This Has Taken So Much Time to Type, I'm Leaking a Bit In My Shorts. And I Feel Naughty. In a Good Way.

So, last weekend. A strange weekend where I removed little wooden shards from my body. This week. A strange week where I sit and wait for things to come, so to speak. Think of it what you will.

In celebration of weird shit happening in life, I will share yet another scintillating story. Well, not really scintillating, just tepid at best.

So, at the end of my fateful first year in college, toying with the idea of transferring to another school but thinking, "Fuck, I have to apply all over again." I decided that the best thing to do was to pick up and get the hell out for the summer at the very least.

(To answer your question, I never got around to applying for a transfer. I'm a tightwad. No way those bozos were going to get my $50 application fee. And I'm a lazy fuck. There is that.)

Anyway, I decided to pick up and leave. So this was the plan: leave school for Virginia, paint friend's new house, fly to SF to visit the brother, fly out to Nepal to work on the rice fields and community forests for three months. (And not because of some weird Asian identity fetish. So all of you leeches back off, unless you have money...sucky fucky 20 whole dolla. I highclass goods.)

The day before I leave good old New York for the great state of Virginia, home of Rev Soup, I ship all my packed goods off to Long Island so that I never have to see them again until my return. Never did I think that I would have to ask for them back. I realize, in my packing fervor, I packed the one thing that I would need for my summer adventrure - my animatronic evil cymbal clapping monkey.

Well, my passport. And plane tickets. Make that two things.

Anyway, I call my friend's brother and have him open up a couple boxes and there they are sitting in a box like a couple of egg's under a roosting hens' gigantic ass, waiting to be brought out from the dark.

My friend's dad then drives them an hour and half to my dorm room and I get into a car headed south. Ordeal number one, complete.

I get to Virginia and have a really fun time painting a house and picking paint colors and all that crazy hoo ha shit that really shouldn't be all that fun but when you have free reign to do whatever the fuck you want to a house, you do whatever the fuck you want to that house. You splatter it with rat blood, fill a giant tub with skittles, and go to town. (Those skittles, by the by, are like little dwarves, they burrow on up there and when you get them out, it's like a pretty pretty rainbow.)

Oh yeah, and you light some sage.

However, while I was experiencing some jollies of my own, I realized that my foot was beginning to hurt. I didn't think about it too much, splashed on some arnica and continued on my daily routine. (This becomes important later on.)

A week later, I am on the plane to San Francisco. My foot gets run over by a drink cart and then stepped on by some stewardress in high heels (that's right, the bitch ain't a flight attendant, she a sterwardress.) While seeing stars, I could make out the stewardress hightailing it down the aisle, an image reminiscent of the hen I referred to earlier. (Another hazard of preferring to sit in the aisle is that when in an aircraft taking a nosedive, you are more likely to be knocked unconscious by falling luggage, which for me, going to destinations with high populations of Asians, is really dangerous cause there might a bevy of things flying at your face- a severed dog leg (jerkied), a flatscreen tv, dentures, a toaster, a massive dildo, cuisinart blenders...it's not a good way to go.

Either way, I get off the plane and realize that the pain in my foot has increased tenfold. I get into the airport, hobbling on one leg, take my shoe off and what do I see? A throbbing purple baseball where my left big toe used to be. Hmm. Throbbing and purple balls will never be spoken of or alluded to in this blog ever again. Naturally, I can't really walk, so my brother picks me up and I hobble over to the airport clinic to get help from SF medical students. Now. Let's just set the record straight. I like California. I also don't mind doctors, even student doctors really. When you combine the two? No.

He takes an X ray of my foot and what does he say? It's either a broken bone or gout.
I find out later that I do indeed have a form of gout . And no, I'm not some crazy old lardinous British lady with my stockings hanging around my ankles like a cheap prostitute after she deals with a john that likes it rough. Or like your sister. When we were kids. In the public bathroom. It was a piece of cake. Ye Olde Bloody Cake. Ye Olde Bloody Pudding with a Bangers and a Mash, yea? D'you fancy some spotted' dick? Fer that Blood Pudding, yeah?

Anyway, it sucked shit. So there I am, popping "nonsteroidal anti-inflammatories" to ease the pain and you know what, I find out later that the drugs are just horsepills of Alleve. Fuck. No fun visuals there.

I finally, after a week, hang out with some other friends, spending most of my time high as a kite. I could say that it was to relieve the pain, but then again, why bother?

On my last day on the sunny west coast, I catch a ride back with my friend, still high, walk into my brother's apartment, and he's about to go to the gym. I say cool. He says, I'm not going to bring my phone. I say whatever its fine. He leaves. I go to check on my flight.

It leaves in two hours. You know when they trick you and say that the flight leaves at 12:05 AM on the 1st and you realize that that's technically the same day because you're an idiot? And then you check again cause you're still coming off some residual high? Yeah. yeah...

I panic, run around in circles like a chicken with it's head cut off..or a cymbal clapping monkey, and throw all my shit in a bag. My brother's roommate shows up and he's nice enough to give me a ride to the airport. We hit the road, I leave a frantic message on my brother's phone and it's all a haze.

Miraculously, I get to the aiport 30 minutes before the flight leaves and I get to the gate (This was before 9/11 so it was easy to scale security.)

I'm starting to think that something is telling me not to go.

37 hours of flying later, I arrive in Nepal. They pick me up, I am relieved, I actually made it. I hear explosions in my head, like fireworks lighting up the night sky, celebrating my arrival and my innate ability to overcome any obstacle.



Turns out, the explosions were real. The entire royal family was being shot to shit by the king's nephew with a semi automatic.

Adventures in storytelling!


If you know the significance of the image above, please comment. Otherwise, I can tell you about it later.

NUN SHOWDOWN 2007...HAVOC IN THE HABIT! - Courtesy of J.S

'nuff said.

You know, like those Marvel comics "'nuff said" series where there was no speech in any of the panels of the comic book?

They sucked.

"Havoc in the Habit", however, is genius

Check 1, 2. Check. Check. Check. 1.2 Check. Check. Check. Czech. Check. Shut The Fuck Up, You Mangy Whore! What Part of "Not On" Don't You Get?

It has been more than a week since I wrote about my En-cunt-er with the United States Judicial System and so I am back although I am behind schedule on all walks of life. Even my period is late

.


However, before I continue on my usual rage filled endeavor, I would like to say that the United States Judicial System is quite cool. I'm not sure how else you could have a fair and just system, if at all, but I guess we do alright considering I get to keep my hands after getting caught with a goose underneath my car...

Not that I was...I mean...I wasn't guilty...the pastor made me do it. Yeah, that's it. The pastor. I'm so ashamed.

However, if you have any better ideas on how to create a fair judicial system, please let me know and I'll take it up with the board. Or at least talk about it on this here weblog.

Let's turn our attention to more pressing matters. The judicial system can wait. This is what really takes the kicker.

Two stabbed and two arrested in convent fracas

Thu Apr 12, 8:19 PM ET

NICOSIA (Reuters) - Two people were stabbed and two arrested in scuffles at a Cyprus convent on Thursday in a power struggle between rival factions, police said.
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Witnesses said priests and nuns were involved in the night-time fracas at the Metamorphosis tou Sotiros convent, some 35 km (22 miles) south east of the Cypriot capital Nicosia.

Disputes there have been simmering for months over control of its speculated vast wealth.

The people injured and those arrested were laymen, police said. "Two required stitches for head injuries inflicted by sharp implements and two were detained for obstructing police," a police source told Reuters.

The convent follows the old Julian calendar and is not considered part of the official Orthodox Church of Cyprus. Last December a nun at the convent was hospitalised following an assault.

NUNS SHOWDOWN 2007!! Whoo! I would like a Tshirt with those exact words. Cause there ain't a thing better than a flying nun than a fighting nun. I mean, if you step away and take a look at the obvious, you'll admit that nuns will kick your ass.

Example 1: I direct your attention to any Catholic School. The mild mannered nun hides a switch or ruler to implement the hand smack of death to anyone who dares tread on Jesus' name. Jesus' girls don't take smack about their lord and savior lightly. The feeling of that handsmack, although arousing, is soon followed by a giant purple welt across the palm. What commoners refer to as the mark of shame. Not to be confused with the mark of the beast. Which is characteristically found on the nether regions. Not that you will ever see that. That's for Jesus.

Example 2: They wear black. Perfect for sneak attacks in the dark. Stealthy stealthy ninjas. The traditional uniform also allows for the storage of hidden weapons, much like the aforementioned ruler or a shank carved from a crucifix and on rare occasions, mop handles or bedposts.

Example 3: They have a lot of pent up sexual tension. Tapping into that reservior of boiling juices results in mental state similar to Wolverine's Beserker Fury.

Example 4:What skill.

Example 5: You know in The Sound of Music where the nuns take out the spark plug in the car and thwart the Nazi incumbents from gaining on the Von Trapp Family Singers and then the Mother Superior leads the family through the wilderness? It is clear that nuns have uncanny abilities in mechanics thus in direct correlation: missle warfare. There is also clear evidence that nuns are reconissance/tracking experts and/or possess the ability to see in the dark.

Example 6: They are women.


Beware the nun. She kill you. You realize 5 minutes later.

Oh yeah, I don't use the word "fracas" enough.

There are No Words to Describe the Amount of Stimulation My Rods and Cones Get When I Open My Non-Eyelids.

It's not surprising that the news of the aftermath (be it about Virginia Tech or American Idol) is dominating headlines, much in the way Anna Nicole Smith is drinking a TrimSpa Martini in her pink vomit stained slippers laughing at all of us from the pearly gates - overpowering, slightly tingly, and a borderline freakshow.

I'm not trying to say that these things are inconsequential. (For the most part they are but I'm trying to straddle a fence here and my legs are too short and the fence posts are skewering my balls and my ass simultaneously and that is just not a good way to go.)

What I'm saying is: Dwell for a bit and move on. That being said, with media and sad, tormented people spewing forth like a pox on the world (or just the States) I bring you something from the other hemisphere.

Herpes hits 132 racehorses in Hong Kong

HONG KONG: A strain of equine herpes has infected 132 racehorses in Hong Kong, host of equestrian events at the 2008 Olympics, the South China Morning Post has reported.

Equestrian events were switched from host city Beijing to Hong Kong because of difficulties in establishing a disease-free zone in mainland China and this outbreak is certain to raise concerns about the suitability of Hong Kong.

For now, containment measures at the Hong Kong Jockey Club in Shatin in the New Territories appeared to be working and there was no obvious threat of the outbreak worsening, the newspaper quoted Brian Stewart, head of veterinary regulation and international liaison, as saying.

"The horses are showing elevated temperatures but they seem to have recovered after a couple of days of rest. Overall, the symptoms are very mild," Stewart said.

The club was not immediately available for comment.

The viral outbreak comes as Hong Kong police investigate a device that was found embedded in the city's other horse track turf in Happy Valley in late March.

The device, which was uncovered during a routine check, was designed to shoot poison darts into horses at the start of a race.

The plot shocked the city and the Beijing Olympics equestrian chief in Hong Kong quickly pledged that security would be tight for the 2008 Games.

My love for this is simple. There is a man, or an organization, plotting to take over the world by spreading herpes though the competitive equine population. How he spreads the disease, I'd rather not discuss for I am not an expert, but if I'm allowed to have a dinner party where I get to invite anyone I would like, Catherine the Great will definitely make the short list. In court, an expert opinion can go a long way. I feel like watching Pinky and the Brain.

On a different note, as I was writing this entry from a sun soaked (finally! oh wait, it's gone.) room in NY, I realized that once again, I'm trying to straddle the fence. I seem to enjoy it more than I thought I did. There are definite parallels between poison darts in horses and recent events. And the question all of a sudden became: do I continue on, as put forth earlier, and pretend I didn't notice, or do I all of a sudden have to find cutesy, non-threatening, silly fun time news that won't in any way contribute to our collective psyche? And in doing so, am I compromising? And in admitting those thoughts in writing, am I compromising?

S'pose so. I think I'll just go get some coffee and shut the fuck up. My brain hurts.

The count has officially been upped to 33 making it the worst shooting in US history.

21 people were claimed victims in a brutal shooting directed at students and faculty on the Virginia Tech campus in Blacksburg, VA. It appears that the attack took place in two firings, two hours apart. By the second hour, several students thought the safety precautions were lifted. This is when the second round of shootings took place.

8 years after Columbine, after the snipers in DC, after the clocktower, today...well, what more can be said?

There's a lot to be said. I'm not someone that gets involved in political affairs easily. I'm not someone who wants to decipher right and wrong, the just and the immoral, or any of the great unknowns. Socially, I've since adopted a similar approach. Although I am known to be quick to judge on most occasions, often working off of instinct, that does not apply to serious matters. Hot button issues like gun control, the Israeli/Palestine conflict, war, and the death penalty are what we coined them to be because there is no way to correctly and accurately argue in favor for or against it. In doing so, I am, in effect, waging my own individual war. The fire that I cultivate to fight for something is part of the same driving force behind enemy lines.

I'm not concluding that the solution is to sit in apathy and sap myself of drive, fever, or conviction. There's much more involved.

We have been given a strange blip in the history of human existence. Within these precious years, this slice, this period, this era, we are so fully saturated with knowledge, that the moral high ground is no longer the foothill of the past. The peak has gradually become increasingly difficult to summit. At least in the past so much was based on the reasoning of protection against or fear of the unknown. Now, as it has been for several years, we wallow in the information wherein the danger lies.

As I've been busy looking at the news, mostly of a trivial nature to satisfy my mean streak, it has become abundantly clear that media outlets, big and small, are clouded over. What perspectives can I form that haven't been manipulated and taken into account in advance? Is there a way around it? No, not really. I guess in the end, it is my personal responsibility to tread with a necessary level of awareness, not lightly, or cautiously, in fact, quite the opposite. Always stride but keep my wits about me.

There's not much that I have said that hasn't been said time and time again in every culture. It's not a rant or a manifesto or a sermon, but a personal reiteration that I've decided to let open because I know it's not an uncommon thought.

Today, and every single day, something in the world has gone awry. But something about these recent transgressions have struck a cord with me. There is nothing to deny and no one to take the blame. It is just human tragedy.

I guess I have been overly cliche on so many levels but the fact of the matter is that "cliche" is "commonplace." If enough people at this same moment share similar fleeting thoughts, then I'm secure in the notion that things aren't as askew as I thought when I first started.

That's Ludicrous! Like the Rapper! But More So! Like Yo Mamma's Juicebox. Quotation Marks Do Apply.

So, I promised everyone stories the other day. Stories involving really stupid shit correlating to the entry I wrote earlier about the 22 year old girl suing for damages because her boss's husband picked her up and dropped her on her head at a mandatory office party.

Heh. Yep. Still funny.

Anyway, I have been to jury duty. It began one fateful day when I sat there and thought, what should I have for lunch and then I got a call. "You got a jury summons." And then the voice on the phone broke out in hysterical laughter. Maybe it was because I was mouthing off trying not to curse because well, that would be rude. Have you seen that one Calvin and Hobbes strip when Calvin's dad drops a christmas present on his foot and screams "Ripping dipping dang fang a ding dong!" or something to that effect. That was me. Although, Bill Waterson's ideas of the man's inner psyche probably did not consist of tearing heads off with your teeth and then fucking the esophageal passage while gastric juices spilled out of it. But that's not what I was thinking either. I was just kinda bummed.

So I decide that there isn't really anything wrong with jury duty and maybe I will get a cool case and I'm unemployed right now so I guess I might as well get it out of the way. It was time to do my civil doody. (Like how I slipped that in there? Clever, right?)

I got up on the morning of February 14th and got a ride to the courthouse. I know. Valentine's with Judge Bishop or Silverstein. He treats me good. He rubs one out under the pulpit, I mean judge's chair thingy, under his robes during trials, tips well, and rounds up on the hour so I'm okay with it. The halitosis takes getting used to.

But I get herded into large room where I wait, hoping, mostly, that I don't get called on. An hour later, we watch a public service film about the joys of civic duty. We, the people, the commonfolk that can't get out of jury duty (which means we're probably not very smart and don't have any real convictions) are the only people who can make or break someone's entire life. All up to 12 unqualified people who at the most, can form a complete sentence. Sort of. That I think true. See? Told you.

My name is suddenly called from the voices ahead (It's a large, deep cavern of a room.) and I slap my forehead in dismay and walk to the front. The group of us are ushered away, shuffling our feet like a chain-gang into a smaller room.

There are two lawyers. One, a smart talking man with a thick Long Island accent and the other, a quieter glasses wearing, thinning hair kind of guy. Both in their late 30s/early 40s. I think about what they did to get to this point in their careers...University of Phoenix online...selling blackmarket babies for tuition...eating ramen and cut up hot dogs...cramming time for the bar....cramming time in at the bar...barshhheshs...

And now they have a degree that will give them a steady influx of cash. Something I will never have.

Anyway, they proceed to tell me that the case today involves a nurse. Damn. A oncological nurse. Damn. A middle aged female oncological nurse. Damn. A middle aged female oncological nurse suing for damages. Damn. A middle aged female oncological nurse suing for damages due to pain and suffering. DAMN. A middle aged female oncological nurse suing for damages due to pain and suffering from injuries sustained at a YMCA. DAMNIT FUCKING RIPPING DAGNABIT DIPPING DANG FANG A FUCKING WHO HA DING DONG SHIT BRICK CUNTSUCKING DEVILWORSHIPPING HOBAG MONEY GRUBBING DICK WEEDS!

I was a tad annoyed.

At this point I'm a little steamed by this little play of manipulative lawyer speak and hope that in no fucking way I get called because someone will want me on the jury. Asian...check. College educated...check. Just out of said college and thus no job and has time to serve on a jury for Nurse Douche-y McBitchface who fell off a stationary bike in a fucking YMCA...check.

They shuffle through most of the people in the room, asking them questions, taking some people, turning away others. Finally, they are looking for one last juror. They call one name and the final name...is mine.

I would call foul play at this point or lunge across the banister but I am in a court room.

They call the two of us forward. I glare. I look uninterested. They ask if we can serve fairly. The other lady says she can. They ask me.

"I don' think so."

"Why not?"

"I think this case is completely ludicrous."

They get my ass out of that room so fast I think I left my conjoined twin on the cheap plastic seats. Nah, found him. He's under the couch cushions again. Oh, you. You love that hide and seek.

When asked outside as to why? You fucking manipulated the entire population in that room to see a withered old nurse who treats those kids you see on TV with no hair or eyebrows who falls off a bike and cracks her wrist, that's why, you dipshits.

I don't have to go to jury duty for another 7 years.

Necrophilia Is A Fun Word to Say. I Could Name a Child That. Except For That Whole Corpse Fucking Thing.

And in one fell swoop, the weekend has come to a close and I am sitting at this office in Midtown cursing the days that once were.

In some recent news, Artist Sol LeWitt has passed away. If you don't know his work, it might be worth looking into. On a cheerier note, manatees are going to be classified as "threatened" instead of "endangered" or "extinct" which was my first thought when I read the headline "Manatees losing their endangered status." Manipulative bastards. Either way, it's good news, that means Jenny Schecter can write more about the peaceful manatees and go apeshit on some other unsuspecting lesbian with a pulse (or even if they didn't, she'd probably give it the go ahead too.)



This is the way you woo her.
Stick your fingers in her cooter.
If her lips do not stretch,
it means, perhaps, you are a lech.

She's dead, you fucking idiot!

5 dollars from the bank you get.
Because clearly now, I won the bet.
Doubly forth we to your car,
I will need to go to the bar.

To wash my mouth of all that stuff.
I gathered, plastered on her cold cold muff.
At the time I was unaware
Distracted by all that matted hair.

She's fucking dead, you idiot!

But either or tis okay.
I got off on it anyway.
The load flew through, hard and fast.
And in that moment the die was cast.

In a flash I turned my head,
checking for the one I bed.
Vanish-ed!

I grab the 5 clams and dart
Feeling a strange tingling in my heart.
Perhaps she wasn't really stiff,
But oddly now I am instead.
My head and heart are in quite a tiff.
Sticking it to the dead, I dread,
Is a sign you are fucked in the head.

I run and run and run and run.
Stopping once for a Cinnabun.
I run and run and run and run,
Accidentally plowing over a nun.

Sinking in fear from the past,
I check into a hotel at last.
Showered twice in every hole.
I clease myself of her ghouly soul.

Looking back to see, once more
Her stony face in the bathroom door.
I scream and shout and plead for life,
her icy hands cut like a knife.

One last attempt, I try to ditch,
But she proceeds to make me her bitch.

She's fucking you dead, idiot!
She's fucking you, dead idiot!

We were married at the gates of hell by a minister who unwittingly got caught touching young boys in the spring of '92. It was a magical affair.

(The image above. Now that's what I call a cold fish.)

Moments of Silence for Things Coming to an End. My Sanity and those Little Bugs I Found in My Asscrack were Good to Me...Or Did They Really Exist?

A few things to be thankful for:

1. They are making a live action film based on an Edward Gorey story. If you have no idea who Edward Gorey is, you have a lot to learn my friend. The only short sighted thing about this whole endeavor is that they aren't making a classic 2D animated movie based on his drawings.

2. They are banning female circumcision in Eritrea. Many should follow suit. If you have no idea where Eritrea is, you have a lot to learn my friend.

3. I have decided to become a woman. And then I will become a man again for shits and giggles.

To all, I say: Finally.

I Have a Gimp Leg. A Freak Accident Involving A Pair of Nylons, a Rapid Wombat, Crampons, and the Dalai Lama. I Cherish It So. The D Lama Is So Shiny.

In celebration of the coming Spring (although the weather today feels like someone sucked out my insides from my anus and my ear canal simultaneously), I will do a little dance and make a little love and bring our attention to a friendly court case involving a love for the dance.

(Some other points of reference are Heather Mill's prosthetic dancing in the hit series Dancing with the Stars Season...2 or 3 or 4. You can also refer to such hit tv shows as Pussycat Dolls present The Search for the Next Doll or So You Think You Can Dance or Grease! You're the One That I Want.)

These shows are not to be miscontrued with quality. They are in fact grouped together as "The shows that I see every once in a while and have to keep myself from leaping across the room and pissing on the faces in the television set. I did that once with a watergun when I was a child. So, now as an adult, I have changed to a more mature form of drenching my foes. Unfortunately, like when I was child, it always results in some broken electronics and embarassment when someone walks into the room. Oh yeah, they also all have ridiculously long names. I will start a show. It will be called "The Search of the Next Asian/ Pacific Islander In Search of a Soul Whilst Torching Retail Queens that Work at Armani Exchange and French Connection...Who Are Asian." I smell a runaway hit.)

But to get back to the point, if you haven't figured out my formula by now, there was a recent newsitem that I thought particularly interesting. Not because of topic, but because of the story it made me remember. Now, I don't think I want to share with you the story to which I am referring so that I can write about it tomorrow so I will make a little idle commentary after the article and then leave you hanging until next week. Like an episode of LOST. Where nothing ever happens but it always could. Or like watching Jesus on the cross, wondering if he would bleed out and lose bowel control or not. Now I bet you wish you were there.

Woman Sues Co-Worker For 'Negligent Dancing'
Lacey Hindman Says She Fell And Was Seriously Hurt Because Of Co-Worker's Dance Technique
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(STNG) CHICAGO Oldies music was playing at the Lincoln Park bar and a circle of co-workers danced.

But Lacey Hindman said she had no idea David Prange was about to grab her by the forearms and flip her into the air, jitterbug-style.

The small-framed 22-year-old said she was surprised as the stocky-built Prange tossed her airborne and she crashed headfirst into the wood floor at Stanley’s Kitchen and Tap.

Hindman suffered a fractured skull and brain injuries in the April 2006 incident and is now suing Prange — whose wife, Kate, is a well-known fashion designer who owns the Shop Girl store where Hindman worked.

Hindman, of Chicago, wants unspecified damages for injuries her attorney says were caused by “negligent dancing.”

“We want him to be accountable for what he did,” said attorney David M. Baum.

The Pranges did not return calls Monday.

Hindman said she knew the Pranges well -- they’re family friends who hired her to baby-sit and, later, to work at their Lincoln Park shop.

The dancing incident came after a book-signing at the store, and all employees were required to attend the after-party, Hindman said.

They were dancing in a group when David Prange reached over and grabbed Hindman’s arms, she said.

“I was in the air, over him,” she said. “I fell hard enough, you could hear the impact of me hitting the floor over the sound from the jukebox.”

A store manager took her home and watched over her that night, but when she woke up “in excruciating pain” and with a “lump the size of a baseball” on the back of her head, she went to the hospital.

Her lawsuit, recently filed in Cook County Circuit Court, seeks damages for medical bills, lost wages for time she missed from work and future losses due to her injuries.

Now for the commentary. I have none. It's just a funny story. Some dude flipped a girl over and dropped her on the her head.

Think about it...

Yeah...

Yeah...

You're stifling a laugh now, right?


Oh and don't you love the fact that the girls all have glowing blue eyes in the photo above? It's like the precursor to seeing 9 Linda Blairs in halter tops puking on a marching band and fucking themselves with the cross.

Perfectly in time to the music and to each other.

BOO YAH! ~ KEEPING YOU ALL IN CHECK!

CRAZY CRAZY CRAZY DON'T KNOW WHAT IS GOING ON HAVE SO MUCH TO DO HAVE NO SENSE OF WHAT IS GOING ON OUTSIDE OF THE WORLD APART FROM MINE OWN (NONSENSE!) WILL BE WORKING ON SOMETHING SHORTLY BUT JUST TO TIDE YOU FELLAS OVER IN THE MEANTIME I WILL JUST HAVE TO GIVE YOU SOME FRANTIC WRITING ABOUT MY INABILITY TO FORM OR WRITE A COMPLETE SENTENCE UNTIL EVERYTHING IS SORTED OUT AND ALL IS CALM IN THE WORLD ONCE AGAIN. STAY TUNED.

OH YEAH. HAPPY APRIL FOLKS.