A fishy encounter
(This post is brought to you in association with Maxi Cane’s Filthy Butt Fun Competition)
-o0o-
“‘Morning love, here’s your coffee… did you have fun with your girl’s night out last night?”
“Umm… yeah.” I felt sick.
“What’s up? You’re so pale… over indulgence?” The Accidental Terrorist tried to hug me, but I backed away sheepishly.
“Sort of, not exactly, uhh… I sort of… have a confession to make. You might want to sit down.”
“Ok, fire away, don’t worry, you can tell me anything.”
“Right. Here goes. I… I… I ate pussy last night. I promise I won’t ever do it again, things just got a bit out of hand, I was careless… I didn’t think of the consequences… I’m so sorry!” I babbled away, my voice trickling into a fit of guilt-ridden tears. There was a moment of tense silence.
TAT’s face broadened into a smile. “You did what? Run that past me again?”
“I ate pussy… it was my first time, and my last, I promise. I hope you’re not too angry?”
“Are you fucking kidding me? You’re doing strange things to my trousers here, of course I’m not angry.”
“What?”
“Would you do it again?”
“I don’t think so… I thought you’d be repulsed by it.”
“Babe, never, you know me, I’m always up for experimentation… here, give me a kiss – (x) – Wow.. I can still taste it off your lips… mmmmm.”
“Really?”
“Really. If you do it again, can I watch?”
“Umm… of course… you can eat it too if you like, I just didn’t know you were that open minded!”
“Thanks babe, that sounds like a potentially great night out! So tell me honestly… did you enjoy it?”
“I really did, that was until I got a whisker caught between my teeth.”
“That happens!”
“No, I mean a real whisker… a Calico I think, judging by the colour of it.”
*several minutes of confusion follow*
“Eh? Wait. What?”
“Yeah. That’s definitely the LAST time I’m eating in that place. The few beers put a wicked goo on me for a curry, so we stopped at the first place we found. I was halfway through the meal before I realised I was eating someone’s cat, and I felt so guilty and disgusted, but now I’ve spoken to you about it and you seem so enthusiastic, I don’t feel so bad- if it means that much to you I’d do it again!”
*TAT leaves the room rapidly and empties his breakfast into the loo*
Men. So fickle!
The slightly warped name-meme
This New Moon has me slightly psychotic, so instead of commending the fine artist responsible for Biffo on the Bog and his or her effecting some pretty wonderful inspiration for other artists (Paint-shop or otherwise) all around this messed up country…
www.creativeireland.com
… I will introduce my various psychotic personalities (as memed by Shaffner Syracuse or possibly Summer Daisey… it’s hard to tell exactly) one by one thus releasing them into the ether so I can get to re-birthing my soul. Or my airing-cupboard, whichever comes first.
-o0o-
Personality #1: The Rock Star (first pet, current car), Misty Berlingo. Best known for her ability to roll cigarrettes using only her left nipple.
Personality #2: The Gangster (favorite ice cream flavor, favorite type of shoe), Cookie-Dough High Tops. She go medieval on y’ass if yo dizzle her shizzle.
Personality #3: The Native American (favorite color, favorite animal), Sunset Orange Bee. Once wrestled a bear behind using only her baby toe and a pineapple.
Personality #4: The Soap Opera star (middle name, city where you were born), Juliette Dublin. Recovered from her triple-bypass fibre-optic brain replacement therapy nicely, thank you.
Personality #5: The Star Wars character (the first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 of your first name), Oco-Ka. Lesser known mechanic and genius behind the repulsorlift engine on racing Pods.
Personality #6: The Superhero (2nd favorite color, favorite drink), Apple-Green Squash. Known to pulvarize victims with apple pips shot from various orifices.
Personality #7: The NASCAR driver (the first names of your grandfathers), Daddy Dermot. Crowned ‘Skidmark King’ in ’82.
Personality #8: The Dancer (the name of your favorite perfume/cologne/scent, favorite candy), Honeysuckle Sherbet. Once performed a triple high-twist pirhoutte, caught her tights in her nose ring, broke her knee caps and STILL took home the gold.
Personality #9: The TV weather anchor (your 5th class teacher’s last name, a major city that starts with the same letter), Finnegan Frankfurt. What that woman can do with her clicker! She’d give you a warm front, no problem.
Personality #10: The Spy (your favorite season/holiday, flower), Spring Poppy. You ain’t seen her… right?
Personality #11: The Cartoon character (favorite fruit, article of clothing you’re wearing right now), Grape Hoodie. Likes to float around in bubbles, is highly phobic of bananas.
Personality #12: The Hippie (what you ate for breakfast, your favorite tree), Fry-Up Willow. Known for her ability to kill, skin and chop delicious rashers out of pigs despite her strict vegetarian attitudes. Always willing to try new substances.
Personality #13: The Movie (or porn) star (first pet, first street where you lived); Misty Brackenbush park. She dyes her pubes green, not just on Paddy’s Day, either.
-o0o-
There. That should do it.
Memes are not just for Easter though, so I may pass it on to a few people and urge that they do the same. It’s good therapy, people.
Infantasia, Jefferson, Mc Mad… yiz’rall tagged. Ha.
Two great inventions
On a personal level:
Community games. I’ve just discovered that once a week, parents from all over this locality empty their children into a field in the twilight hours under the watch of choirs of blackbirds and babies with chilly ears, for no apparent reason. Nobody organises it as such, it’s more like an underlying knowledge that parents have, like a school of fish changing direction in the same instant… they just know.
I just poured my child onto this field and watched as she ran eight laps, then did ten minutes of jumping jacks and five minutes of running around in circles before oozing herself back into the car and collapsing into a rosy-cheeked afterglow. Every child in the village did the same. Absolute. Genius.
On a global level:
Here is a youtube video that I just simply can’t put into words other than ‘I want one’.
It has a lot to do with Minority Report, something to do with painted fingernails, and is potentially the best invention I’ve ever seen. Imagine walking up to a complete stranger and seeing buzz-words projected onto their teeshirt-front in a tag-cloud describing their profession, their likes and dislikes, and their favourite type of cheese? Pranav Mistry is the genius behind ‘Sixth-Sense’… a gizmo that pulls google right out of the dark ages. All for the sweet cost of $350. Watch.
Happy Days
Ahhh, good times. Finally the Equinox has arrived and everything is on the up-and-up. Last year I wouldn’t have known this, but happily this year I have a quirky neighbour who is educating me in all things earth.
Apparently now is the time to plant things, that is once the new moon arrives. See, the moon not only has control over the tides, but also over underground water tables and other such funky unseen elements it would seem, so growth is far more prosperous as the moon is waxing.
Once the moon is full and begins to wane, that’s when you do your weeding, or bury that body you’ve been trying to get rid of.
I’m absolutely raging I planted my hash-plant seedlings last week, If only I’d known.
Don’t believe a word of what Kirk M tells you about the Egginox, by the way. Like a fool I tried to balance an egg on its tip and failed miserably. Suckered. That dude must have some seriously funky chickens.
Not a bit of it.
Also…
I’ve never been much of a fan of sport, but…
Isn’t it great that now the Irish can be known to excel at something other than excessive drinking? Woohoo!
The Ejector Seat – you never know when you might need one.
Have you ever been on one of these?
It’s the sort of fairground attraction that you glance at once, and state firmly to yourself something to the effect of; “Fuck. That.” That was me last year. This year however, I gave it some more rational thought while queuing for the kiddie-coaster. I decided to myself that it was just something I would have to do, the curiosity so pure I just had to know… am I a wimp? Is the Xtreme still within me?
So, when Best Bud and I discussed the idea, we found that we would both rather not, but would do it anyway just for the sisterhood.
“The reverse bungee (or catapult bungee, or Ejector Seat) is a modern type of fairground ride introduced by S & D Leisure in 1999 as a slightly more controlled, inverted version of the bungee jump.
The ride consists of two telescopic gantry towers mounted on a semi trailer, feeding two elastic ropes down to a two person passenger car constructed from an open sphere of tubular steel. The passenger car is secured to the trailer with an electro-magnetic latch as the elastic ropes are stretched. When the electromagnet is turned off, the passenger car is catapulted vertically with an acceleration of 4.8 g, reaching a maximum altitude of 55 metres (180 ft).
The passenger sphere is free to rotate between the two ropes, giving the riders a thoroughly chaotic and disorienting ride. After several bounces, the ropes are relaxed and the passengers are lowered back to the launch position.”
Apparently your body goes from 0-60mph in 0.8 seconds. Much like being spat out of a Fighter Jet’s ejection seat, hence the name. Coooool. We watched as others before us in the queue took off and laughed at the screams before each one. All we could hear was a snippet, the voices disappearing within a fraction of a second; “Shi-”!
A Thelma and Louise moment.
The suspense at the start was the worst. Watching those elastic bands stretching and gathering that much potential energy and knowing you’re only stayed by a magnet under your arse… waiting for the magnet to be switched off… it’s horrifying. Then without a countdown or so much as a 3…2…1…, POOM, you’re 180 feet in the air and your body is weightless. At this point I became painfully aware of the safety belt as gravity kicked back in and we both were spun face-down as we began to plummet. I was trying to say to Best Bud while we were being bounced that I thought the view was beautiful, but all my mouth could produce was; ‘OOOO FUCK FUCK OOOOOOOOOO FUCK FUUUUCK’, completely involuntarily. It’s scary.
This is what the camcorder fixed to the inside of the cage might tell you it feels like, but it doesn’t give you the same sense of whiplash or gravitational chaos the real thing provides.
I feel like I’ve been in a car-crash, but it was worth it. The Xtreme still abides within K8 the Gr8 and that’s good to know.
Revenge of the Mutated Gunge
Being a mother is not a glamorous thing by a long shot.
Laughingboy has issues with his lungs but he rarely complains about it. Instead, from time to time he’ll develop a nasty pool of mucus in there and will begin to choke on it in a pretty alarming way. Most of the time he can handle it himself and will evict the gunge nicely onto his shirt-front, but occasionally he needs help. That’s where the suction machine comes into play.
This is basically a pump which sucks mucous out of my son via a long tube, and deposits it into an airtight bucket. It’s very loud and very scary to people who aren’t used to this sort of thing so it’s great for freaking out unwanted visitors and the like. The problem is that because it’s generally used in panicked situations involving a choking child, I keep forgetting to empty it.
I used it today and noticed that the bucket was almost full to capacity and hadn’t been emptied in quite a few months. It was sort of pulsating, much like the psycho-reactive goo as seen on Ghostbusters II, only it wasn’t pink, more of a brownish green sort of shade. I’m picturing germs in there all swimming around smoking doobies and shagging like crazy and producing genetically superior germ children who in turn have done the same. Generations of mutated gunge waiting for that special day when the bucket gets opened. That day was today.
I popped the bucket open but the lid got stuck and the green and brown gunge sort of splattered on my hands and around the sink a little bit. I emptied the rest down the toilet, and remembered with dismay as I flushed, that I probably should have put the toilet seat down. Millions of teensy super-germs all over the place, floating around like all their Christmases have come at once. I swear I heard them cheer as I inhaled them.
I washed the bathroom. I showered. I bathed the kids and bagged my clothes and then went to make dinner.
The reason I know that this bacteria is genetically superior, is that normal bacteria takes roughly twenty-four hours to incubate in the human body before first symptoms of illness begin to show but today, today they appeared within two hours. I sneezed eight times in a row (all over the oven chips) and came damn close to Nirvana. My throat closed and seems to have pulled the back of my eyeballs with it for they look like two piss-holes in the snow and are streaming uncontrollably. My head hurts. Oh how my head hurts.
I think I may have Bubonic Plague, but it could be my imagination playing tricks. Either way, lesson learned.
Hypochondria by MichaelO
How to screw with the space/time continuum without even trying.
Of course we’re all aware of the time acceleration phenomenon that happens roughly between 5am and 9am… whether you’re trying to sleep, or willing the traffic into oblivion or brushing unruly knots out of four year old hair, time travels at twice if not three times its normal speed.
If you want this to happen on a greater scale – it’s pimpsy. All you have to do is set a date for something huge, like a wedding, or a lesson in naked base-jumping, and zoom! Time accelerates (proportional to the end-date of course) out of your control. The 9th of May. Time for me has a half-life of two fortnights.
My poor blog. It’s been almost two weeks since I’ve even so much as looked at it. Missed it’s second birthday and all, poor thing. It just held no interest for me all of a sudden, nor did Facebook or Twitter (which I have henceforth washed my hands of) which both seem like a phenomenal waste of this ever-dissapearing time. Ironically, this is where the SUA (Status Update Addiction) should kick in. I’ve so much material to broadcast, but when I stop to think how I should phrase it (in as witty a fashion as possible), twenty minutes have passed. Then it hit me that the cause for delay was simply my conscience saying; ‘Who the hell cares what you’re doing anyway?!?!? What ever happened to the air of mystery?!?! Go back to work!!!’… so I stopped.
As beautifully amazing Broadband is compared to Dial-up internet connection, it has its downside. It’s far too easy to let it absorb you, there’s that much stimulation to be found on it… from blogs to Youtube to online poker… it can totally reverse the window. Instead of you using it, it starts to use you and that’s when it’s time to take a step backwudz.
I killed the internet. I will dissect it and break it apart and abuse it at my leisure, the honeymoon phase is over. Now is the phase of {HTML and CSS and div and border-color: #FFBD32; border-style: ridge; and maybe a car battery on standby in case things get ugly} is here and it’s doing my fucking head in, but it’s better than pointess updates on Facebook, that’s for sure.
If anybody is interested, this is what my SUA might have looked like;
Today I be mostly making babies.
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K8 is trying to think out of the box.
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@Calligraphy I am conquered.
I would highly recommend booking a naked base jumping lesson or a wedding. You could always cancel it at the last minute… not that I ever would. Or would I?
Revolution – now or never.
Revolution.
I mentioned it before, and the concept is on everyone’s minds. Bloggers alone have had a field day writing about government grievances, if I linked to them all it would take up the whole page. This one is just a taster: Living in a Banana Republic. The general consensus seems to be that we are heavily depressed about the fact that we’re being kept in the dark about most decisions, that the leaders of this country don’t give two flying f*cks about the public. They are the exceptions to their own rules, and Robert is dead right, it is depressing, this lack of control that our so-called democracy has.
Herein lies the problem. The facebook group which started this idea is barren. With 116 members, you can practically hear a pin drop on the message boards. Nobody has any ideas, no suggestions, there is no way of finding out how we can all collectively make a change because everyone’s being to damn quiet. Are they scared, or just lazy? Are people waiting for someone else to do the work, or are they waiting for a written constitution that they can get their heads around?
Here is a very eloquent post that I robbed from Maxi Cane, below. You can see it at his site, or at the Blog pound, or at 1 Blank Page.
He’s looking for your help. I am looking for your help. Soon, there will be something concrete on the web that everyone can contribute to, but we desperately need your thoughts. Serious thoughts and suggestions. Links. Ideas for public protests… anything. If you’ve had enough, channel it. Now’s your chance.
Imagine.
Imagine that Cowen and his whole party of a backslapping, brown envelope stuffing, self righteous clique were thrown out tomorrow.
Imagine that before he could even try it, we stopped Kenny and his bunch of not much betters from rubbing their hands and taking control.
Imagine we had control.
Imagine YOU had control.
The reality would be that you’d have no money and the people who do have it are increasingly worried about giving you any.
- The country is angry. Not because we’re an angry people, but because we’re scared. We’re scared that this time last year only the people in charge new what was coming.
We’re scared about what they’re keeping from us now.
We’re scared that we’re losing jobs, homes and things that we worked hard for and assumed would have been safe, because the people in charge would do their jobs.
They haven’t.
- The country is angry. Not because we’re an angry people, but because we’re unsure. We’re unsure about what to plan for this time next week, never mind next month or year.
We’re unsure about what they’re keeping from us now.
We’re unsure about the future of our education, health and welfare systems that we worked hard to pay for and assumed would be managed and governed properly because the people in charge would do their jobs.
They haven’t.
- The country is angry. Not because we’re an angry people, but because we’re tired. We’re tired of hearing the same excuses and blame games. We’re tired of being told to tighten our belts when we have no choice as dole queues grow and incomes drop.
We’re tired of information being kept from us now.
We’re tired of mini budgets and incompetance. We’re tired of worrying about where our next euro is coming from. We’re tired of having to beg for social welfare payments and benefits. We’re tired of the people in charge defending the elite and blaming us. We’re tired of electing people into power who promise to do their jobs when they never do. We want to be lead by people who instil confidence.
They haven’t.
We have to act. We, not them. We need to rise above this anger, uncertainty and worry.
Now, this will seem like asking a 6 year old what they’d do if they were King for a day kind of an idea, but hear me out.
If you were standing in front of the Dáil and its members who were prepared to legislate and stand behing one point of action that you demanded, what would that be?
Let’s roll up our sleeves and get this done, because the people who have the power don’t use it for the better. Regardless of your political backgrounds or beliefs you can’t deny that action is needed.
It’s our time.
What do you feel we need to get sorted first, and how?
