Which Oddball Are You, Truly? NEW!


EDIT: I've made improvements. Same shit. But better. I hope. Plus two new questions.

Which Oddball are you? (old version)



And after the quiz, take a look at your picture:

You are Tiny!
You are Lolita!
You are Ape!
You are Mousse!
You are the King! NEW!

We laughed when, really, we cried.

The Oddballs have been out island-adventuring. It was on a Swedish island. The biggest there is, as a matter of fact. Facts are usually of little importance to us Odds, but as I have little to recite, facts are helpful as filling in my blog cake. This is a blog cake. Don't get me wrong, numerous events took place during our stay away, lots of filling, but the words won't come to me. So I'm just going to keep on stating facts.

Who were we and what did we accomplish?

There was Lolita, whose greatest achievement was to arrange free and qualitative housing, various useful itineraries and guide-like anecdotes. Sometimes genuinely interesting, sometimes questionable.

Also, she made a very tasty sausage casserole and drank approximately eight litres of tea. Other things she entertained herself with was go shopping with the very impressionable Ape and exceed our food allowances by bringing home large amounts of chocolate, chips and celebrity gossip magazines.

tiny, or - the one whose name we tend to forget - was also there. We think she enjoyed herself. She wore a dress some days.

Ape spent her days trying to clean herself. I could post a picture of her sitting in an under-sized wooden water barrel in the garden, but it would in no way help us understand her behaviour. Apart from the cleaning, she was very energized, optimistic and playful. She terrorized the Nameless girl with different water-ejaculating weapons. But NG proved a vengeful soul and soon they were both wet. Mousse too, whose interference no one could explain.

The Ape later became ill and somewhat reclusive.

Me, Mousse, played a very important role. First I was sick and whiny. Then I got better, but kept whining. Moreover, I took it as my duty to provide the group with pills. Pain, diarrhea, pregnancy or boredom. I could cure all sicknesses with my personal supply. My lapdog Ape served as guinea pig and got weird.

Then one day we met my Oracle. It was interesting. She happened to be a heavily built woman on a farm somewhere out in nowhere with her very own overpriced flea market. We spoke of my pathetic love life and she told me not to sit and wait for the handsome knight on a white horse to come sweep me away, like she had done, and end up alone. My man might not look the best or even know how to ride a horse, but he will be the right one. I thanked her for the wise words, complimented her very large collection of 70's plastic utensils and bought Nana by Émile Zola for 5 SEK. She said it was lustful. The book.


Things we did together as a group was eating, eating, eating and reading celebrity gossip magazines. I like Lindsay Lohan the most. My friends are not so selective. They appreciate colorful pictures. We were happy together, crowded around a magazine, and that is all that matters.

These are my facts.

The Summer of The Dude

I've reached a decision. After having spent 3 weeks working for Archaeology's version of "The Dude" and pondering my unemployed summer I've decided to live like The Dude for the next 2 months.

After having succesfully avoided my examresults for this term I have now realised they were quite good. So therefore I no longer feel the pressing need to be an adult this summer. I have in a way earned the right to wear a dressing robe the entire summer and drink White Russians and just relax. And that my dear friends are what I am going to do.

I'm going to create mixed tapes. Laze in the sun. Drink milk with ice-cubes in it (I don't necessary need the alcohol). Wear worn and torn shorts. Find a pair of good bum sun-glasses. Not cut my hair. Wear flip-flopps and try my best to stay away from socks. And instead of bowling I'm going to spend my time playing "kubb".

Those are my plans.

There must be more than this provincial life.

There is not a single Oddball in sight, yet I find myself more inspired than in a very long time. And I'm always sorta inspired. But not like this.

I want to do it all. I wanna go all the way with you guys, my dear friends, the ultimate freaks of today, yesterday and tomorrow. I'm ready, and wide open.

And where are you? Lolly's in the crazy South, Ape's in pork land and K-Mart is probably working.

And I'm here, watching the tadpoles grow in size and lessen in numbers in my garden pond.

I wonder, do they feed on each other?

Since I for once have nothing to say... However...I feel the urge to post someting.

I've kinda realized that pepole seldom do listen to me, pepole always come and ask again, and again, and again. It drives me crazy, and makes me want to kick someones ass.

And so, since no one will pay attention.. I was about to post some porn, but I kinda knew that Mousse would be too excited...

What a waste.

Gop, Gop!

As if it wasn't good enough that he's from Uk-raine he just happens to be a crossdresser as well and the music is deliciously camp and catchy. It is love.

WFR

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0844653/board

Something that might please Tiny.

Magi.

Idag, mina kära vänner, har något hysteriskt historiskt hänt.

Jag undersökte utbudet på Myrorna, och hittar, hör och häpna, en ÄKTA Österrikisk DIRNDL!

Dock inte någon traditionell öl-flicks-Dirndl, utan en charmig rutig liten sak, men med en väldigt traditionell urrining!

Jag känner nu att min klädsel på pride inte längre är "valfri" utan mer... Dirndl.

Äckel

Jag har smakat en bit kött som smakade som Mousse& Marts trapphus luktade!
(ungefär som det luktade på andra våningen)

Det var totalt äckel.

Jag ville bara dela med mig...

Bomber och granater.

Igår fick jag veta vad Moussie egentligen vill att jag ska göra med mitt liv.

Mousse: Flytta till Lund och plugga ekonomi

Jag vet ej om denna kommentar var något uppmuntrande eller något nedlåtande. Eller det kanske något som legat undangömt i Moussie hjärta och pga fylla nu kom upp till ytan? Eller var det bara ett desperat försök att få mig att ägna mig åt något annat än NBG?
I vilket fall var det intressant.
Och jag avböjer, vänligt men bestämt, ekonomistudierna.

Got Pride?

Anyone want to attend Pride?

C'mon, it's a deadly sin and it's gay.

http://www.stockholmpride.org/

http://www1.ticnet.se/EventList?eventSubGroupId=LAD19057.378442

The Offical Oddball Library

I have decided that upon this day the Offical Oddball Library is established. The name of this Library is open to discussion, but it has been founded today in it's first rawness.

So far said Library only consists of 2 books. One donate by Tiny and one donated by myself. Also if I can find my "The Picture of Dorian Gray" paperback I will donate this as well.

Now we have reached the logistical aspects of this newfound Library. I am not sure how we will work this out, but we will. As of now I am in control of it, but suggestions of how to make it work are more than welcomed.

I want to find a child of appropriate size and teach it how to swear.

Cheese and Blood

Människor är svaga. Jag är svag.

Jag borde ila med min uppsats, men hur kan man vilja bli klar med den, om spanking utlovas om man inte skriver klart den?

Varför är livet alltid så elakt mot en?

Oxå denna morgon gjorde jag mig en smörgås. Osten tog slut. Jag hade även slut på mjölk. I mitt huvud gjorde jag en lista över vad som behövdes inhandlas senare idag. Mjölk. Ost. Och sen tog min hjärna semester och la till Blod. Det var en smula morbidt och lite upprörande.

Uppgiven?

Idag var jag på Karlberg, den fantastiska skola som under århundraden format Försvarets stolta, kompetenta Officerare. Och för första gången ifrågasatte jag min önskan att bli officer. Kan ses som ologiskt, men så var fallet.
Kan vara pga. den överdrivet hurtiga officer som visade oss runt och verkade anse fysisk träning som det enda en officer lever för.
Jag har träffat henne tidigare, då på Nijmegen-marschen, då hon i 45-gradig hetta spelade hysterisk Volleyboll (i solen, dessutom) och verkade helt besatt av att skutta runt.

På väg därifrån funderade jag på varför, jag som fullkomligt avskyr fysisk aktivitet, önskar välja en av de få utbildningarna där man faktiskt MÅSTE vara vältränad. Det är för mig ett mysterium.
Jag pratade med mitt plutonbefäl jag hade i lumpen om detta, och han skrattade och påvisade att alla befäl (utom ett) i befälslaget hade "mage" i större eller mindre (omfång)utsträckning. Och det är ju sant, att deras kondition kanske inte är i toppform, viken inte min heller är, så det skulle egentligen inte vara något problem.
Problemet ligger i det faktum att jag måste vara hysteriskt-elit-topp-tränad, för att kunna klara ETT enda test, för att sedan kunna gå på en skola i tre år för att SEDAN kunna "slappna av" och jobba på en arbetsplats där i princip noll kondition krävs.

Jag vet att jag skulle klara av jobbet som uh-officer, det är bara just dessa fysiska test jag är nervös inför. Jag har faktiskt inte varit såhär nervös inför någon form av test förut... Möjligtvis för att det är så avgörande, missar man minsta lilla del, är man ute.

Kanske är nervositeten befogad: Iggy, en av de på min pluton som redan gjort testerna, klarade inte de fysiska testen, och hon har (de facto) bättre kondition jag än vad jag har.
Kanske hade hon inte viljan, men ändå, hon har bättre kondition än vad jag har, och hon klarade det inte.

Jag gissar att min kropp på något vis förstått att jag måste antingen (på en månads tid) utveckla superkondition eller ge upp "drömmen" helt. Hittils har det inte varit något problem med att springa eller gå en mil om dagen, och visst, min kondition har blivit bättre, men inte på långa vägar så bra som den skulle behöva vara. Dessutom väntar jag bara på att mina knän ska säga ifrån...

Detta var ju upplyftande. Inte.

"I just cried a little... He's fish-boy now."

Tonight, as I made Marty watch House of 1000 Corpses with me, it struck me that it shares many passages with The Rocky Horror Picture Show (no linkage needed, none at all!). I know, most horror flicks presents a number of universal qualities, but these two aren't "most horror flick" material. (Especially since RHPS isn't a horror movie, per se.) These films are about freaks, acting it out, inviting non-freaks as their victims. There is also a flat tyre in rain, gratitude turning into captivity, awkward dinner, heavy make-up, shrilly girl-laughter, intense sexual liberation, and crawling in dirt with torn clothes in the end. Less scalping and maiming and wearing old dead men's skin in RHPS than in House of 1ooo Corpses, but still, same message.

There really are no limits to what we can do.

Resa.

Snart ska jag resa. Snart ska VI resa. Snart kan vi leka tillsammans. JA! *spridda hurrarop*
(jag kan inte hitta min Dirndl-dräkt...)

Read us. Whatever.

www.laparis.blogspot.com

Just came in from my evening walk...

Have you guys ever walked down a seemingly nice but dark street and feared that you any minute will get blinded, start screaming like mad, fall slowly to the ground while sobbing wildly, biting your thumb bloody and thinking about the River Styx, only to wake up drowsy in a yellowish hospital with a grim doctor leaning over you, mumbling something about anxiety attack?



Because I haven't.

Knutmasso Carnival 2007

I've got much to say, yet none of the inspiration to formulate anything reasonably serviceable. Anyway, here goes... Yesterday was party day for two of the Oddballs. Ape was in Denmark and I can't see how that could've been anywhere near as partyable as Knutmasso. Lolita was with us but feeling low and generally uncomfortable getting dressed up. So she didn't. Somewhat of a bore, as she put it, before she got on the early bus home. However, Me and Marty were on top of the world, together with Knutmasso-veteran B. I also happen to be a veteran within these fields, but I am keeping THE LOW PROFILE. As always.

So we had some food and wine, dressed up in funny clothes, filled our hipflasks with vodka and got out in the Street. This is what we looked like (Thank yous to Lolita for acting photographer, despite feeling low)

I aimed for mime but ended up a transvestite.

Marty also aimed for mime and ended up, very expectedly, a cheap hooker.

B had few clear goals, looked like a mime for a while and landed up matching like crazy.

We fought and we drank and then ended the night with lots of ballroom dancing with several odd creatures. (Ape, I waltzed with a white, furry bear! I silently called him Kodiak and Berith and he excused his stumbling on my feet. No scratching! No blood!)

It was a beutiful night.

Read more: http://www2.unt.se/avd2/1,3908,MC=78-AV_ID=569977,00.html

ytterligare en bok

Du borde läsa "Bonjour Tristesse" av Françoise Sagan
ingen revolutionerande handling, men ett underbart språk.

"Kylan är hennes livsstil, det finns ingenting av beräkning bakom den; hennes likgiltighet skyddar henne för tusen små tarvligheter, den är ett tecken på nobless"

"Anne var inte elak, jag förstod att hon var alltför likgiltig, hennes omdömen hade inte elakhetens stingande udd. Det gjorde dem ännu mer förkrossande"

Well, det kanske inte var världens bästa exempel. But give it a try!


Olika citat (hon är bitter)
http://www.livet.se/ord/k%C3%A4lla/Fran%C3%A7oise_Sagan

Concerning Ape's booklist and the design of our German bordello...

I tried to project the perfect brothely home furnishing idea onto you hoes yesterday. I think I failed. Especially since Ape started to make it into some kind of Wild West theme park. Kodiak bears? Girls, it's our future we're talking about, can't we at least try to make it classy?

Let me just encourage you to read Alain Robbe-Grillet's La Reprise. It's got all the cozy/nasty decadence we need. I say we copy that style, minus all the pedophilia, the rape-murders and the incest, and we have ourselves a high-class whorehouse.

Now, read!

Safe word

http://sv.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stoppord

This, my ladies, is beauty.

I refuse to keep my own blog, so this is where I go to vomit. Please, do complain. Any sign of life is welcome.

So I am back from my vacation. I had a grand time. Christmas was spent with a crazy Thai Santa who gave gifts to everyone but me, New Year's Eve I was drunk and the day before yesterday I followed my little brother and our roomie to the dark alleys of Ao Nang while they loudly shouted "Prostitution bar! Where is the prostitution bar?" We found several. What is more, I can inform all of you who lie sleepless wondering about the rumours concerning Pete Doherty getting married in Thailand that we spotted him in Phuket. Kate Moss - not so much. Me, I missed him and his one assistant in pink slacks. But I did see Babben Larsson and yes, she is fat again.

Anywho... I hope to see you lollipops tomorrow. I have truly meaningless gifts in funny-colored bags to hand out. You do not want to miss it.

Christmas card

When we are in Paris, shouldn't we create a Christmas card? You know, one of these tacky (but in our case, classy with a touch of decadence) photo cards people tend to send to any relative they can think of... Us wearing our matching green outfits, Ape with her new sign, anything we can think of!
I like this idea, it'll be like the lovely photo epic of us when we where at Väddö.

Life and death, grief and loss.

I was exhausted when I got home yesterday. And it wasn't only the dehydration, hunger and tummy-aching from excessive laughter which usually hits me in a convulsive manner after spending hours together with the Oddballs. No! This peculiarity was mixed with anguish.

It made me wander about restlessly in my house, eat way too many vegetables and non-sleep through the first half of the night. Then it hit me.

My twin soul must have died yesterday.

I have

no

other

explanation.

I have never believed in such what-may-seem-like-bogus before but I find myself to be in a very sensitive and susceptible state right now. Somewhere in the world, something terrible happened and Pedro or Polly or Carmen left, not only the world but, at the very same moment, her unknown and sensitive Swedish twin soul. It is sad.

That's why I'm going to thoroughly read the two copies of The Watchtower magazine that Lolita so conveniently gave me for christmas, turn into a Witness and, thanks to new conviction, no longer suffer from the sudden loss of my twin soul.

Conclusion: The world is a wondrous place filled with useable solutions for everyone.

Entertain me...

Well...

This pic of Aapje is actually cool. Probably because she pretends to be dead.

This is one of my favourites this year. Why oh why does my thoughts wander off and think of spanking?

The Violence Within

After reading about Mousse's dream I kept thinking about violence. Then when I came home and looked through the pictures on my laptop (trying to fund one for this new treny place called Facebook), it hit me. We have a violent person amongst us and I was rather surprised to find out whom it was. Is it Mousse with her big words? Is it Lolita with her attitude and army training? Is it me with my arrogancy? Nope! It's Tiny.





I was rather amused to realise that in more than one photo she is pummelling one of us. From the innocent face punch, to the throttling and even the fully body pounce. It's too bad I don't have a photo from "Knutmasso", her and Lolita didn't stop until they were both in a mixed up pile on the frozen ground with a million of tiny leek fragments surrounding them.

Red hair - for the true pacifist

So we are in this room, when suddenly people come in and threaten us with big weapons. They say we have to join the war. They turn to Tiny, say she has to join. She seems to accept. They turn to Lolita, who by the way looks exactly like Vasquez in Aliens, and ask her if she is "the girl with the machine gun" Lolita nods gravely and we all understand she will join them in the war. They turn to me. Since I have just escaped from the war (where the enemy had buried me in snow until I could almost not breathe) I try to ignore them by collecting colorful rubber bands on the floor. They point their guns at me and say I have to join anyway, and I think I might be crying a little. Then they turn to Ape, she looks hopeful, but the people with the big guns are silent. Then they say something about red hair, security reasons and orders from headquarters and at that moment, we all understand they won't admit someone with red hair. She's simply too visible.

I dream. I blog.


Edit: Vasquez toy girl

Half a YouTube-list by Mousse

Tonight. You.

Tim Curry Slideshow

It must be bunnies!

My current obsession.

Roland lagar mat

And finally, Ape's contribution: Stewie Loves Lois (yeah, so I couldn't even make half a list without your aid.)

Next to Fyn!

When Bruce Campbell asks me where Old Zealand is I can now answer him truthfully.

Toilet Usage

I've been thinking, like I do and we human beings seek perfection. It's what we do, we constantly try to perfect ourselves, our actions and our world. Which made me wonder, can you perfect toilet usage? It's not something we discuss because it for some reason is seen as taboo, but in reality using the toilet is something we do a lot. Then you would think that there would be a strive to perfect this usage, wouldn't you?

To make things a little simpler, lets pretend a normal human being start using the toilet from the age of 5 and lives until his or hers 75 birthday, that would be 70 years experience. Then lets pretend that the normal person uses the toilet 4 times a day, 365 days a year, leaving us with the equation (4x365)x70=102 200. That would mean that you will have used the toilet over a hundred thousand times in your life time. Then would it make sense that there is a toilet usage peak, that at some age span you are best at it? Also I can'r help wonder if there is someone out there that washes their hands and thinks to themselves "I will never use the toilet as perfectly again".

It's strange, but I can't help wonder.

Dilemma.

I just watched RHPS for the twelfth time or so. The beauty of it almost made me cry.

Anyway, I know we've established that I would play the role of Rocky in our own future Oddball production of it. However, today it struck me that I am as much a misunderstood blonde with oily skin as I am Columbia's groupie girl with desirous glances towards Frank's crotch.

Discuss!

Porn

Home sweet home

To my dearest Moussie

I know you like it.
Seriously, I do.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=bfWPOfBwf6A

Fact.

• Överreklamerat: Mums Mums
• Underreklamerad: Skotte

• Överreklamerad: Katt
• Underreklamerat: Näbbdjur

• Överreklamerat: Tacos
• Underreklamerat: Smör

• Överreklamerat: Kommunism
• Underreklamerad: Ondska
  

• Överreklamerat: Kaffe latte
• Underreklamerat: Ljummet vatten

• Överreklamerat: Blogging
• Underreklamerat: Mobbing
  

Leva's Polka

Attended a party last Saturday when suddenly they decided to play Leva's Polka and show some kind of affixed video. Despite my acute sobriety (unfortunately mixed with total exhaustion from doing Högskoleprovet) I experienced something dangerously close to a frenzy. I missed the time in Århus, I missed my Oddballs, I missed alcohol. Mostly I missed alcohol. And leek. Yet all I could do was to sit rocking to and fro on a sofa, put my hands over my smiling mouth and try not to shout out loud. People stared at me while Britta attempted to explain my behaviour by mumbling something about "Elsa and her *friends*, they... uhm... they really like leek."

I got over it. I had some coffee and Kexchoklad. What I didn't get over, however, is that this person, who almost exclusively listens to heavy metal, had Leva's Polka on his computer. I mean, if he's got it, then who doesn't? Think of all the people who can't possibly appreciate a leek for what it is.

If you haven't already seen it, the video featured Holly Dolly the cow-like whore. Extremely tasteless. But at least you can glimpse sweet leek girl in the background.

Anywho, my point is, it turned out exactly like we feared.

I don't know what you mean by that

I don't do literarly.

There is something in my head that prevents me from seeing things as for what they truly are and instead my mind feels a need to explore and see what could be.

Why can I never appreciate a thing for what it is and move on?

To some extent I do blame the Oddballs for this constant metaphor-syndrome that I seem to suffer from. Because I do know that the company of my friends will alter the very fabric of reality and when we spend time together we are never in the present reality, but in one created by and for us.

However it is not just the Oddballs fault I suffer from this, my sister is just as big and accomplice in this matter. She brings out that metaphor thing, but in the sense that she never sees it until I tell her about it, which I feel a need to do when she's being her usual clueless self.

Don't expect me to take anything you say literarlly, because I will twist your words and have them mean what I want them to. As long as we're clear on that I think I can survive despite this syndrome.

How utterly considerate

So I was brushing my teeth yesterday. Now that’s something I do practically every night. Ha. Practically every night. Practical! Anywho, during this particular toothbrush-session, I was pondering about whether my co-workers will feel obliged to give me something, presumably flowers, when I leave them and my job in December. I settled for “probably not” but couldn’t help speculating about what kind of flowers I probably would not get. And don’t stop reading now, because this is an interesting fact. Not eyebrowraisingly interesting, but at least...

Hm. I seriously think the word interesting was an exaggeration. I am sorry.

Oh well. All I wanted to say was that we usually give people flowers in pots, and not cut flowers in bouquets.

Why?

Because we’re considerate.

It’s painful to see flowers rot and decay in their vase, still you can’t throw them away before you see any sign of death. Such a quandary. Flowers in pots, however, are meant to live and, most often, flourish and are therefore more suitable to give to someone you like and appreciate. (The possibility of flowers in pots giving their masters OCD because of their apparent need for water and care has been entirely disregarded by the author, i.e. me.)

That’s why the gorgeous but short-lived cut flowers are mainly given (in abundance) to people at their very funeral. Or, in smaller amounts, when they for some reason have awoken jealousy and/or bitterness in other people. I’m talking graduations, weddings or tv-appearances.

It’s all extremely obvious to me.



I know Ape, I was supposed to post something on the Danes, their close to obsessive love of pork and their now somewhat logical hostility towards Muslims. But I thought about it and came to the conclusion that neither topic was very oddball but flowers were more contemporary.

Copenhagen, Kastrup Airport, last Monday afternoon...

Tiny and Mousse are at the airport, four hours before takeoff, carelessly spending their time learning how to manage their amazing luggage cart, when suddenly they walk past a candy store...

Tiny: Whoa, you just smiled at that little girl.
Mousse: Yes.
Tiny: You love children!
Mousse: It really wasn't that kind of smile.
Tiny: I saw you! Elsa wants to get PREGnant! Elsa wants to get PREGnant! Followed by Tiny doing a frantic little dance and Mousse looking awkward and steering the cart away from the scene, with difficulty.


I will post something more useful. Someday.

Regarding our planned engendering of a marching band...

It's a great idea, Ape with the bongo, Tiny with the piccolo, me with the glittery spirit stick and Lolita somehwere in the back looking cheap and glum. A truly great idea. Except for our total lack of musicality.

Another great idea, possibly even greater, is that we pick a song - a catchy, cool one - and perform a synchronized dance. Picture the scene! It's late, but the party hasn't really begun. After some urgent demands from the public, or the masses, Lolita reluctantly takes out an oldass CD player with a decent speaker system and a bicycle generator for Lolita to pedal. Ape presses PLAY. Twice I beat with the stave in my hand and the Oddballs line up in a row. The funky intro of our catchy song reaches a certain steady beat and we discreetly nod our heads synchronously. What follows next is a wondrous chain of magic events that makes the masses understand that it takes an Oddball to be an Oddball. I'm talking indecent movements of hips, unisonous twitchy-arms, altitudinous throwing of Tiny, and dead serious leek action. All in tune to the music.

Girls, I think I'm on to something. We can do this. I know we still lack musical ability. And will. Still, think about how divinely awesome it would be to have a dance to blaze away on some inappropriate occasion or other.

Ja?

My Sexuality?

Stole this interesting quiz from Ape. It screamed, and begged me to click trough it, I couldn't resist, the temptation made me... weak, and, so.. I gave in.

You scored as The Femme Fatale. You're carefree, dark and adventurous...and slightly fatale to the heart. The Femme Fatale 90% The Quasi-Gothic Femme 55% The Granola Dyke 55% The Stud 50% The Vaginal-Reference-Making Dyke 50% The Surprise! Dyke 50% The Bohemian Dyke 40% The Student Dyke 25% The Pretty-Boi Dyke 20% The Little-Boy Dyke 20% The Magic Earring Ken Dyke 15% The Sprightly Elfin Femme 0% The Hipster Dyke 0% What Type of Lesbian Are You? (Inspired by Curve Mag.) created with QuizFarm.com

So, this is me... Lolita. felt like I had to post this... um, lovable pic, just because... I like it.

My lover is a white, eighteen year old bohemian...

Yeah, so I bought a car last Monday. It's old and it's used and all the four Oddballs probably won't fit inside it at the same time. But I ask you to embrace it and love it as if it was a kitten. A very small kitten with very bad leukemia, who lacks both cat-mother and cat-father. Because that's what it looks like. It is also French, which makes it bohemian, which makes it lovable.

Mark how I refer to my baby as "it". Other cars I've come to know and driven I've always imagined being of some kind of masculine breed. With the stick shift and all. However, this car is so asexually tiny I find myself thinking of it as a child. It even says JUNIOR in pastel-colored letters on the trunk. And you know me, I'm not much of a pedophile. Hence it cannot be a he. Still it cannot be a she. Because if it was, I would have to treat it like a bitch and not change gear with my usually so sensitive hand. Not good.

No, it will have to stay an androgynous kitty for the rest of its auto life. Sad but tru-hue.

I also bought a kickass pair of furry moonboots to go with it.

Now I am broke.

Ape's Youtube List

So here I am with my youtube post.

It's like imdb, but with short ridiculous film clips and I can spend hours on it.


Found this little short clip and there's nothing special about it, but replace the sandwich with alcohol and this could be my friend Lolita (only she's more Lolita and slightly older and female)
Lolita lookalike

Speaking of Lolita. Life imitating art imitating life? Need to watch it again, cause it was just so spot on. Dorian and Yanki, that's me.
Kamikaze Girls
[Edit] Oh there's even a fanvid
The Way I am

This might just be the cutest thing I've ever seen
Demented Baby-Ape

No, this is the cutest thing I've ever seen
This Man is a God

My favorite Comedy show right now
"Sometimes I harm myself or others. Other than that we have a great time together."

Tribute to the Human God Lookalike

Blanka Vlasic. 22. Irresistible.

Now imagine her in a pair of pink latex gloves...

A Tribute to a Human God

Timothy James Curry

The son of a Methodist Royal Navy chaplain, James, and his wife Patricia, a school secretary. Born on the 19th of April 1946, in Grappenhall, Cheshire, England, UK.

The man, the myth, the legend.

This is my tribute to Mr Curry, my personal hero and an Oddball role model.

I still remember the first time I saw RHPS, it was magical and it was just at the right time of my life. It was the worst summer of my life and there the movie was. At first I didn’t know how to react to it, it was mind boggling and confused me to no end. Then after a second watch I embraced it and at the same time started embracing a lot of other things.

Then I managed to spread the RHPS love among my friends, and little did I know at that moment that it would become part of Oddball canon. Then with a little help from my friends managed to persuade our Swedish teacher to watch it in class, we watched half of it. Then my teacher ended the class with some line about morally bankrupt characters and we never got to watch the ending.

Now the movie is after party defined. You cool down and relax by clutching that leek close to your heart and let yourself be swept away into the musical wonderland.

But Mr Curry is far more than just RHPS. He’s Rooster, he’s It, he’s Evil personified. Basically he’s just an awesome person.

I just realised that this year he turned 60 and no one seems to have made any fuss about it. This is worth celebrating, this is worth remembering as the year Mr Curry turned 60, and therefore I proclaim this year to be the Tim Curry year. (I’ve got a feeling an Oddball zodiac is going to be created in a very near future.)

You know you love this cutie as well, I just wanna take him home and eat him up

http://youtube.com/watch?v=Bi05zusQwYs&mode=related&search=

There should be more Curry fanvids

http://youtube.com/watch?v=Bi05zusQwYs&mode=related&search=

Buff or bluff?

Fun Movie Quiz

Another Fun Movie Quiz

And another one



And don't I come up with the darndest post titles? Man, it's freaking jeopardy standard on my work.