It's New Year's Eve and everybody's supposed to want to start anew...

I say fine.

And our thoughts go to Ape, who fell down the stairs today.

Pictures!

Wanna know how I got these scars?

I have just been informed of the existence of smile-activated shutters on digital cameras. Cameras that, on demand, won't take the picture until the object smiles.

Tell me, is this common knowledge?

I don't know what to make of it. Of course, I love when people smile. I love happiness. I love taking pictures. And I, like tiny, love portraits.

What I don't love is this orthodox assumption that a portrait with a smile naturally is more sought-after than one without a smile. I, and I believe many with me, have always felt more or less anguished every time someone asks me to smile for a camera. Or asked to smile, no matter why. To then design a machine that refuses to accept me unless I alter my face into a predetermined shape is like spitting in my face. And that certainly won't make me smile.

I'm leaving the countryside first thing tomorrow.

So it all started when Moa the dachshund disappeared when mother and I were out taking a walk. The sun was setting, it was cold as ice and the dog ran off. We tried to find her by following a track of blood through the woods. You see, Lisa - also known as The Stupid Dog - and her master had been out earlier that day, taking down two roe deer. On our way out we had met Lisa coming home from hunting. She had a lofty way of carrying her head and she willingly let Moa smell her bloody nose before running inside the house to rest. I later figured this had made Moa somewhat bitter, remembering the good old days when she was the one being out killing creatures with the help of father’s rifle. Now she was reduced to a simple pet, out strolling with unarmed women who very seldom left the imagined safety of the forest’s main road.

Now Moa was gone and we had for once left the road and were running around following red stains and paw prints on the frozen white ground... Read more!

Eventually we came to a dark wall of large pine branches that we forced our way through, only to reach a small black river around which the winter had not yet gotten its freezing claws. We had to turn back. It was getting dark and we didn’t want to risk not finding our way back once the blood track was hidden in darkness. Also, we didn’t know how far away her goal was – the spot where they had taken out the intestines of the deer. Moa the old dog was blindly hunting something already dead.

- If she dies out here, it’s your fault.
- I know.

We got on our way back, feeling extremely deprived. At home, we told the Hunter what had happened and that we feared for the dog’s life. He refused to help us, claiming that she would find her way home. I went to tell my baby brother the sad news.

- Oh, H. I have to tell you something (embracing him).
- What?
- It’s Moa. We lost her.
- What? How?
- She disappeared. There was a lot of blood…

After having failed at gaining sympathy from either man in the household, mother and I went back into the woods, this time in a car. Half way there, we met Moa. A now cold and fantastically fat little creature, walking towards our searchlight. And I was happy.

However, as I later celebrated her homecoming by making pizza, the damned dog started to puke. And what came out of her wretched little body was what I imagine vultures wouldn’t even consider for an entrée. From there on she was put in quarantine, in the enclosed space of the hallway. We put Lisa there as well, seeing as she was part guilty. Then we had our pizza.

As we were sitting upstairs a couple of hours later, watching a film, we noticed that the entire interior of the house had started to reek. First it was a sort of faint fart smell, which later that night grew in density and became like a fog of horror and rot (and we had been watching The Mist).

- God, I hate dogs!
- Don’t say that, she can’t help it.
- They’re only fun for a while. These last years are ugly. They grow old and eat too much and puke and fart and smell bad.

It was one thirty in the morning and I decided to go to bed. The stench made it impossible to watch another x-files episode anyway. I was just about to place my head on the pillow as it struck me the quarantined animals had no water available in their designated cell. So I headed downstairs, towards the smell. How I cursed my decision when I saw what Moa had done on the floor. There were half-digested bodyparts lying around and there was no way I could go to bed without cleaning it up. I know that dog. It would soon wake up and go and re-eat what it had just puked out. And judging from the size and texture of it, Moa would probably die if she seriously tried to digest it. So there I was, cursing stupid dogs, dead deer and weak stomachs, dressed in plastic bags and armed with a hundred tissues. Constantly gagging, I had to focus real hard on not throwing up myself, causing tears to come out from my eyes. I held in my hand what I took to be a roe deer liver, still stomach-warm and smeared in a dog’s brownish gastric acid.

I lost a piece of my soul that night. And I caught a glimpse of Hades.

I also watched the whole second part of Arrested Development season 3. All in all, it was a good day.

Jo men, snart kanske jag blir kulturminister, så att...

Jag påbörjar härmed min Ulf Lundellupptäcksresa. Längden på detta projekt är allra högst obestämd. ”Hitler intar Paris”-temat pågick ett drygt halvår. ”Jag älskar messmör”-temat höll ungefär två minuter. Mellan tummen och pekfingret alltså. Han är en man jag inte känner, en musik som gått mig förbi. Det är fattigt.

Så ock Youtubes Lundellutbud. Deezers obefintligt. Nåväl. En halvtimme in på mitt megasuperspännande projekt har jag funnit denna låt. Nådens år 1978 och Mister Ulf Lone Wolf Lundell har fått Miss Dancing Queen, Agnetha Fältskog att agera doaflicka:

I really hope it isn’t mothmen again.

Mulder: It could be… mothmen.

Me and my brother watched The Mothman Prophecies over a year ago and were greatly disappointed. I even shared. Yesterday night the pain of never having seen an actual image of a mothman was revived as we were watching the X-Files. H, being an intuitive little soul, blurted out the concept of “mothmen” on a whim as the plot developed. When Mulder later mentions mothmen as a possible label on the vicious creatures he encounters we draw our breaths and look at each other. Is it happening? Are we finally going to see mothmen? Alas, it turns out Mulder’s creatures, despite the glowing red eyes, are not mothmen, but some 450 year old Spanish conquistadors.

Thus the search goes on.

Because there is only so much ham and Emil one can take before turning to the internet

I do so love Christmas Day. There's a complete calm throughout the entire house. People are crawled up on the couch watching television they'd otherwise never watch. Or relaxing, "playing" with whatever they received the day before. There's no stress, and no need to wear a tie (even though I kinda like it) or an ironed shirt. Today is the day of chocolate and pyjamas. All day.

And for no other reason than that Leisha Hailey is easy to love (especially when she's looking semi-pretentious and plays with a unicorn), I thought I'd drop a few Uh Huh Her vids for you to enjoy. If you're not experiencing that relaxed feeling at least you can watch/listen and pretend you do.

Merry Odd Christmas

For Mos, the odd, the peculiar and the glory.

Enjoy the wise words of Da Vinci, Lily Tomlin, random academia, Oscar Wilde, fanfic writers, Richard O'Brien, Lucy Liu, Robert Ben Garant and Jimi Hendrix. Who said what, that shall be my little secret.

***

All our knowledge has its origins in our perceptions.

Everything popular is wrong.

Amongst a rough crowd of violent, perverted people, she felt utterly safe.

If I'm free, it's because I'm always running.

[Genovese] Insisting that history should be "primarily the story of who rides whom and how," the authors warn that social history is "steadily sinking into a neo-antiquarian swamp presided over by liberal ideologues" and denounce "the current fad of 'anthropology' in social history as a bourgeois swindle.

You walk in worlds the others can't begin to imagine.

I'm condemned by a society that demands success when all I can offer is failure!

The problem with winning the rat race is you're still a rat.

Everything I buy is vintage and smells funny. Maybe that's why I don't have a boyfriend.

Reality is nothing but a collective hunch.

Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication.


And finally I shall leave you with one small piece of advice,"you look gayer when you're wrestlin'."

***

Ich bin eine originalen Mozartkugeln

Now show me yours.

Today we do not rape

...we rumble. Because that's what she would want.

Happy Birthday Ape

I was trying to find something original and/or mind-evoking for you. I failed. So I’m just going to go the opposite direction and present you this song by a band tiny found two years ago and that we stood on the brink of falling in love with. Then we swiftly realized that it was sort of a one-hit wonder EMO kind of band that we did not want to be associated with. So we dropped it, and never spoke of it again. Luckily, we had the Dresden Dolls to fall back on so there was no real pain involved. And no actual falling at all. Anyway, this isn’t about me and tiny. Today it’s about you. And all I want to say is that you are no one hit wonder emo kinda deal.

You are lasting and lovable.

And more importantly, I hope this was nice enough for me to get away with treating you like a dirty slave at New Year's.

no kittens, just sodomy

And an even better version of it,

Zoë Bell is damn difficult not to love.

From Crackle: Angel Of Death: Coming soon to Crackle

Plus blood is kinda nice on film.

Vandring i MeS

Idag här jag var på patrull i MeS luktade det underligt. Doften var mycket familjär, men jag kunde inte placera den.
Med tanke på vad som ligger på gatorna och det obefintliga avloppssytemen de har, kan ni tänka er innom vilken kategori doften ligger i.

Plötsligt slog det mig!

Mousse & Marts franska trappuppgång!
Det luktade precis så.

Förundrad och med ett löjligt leende på läpparna fortsatte jag halka runt i leran och skaka hand med små barn.

SNÖ

Det snöar i Långtbortistan nu.
Jag önskar jag hade ork att göra en ingående analys, men det finns ingen sådan tid i mitt liv. Eller, det gör det kanske... Men jag prioriterar att sova istället.

Jag har märkt att jag inte längre tycker att samma saker är roliga, eller vad som gör mig glad. Nu blir jag glad över att krypteringen fungerar, att skrivaren faktiskt skriver ut, att vi får leveranser med toner... jag har förvandlats till en kontorsapparatskvinna.
Fjantigt.

För övrigt kan jag berätta att jag snart kommer hem och förväntar mig att slippa alla former av kontorsapparater samt expenser.

Fridens.

MARRY ME!

Jag skriver väl mest för åtgången.

Det här är som bekant en av de mest extrema tidpunkterna på året. Precis som alla grejer som åberopar tradition och avkräver massglädje måste du känna dig fruktansvärt avvikande om du skulle misslyckas med att förnöjt deltaga i firandet av den förvisso numer inte särskilt centrerade tilldragelsen av Jesu födelse. Hursomhelst, och av exakt samma anledningar, blir du ju onekligen erbjuden en chans att höra till. Julen förser dig med tydliga riktlinjer och regler för att uppnå vad som har kommit att representera normalitet. Du får datum, du får färgkoder, du får specifika sånger, fraser, maträtter och andra mycket ofrånkomliga attribut att klamra dig fast vid. Och klamrar du dig inte fast, ja då har du mycket litet här att göra.

Själv älskar jag julen. JAG biter inte den hand som föder.

Nu har du chansen att göra nånting rätt i ditt liv för en gångs skull.

Jo, jag var hemma en stund och pratade med min mor. Hon är charmig och stundtals sylvass.

Sen har jag tänkt på det här med svenssons juliga utomhuspyntande. Av alla de slag. Folk som lägger ner hundratals eller tusentals kronor på lysdekorationer och medföljande elförbrukning. De köper en femton meter lång sladd med nio hundra små blå lampor som de hissar upp och snurar runt flaggstången. De spikar upp en kvadratmeterstor, tvådimensionell tomtefar av plast på husfasaden. Gärna med en släde och ett par renar i sällskap. De klär in en hel veranda med ett nätverk av olikfärgade ljuspunkter. Och så trädgårdstomtar! Allt det här gör de.

Man kan ju tro att liven därute i villagrupperingarna längs väg 288 är enformiga och slätstrukna. Men nej, där finns livslust. Där finns glöd, visioner och arbetande händer.

Det gör de ju så fantastiskt klart för mig.

I was wrong. Really, really wrong.

So, 90% or so of the population has latent herpes. I did not know that. I think I listened to much to schoolyard gossip when I was 11, and not enough in school (or wherever it is people learn about herpes).

Also, my hearing's no what it should be, so I thought I'd compile a short list of "What They Said & What I Heard":

Mjälte- Hjälte

Corpus- Korvbuss

Keep on chewing- I Want You, Owen.

Something beautiful (part 1 of 3):

On an end note, I'm extremely happy to announce I've signed a contract for a room! On Rackarberget. I get the key January 2d. I'm so excited! (but not touching myself.)

FEEL IT! Don't make me rumble you.

You wanna feel, huh?

I wanted a visual and auditory hug last night. Therefore I watched the one movie that will always, always make that happen. Today I thought I'd share two versions of one of the many classical songs from it.

First version is the original stage version where Pat Quinn (Magenta) sings the opening song.


This is a beautiful and acoustic version by Richard O'Brien.


And finally. How can one man be so much more than man or woman? How can one human being be so much more than the rest of us? And he's not even a lesbian. You're allowed to cry when watching it.


Can you feel it?

jo jag sa en flaska RENAT, tack

I love how deezer provides me with the possibility of having a soundtrack to a post. Of course, now I would want to fill this space with something to go with the theme song. Thus, I have a plea:

God, can I please give birth to the next Baby Jesus? I’ll be a good vessel. I’ll probably even stop drinking. And you’ll be the potent life-giving and ever-lethal father. Do your thing, and I promise I won’t be clingy. I need this! Anyway. I think you can put him down already at sixteen. These days, kids grow up so fast. And I hate the thought of having to be a mother for the rest of my life, however long you’re planning on letting me live.

Love,
Your humble servant, the wannabe Holy Mother and Whore of God

PS. Millennial update: Virginity is obsolete. And STD is a myth.

Andy Richter Controls My Universe

Sometimes entertainment is spot on. Sometimes you fall so easily in adoration of fictional worlds.



Andy Richter Controls the Universe is pure televisional bliss.

The Dictionary of Odd part 2

rumble (verb)
: [simplified] rape without penetration

Also you're all invited to come play on, "The Dictionary of Odd".

Fighting mainstream in built up areas

At the central station, last Wednesday...

t: It’s so funny, walking around in crowds. I swear, nine out of ten people I see in the street could be you.
M: That was not a compliment.
t: What? It’s not something bad. It’s the way you dress!
M: I hate you.

Oh, holy bodily anguish.

Most of Ape's was fake.

Most of Marty's were boobs.

men alla kallar mig farsan

Life is good. Mira entered it. Upon which passion, reverence and attraction followed. I'm the distant groupie. I'm the never-jaded fan. I'm the full of joy listener, the humble spectator. I'm the one who never once saw her smile.

And I didn't need her to.

Prop 8 The Musical

Because it never rains, it pours posts.

See more Jack Black videos at Funny or Die

A little poetry perhaps?

I've been reading some poetry. It really does fascinate me. Especially the hunt for beauty and that poem that will click with you. Most of the time poetry is just words strung together, sometimes though, sometimes it is so much more. It can be your entire world in a few stances. It can be something that feels so right you forget to breath a little. I like those times, but I also like the hunt for those times.

I think I'll have to go down to the library tomorrow and read a some poetry. For now I will leave you with a poem that does tickle me, by E.E. Cummings:

i like my body when it is with your

i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric furr, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh....And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you so quite new

Ja eller...?

Jag läste nyss nått så underhållande om Stenbockar att jag måste dela mig mig. Dock tror jag att jag även måste byta stjärntecken nu.

En stenbock skulle aldrig riskera att sticka ut från mängden eller, gud förbjude, göra bort sig. Hon håller sig inom ramarna för vad som är gångbart och korrekt.

Elegans och måttfullhet är hennes signum!

My dear friend blog. (This Week on YouTube)

With an amount of 25 posts, this has been our most productive blog month ever.

Trust me, I tried to find a synonym for productive, as it is such a loaded word. It's industrialism, rationalism and neoliberalism and everything else that has no official place in this blog. But I found nothing comparable. Such a complex word with such an unquestionable place in our world.

Anywho, now let's do what common people do, and celebrate our productivity.

To Mousse,

***

“Are you at least a practitioner of tribadism then?” the young woman asked with a hopeful look in her brown eyes while straightening her dangerously snug bodice. She placed her arms under her bosom in an attempt to enhance the heaving.

“No,” the Captain answered, a big frown of confusion scrunched up her sun tanned brow. Subconsciously she imitated the younger woman’s actions by straightening her own tattered shirt. “Should I be?” she added carefully with a slight shake of her head.

“I must say, this is all horribly disappointing. I assume you will not be ravaging me then?” the woman wondered now with her hand on her hip.

The Captain’s eyes grew wide and she threw her hands up in the air defensively. “God no! I’d never do anything like that,” she assured sincerely, horrified at the mere thought of such barbarian behaviour.

“You claim I am fat?” the brown eyed beauty asked, her nostrils flaring and her small heels stamping on the wooden deck.

"What?" With a terribly lost look on her face the Captain scratches her shoulder and with a slight tremor of fear in her eyes cautiously replied, “No...?”

The point of a parasol dug into the confused Captain’s chest as the captured damsel poked it at her to stress her point. “And you better hadn’t dare!” she concluded with one final, deceptively strong poke. The parasol was slowly lowered and the young woman began pacing while muttering to herself, “No colourful textiles! No missing limbs! No swagger! No ravaging! And she calls herself a pirate”. She scoffed. “This is nothing like in the books. Substandard capturing.” She shook her head and her blonde curls bounced around her shoulders in a leisurely manner. “Substandard!” she exclaimed.

With a frown the Captain focused on the woman until the moment when brown eyes narrowed at her, breaking through the haze of surrealism and a capture gone all wrong. “Matey,” she shouted startled, her voice nearly breaking in a strange moment of unexpected fear brought on by the slip of a girl swinging a mean parasol. “Turn us around,” she ordered the crew that had been idling around, watching the exchange with avid fascination. As her voice held the same amount of desperation as her facial features the crew quickly scurried to prepare the ship for a complete turn towards the direction their troublesome hostage had come.

Brown eyes narrowed even more. “Now,” the Captain shrieked, this time her voice actually breaking. One hand frenetically rubbing the sore spot on her sternum as she hurriedly added a more forceful, “NOW!”

***

Dagens Urklipp no.2

Hämtat ur Akademibokhandelns "Läslust" nummer 5, 2008. Beskrivningen Calle Marthins bok "Allt du behöver veta".

Får du ibland känslan av att du aldrig kommer att bli riktigt vuxen eftersom det är så många saker du fortfarande inte har koll på? Här finns svaren på de allra vanligaste frågorna: Hur stor är jorden? Hur knyter man en slips? Vilka är världsreligionerna och hur skiljer de sig åt? Vad gör man om man får en nagellacksfläck på tröjan? Hur spjälar man ett brutet ben? Var sitter klitoris, och hur gör man en pålstek?

And to add gravy on the mash, this short and completely unrelated clip proving Conan is king.

Dagens Urklipp

Hämtat ur Dagens Nyheter 27 November 2008. Katarina Janouch blir intervjuad angående öppnandet av butik.

Det är inte en sexbutik på det sättet, det är mera en livsstilsbutik. Vi har heminredning och vintagemöbler som vi har gjort i ordning, smycken, parfymer, korsetter, böcker och musik. Och sexleksaker såklart, men det behöver man inte ens lyfta fram. De ska bara finnas där. De ingår i livet.

Och strasspiskorna är fantastiska. En sån bör varje kvinna ha. Och varje man. Fast mest kvinnor.

dancing with myself

I've been enlightened. A straight person who attaches themselves to gays and their culture is referred to as a "fruit fly".

I freakin' adore it, I wish I was straight so I could be one. But I'll settle on being a faux fruit fly and listen to Dusty while I'm dancing with myself.

mind messing matter

Tonight, as I stood staring out my window, I thought I saw a group of zombies.
You know that feeling, where you see something, and you know it isn't true, but at the same time, you can still feel a fragment of the pitch black fear that the thing you think you see but really don't most probably would evoke if it was real.
People walk funny when it's snowy and slippery out. And they don't keep to the sidewalks. They fall! And they laugh eerily and apparently they come in packs late at night. And isn't it generally a little too quiet?
That's what snow does.
I'm holding out for thaw.

Iskalla, våldsamma och rörande överens.

Igår lekte vi i snö. Och filosoferade. På tal om originalitet…

A: Folk skapar inte längre, man bara kopierar. Vi skapar.
M: Gör vi?
A: Ja, massor.
M: Säg EN konkret sak vi har skapat!
*tystnad*
t: Bröst-öl!
A: Platon då! Hur mycket skapade han!?
M: Tja…
t: Om Platon hade haft en blogg hade den varit på ungefär samma nivå som vår.

Hej.

Här kommer en puss från långtbortistan.

something really special in my geneology

Discover Samaha!

bloggnapp (for tiny, with love)

Inatt jag drömde

Lolly och Glenn backade över hela mig med en silvergrå Volvo V70. Jag överlevde, men det blev liksom tight över huvudet framåt framvagnen. När de ser vad de har gjort öppnar de dörrarna, tittar på mig, och skrattar oförfärat. Jag skrattar också, där jag ligger, pressad mot marken. Ha. Men såhär i efterhand hörni, hur kul var det egentligen?

Jävla ligister.

SlemSven och kinket

Jag återkollade de tre första avsnitten av Kenny Starfighter igår. Detta skedde i extremt populärkultursmakligt begåvade vänners sällskap. Plus glögg. Kenny Starfighter är som glögg. När man är yngre uppskattar man glögg för att det är liksom potent, lite skrämmande och helt enkelt objektivt bra. Det kittlar en. När man blir lite äldre inser man dess fulla potential. Nu kittlar det inte bara längre. Nej, nu handlar det om total jävla tillfredsställelse, på samtliga nivåer.

Betänk då kombinationen.

Hursomhelst! Joha, du är SlemSven. Vet inte varför jag inte sett det förut. Den obskyrmorbida knähunden som vill ha pisk, klär väl i läder och har en absolut anstötlig böjelse för biologin. Vidare fyller Lolly med lätthet och råge La Camillas karaktär ”skolsyster” medan Marty passar finfint som Burken - ”den tjocka pojken i gänget”. Själv anser jag mig till följd av rörelsemönster och överdramatiseringsromantisering vara musikmajjen personifierad (så ock DiLeva).

Förslutligen: ÄR kinkig med tje-ljud bara ett försvenskat kinky? sa hon som undrar och antar men egentligen skiter i vilket.

The Dictionary of Odd

lesbian (noun)

: an above average cool person who has a tendency to pee everywhere

I'm a big fan of Urban Dictionary and Thesarus-es. It's a brilliant idea this listing of words, definitions and synonyms. However they do vary so much from person to person, so perhaps it is time we create an Oddball dictionary? What do you say, should we start our own personalise (and internal) version of Urban Dictionary? A listing of words and the definitions we see fitting. Lets rape that language a little, shall we?

ps. I heard from our friend at the front yesterday. She is alive and in good spirits though she suffered from a mild case of jet leg. She sends her sincere greetings to you all. ds.

Dear fantastic Miss Lindsay Lohan,

I hereby invite you to Sweden. You can stay in my room, I have a large bed. I’ll even let you borrow my clothes. They will be viking-oversized but it will only make you look cute. Like a puppy. I wouldn’t force you to actually experience Sweden. It’s cold and dark and hostile this time of the year. We could stay in all day, in our PJs, and eat ice cream. I could get you Ben&Jerry’s ice cream. Or Häagen Dazs. We have those brands in Sweden, even though they’re American. It’s expensive, but I would totally buy it for you. I don’t even like ice cream that much these days, but I would eat some if you would want me to. I might even be lactose intolerant. But for you, Lindsay Lohan, I’d go anywhere.

Please contact me via this blog if you are interested. I know you are busy, and I will not hold it against you if you choose not to accept my invitation. But you should know it’s a lifelong kind of invite. So… Yeah. Just don’t say no too swiftly, ok?

Yours forever
Mousse

Slutty Bitches

I don't have much to say these days. Other than I'm really looking forward to the spring and taking that Feminist Literature course. I feel like rumbling with feminism.

Det är fest!

Jag är mycket tacksam för min nya gud, jag har ju tidigare deklarerat min avsaknad av sen sådan. Tyvärr känns den könlöse guden något fragil och jag vågar nog inte ta med mig den på min resa... (Jag gissar att ni också tänkt er det)

Har ni nu kommit på vad det jag skulle upprepa när jag smörjer på vaselinet?

Wide open for love

Fresh mint...

Jolly & Lolly strikes again!

Mission Accomplished!

Men hjälp av Apan , som ibland kan vara snabb som en utter, är jag nu ägare till en prickig väska. Jag är nöjd med dagens fångst.
Ja.. det var allt jag hade på hjärtat.

BröstÖL

Yesterday, tiny came up with a brilliant idea. I haven’t acknowledged the tendencies before, but that little bitch is quite the little entrepreneur. Basically, her plan is to try and find a way to genetically modify breasts into producing beer. Her current line of business is “Naughty Nurse” and I don’t know if she’s realized that she would have to change…

My god, isn’t migraine the stupidest thing!? Where was I?

Nevermind. One of the concepts that I like about tiny's multifaceted idea is that it will improve the status of older women, since their beer will be stronger. The younger the woman, the lighter the beer, so to speak. The complexity of it! Vodka level will successfully be reached somewhere around twenty five years past menopause. Also, it will somehow put an end to pedophilia. Or at least that is what tiny's strongly going to argue while fundraising. The fact that it most likely will lead to a direct increase of all sorts of alcoholism will be hushed up. Personally, I'm counting on help from Lindsay Lohan. She always knows how to cover and fund. Plus, the girl has an obvious inclination towards boobs and beer.

And lastly, sniffing glue is, contrary to what Vladimir told me, not good for your health. I’m just saying. I just missed a whole day in school for that hour in gloomy heaven yesterday.

Then again, Vladi never seemed to have a school to attend.

Harold Pinter OK'd it.

And all our dead and all their dead friends know
We have no gifts for lying low,
No gift at all for doing so.
The test they set you will not go.
It is the legacy that they bestow,
The failing of the doing so.

Nyår med dans och dumheter

Meddelande från Jolly & Lolly:

Vi har funderat på tema till nyårsfesten vi planerar att ha den 31:a december 2008, övergående till den 1:a januari nådens år 2009 (Ja, jag befinner mig i Konungariket Sverige vid den tidpunkten/Lolly).

Vi gillar konceptet år. ÅR ÅR ÅR (bara en massa år)

Utförande i stort: Välj ett årtionde och lek med stereotyper från det aktuella decenniet. Därefter rekommenderas att vederbörande väljer en stereotyp (genre) från "sin" valda tidsperiod och
för att fylla kvällen med dans och dumheter tar man helt sonika med sig passande musik från "sitt" årtionde och festar järnet.

Bifalles?