosaur:
Yay. Mummy curse
Irony:
mummy curse AND immolation. Best of both worlds.
A Dinosaur:
Oh, and if they are not dead before me, as a sign of grief and respect I want the Hilton sisters killed
Irony:
Ohhh…k.I like random vendettas
A Dinosaur:
Look...pyramids
Irony:
wait, shit, i missed a whole bit. why are they in egypt now?
A Dinosaur:
They know what we know!
Irony:
oh! they went to a planet. And this is the planet. And this is what’s happening. Also they can read our minds. Go get your anti-cookie hat.
A Dinosaur:
I think I used it to make nachos
Irony:
there is always more tin foil.
A Dinosaur:
And more nachos
Irony:
well, yes. but if you're careful you can stay just ahead of the curve.
Irony:
Hmm. I dont own enough things made of lapis lazuli.
A Dinosaur:
I only have one thing made of lapis lazuli
Irony:
we should get more.
A Dinosaur:
We should get a lot of things
Irony:
a better point was never made
A Dinosaur:
How come we never made a fake prophecy putting us into a position of power?
God, we're slacking
Irony:
....because our culture no longer relies on cuneiform?
A Dinosaur:
Cocks
Irony:
i'll call congress tomorrow. "Linear A, fuckwads, look at the LINEAR A!!"
A Dinosaur:
Do so
Irony:
I shall.
Irony:
Also i don't own nearly enough people- driven conveyances.
A Dinosaur:
Or any
Irony:
do boys who pay for your taxis count?
A Dinosaur:
No
Irony:
oh. then ok, i don't, but i think they should count. Instead of my goddamn professor chaos doll, for my _belated_ birthday present, I want a rickshaw.
A Dinosaur:
It’s on the list.

And also, they made Frog and Toad into a musical. Which provides me with some joy. But when Frog and Toad aren't dressed like a frog and a toad they're kind of...like Frodo and Sam. Y'know what I mean? Yeah.

Right, nothing of any interest to say. Except that Eddie Izzard didn't win the Best Actor Tony. Which is sad. But Brian Dennehey won and his speech was basically a big Eddie Lovefest, so all was...rather well. I've only seen about ten minutes of the most recent Time Machine movie, but Jesus Murphy, it sucks almost as much as Battlefield Earth. And...what the...this wasn't in the book. Yeah, this definitely sucks. I want nachos

Spent most of this afternoon plotting cruel protracted death of will shortz. I mean....what the hell. Although "etagere" was in it yesterday, which made me happy for like, hours. God, I'm such a dork. Also last night I dreamed that I was married to Elliot Gould and he made us buy a toy poodle and it ate my hair. I worry.

I too have fallen victim, on occasion, to the Vaguely Elfish. But- and I'm talking to YOU here, Nordic Girl- it isn't that they're effeminate, it's just....a....er....a certain...puckishness. Yes. That's it. And here I will stop talking about men, because it's been a long weekend, and I'm tired, and I have to go watch the Recruit.
See now, there's nothing even remotely puckish about Colin Farrell.
In other news...uh....no other news, really. Have 5 job prospects and nothing definite. Am leaning on Surfer Boy to get me job at adam smith institute in london. Not that I have a problem with america, you understand- it's just that there are so many goddamn americans here. And now I shall stop talking, because I have nothing interesting to say. Not that that ever seems to stop the dinosaur, but my standards are higher. And I want. my. god. damn. professor. chaos. doll. you shit.

Ha! Finally, a nice day. Those of you in New England understand. It's been freaking 50 degrees and raining since I've been back. But today it was sunny. Sunny and 80. Thank you, Torpedo Bob. Twiggy and I celebrated in typical fashion, by lying out on the lawn with lemonade. For about 20 minutes, until our notoriously short attention spans got ahold of us. Then we tossed a football. For three hours. For some reason, we don't get bored of this. Probably because we enjoy watching eachother get smacked in the face. That thrill never goes away. I'm glad there are some things you can always count on.
The pool people opened the pool a couple days ago. Three weeks late, but that's besides the point. Yeah, it was a whopping 54 degrees. I think today it might be up to 62. I really wish the tradition of me being the first one in hadn't been established. Fucking freezing.
Oh yes, and in response to another one of Irony's manrants, every guy I've ever dated has been a Virgo. Who plays soccer. And according to my mother, they all look vaguely elfin. According to Twiggy, they all look about two steps away from being gay. But it's an important step. And Vaughn? Yeah, Vaughn does not look at all gay. So there. Sark...okay, Sark reminds me vaguely of Eldest Culkin Brother, so I'll give you that one. But it's okay. Because he's evil, you see. That cancels it out.

Ahh, the second of June. Notable for many many things. It's usually about when I get round to noticing that May's gone again. It's also when the pollen descends upon Scotland and turns me into a ball of homicidal, dripping misery and rage, but I don't have to worry about that anymore. It also seems to be the day when Almost Every Goddamn Boy I've Ever Dated was born. This was called to my attention when a guy I work with noted that it was his birthday today (no, I have absolutely no plans to date this one, he likes to do things with Microsoft Access and he scares me) and I said hey, I know some people born on June 2...actually wait I know a whole slew of them and they're all evil. Now, I have no time for all of that namby-pamby pseudo-mystical astrology bullshit because it's all a load of pretentious wank, but all Geminis are evil. Nope, no paradox here- astrology is shit, Geminis are evil. Facts of nature. I'm not sure how, on my thus-far 25-year long glide through life, I have encountered so many people born on June 2. I have a disturbing feeling that this has something to do with a breakdown of entropy which will end eventually with the entire universe de-banging itself into one giant glob and then winking out of existence. Because the alternatives are just too horrible to contemplate. If I am fated to spend the rest of my life with a Gemini, then I swear to god I will just pack it in right now and go live in a corrugated iron shack on a tropical island somewhere. What's WRONG with you people? Why do you vex me so?
Hmm. I hadn't intended to manrant as I'm currently feeling quite well-disposed towards that particular segment of the population. But honestly, you Geminis. Get your shit together.
In other news, cato interview tomorrow. This better be good or else....well, see above re: corrugated iron shack. Because I am going to quit my current job. What's wrong with it, you ask? Aside from the toenail-melting boredom, the fact that I have to beg to get paid, and the fact that I had to PULL THE LEGS OFF RAW CRABS at the last reception we sponsored? Well let's see. Today I got chewed out for going to the bank to deposit a check. It took 15 minutes. If that check didn't get deposited, some men named Carmine would have shown up at the Oubliette with bats. _Aluminum_ bats. What did I have to do at work that was so important that missing those 15 minutes was so awful? As far as I can tell, I had to take one pile of paper and mate it with another pile of paper. Now, while I have the greatest respect for the bonding rituals of wood pulp biproducts, I don't really see that they take precedence over my continued fiscal solvency. So that's it. I quit. Fuck them if they can't take a joke.
In other other news, will be in New York next weekend to see Yoooolia and have banter with the parents. Very worried about leaving DC because afraid if I leave and start breathing real air again I won't be able to come back. We shall see.
Isn't "shan't" a great word? And why do sandwiches taste better when they're cut diagonally? And how come we can't bring back dittos? Remember dittos? You could rub them on your cheeks on cold days and they smelled like purple. Please forgive everything I've just said; I've been dipping into Mother's mescaline stash today.
RAW. CRABS. !

Okay, so the other night Twiggy's lung collapsed. Yeah, I know. She was amused because that kind of thing would only happen to her. And in the mall, nonetheless. She's supposed to recover; she doesn't need the surgery. In typical Twiggy fashion, once she heard that it was most common in tall, thin men she spent most of her time in the clinic giggling about how she was a tall, thin man. Instead of being worried that her lung collapsed. This is why I like Twiggy. I kept her company tonight and upstaged her boyfriend because I brought her flowers. Now really, after almost three years he should know that Twiggy, like me, desires flowers for any possible occassion. Birthday, flowers; toaster breaks, flowers; collapsed lung, flowers. It's really just the way it works. Honestly.

Apartment has had stroke. No electricity on right side of apartment. No air conditioning. Have to sit around waiting for Pepco. Have been sitting around waiting for Pepco all day. Cannot go out. Is Friday night. This would be more annoying if I weren't utterly knackered from last night's shenanigans.
So on Wednesday I have an interview with the Director of Foreign Policy at Cato. This is step 2 on my path towards utter world domination. Step 1, I have to say, is that dress I got the other day.
Oh wow, the Pepco people are here. Wait...they...they're here? My god. They're only 8 hours late. That was only semi-utterly inefficient. Bet they have no idea what's wrong or how to fix it. Or that they are not really Pepco, but Children of the Corn. This is equally plausible. Need food, brain not functioning. Hope satay comes into it somewhere.

That wasn't a Teddy Ruxpin, that was a Troll doll. Which you left in the bathroom in a box, knowing I'd feel my strange displaced inanimate-object sympathy and take it into my room where it could -kill- me. Good thing it didn't, or you'd be in a lot of trouble.

PS Dinobrat, you know we can't have a teddy ruxpin. The last time we got one we had to hide it in the linen closet because it was possessed. You have the recall of a comatose goldfish.

My metro card de-magnetized itself today. Now that's three times in the past 10 days. If I'm giving off some sort of electromagnetic field, I want to know where the hell all my superpowers are. Maybe they're lost in the mail with my new ATM card, you wachovian bastards.

Have determined Irony has to get a fucking Teddy Ruxpin or something so she leaves me alone. Have also determined that little blonde friend who shall henceforth be known as Twiggy makes the most lethal rum and cokes around. And you know what I hate? Those wretched Applemusic commercials. Who cares about a bunch of random unnattractive people singing? For thirty seconds? They embarrass themselves. I can't watch people embarrass themselves, even on TV. It makes me cringe. But you know what I like? When you get one of those crumbly dissolvey Wint-O-Green Lifesavers. Boy, oh boy, do I like those. And also those lethal Oreo Cookie Bars. So good. So bad for you. It's a damn good thing I don't watch what I eat or the sheer amount of crap and calories in them might daunt me.

Have determined the reasons behind the lizard's prolonged absence. Apparently absolutely nothing interesting has happened to her in the past week so she's had nothing to post. Now that's just pathetic. Now on to more important things, ie me.
The other day I was in the elevator going down into the parking garage. Normally I try to blank this out as I do to everything involving my day at work, because if I really paid attention I'd probably load myself into the fax machine and send myself to purgatory because it would be an improvement. But I digress. So in the elevator there was a sign, and here's what it said. "No smoking: enforced by ordnance." Wow. I should be frightened, I guess, but a bunkerbuster shot straight into my elevator would really add a bit of variety to the day.
Also I heard that this year's Turner Prize was given to an empty rubbish bag. I've got a polemic brewing on this, but I'm going to leave it to simmer for a few days so as to do it justice.
In other news I realized what DC reminds me of. Ever been to the Paramus Mall?

No beach. It's pouring and I'm tired and I've remembered that I have self respect. So, no beach.
Just one other thing today. What the hell is another word for pith helmet? A pith helmet is a goddamn pith helmet. Help.

This morning the man who lives in my bus stop was singing. This is unsurprising. But today he was singing "who let the dogs out"...to the tune of Danny Boy. I have to tell you, I really enjoyed it. If you're going to be shithouse insane you may as well be inventive with it. And you know, he wasn't bad. Probably shouldn't have attempted the descant, but what are you gonna do.

Who ate the dinosaur? Where the hell did she go? Must've walked over a crack in the pavement and gotten sucked in. She's down amongst the mole people now. Run, little lizard, run!
Ok off to the beach for memorial day weekend to be everything I hate for 4 days. I hate it, I really hate it, but it's better than a weekend in DC and that band is there. Wahey.
And if it gets really bad I'll just put on my glasses and walk around asking people if they've read Riddley Walker. You have no idea how fun it is to do that in Delaware.

[[ The post that previously occupied this space has been severely edited due to common sense. You'll never ever know what it said. See if you can sleep tonight. The following is all I'm leaving in.]]


....and there is nothing wrong with my goddamn handshake. And when I rule the world you are on my LIST, bitch. And the rest of you too. If there is anything worse than Senators it is Senator's Wives.
Wow, I need one of those weevils. Remember those? Yeah, need one of those. Perhaps several. And a low-yield nuclear weapon. Oooh! And a teleportation device. But I digress.

Fuck you all, I'm moving back to London.

Aw, home again. There was some obnoxious baby on the plane that decided to wail the entire time. Apparently his mommy thought it was cute. I hope mommy thinks it's cute when Junior grows up to be a serial killer with a chenille fetish. I do so love home. The lilacs are blooming, the parents are joking and the dog is...afraid of absolutely everything I also love my friends. My violent, violent friends. And since certain people read this blog I will just say that those football teams were really unfair. And now I'm going to get food. Because it's right downstairs. Hee. That makes me so happy.

This morning on my way to the protracted lobotomy that is work, I was standing in the metro station about to get on my typically late orange line train. Now, this train, like most- actually let me go so far as to say all- subway trains, goes to a place, stops, goes to another place, stops, and then presumably comes to the end of the line where it is dismantled by blind albino pixies who then reassemble it facing the opposite direction, and then send it down the line again. Yes? With me so far? All right, so this guy comes up and starts chatting to me. From his accent I cleverly deduce that he is from either Minnesota or Neptune. So he says to me "I'm going to Pentagon City...which car do I need to get on?" And I said "well you're on the right side of the track..." because it was safe to assume that's what he meant, yes? But he continues. "I know, I saw the sign. But which of the cars stop at Pentagon City?" Now. What I _wanted_ to say was, "make sure you get on one of the three middle cars because the ones on either end go barreling off into the solid brick of the surrounding walls and take you on a super-fun journey into the tenth dimension, where you will be buggered by aliens for all eternity." But I couldn't say that, because my head had imploded. So I said "oh. yes. uh. they all do." And then I went round the corner and bashed my head against a post until I felt better. When are the people who run things going to track me down and give me the membership card that exempts me from having to coexist with these people? When?? Do I need to send up a flare??

So it's my last night here at The Wonderfully Manicured School of Absolute Shit and my suitemates are, of course, blaring a movie . Maid in Manhattan this time. I can hear it through two walls and my headphones. They jumped in the lake last night. I'm hoping they grow parasites. Oh, don't look at me like that. They don't even know how to pronounce 'paradigm.' Or what one is. Makes me feel just swell about being accepted at the same school they were.
The Fruit Hoarder is gone and my room looks downright institutional. So, we obviously have to check out of our rooms. And you'd think that since the RA's have to check you out, they wouldn't, oh, I don't know, schedule an RA meeting during one of the most common checkout times so I have to check out an hour earlier. Yes. You would think that, wouldn't you? I swear to God, all the intelligence in this school went to designing the landscape. So after I check out Dahlink is taking me to dump my stuff at the storage place and then to Biscuitville for a southern sendoff breakfast. My first time at Biscuitville. Then off to the airport. Once home, my loving parents will feed me and I shall rejoin my delightfully irreverent friends from above the Mason-Dixon line.
The fact that it's going to be about 15 degrees colder than what I'm used to is going to fuck me over. As is the fact that I put most of my pants in storage. Alas.

Here's another thing about Delaware. You can't smoke. In. The. Whole. State. Now, I'm not going to bother ridiculing the nico-nazis who have seen fit to ban smoking in yankee stadium (god those clouds really gather in the open air, don't they) or in bars (bars are where you go to be healthy, right?) because it's all too obvious and tedious. But Delaware. If you are lucky enough to have never seen Delaware, let me enlighten you. Take Pennsylvania and remove the wit and aesthetic charm. A screen door factory would actually be an improvement to the skyline, which as far as I can tell is mainly comprised of strip malls, bait stands and that scary-ass farm equipment that looks like it was stolen from the set of Wicker Man. This place would _benefit_ from a nice thick cloud of ash. Delaware is where Mets fans go to die. Oddly enough, in DC, where you'd probably have to hire a midget for your basketball team in the interests of fairness and equity, you can smoke just about everywhere. Maybe I shouldn't point this out- I wouldn't want to draw attention to it. Next time I go to Delaware I'm bringing a crack pipe, a hookah and a respirator. Bastards.

Ok where the fuck are all our archives? I demand that you return our archives. I swear to christ I said something funny on 4/13 and I want it back.
I shall rectify this problem immediately....um. I have no idea how to rectify this problem. Plus all of you people read us religiously anyway because we are the only thing that lifts you out of your sad pathetic little lives, so it's not like you ever missed a post anyway. Ok I've discovered that if you go away and come back like a half hour later, they work. Then another half hour later they don't work. Apparently blogger is run by either a) soviet bureaucrats or b) the same people who are meant to be in charge of municipal affairs in washington dc. Honestly, people outside dc are amazed that congress ever gets anything done. Whereas we, on the other hand, are just amazed that anyone ever makes it to the Hill through the morass of spleen-bursting potholes, clusterfuck traffic circles and Escalators to Nowhere that comprise the infrastructure of this city. All of which is a bit of a digression from my point, which was that the god damn archives are gone. But they'll be back.
Oh and a message to Fiend- the dinosaur told me about the CD. This is unutterably cool. When the revolution comes we'll put you in the safe house. With some blondes. Good?

Right so I didn't get paid today. Because my shitstick boss forgot. Anyway, I had a rather pricey weekend and now don't even have enough money for dinner. The Shitstick said "well, it's just a day, can't you cook something you have at home?" Ok. Here's what I have. I have two different kinds of mustard. Barbecue sauce. Coriander. Vanilla extract. Cardamom seeds. Nutella. And an egg. If YOU can make dinner out of this I will personally murder Emeril Lagasse and install you in his place. I'd go down to Lafeyette park and beg for change but Lafayette park is full of people like me who don't give money to people who beg for change.

I KNOW, shithead, about marvel girl. But in the vast cavernous labyrinth that is my mind I try to consider the movies and the comics separately. I like discrete realities. Also I want to take Nightcrawler home and give him a good hot meal. I'm not usually attracted to the spiky blue German ones, but hey.

Worry not, sister dear. I got a text about portcullis security systems. Apparently the A-2 explanation is a man's home is his castle. Or something. He worries me. That's nothing compared to the phone call with him about how Mom murdered the spiky plants that we think are neat and she thinks are hideous. And they are hideous. But that's not a point. I have to draft a treaty to keep this from happening again. Of course, he called just as I began to be motivated to write a paper. That's why it was fun.

So here's a text I just got from the Father. "population of predatory fish increasing, harmless fish decreasing. World ending." Five minutes later... "no seriously. On tuesday." And also he wants to put a portcullis on our house. I suspect he may have lost it.

I mean, if any of you are fish scientists you can feel free to argue with me on this, but I wasn't aware that the ratio of tuna to shark was of any eschatological significance.

The little ice cube boy is turning out quite nicely if you ask me.

Righto, have just read over the posts that appeared whilst I was away, and I'm not sure whether or not I want to just sit back and admire my creation, or if I should in fact be intensely worried. O ye little Dinosaur, how odd ye are. Ok I admit it, I'm proud. You never used to be this weird.
So, many happy returns to Me. Best Birthday Ever. Won't inundate you with details as you would all turn purple with envy and besides none of you could comprehend the infinite coolness of the past weekend. Strange that so many lovely things could happen in the budget industrial wasteland that is the great state of Delaware. Mainly due to Chuckles and his marvelous efforts on my behalf. When the revolution comes, I shall see to it that you die quickly and painlessly, Chuckles.
Also I met a boy named Teabag. It's nice to advertise your habits, don't you think? Takes all that annoying guesswork out of relationships.
Well, the little steel-eyed skiing navy Seal Dino wench is about to hie her ass hence to our ancestral pile, so I shall take this opportunity to wish her a safe and amusing trip. Where is my professor chaos doll, you fuckstick.


It's funny when you walk into a room at the end of a story and the last line you hear is "And THAT is why you should never fuck your drug dealer."

PS A point to this website? Not sure who the Nitpicking Twit is but he/she is obviously a few triplets short of an orgy. All attic, no boxes. Insult me and ratface as much as you like, but please never ever try to pin a point on us. I can feel it from far away when someone tries to do that and it makes my hair itch.
Actually I think that's because I haven't showered in three days. Better go rectify that situation.

Ah. Very. Slowly. Winding down. Which is code for going mad on account of boredom. Last night I had barbeque. Again. I love barbeque. I shall miss it so when I'm back in the northern lands. But last night my darling (dahlink) friends and I had a lovely yell at the fountain. It was almost worthy of Shakespeare, really. Actually, it was more like Tom Stoppard. But still. It was quality. And someone, who shall now be referred to as the Nitpicky Twit, doesn't understand the point of this webpage. There is no damn point to this webpage. It merely gives Irony and me a forum for expression and a place to rant about the intense stupidity of the world's population. And it gives us bonding time. Or something. I'm not so sure about that one. Everyone knows you don't have to have a point to have a point.

I would also like to take this opportunity to wish Irony a delightful birthday. Why, I remember when she was a young little thing...she used to scream in my ear to deafen me. Or push me into the file cabinet. Or get a running start and leap at me whilst I was lying in peaceful repose on the couch. Okay, so that last one happened over Christmas. And the rest happened within the past couple of years. But still. Happy Birthday, dear Irony.

Well, I've nothing exceedingly interesting to talk about. So here's a little conversation Fiend and I had a couple days ago:
A Dinosaur: Well, it is a rather main point
Fiend: You think that just because you're a Navy SEAL you know everything, don't you?
A Dinosaur: I can kill you with my shoelace
Fiend: That's exactly what I'm talking about, honey. Ever since you joined the SEALs, things have been different.
A Dinosaur: You just don't like how I can kill you with everything we own
Fiend: And you've stopped cooking, and you've been wearing that scuba gear for the past 2 months.
A Dinosaur: It's slimming
Fiend: No, that's just because you've been living entirely off of field rations the last 2 months as well.
A Dinosaur: They're so convenient
Fiend: You slit the mailman's throat with that huge knife you're always carrying.
A Dinosaur: He was a spy
Fiend: Mr. Reynolds? He's been delivering our mail for the past 10 years!
A Dinosaur: Exactly around the time the Cold War ended. That's a little suspicious, I think!
Fiend: What, are mailmen more likely to be spies after the Cold War?
A Dinosaur: He was obviously former KGB
Fiend: His last name is Reynolds.
A Dinosaur: So? You changed your name to Spago McFrenchy
Fiend: No I didn't! You just started calling me that one day. After the 1st month I just stopped asking you to stop.
A Dinosaur: Oh...right. But that was so they wouldn't find you. It was for your own safety
Fiend: So who wouldn't find me?
A Dinosaur: The Russians
Fiend: But I don't know any Russians.
A Dinosaur: You would if I hadn't had the foresight to change your name
Fiend: But you didn't change my name! Every still calls me by my real name, you just insist on referring to me as Spago McFrenchy
A Dinosaur: You are so ungrateful. Most husbands wish their wives cared enough to protect them from Communist spies
Fiend: No, actually, I've brought this up with my buddies, and they all agree that you've gone off the deep end.
A Dinosaur: Your buddies all think Cuba is heaven. Your buddies are all morons
Fiend: They've said nothing of the sort. Not even Sanchez.
A Dinosaur: Spago, you play poker with a guy named Che.
Fiend: No, i play poker with Sanchez, Edward, Bob, and Reynolds. Until you slit his throat.
A Dinosaur: It was self-defense.
Fiend: The man was 86 years old and half blind!
A Dinosaur: That was part of his disguise
Fiend: Let me guess, you thought that his hip surgery was part of his disguise too?
A Dinosaur: That wasn't hip surgery, you idiot. He was going in to get a tracking device implanted
Fiend: I performed the hip surgery myself!
A Dinosaur: You're not a doctor! You work at the Safeway
Fiend: I am a surgeon. That’s why we have these nice things. Nice things that you've been breaking quite a bit lately, what with your "training" that you've been doing.
A Dinosaur: I can't believe it. They've brainwashed you
Fiend: No one's brainwashed me! One day things were fine, then you disappeared for a week, and came back as a Navy SEAL!
A Dinosaur: You just can't handle a strong woman. That's what all this is about. You resent me
Fiend: I don't care that you're strong. I just wish you'd stop killing such nice people.
A Dinosaur: He was working for the enemy
Fiend: the US postal service is the enemy?
A Dinosaur: He doesn't work for the postal service! He works for an underground socialist movement
Fiend: But he delivered our mail. If he were part of some conspiracy, where did he get our mail?
A Dinosaur: Okay, you're a civilian so I won't get angry with you for not understanding. He took a position at the postal service
A Dinosaur: They thought he was harmless
Fiend: what makes you sure he was part of some soviet movement?
A Dinosaur: I intercepted intel
Fiend: You've gone mad.
A Dinosaur: I have not! It was written in Cyrillic code on the back of the Victoria's Secret catalogue!
Fiend: Have you seen the cat?
A Dinosaur: Mitsy? Yes
Fiend: Where is she? I just realized I haven't seen her since Thursday
A Dinosaur: She's upstairs on the bed
Fiend: No she's not.
A Dinosaur: Yes she is. I painted her to match the sheets so the Russians couldn't get her
Fiend: I don't think there are Russians in our bedroom, and if there are, I don't see what interest they'd have in our cat.
A Dinosaur: I think it's obvious that they could kidnap her for ransom
Fiend: But we both hate that cat and the world knows it.
A Dinosaur: You hate Mitsy?
Fiend: With a passion.
A Dinosaur: You always loved Mitsy! ...You're not really Spago, are you?
Fiend: No! I'm not Spago! There is no Spago!
A Dinosaur: You're a spy! I knew it!
Fiend: Dear. I'm not a spy. I'm not even sure what's going on.
A Dinosaur: You were working with Reynolds
Fiend: No, I work at the hospital. Reynolds worked for the post office before you brutally murdered him.
A Dinosaur: You work at the Safeway. Which everyone knows is run by commies. I should have guessed this sooner
Fiend: We don't even have a Safeway in this town
A Dinosaur: It's the next town over and you know it. You're the manager of the bakery
Fiend: First you kill the mailman, and then you paint the cat, now you think I work at Safeway? When will the madness cease? WHEN WILL THE MADNESS CEASE?
A Dinosaur: Don't yell at me! I can kill you with that tea cozy!
Fiend: Tomorrow I'm taking you to the psychiatric ward for an examination.
A Dinosaur: What, is that code for your pinko commie holding tank? You're going to brainwash me
Fiend: You're delusional.
A Dinosaur: I am the best damn Navy SEAL there is
Fiend: I called the Navy office yesterday. They have no record of you on file.
A Dinosaur: They can't just give that information out.
Fiend: Sure they can, they give me peoples’ addresses all the time.
Fiend: In fact, they gave me contact information for someone else just because they felt bad about not having you on file.
A Dinosaur: ...they're not really the Navy!
Fiend: Then you should go trash their place.
A Dinosaur: I did that yesterday
A Dinosaur: I filled their office supplies with C4
Fiend: Where did you get C4?
A Dinosaur: I'm a Navy SEAL
Fiend: that doesn't answer the question.
A Dinosaur: I'm not telling you. You're working for them
Fiend: And at this point you kill me and our brilliant one act play is done.

Ok well here we go. The Litany of My Friday. It's pouring. And not in a nice, make-your-hair-pleasingly-curly way. In a Goa-Beach-In-August, drowning-Redwoods kind of way. And this is supposed to go on till Sunday afternoon. And I was supposed to go to the beach this weekend. Because tomorrow is my birthday. But I can't go to the beach anyway, because did I get paid today? Unsurprisingly I did not. I got a check for a rather meager amount that my boss said was "to tide you over the weekend, sorry about that but I haven't got enough money to pay you properly till Monday". This is not helpful. Any attempt to further explain the state of things to my boss would be pointless as his brain is currently in orbit around Mars. Have you seen Office Space? Like that guy, but our copier isn't even that cool and Ron Livingston isn't around to make things bearable. So. I'm not even pissed off. I've gone around the bend into quiet psychosis. Also, The Chump continues his inexplicable silence. So I have to spend this birthday in some crappy bar with a bunch of frat boys rather than lying on the sun on the beach. I'm so perturbed right now I may very well go and join a gym. I feel the need to pound things and bend things and run and jump and shit. This is totally incoherent. I'm leaving now.

For some reason I went into over-productive mode this year. This week, rather. I've finished both of my take-home finals. They are due Monday. I have one actual exam Friday morning and one Monday afternoon. Everyone else has four or five actual exams and they're studying. I don't know what the hell's up with that. Everything that can be packed right now is packed. What to do?

Hereafter, Mungo will be forever known as The Chump. Thus joining the noble ranks of The Asshole, The Shithead, The Mincing Twat, The Child and Idiot Boy. I don't include Fuckstick in this list because he's actually a friend. Mungo fit really well but It just didn't scan with the rest of them. Ah well.

And yea, verily did the lord pick up her phone. And yea, upon her was thus bestowed a dialtone. And she did rejoice. But let the slime-ridden mongrels of Verizon not relaxeth, for her wrath shall be brought to them with the speed of a hopped-up Concorde and the power of a million bolts of lightning. In short, I am writing a _very_ strongly worded letter to the management, you shits. In it will be included an explication of the fundamentals of basic linear chronology. Namely, in no way does 4 pm fall between 8 am and noon. I get paid by the HOUR, you utter, utter fucksticks.
Several other items today. McDonalds salads. Now at first the idea of McDonalds serving salad seemed almost as odd as oh, I don't know, having verizon show up on time. But I was feeling lazy and vaguely healthy so I bought one. Now all I will say is this. Upon opening the plastic top I was greeted by a smell which can only be described as ....miasma. Which in my opinion is not a good sign. But, feeling adventurous, I did in fact taste one of the....green...ish...things, which I assumed to be lettuce. And this is why you should not assume things. Here's a tip, kids- you can make your own mcdonalds salad at home. Simply scrape some things off the bottom of your shoe, soak them in Drano, leave them to dry on the windowsill in the hot sun for a day or two, add croutons, and there you go! Also that was NOT chicken. I don't care what you say, a bird composed of that meat would never have made it past the "hey, I just crawled out of an egg" stage. And I'm not a farmer but I think cucumbers are supposed to be green. Anyone want to back me up on that one?
What else. Oh yes. If a certain person, we'll call him Mungo, does not call me by tomorrow at noon I am going to hunt him down, bend his legs behind his head, stick his toes in his ears and drop him crotch-first onto a spiky metal thing. Fair warning.

Right. So The Fruit Hoarder and I are hungry. So we called Domino's. And a guy answered the phone and said they were closed for the night. What the crap is that? Domino's never closes. We're hungry. All we have are two nasty pesto-asiago weird bagels that have been in our freezer for months because we just bought them to be whimsical. I want greasy pizza, dammit.

To: Verizon
Re: Our Previous Correspondence

Dear Sirs;

I must apologize sincerely for my letter of 5-12. I have come to realize that the entire situation is, indeed, all my fault, and I wish to repent of what are obviously grievous sins against humanity. After having wracked my brains for the past several days trying to come up with some sort of explanation for your wantonly cruel and heartless behavior, I have come to the conclusion that I must, in some ineffable way, deserve this punishment. I have realized that it is impossible for me to be treated in such a way without having brought this horror down upon myself. I am so, so sorry. I humbly beg your forgiveness and ask that you, in your benevolent omniscience, see fit to connect my phone service some time between now and the third of April, 2016. I now see that I am to blame. I now see that you were holding up five fingers, not four. Please accept my apology and allow me to abase myself upon the altar of your perfection. May God and all his angels bless the phone company forever and ever, amen.

Sincerely,
Worthless, Servile Peon (Customer # 63793330002).

There are times when I'm glad that I'm a long trainride away from Irony. This is definitely one of them. In other, non-disturbing-sibling-related news, school is almost done. Almost. I only have one more paper to write. And it's my religion final, which gives me a headache. The Fruit Hoarder and I have resorted to packing to avoid writing papers. You know it's sad when A Dinosaur packs voluntarily. You know what's mean? For the past month we've had ridiculous humidity and now that I'm leaving soon it's dropped back to reasonable levels and I'm having really good hair.
Oh, and tonight the Fruit Hoarder and I decided to rebunk our beds, since we'd have to eventually. Unfortunately, rebunking the beds involves taking -everything- else out of the room, and this complex maneuvering of the beds, because you can't just move one into the other's spot. They have to do this little circular dance around the room. Aargh.

Dear Verizon (all employees, contractors and subsidiary companies thereof),

May your children be taunted on playgrounds. May your pets play in traffic and your blood cease to clot. May your offspring wed Mets fans. May surly anteaters torment you early on Saturday mornings. May lead-based paint flake off into your morning coffee. I fail to understand how exactly your repetition of the phrase "this is the way it has always been" is meant to be either an explanation of, or an excuse for, your utter inability to be at a designated place at a designated time. I'm not quite sure what the technical term is for a person so unnutterably stupid that the concept of "I work till 5, please don't come round till after 5" is impossible to understand. I fail to comprehend how exactly 2:30 is _almost_ 5. In exactly what dimension of space-time do you operate? For exactly what purpose did you need me to be there to point out the large, technical looking metal box on the side of the apartment with the big note that said "Verizon" on it? Did I wrong you in a previous life? Are the events of the past week merely karmic retribution for past evils so dire that I have repressed all memory of them? I honestly cannot decide whether I think you are all terminally stupid or just cruel, vicious, vile, small-minded, capricious wage-slaving wankers. I would tell you that you're all going to hell, but you wouldn't be able to find it and by the time you got there it would be closed anyway.

In other news, I now have tv. So Comcast is off the hook.
There is other news but I'm feeling far too vitriolic to chat about it.
Oh PS, there was that one Verizon woman I spoke to on Day Three of the Debacle...you were really nice. You know who you are. Consider yourself exempt from my wrath. Well done.

I don't understand what motivates goths to come to this school. First of all, it's in the South. Where, barring this past freakish winter, it is hot. And sunny. But that's not the main reason. The main reason is that the general population here looks like what would happen if the clothing of Lilly Pulitzer and Ralph Lauren mated and adopted an occassional Burberry bag or a horribly gauche patchwork patent leather Gucci clutch. Also, this school only has about 5,000 students and is basically in the middle of nowhere. Not exactly a thriving goth culture. Why would you decide to go to Sunshine Lollipop Smiley School and dres in all black and glower at everyone? Around here you can't walk ten feet without at least one person smiling at you. Hell, -I'll- smile at you. We live on a very friendly glorified golf course. Maybe they're trying for irony...

Have decided that Alias' Rambaldi device is either time machine, which can be used to set Sydney/Vaughn arc right again or machine to make Sark come out of the television and date me. All is well

Okay, first Irony has just moved into the Oubliette and won't have wickedfunDSL access until later.
Now that that's out of the way...
WHAT THE FLYING FUCK WAS THAT ALIAS ENDING? So angry. It was just five minutes of 'Whgewaigheoiage!' First of all, there is no way that Will survived. Secondly, Vaughn would never get married after two stinking years. Thirdly, who the hell skips two stinking years? Damn you, J. J. Abrams. Now I know why Sark's going to be a regular this year...to appease all your thoroughly pissed off fans. Oh. And I think Will is charming. But who the hell would fall inlove with Will when they have Sark? Come on, people
Aaaargh

Right. So. X2. Positive delight. And, just so you all know, Wolverine, Cyclops and to a lesser extent, Bobby and Pyro are all having my babies. And if Ian McKellen were 50 years younger and straight he could have my babies too. Because Magneto is just the coolest villain ever. I want to work for him. As long as it's upper management.

Odd things happen to me. So tomorrow I'm moving into the Smallest Apartment in DC, hereafter known as the Oubliette. And they're coming to hook up my cable. (My beautiful, digital, 8 squillion channels of cable). The only days they could come out were tomorrow and three weeks from now. And I ain't waiting three weeks. So I had to buy a tv so...uh...so the stuff could be connected to the other stuff. But I am a small person. And I want a large tv. And all my asshole friends with cars are out of town for the weekend. So, dilemma. But I got the tv home, thanks to a very nice Safeway employee and an illicit shopping cart. Just don't ask, really. Just trust me that it was hysterical. Or would have been hysterical, had I not still had to schlep the cart with the bigass box all the way from radio shack to my current place, many blocks away, in the boiling heat and oh yes I have a fever and some sort of SARS-related ailment. So it'll be funny tomorrow when I can breathe, but right now it's just odd.

Ah, the exquisite bliss that is Family Guy.

Irony says:
i love this show

A Dinosaur says:
As do I. Still not as cool as Love is a Battlefield

Irony says:
have i heard that one? can i find that one?

A Dinosaur says:
..last night. On South Park

Irony says:
ohhhhhhhyes

A Dinosaur says:
Yes

Irony says:
it was so wrong and yet so right

A Dinosaur says:
So very, very right

Irony says:
yes

Irony says:
trey is fifth in line to have my babgies

Irony says:
wow. my fingers are so very wrong tonight

A Dinosaur says:
Babgies, huh?

Irony says:
shut your word hole

A Dinosaur says:
You don't own me

Irony says:
I love you.

A Dinosaur says:
Don't speak vicious lies

Irony says:
my love grows exponentially

A Dinosaur says:
Liar

Irony says:
it knows no border. like ...nevada

A Dinosaur says:
Haha. But...you missed the setup
And you shall never be forgiven

Irony says:
i did it on purpose!

A Dinosaur says:
I know! But still!

Irony says:
i don't like being predictable

Irony says:
oh fine. i won't be able to sleep until we've done it right. so.

A Dinosaur says:
We can't now. It'd be all set up

Irony says:
fuck you be quiet. i'm a nice person

A Dinosaur says:
You tell fibs

Irony says:
you are the bastard get of a moon donkey

A Dinosaur says:
You're my sister

Irony says:
uh

Irony says:
......you're adopted

A Dinosaur says:
Then why do I look like mom?

Irony says:
.....entropy

Irony says:
and what a FUCKING good answer that was.

A Dinosaur says:
Indeed

Hmmm. The spam people aren't really even trying anymore. I've gotten several lately that don't even bother with the pretense of personalized addresses. Unless my name changed itself to "string" without my noticing. And I got one today where the subject was "joiijaree yoou ttireedd wwuuyym". Boy howdy that one just had me clicking like a madwoman. And to the rest of you...it would not only be a medical impossibility but would in fact severely disturb me if I were to undergo any sort of male enlargement. Also I do not desire truly to please her muchness. So FUCK OFF.

What's purple? Aren't those the important countries? Look there's only that one dude. Who's planning this game, the French?

Ah. They're spreading out to come at the white guy from all sides. I see

That lone yellow guy is going to get crushed

Dude, group the reds closer! Jesus.

The Greens have shifted! Oh shit, there goes Europe.

Right, okay, Bush's speech. The guys in back of him? Dressed like Risk game pieces. Watch out, Australasia

Ok. Due to some slight technical difficulties, namely my premature selective Alzheimer's and the Dinosaur's inability to read her email properly, neither of us could figure out what the password to this site's email was. Yes I know. Mock away, we deserve it. So anyway there's a new address now and it works and if you mail it we'll get back to you. Eventually. When all other means of procrastination have been exhausted. And uh, if anyone emailed the old address, it's gone. Never seen by human eyes. Ever. You'll just have to deal with that.

You're the one who insisted we wear the tinfoil lest Cookie read our thoughts

Sometimes, when i'm sitting around on my own, and there isn't even anyone around to see me, I like to wear a hat.

On an unrelated note, let's talk about compressed air. That air would not have been sprayed in my face had _someone_ not been a tad jealous that _someone_ was losing horribly at a game that autistic monkeys could play.

Wow. Paranoid. Looks like being wrong has caused severe brain damage. That or all the compressed air that's always being sprayed in her face

The Dinosaur is an idiot. I'm saying this now before she can post that I'm an idiot, so it will look like she's copying me instead of the other way around. Besides, she is an idiot. A big fat flaming idiot.

Always keep them guessing.

Ha. Irony was WRONG. And she apologized. Those of you who know her know what a momentous occasion this is. I think Nebraska just exploded

I know none of you are going to know what this means but I don't care, I'm so unbelievably happy I'm telling the world. I have found Balaka. There is a god. A God who cooks Indian food. Just when you think there's no justice in the world and you're having a terrible week and you wonder what the hell the point of living is, you find someone who knows how to make a proper chicken tikka masala. I love life. Satori has been achieved.

When you order food and they say it's guaranteed in under an hour and it's been 78 minutes and my curry is still not here, PEOPLE SHOULD DIE.

Dude, the late-spring flowers suck.

Hm. You know, if you type in http://cavortingministry.blogspot.org it takes you to a Korean site. My pote-alicious friend Dinah pointed that out. The things you learn.
In other news, I kicked absolute ass on my biology test. My allergies are pissing me off and I've started collecting paint samples again. It's a bit of a sickness; but the colors are so pretty. And, hey, they're free. The Fruit Hoarder and I have started helping ourselves to all the lovely flowers around campus. Our tuition money pays for them anyway. They've ripped out all the flowers infront o the student center. Have to make way for the late-spring flowers, as the early-spring flowers had been around for almost three weeks.

I don't like any of you so I'm not going to bother talking to you right now.
Cockroaches in my room today= 2
Pairs of shoes bought=3
So,a good day.

A group of us are supposed to be doing Relay for Life tonight. Except we don't know where it is. Apparently it's not on the track, where everyone thought it was. Naturally, they aren't answering their phone. We're kind of hoping they don't call us back so we don't have to go, because it's cold and raining and we've already contributed our money. If we do have to go, it's a good thing I bought a ridiculously overpriced school hooded sweatshirt to keep me warm.
It's also orientation weekend. Again. I swear, this school has more open house/orientation/special theme weekends than any other university. Ever. They start in February. And there are tour groups to wade through every day during the week. Where the hell do they all come from? All they do is walk slowly and invade our suite and take all the food from the dining hall and stand there incompetently unable to figure out how the milk dispenser works.
The tours were supposed to stop by 5:00. They're still coming. This means you can never get into the bathroom because there are always people in there doing studious examinations of the showers. This is a college; you really don't want to be looking too closely at the bathrooms. Especially since my suitemates love to leave big fuckoff piles of clothing on the floor for weeks at a time. This song is mean. I like it.

PS. Okay boyos, if you want to drive down from Maryland to visit your girlfriend -every- weekend, that's fine. But do not use the shower when there are people who actually have to be at class by a certain time while all you have to do is loaf around all day. And also, this is a suite full of girls. Do not act surprised when a girl comes into the bathroom while you're brushing your teeth in your boxers. Do not pretend to be shy. You knew there'd be females. Do not pretend to be overly concerned about your state of undress; we don't care. We are bleary eyed and you are not exactly Sark, so there's no reason for us to take note. Mostly, we just want you to get away from the sink.

You are all infidels.

Hello, my journal-reading friends. I just had a biology test. Now, first off, I don't understand why a school that's just a holding ground until Muffy and Skip are old enough to get their own memberships to the country club requires a lab science. Second, I don't understand why my professor is nitpicky evil cow who gains pleasure from proving us wrong. Also, I am making an addition to the People Who Piss Me Off list. Because it's not huge already. I have auditory stress. That means when people make noise it fucking bugs me. The girl sitting next to me today kept tapping her pencil during the test. I wanted to stab her in the neck with a pen. My friend, who I shall call Fiend, knows what I'm talking about. There was also a guy behind me who was doing a drum solo with his feet. The entire time. This is why I need a fiery pit that I can heave people into. Yep. People who tap their feet. And Tri Sigs. Them too.

Oh,here's a thought. You may have noticed that we work during the day and sleep at night. Theoretically. Well obviously this is because back in the Long Ago Time there was no electric light. But honestly, we appear to have overcome that little problem. Why the fuck do we still order our lives by such an arbitrary and outdated system? Why the hell CAN'T I get up at 4 pm and go to work if I bloody well want to? I have no problem putting in the requisite number of hours- it's the goddamn time of day that they occur that I object to. I mean, it should be my right as a human being to adjust my own goddamn circadian rhythms to whenever the hell I want. Can you tell I was late for work today? Goddamn time Nazis.

Okay, you know who should walk faster? Everybody. What's with the meandering, people? Especially those of you who stroll in pairs in spaces too narrow for me to pass by you? Now, I'm just...incredibly short, really, and had many tall friends and therefore learned to walk at a speed that some consider ridiculously fast. But, you know what? All my friends still walk that quickly; even the short ones like the Fruit Hoarder. And we constantly get stuck behind a pack of moseying idiots. I suggest tasers to remedy the situation.

Nope. Aubergine. Still looks like a brothel.

Perhaps I should have been more clear. Anything, up to and including trimming, woodwork, wainscotting, and any other sort of architectural accoutrement which was previously purple or any related shade thereof, IS NOW WHITE.

Okay, the trim was-and still is-aubergine. The walls are white. Somebody didn't have the 94 pack of Crayola crayons. The walls are white because they've always been white.

PS The dinosaur's room used to be purple. In a kind of baroque-acid-trip sort of way. Now it's white. She won't believe me, but it is.

In other news, at the moment there are pimps hanging out in front of our house. Living in the ghetto is interesting. I have to drive a half hour to get to Dean and Deluca, but on the other hand there's a nice, how shall I put it, open-air drug market two blocks away, which is just neato-keen for satisfying those pesky late-night angel dust cravings.
I used so many hyphens in that last bit, I feel like T Herman Zweibel. Whose passing we mourn every day.

I believe I shall add to Irony's manrant. Ahem. Why is it that that stupid beanpole from that Bend It Like Beckham movie is the same age as me and gets to make out with Orlando Bloom in Pirates of the Caribbean while I have to sit through Bio? For the love of Rory Calhoun, it just isn't fair. And also, the gorgeous guy who was infront of me in the dining hall at lunch: Who are you? You know who you are. Who are you? Oh yeah, completely off the subject, it's sad when you order a book from Amazon and get it with two-day shipping and it's still cheaper than buying it at the school bookstore. That place takes your money and your heart.

PS If that previously mentioned blood relative does infact read this, I know you hate us mentioning anything about males as we are supposed to be eternally twelve, but this is for all those mom-taking-drugs references. Seriously. Scarring

There is obviously a great deal of dicketry going on in the universe. I can say this with complete confidence because Paul Newman is 74 and I am 25. Now I was just watching The Long Hot Summer and I realized, there is no god. Or there probably is but God is a bitter fat lesbian who is determined to get vengeance whenever possible and in my case this vengeance comes in the form of Paul Newman all sweaty and sarcastic and wearing nothing but boxers. Now I'm not going to go on about this- mostly because a lot of our friends are male and they'll read this and the homophobia will rear its predictable little head and we'll be removed from a lot of bookmarks. But you know what? If I were a straight guy I'd still want to shag Paul Newman. If I were a blind quadriplegic marmoset I'd still want to shag Paul Newman.
Fuck space-time.

PS If a certain blood relative by some chance remembered the address of this site and reads the above, all I can say is, sorry, but this is revenge for the Asian women thing.