Silver Lining*

*this post is both long and boring, but it has pictures.

My mother and I want to watch 'Mothra,' but the local videostore only has 'Godzilla vs Mothra'. The ensuing indecision (take a chance on that, or watch something else?) is a choice I never thought I'd have to make. Luckily she is making it for me and has trotted off to get a John Wayne. I intend to spend the evening hanging out with my mama with my blankie and endless cups of tea and if that's a lame way to spend a Saturday night then I don't want to be cool.

My money's on Mothra.


Here is a Contents Page for what promises to be a rather lengthy post. So you can stop, go and do something productive, then come back to it. Unlike most Contents Pages, this one is completely unrelated to the order in which the items appear. It's just a list of crap you can expect to read about today.

onesie = no swine flu / warm inside a dog / meteorology magic / british beetroot / pronking-stotting / sitting up like pork / my parents: courtship of / videostore, incense / horses in suburbia (greenday) / get stuffed! / the dumb bug / carpark patrol / hizach


Firstly and most urgently, I really want a pyjama onesie. Pyjamas with arms and legs in them. A jumpsuit made of pyjama fabric. Onesies are remarkably hard to describe, although fashionpolice.net describes them as 'adult footed pyjamas.' Anyway, I thought that these delightful items were the preserve of small children and my friend Riadan, who has a red woolen one that I remember fondly (?) & which I always thought he just sort of found somewhere (he is that sort of person) but it turns out that no, pyjama onesies are widely available! I really want one. Swine flu - which is apparently kinda wimpy anyway - can't getcha when you're in a onesie and also they make for practical zombie fighting gear.


See? Ready to fight zombies.

Seriously I am willing to do pretty much anything for a pyjama onesie please can somebody buy me one for my birthday (july 29) and give it to me now pleasepleaseplease.

Have I conveyed how totally I want a onesie? I REALLY REALLY WANT ONE.


Scientific discovery of the week: it is warmer inside a dog than it is inside a person!* I discovered this because I was walking the dog and, while my breath wasn't misting in the cold, his was.

Fuck yeah, science.


Also in the 'scientific' field, I can predict the weather!** Yes without reading the weather report. I am like an old man sitting in a rocker gumming away and saying "Ee, storm's a'coming, can feel it in my bones," but without being an old man - the scar on the back of my hand itches when there is a storm coming! It has to do with humidity and air pressure*** but last week I said to someone, "Storm's a'comin'!" and then, having used up my apostrophe ration for the week, retired to bed. And then the storm a'came! I am a meteorological Harry Potter, is what I am. From now on I am going to run about shouting that my scar is itching and the Dark Lord is active! (Meteorologically active.)


In an aside, I really like how the British pronounce 'beetroot.' Not 'bee-droot' like the rest of us, but 'bee'root,' or sometimes even a distinct 'beet root.' Beet beet beet! Root.

Today I am going to teach you two words which mean the same thing! I know, it's exciting. Fuck I have an educational blog.

You know that thing that springboks do, when they bounce straight up in the air off all four legs at once?

Not a springbok, but yeah, that thing.

Well, that thing now has a name, and that name is pronking! Or stotting. They both sound slightly rude describe that action. I have made it my mission to tell everyone about pronking in the hopes that they will admire my sophisticated vocabulary and/or buy me a onesie.


Did you know you can buy incense in the videostore? It's right there, with the videos and the popcorn. It was in this one videostore anyway. That's about all there is to that story.

Another good story: I saw a horse walking down the road today. With a rider on it. It is weird, seeing horses in suburbia. I would have been completely confused by the 19th century (and, in fact, all of the centuries before it.)

Another good story: I saw a dumb bug today. It was hopping along the pavement, no doubt looking up at the sky and thinking happy bug thoughts, when hop! it jumped straight into a drainage grate. Whoops, bug. Shoulda paid less attention to how cool you were, breathing through your skin and all, and more attention to where you were going.

(How cool would it be to breathe through your skin? Hopefully not through your butt-skin, though. There should totally be a specific word for butt-skin. Actually I was thinking today, after accidentally saying HIZACH to my friend Zach, that 'hizach' should be a word. Maybe it should be a word for butt-skin, as in, "I have a boil on my hizach." Yeah, that works. (Mum wasn't sure why bugs would mind breathing through their hizachs. "Well," Kate said, "do bugs fart?" According to the Internet yes, yes they do. (What is this, Biology Week?) I wonder if that bothers them, what with the breathing through their hizachs?))

Random story: my parents' first date was at the movies - they went to see 'Zoltan, Hound of Dracula,' and my father wore his slippers. This is my second favourite story about stuff my parents did before I was born; the other one came up when I was swanning about in a Russian-style fake fur hat. "I used to have an actual Russian fur hat," Mum said wistfully. "Dad and I were on a boat, and the boat was robbed." Pause. "The only thing they took was the hat."

Speaking of romance, I was going to go to a craft evening with NRT tonight but then I remembered that I hate craft. He said, "Too bad you're not coming - I'm wearing my beret." Man sure knows how to woo a lady.


Tomorrow, links to things I like to read!



*not based on any actual science.

**not always.

***still no actual science, I made that up

Let's just launch straight into it*

*that's what she said!

Hey guys! Imagine if David Bain* got Swine Flu! For some reason I really want this to happen. It would be the collision of the two biggest NZ news stories of the year. It would be the media circus to end all media circuses, unless somehow Tony Veitch was involved, in which case the NZ news media would just plain implode. Maybe I should just write the news story anyway and release it on the Internet. I tweeted about this but nobody recognised it as the genius it quite obviously is so now I am blogging about it as well. I will keep putting this idea forward in different forums until I, I mean it, gets the attention I deserve.

Don't really have any other news except did you know people make sweaters out of their dog's hair? Apparently this has been going on for some time but now that the revolution whoops recession has us all in its terrible povertous thrall (perfectly cromulent word) knitting your own winter coat from your family pet is all the rage. This is a stupid idea and here's why: people hair would be a much more practical option. People hair (or, if you like, 'human hair') is longer and therefore easier to spin into yarn. Also, people with long hair habitually brush their hair every day, whereas if you want to knit a doghair garment you have to make a point of brushing the dog (what, you thought you just yanked out clumps of hair whenever you needed a new scarf? you callous bastard) every day until there is enough hair. This week, I shall delve into the plughole after every shower. That's right, people, I'ma knit a pube beanie. Viva la recession!

I promise I would never actually do anything that gross, but you get my point.

What else did I learn recently that you might be interested in knowing? Oh yes! My friend Hannah, who I'm sure will be thrilled to know she comes in right after the pubeanie (TM), has just started a blog! Right now it is a fashion blog, but as there are only two posts at the moment it could go off in any direction. She is ultra cool and totally new to the blogosphere, so go and visit her. Take some e-cookies because she is your new neighbour. She promises not to have all-night parties, and to lend you a cup of e-sugar when you're out.

Spanish was good last night. 'Rompemos' is a word I learnt. It means 'we destroy,' as in 'nosotros bebemos mucho cerveza & rompemos la mesa.'** So, next time you break something shout ROMPO and everyone who speaks Spanish will know it was YOU. (Alternatively, shout ROMPE and point at someone else, and everyone who speaks Spanish will think it was HIM.)

OK off to the patent office to see if anyone's taken 'pubeanie' yet.


*for non-NZ readers, DB was convicted of killing his family way back in 1995 (I actually researched this) & served 12 years of a life sentence. During the 12 years he appealed his ass off but was turned down numerous times because he was blatantly guilty (as evidenced by his callous wearing of horrible sweaters). Last year he was finally granted a retrial due to new evidence popping up, a crocus of innocence through the snowdrift of guilt! Anyway, his trial is going on at the moment, and NZ is spellbound.

** 'we drink lots of beer and break the table.' True story, although it is in the present tense because I don't know how to say stuff in the past tense yet.

3BT*

Three Beautiful Things

1. A butterfly landed on me! I was out on the porch having a cigarette enjoying the fresh air and drinking a coffee, when a buttefly landed on my wrist! Unfortunately I thought it was a bug and went BLEEURGH and shook it off.

2. I saw a babybanker at the mall! I use the term 'babybanker' to describe anyone who looks too young for their suit, and I think they're really cute. Not cute as in 'lewd chuckle people make when they're pretending to be French' but cute as in, 'aww, look at him, he's wearing a little suit! Is he in a little suit? Yes he is!' in the voice you use when you talk to your dog.

3. I had a conversation with the dog! I think. We were having a dog hug (I lie on the floor on my side facing Charlie, who is doing the same, then we wrap our front legs/arms round each other and have a hug) and he made a happy dog noise. So I made a happy dog noise. Then he made a relaxed dog noise, and I made an inquisitive dog noise, and he made another happy dog noise. Then I said "Do you want to go for a walk later?" and he made an affirmative dog noise. (If you type 'noise' enough it looks really weird and you think perhaps you might have spelt it wrong, but you haven't.)


*if you're unfamiliar with the concept visit www.threebeautifulthings.blogspot.com

Poking a dead raccoon is not research

And now for the news.

The News: Today I cleaned my aunt's house - the positive thing about this was that TELLUS (who you will remember is the rotund little vacuum who flung himself down the stairs last time I was there) and I are now friends, united against the ever-encroaching dust front.

Here is the not-so-positive thing.

I would like to state here that my aunt and uncle are neat, tidy and civilized people; if they weren't I still wouldn't break cleaner privilege and tell you about their mucky existence. However, I have no such loyalty to the couple who recently stayed in the guest bedroom and who apparently livened up their stay with a game of what I can only assume is called "Who Can Stick A Pubic Hair Highest On The Shower Wall?" What kind of filth wizard leaves scattered pubes at head height? Ew. And there's just no way they could have got there by accident, it must have been...some sort of contest? I just hope there was a good prize, you know, something worth being that fucking disgusting.

The weirdest thing about writing that paragraph was that it gave me an intense sense of deja vu, like I myself had played the pubes-on-wall game. Which I would like to assure you I haven't. WEIRD

In fashion news, Kate has a new hoodie. Unfortunately when she puts the hood up (which she was doing as part of an extensive visual pun in which she and I both wore hoodies with the hoods up and shouted "Neighbour Hoodies") it bears an unfortunate resemblance to...well, that other white pointy hood. In a fit of bad taste I renamed her KKKate. Then she said something really racist and I thought she was quoting a rap song but no, she was just saying something appropriately racist. (Appropriate to the hoodie, not to anything else.) Sometimes I wonder if perhaps I have not been a very good influence.

In Internet news, KKKate has been a fountain of amusement today. She looked over my shoulder while I was on twitter (yeah yeah, I know, tweeting is for vacs) and shouted WHAT IS THAT, BUTTER DOT COM? So then we looked up butter.com and it turns out it's a website about butter. I don't know what I expected, but I'm kind of disappointed. It does, however, have a useful list of 'Related Links.' Here is the list. 'Whey, Yoghurt, Buttermilk, Parmesan Cheese, Drumsticks, Cheddar Cheese." What's wrong with that? Drumsticks are pretty similar to butter if you ignore the fact that they're completely different.

In local news, here is a challenge: I have decided that the only way to win my heart is to design and build (or commission, that is fine too) a robot that makes cups of tea and steals bottles of vodka and responds to voice commands. Email is fine for the specs, but I'd like the finished product shipped to my Christchurch address.

And now, for the Informative Fact of the Day!
In Danish, the word 'gift' means either 'poison' or 'married,' depending on the context. Cool, huh? I bet you did not know that! Unless you are Xalion, who told me that, but he is too busy designing a tea-making, vodka-stealing robot to care.

In animal news (totally a legitimate news category), yesterday I saw a 7-legged spider. I was removing it from the shower at the time (it was terrorising Kate and it appears that of late I have become spider-vanquisher), and as it flung itself onto my hand (why do they do that) I noticed it was missing one of its two front legs! Because of this I thought it deserved to be lowered gently onto a tomato plant, rather than squished into oblivion. This story does not have a moral except maybe that 'otherly abled' arachnids get a better deal than 'otherly abled' people, as far as being spared a gruesome death goes. But I don't think that's a very good moral.

Speaking of poor morals (that is called a Segue, which is not news), I discovered today yet another case of my cellphone's 'predictive txt' feature having weird predilections towards unsuitable words. I was trying to type 'I'll leave you a plate of turkey,' but ended up almost sending 'I'll leave you a slave of turkey.' Other unfortunate things my phone likes to say are 'That's an unusual pervert' and 'Happy Farter.' God damn it, phone, you make me be's worse than I already be's. Should I ever want to request an Easter plate, I had better remember to do it from a different phone.

Underground Strikethrough News: Where Is The Trust? Readers Still Check for Hidden Strikethrough

Mamihlapinatapai

It's 'a look between two people that suggests an unspoken, shared desire,' and if I could pronounce it, it might just be my new favourite word. (I've decided that I'm going to pronounce it ma-meelya-piñata-pie until someone corrects me. As it's a Yaghan word (the Yaghan are a race that I have never heard of before and initially thought someone made up a rather obscure race who live near Tierra del Fuego, which is by Sweden under South America) I do not expect it to be corrected any time soon. Nevertheless, if you think you know better than ma-meelya-piñata-pie then don't let that stop you trying.)

I found 'mamihlapinatapai' on yo mama's face a list of foreign words the English language needs (full list here), along with some I already knew (because of my enormous vocabulary) and some I didn't. My other favourites are 'backpfeifengesicht,' a German word which means 'a face badly in need of a fist' and which I am not even going to try pronouncing, and 'nunchi' (noon-chee) which is a Korean word that's kind of hard to explain - it means, more or less, the ability to properly judge a social situation and behave appropriately. When Mrs. Obama hugged the Queen, she was showing a decided lack of nunchi; so was that boorish acquaintance of yours when she decided that a clothes swap party was the perfect occasion to peddle her hideous home-made Christmas cards.

Andrea also introduced me to two other excellent and bonafide English words recently: 'aeolist,' or someone who thinks they are highly intelligent but actually spends all their time talking out of their arse; and 'arsle,' which means 'to leave a room backwards' and is where the word 'arse' comes from. Dictionary.com doesn't believe in either of these words; I bet when they read this blog their no-good backpfeifengesicht-featured aeolist of an editor will arsle sheepishly out of the room.

Here is a treat! Something not created by me.* It is from an excellent comic and I think it pretty much says what every art critic since the dawn of time has had enough nunchi to not quite say:

Anything else from me today? Nah. That's kind of about it. I applied for some jobs.

I'll leave you with the Pun of the Day**: my mother walks inside carrying a handful of runner beans. "Sadly, I think these are past their prime...they're has-beens." I guess it puns in the family is passed down from generation to generation.

EDIT: Pun of the Day has been revised, thanks to Antiques Roadshow! (I wasn't watching it.) One of their experts is examining a (presumably antique) antique dead dog carcass which had been hollowed out, covered in tar, had the leg ends (stumps?) sealed with (I think) cork and used to indicate where a fishing net had been dropped. Kate: "Who thinks, when their dog dies, 'I'm going to make this into a buoy?'" Me, appraising our dog: "Charlie would make a good buoy." Kate: "Hahaha! Good buoy, Charlie." (Is only funny if you pronounce 'buoy' 'boy' and not 'booey' as, apparently, some do; may not be even funny then but I am still cracking up about it.)


I have no idea why I didn't stop this post after the comic; how about you pretend that I did.


*although really I've been pretty educational today

**I promise this won't become a regular feature

Lizst: 2

Ok I am in Nelson and here is the second list of List Week. I had tons of other things to write about (i.e. did you know Thoth was the Egyptian god of both lisps and packaged meat products ('thothages'?)) but I forgot most of them. Apart from that last one, which I probably could've left out anyway. Speaking of anyway, here is the list.

Top Five Things I Pretend to Understand, but Don't*

1. The Internet. I have kind of tried to understand this. (I think it is all a big series of connected tubes?) However, the following question comes back: where are all these web pages? Physically speaking. WHERE ARE THEY? Because I can see them! But they aren't anywhere! Or something. There is just a lot of code (where is it?) and this code makes things pop up on my computer but where is all the code? Which leads me to contemplate computers. How do they work? I have a theory that no-one actually knows, and all the people in computer/online companies are just frantically crossing their fingers and hoping the whole thing doesn't suddenly fuck out. (I know this isn't how it actually is.) I would go on more about this but thinking about it for too long makes my brain view horizons it is not used to - is like that bit in Vanilla Sky where they are upside down and the skyline is all purple and orange (did that actually happen? I was kind of drunk when I watched it) and their minds are blown and then they are in an elevator. Without the elevator.

2. Global Warming
Ok. Here is my basic understanding of Global Warming (according to various world leaders it is apparently important enough for unjustified unexpected capitalisation): every time you fart, God kills a penguin. Or melts an ice cap, or something. Unless you plant trees/buy carbon credits (which is, to the best of my knowledge, paying someone else to plant trees on your behalf.) No? No. Probably not. Ok, how about this? Think about it: what causes the most Global Warming? I have no idea. Consumerism and buying stuff! Who do people buy the most unnecessary items for? Themselves. Their children. (And other people's children and, if you are a superstar like Bono or Michael Jackson, the children of the world or something.) And why do people buy things for children?

SANTA.

That's right. Santa causes Global Warming - not just by travelling around the entire world in one night (think of the size of his carbon footprint), but by making us all buy things. The cult of St. Nicholas is killing the planet. Al Gore and I are making a documentary about this. Tell your friends.

3. The Situation in the Middle East
While I like to think I am well qualified to make pithy remarks about this/suggest possible strategies for peace, to be pretty honest I'm just pleased as punch that I know where the Middle East is. Seriously - a couple of weeks ago I was studying African countries for pub quiz purposes and I learnt that Angola is not in Europe and Mali is not in Asia because they are both in Africa. I was quite honestly surprised. Also, you know what is not in Africa? The Amazon. It's in South America. Who knew? Not me, until last week in Spanish class. (Embarrassing moment.) So, seriously, if I am talking to you about the situation in the Middle East, you can feel confident that I'm blowing air out my ass applying my General Rules of International Relations to some area that I have no idea about, except that Iran is in it (probably).

4. The Treaty of Waitangi
This is the treaty made between the indigenous Maori people of NZ and the invading British overlords back in the day. From what I understand (and you know if you're interested you really should Wikipedia it or something, as this is a list of things I don't understand) it goes something like this:
Back in the day (some time in 1800s? hmm):
Maori: Oi!
British: Oh, I beg your pardon, my good man.
Maori: You're on my land.
British: Yes, I was just admiring it. What beautiful land it is. *glint in eye*
Maori: What'll you give me for it?
British: These beads.
Maori: No! No deal.
British: These beads...and this horse.
Maori: Well...it is quite a nice horse.
British: Isn't it, though? Sign on the dotted line.

200 years later:
Maori: Oi!
British: What now? You are interrupting tea.
Maori: We have just realised that our forefathers got swindled by your forefathers, and we want you to do something about it.
British: Pardon?
Maori: You gave 'em one! Turned 'em over and-
British, hastily: Yes, yes! Never mind about that. Here's, um, here's a teapot. Look at it. Isn't it nice?
Maori: We don't want a teapot, we want our land back.
British, somewhat impatiently: No, no. Here is your teapot.
Maori suddenly turn nasty: I hate to say this, but your actions could come off a little, you know, racist. Surely you wouldn't want word of this to spread to your nice, non-racist neighbours?
British, hastily: Oh! You must have misheard me! Of course you can have your land back. And some money. Would you like some money?
Maori rub hands together and exit, stage whatever.

And now I get a day off once a year to celebrate this. I'd also like to say that I am not being a big fat racist here: the British swindled the Maori back in the day with a crappy land deal, and now the Maori have swindled them back in compensation claims, and if that analysis offends you then please try to remember that I actually know very little about this so I am not just being a bigot, I am being an ignorant bigot too.

5. The Origins of Rock

All of those classic bands that modern music is based on? I know nothing about any of them. Which is at once intensely liberating and intensely shameful to admit. But if you try to call me out on this, I will lie and say pretentious things about the Velvet Underground.

Everyone does.


*You know, those things that you mention in conversation and I say 'hmmm' thoughtfully, then make some kind of horoscope statement** and carry on. I realise that all of these topics are things I am perfectly capable of understanding- in fact, from time to time people try to explain them to me, but I usually tune out through sheer lack of interest. Sorry.

**'horoscope statement:' any statement which can be applied to most situations and is so vague as to mean essentially nothing, but which still manages to somehow sound remarkably profound. I made up this term myself.

Lizst

We here at terriblyexciting like to bring you a range of posts which can be loosely grouped under one of the three following headings: Actual Stuff, Bizarre Rambles, and General Filth. Recently our management team has noted that the GF content has been high and so we've decided to introduce a new concept: List Week. Welcome to it. I am the management team. The management team of terriblyexciting would like to apologise for the author's recent decline in quality posts. The author is playing NetHack. Please direct your complaints to the management team. They are both me.

Anyway so in List Week I'm going to be making lists of stuff. Here is the first one. Feel free to leave suggestions for future lists in the comments. If you don't like the idea I don't care, I am playing NetHack then leaving your thoughts in the comment box would still be appropriate. But please, people. Don't be a hatiator. (It is a person who radiates hate.)


Top 5 Childhood Games Played By Me

5. Engine Hospitals
Engine Hospitals is one of the first games I remember playing. It comes from way back in the day, when I thought I was a train. (No, actually; I truly believed that I was James, the red boy train from Thomas the Tank Engine. Mum (Percy) and Dad (Gordon) were genuinely concerned that my younger sister was going to grow up thinking that a) her name was Edward and b) she was a train also.) The basic premise of Engine Hospitals was that I would wander out to the washing line, where Mum was hanging sheets, and engage her in the game by saying something along the lines of, "Percy, we have to visit the engine hospital" and tangling myself up in a wet sheet. Mum would be the nurse (as well as being Percy, which may seem illogical but please try to remember I thought I was a train), and say lots of interesting things like, "Oh, poor Gordon! He's burst his boiler." Years later Mum confessed to me that she quickly became sick to death of thinking up new engine ailments and desperately wished for the game to end.

2. Mary and the Babyjesus
I think I might have mentioned this enjoyable but somewhat politically incorrect game before, but oh well, it's a classic. My younger sister and I used to have 'bowers' together (you stand in the bath, turn the shower on, put the bath-plug in and then stay in there until eventually you are splashing about happily in a pool of tepid water), and directly after the bower was the prime time to play Mary and the Babyjesus. We each had a blue towel - mine was smaller and dark blue, and hers was big and light blue. Whoever was playing Mary would wear the big towel in hooded-robe fashion, then Babyjesus would put on the smaller towel and scootch in under one side of Mary's robe. The Babyjesus was then 'hidden' or, if you like, 'in gestation.' Then Mary would shuffle into the living room where one or both of our parents were and declare in a loud voice, "I am Mary!" There would then be a dramatic pause, then Mary would shout "And here is the Babyjesus!!" and throw her robe open. Lo, there was the Babyjesus indeed! Also, you just got flashed by the Mother of God. Kate always got really annoyed when we played this because I usually made her play the ultimately more important, but rather less dramatic role of Babyjesus.

Sorry if you're getting bored. I probably would be by now.

3. Little Foxes
This game provided hours of fun. In hindsight, I have no idea why. Kate and I would pretend to be the titular little foxes, crawling on our bellies through the long grass that covered most of our property, and making nests and the like out of flattened long grass. I have no idea why this was so entertaining; although I guess the knowledge that at any moment you could accidentally wriggle into a hidden dog turd must've added a certain element of danger.

4. Horses
I know that everyone has a game where they 'gallop' about on (imaginary) horses, looking like a lopsided, furiously determined retard, but ours was different. Mainly because I was a real dick had a creative mind, and sometimes I got bored with the endless lolloping up & down the drive and decided it was time to add a new element to the game. My favourite addition (that I recall) was called Stable Arson and it went like this. Me: "I'm riding Russia. (She was a stocky palomino.) Which horse are you riding?" Kate: "I'm riding Thunder." Me: "No, you can't be." Kate: "Why not?" Me: "Because your stable burnt down, and all of your horses died." End of game.


5. Animal Weddings
This is only worth mentioning because we had a little tribe (or herd, I suppose) of Littlest Pet Shop horses, who besides being pirates and rock stars also got married a lot in really incestuous ways. They were pirates on the river and rock stars in the living room and tigers in the bedroom.* Here, mainly for my own amusement, is a little who's who of the Littlest Pet Shop horse tribe. Appy: Patriarch. Married to Pally. Fell out of pocket of disgusting patchwork fluoro shorts one Renwick School Sports Day; greatly mourned. Pally: Matriarch. Married to Appy, but then later married to Mystic. Had twins, Asteroid and Stardust; later had an affair with Asteroid. Prancer: was a dick. Fell in a hole on a construction site and was not widely mourned. Never married (!!) Whitey: Boring horse, married to Blackie. Blackie: Boring horse, married to Whitey; made slightly more interesting by his later affair with Star. Star: showgirl slutty pony, Prancer's main rival. Had brief affair with Blackie and Asteroid; eventually married Mystic. Ginger: loser - broke ALL legs very quickly. Married to Mystic, but he ran off with Star. Oh boo hoo. Asteroid: twin brother and also husband of Star; briefly married his mother. V Oedipal figure. Stardust: Asteroid's twin sister and/or wife; also married Mystic, who was shagging her mother at the time. Mystic: man he was a pimp. He married ALL the girl ponies and probably slimed the banana with some of the boy ones as well.

So there you are. A little more insight into why I turned out so awesome.


*incestuous tigers

Love Hurts*

*but not as much as fire ants

Everyone knows that love hurts. No-one's very specific about just how much, though. After thinking about it for five minutes undertaking extensive research, I have pinpointed exactly where Love sits on the Reinholdt-Heller Pain Scale,* which ranks common injuries on a scale of 1-10.

1. Little Scratch
1.5 Beesting!
2. Stubbing Toe
25. Grating Thumb, Not Cheese
3. Shampoo In Eyes
3.5 Accidentally Burning Self
4. Slamming Finger in Car Door
4.5 Slicing Finger, Not Vegetables
5. Stick in the Eye
5.5 Dog Bite
6. Breaking a Minor Bone
6.5 Walking on Hot Coals
7. Walking on Hot Coals For Ages
7.5 Breaking a Limb
8. Chopping Off Hand
8.5 Swarm of Bees
9. General Torture
9.5 Hung, Drawn, Quartered/Boiled in Oil
10. Flayed Alive

Love's about a 7, technically speaking. Kind of the spiritual equivalent of walking to your letterbox to get the mail, but oh no! the driveway is made of hot coals.

Now that we've cleared that up, on to the business of the day: I joined Twitter. Yeah, I know, I wasn't going to because I think it's ridiculous, but apparently the thought that faceless Internet multitudes (and all of my real life friends) are simply dying to hear about what I'm doing RIGHT NOW appeals to some small part of me. Go figure. So far Twitter keeps eating my tweets, and I am unimpressed.

Word of the day: databasize. Pronounced d'-TAH-bah-size. It's a verb, and it means 'to organise into/create a database.' Databasize.

Andrea pointed out that I have invited the whole internet to my impending poker night. I may need two little packets of cocktail sausages.

That is all. Tomorrow, something interesting!**

On a side note, if anyone knows how to create that little dagger symbol you use for footnoting after you've used * and ** please let me know. Footnotes are the new twitter strikethrough thing to do but at the moment I can only have two of them*** and I need your assistance. Thanks in advance! Haha, horrid phrase. At eftpos we used to end emails with that whenever we were asking someone to do something unenjoyable, or when they were being stubborn about not wanting to provide information.

"As you're aware, we need this ten-page form completed in triplicate - unfortunately you've missed initialling one of the pages, and for administrative purposes we'll need the entire form to be completed again. Please resend the new copy to us as soon as possible, as without it we're unable to finish processing your application. Thanks in advance!"

That was what we, and by we I mean I, said when we, and by we I mean I, lost an important document.


*which I made up

**maybe

***unless I do this, which looks kind of stupid

The Waterslide of Insanity

Because why should the descent into madness have to be unpleasant?
I'm not sure what I'm wearing there but I'm definitely shouting "Whee!"

(Also, swap 'Time' and 'Sanity' around. Then the graph will actually make sense. Sorry.)

Word of the day: retardis! Used to refer to someone who is far stupider than they appear.

You know, people who appear to have everything sorted and then you go out for a cigarette and when you come back they've eaten a glue stick, shredded the recycling and accidentally deleted your hard drive.

As in, "Jim made that enormous mistake? But he seems so....normal! I thought he had everything under control!" "Yeah. He's kind of a Retardis."

(If you're confused right now, google 'tardis'.)

My life is BORING. Apparently Fritos are awesome?