Meh…
Knock knock.
Who’s there?
Objective case.
Objective case who?
Wrong.
How to undermine the Queen
Here’s a really oddball present for someone, should you be stuck with a credit card but no car.
Did you know that you could become:
Lord/Lady, Baron/Baroness, Duke/Duchess, Count/Countess, Viscount/Viscountess, Marquis/Marchioness, Earl/Countess, Sir/Dame -insert your own moniker here-, for the low, low price of $294????
“Imagine… A Life Of Priviledge
-Credit cards emblazoned with “Lord (or Lady) Smith”
-All identification confirming the new royal title.
-Doors opening professionally and socially.
-is no faster way to climb the social ladder.
-A unique and thoughtful gift which can pay for itself.
-A fantastic icebreaker which gains instant respect and credibility
-Unlocking doors which were previously unknown
-A completely risk-free gift”
Risk-free?!?!? If you say so!! The ebony certificate jacket would be worth that alone!
Kisskiss sweetie-dahling
xx
Countess K8 the Gr8
Holy Shucking Fit
Where has time disappeared to?! Who stole last week?!?
This lapse in my time/space continuum might have something to do with Sir Fartsalot. He also drinksalot as it turns out. This means school homework, cuddle time with Laughingboy and basic sanity is on hold until the child sorts out his boob routine. It’s amazing how, from birth, men are obsessed with breasts.
As stressful as babies may seem however, mother nature has her gifts… I’d forgotten about that buzz, that amazing release of oxytocin breastfeeding gives both boober and boobee. A plane could crash right outside the window, but all I would muster would be a roll of my eyes and a “Meh… I’ll clean it up later.” Poor house. Poor family. Poor blog. I’ll get ’round to you all eventually.
In the meantime, we’re going on holidays next week just to throw some gratuitous action into the mix.
Cork is about to be very, very sorry it was ever born.
Death of a Fad
I volunteer as a docket stamper in the school library on Friday mornings. It’s like having an inside feed into the popculture world, much like @BreakingNews is to Twatterrers.
Today I overheard one eight-year-old scoff at another…
“Oh my Gawd, you don’t still read High School Musical books do you? Isn’t that… like… so boring now?”
All my malenky little hairs stood endwise real horrorshow, O my brother, I was that happy to hear it.
Maybe that’s the start of of Gee and Whineapple’s decline on the Gogglebox so? Fingers crossed!
Deer whistles and curried dog
Oh yeah!! I nearly forgot!!!
I happened upon a podcast last Saturday night… they let me into it and I threw it into turmoil and chewed curry in their ears. It’s a cleverly edited chain of ramblings about deer and car crashes and turkey jerky and other such weirdness.
You’ll hear the voices of Grandad Himself, Jefferson Davis, Dr Don, Brian F and me… I’m the only female, the one who always sounds half-asleep… I had no idea that’s what I sound like but I guess it could always be worse, hey.
Dust off yer boots!
No one gets hurt if they don’t act funny
There’s a very excellent scene in Tarantino’s ‘Reservoir Dogs’ – I’m sure you know it. The Fun Lovin’ Criminals robbed a sound byte for their ‘Scooby Snacks’ track it’s that cool. Skip to 1:20 in the following video if you have no clue what I’m on about.
I was reminded of that quote tonight.
I stole Pacino’s cat. I fear that if it had been left with him any longer it would soon be an ex-cat. It’s tail is, for the want of a more scientific term, pretty crusty. It looks like you could break it off and smoke it.
I heard Puppychild giggling in the bedroom earlier… I went in to investigate to find her upside down, her upper shoulders dangling under the bed – she looked like a decapitated pink chicken. I heard the engine-roar of a large cat’s purr from the darkness somewhere.
“What ya doin’?”
“Playin wit the cat!” said a muffled child’s voice.
“Are you torturing that poor animal?!”
“Torture? That’s a good idea!! I like that!”
Open minded
Puppychild has fallen in love with a little traveller-boy from down the road; I caught them kissing behind the bin-shed yesterday, and today they spent three hours together in her bedroom.
I sat quietly in the kitchen picturing a nasty argument in twelve years time involving her daddy laying down in no uncertain (and severely politically incorrect) terms who she should and should not date, leading her to elope and run away to a halting-site in Kells.
Then I wandered in to check on them and found the wee lad dressed from head to toe in a fairy costume and high heels with a pink handbag over his shoulder and realised that I’m probably over-thinking things after all.
Overheard in a supermarket queue…
A tall bloke in a hoodie stands holding a shopping basket beside a kid in a uniform, waiting at the supermarket till in front of me.
“Did ya learn anyting at school today kiddo?”
“Yeah me tree times tables!” says the kid.
“Roigh… what’s tree trees then?”
“Noian” answers the kid.
“No, a small forest!!” The tall bloke grins… “Try again – what’s tree trees?”
“A small forest!” says the kid, giggling.
“No ya big eejit, it’s noian!”
—
I like screwing with my kid’s heads too.
Today I mostly be feeling small
Wasting time on the internet, avoiding the doing of things that should be being done.
I fell upon the origins of the Universe
and realised that nothing that we do will ever be important. Absolutely nothing, big or small.
I can’t figure out whether this is depressing,
or a huge relief.
