quel fromage!

C'est la vie. C'est la vache. C'est la guerre.

more stargate fun

Right before I went to Stargate Con, I stopped at a place in my neighborhood to get my nails filled, because sweetie, celebs don't need to notice outright that I wear acrylic nails, and that much space between enhancement and cuticle is a dead giveaway.

So, after I get outta Magic Nail, and am walking back to my car, some old dude stops me and asks what my t-shirt says.

Now, dig this: I'm wearing my hair up in a touseled blonde faux-hawk, I've got girly accessories and blingy whatnot, pink mirror shades, and I'm wearing low-rise cropped Levi's and a concert tee. Total rockstar.

"It says, 'hooray for boobies!"

He nods.

"Most people parse it as either Barbies or babies, but it's just an old concert tee."

More nodding. "Do you know the pink building?"

I point eastward towards the very visible pink building. "Yes, the one right there."

Nods and smiles. "I've lived there for quite a while. This is a great neighborhood."

"Yes, I like it, too. That's why I live in it."

"I'm a professor at the Art Institute."

"Um, that's nice, but there's my car and I am running late."

"Oh, okay. Have a nice day," he says, waving vaguely in my direction. "It was a pleasure to meet you."

"Yeah, thanks." Run away run away.

*****

Only much later did I realize that Posey had peed in the laundry basket, and had mildly odorized the seat of said Levi's. No one else noticed, but I was painfully aware that my ass smelled like cat piss all night.

And, perhaps unrelatedly, it was decided among a broad spectrum of people that I was the prettiest chick at the convention, which is pretty sad for a gathering that size. I'm used to being cute, and sometimes the cutest, but prettier than all other females present? That's unnatural.

Stargate seems to primarily attract older, overweight women with little to no fashion sense, and often a mullet of some sort. And young, plain teen girls with a encyclopedic knowledge of every freaking thing that has ever had anything to do with the show, ancillary things like books about the show, and even fiction novels based on the show.

Both subsets of womanhood seem to be somewhat rabid, as well.

Believe me, I like the show, but not enough to drop a coupla grand to visit Vancouver for the Con there, and pony up $200 extra to take a tour bus through sets and other places that they've filmed the show.

I got stuck looking at a photo album that belonged to one older woman who was a fine candidate to represent her kind, and I recognized only the Camelot sets, photo-documented in explicitly detailed shots, bit by bit, every cobble stone and wooden joist accounted for.

I wisely tuned out the narrative that went along with the pictures, just nodding regularly and saying, "Uh-huh" or "Mm-hmm" a lot.

blame the diamond council.

What are you doing the rest of your life?
North and South and East and West of your life
I have only one request of your life
That you spend it all with me

All the seasons and the times of your days
All the nickels and the dimes of your days
Let the reasons and the rhymes of your days
All begin and end with me

I want to see your face in every kind of light
In the fields of dawn and the forests of the night
And when you stand before the candles on a cake
Oh, let me be the one to hear the silent wish you make

Those tomorrows waiting deep in your eyes
In the world of love that you keep in your eyes
I'll awaken what's asleep in your eyes
It may take a kiss or two

Through all of my life
Summer, Winter, Spring, and Fall of my life
All I ever will recall of my life
Is all of my life with you

Dusty Springfield --
"What Are You Doing The Rest Of Your Life?"

(Music by Michel Legrand, lyrics by Alan & Marilyn Bergman)

*****

This would be that to which I am currently rocking-ish.

It suits my mood and my current state of affairs.

It's a more refined and eloquent version of running away to join the circus.

And it's in someone else's words.

an update of sorts...

Okay, the last weekend in August, I went to the 3rd Official Stargate: SG-1 & Stargate: Atlantis Convention Tour in Rosemont, where I met up with friends from the previous year. There are pictures, and you can wait for them.

Jason Momoa is very cute, very down to earth and sweet, having been largely raised in Norwalk, Iowa, and quite unlike his dense dude with a big gun on Atlantis. He also digs jazz.

Beau Bridges told some amusing stories about working with Jeff on the Outer Limits episode "Sand Kings," and in the movie Fabulous Baker Boys.

Joe Flannigan cancelled at the last minute, so they got Don S. Davis to substitute. He is probably one of the nicest guys you could ever meet, but I've now met him three times, and he just isn't yummy man candy.

*****

Then, I went on a date on August 28.

With the assistant tight-end coach of a national football league team.

Least likely date ever, mind you.

We did dinner and drinks, talked a lot, shared a cab, exchanged pecks on the cheek, and he asked me if I'd like to go out again while he was in town. I said yes, he said he'd call, and I haven't heard from him since.

I'm sure this surprises the hell out of everyone.

*****

My family visited over Labor Day weekend. Good times were had by all, of course.

*****

One of my stylists was also classy enough to call me on Labor Day, and inform me that s/he was not going to be returning to work, except to collect her/his gear.

*****

The second weekend in September, Sackie, who was the first person I befriended at the 1st Official Stargate whatnot, called me and left me a voicemail to see if I was willing to work at a convention, because they were desperately short of volunteers.

I said I would, and proceeded to have a fun time at the Official Star Trek 40th Anniversary Convention Tour for the rest of the weekend. I drank a lot, I sassed celebrities, I made a statement in my biography factually inaccurate, I was a terrible brat, and generally had a blast. There are pictures, here.

I also was a horrible bitch to someone that didn't deserve it. Slightly embarassed by the previous night's "demanding petulant pretty pretty princess" mode into which I had slipped after many, many drinks, and the activities that resulted thereafter, I was cool and stand-offish to someone that was only guilty of being a physically-affectionate, dirty, dirty boy named H.

Which probably greatly confused him after all of the drunken friendly warmness from the day before. Being generally all square and sober, and not really down with the pda in front of strangers, I was touchy and brusque.

And now, being generally all square and sober again, I am shamed by how callous I was to H, even though I was just trying to be cool and non-chalant.

Frankly, I suck at effectively communicating with the other sex on a personal level.

Of course, he's got my email address, and I don't even know his last name or contact information. I do know he lives in L.A. and wants to move to Australia. He travels a lot, and he wears neatly tailored suits. The knowledge of which isn't particularly helpful.

*****

On the plus side, I made some new friends with the crew of SG-69, who do security at these sorts of events. I've seen them on the sidelines for the last three years, and now I actually know their names.

And I got to get my picture taken with Connor Trinneer (He played Trip on Enterprise, and he plays Michael on Atlantis), for whom I also fetched coffee (he takes it with milk, not cream). He is very cute in person, and very sweet.

And then I got to line wrangle for John de Lancie, which basically meant that for a furious 30 or so minutes, I made people give me their items to be signed, handed them to Mr. de Lancie to autograph, and then told them to collect their items down the line somewhere. I got to say, "Items for Mr. de Lancie, please," several hundred times. Oh, I also told people many, many times to give the Connor pix to his people, and not me.

Mr. de Lancie is very attractive in an older, haughty, gentlemanly kind of way. Which means he was way hotter than I expected.

I got both of them to sign my Stargate poster from two weeks earlier, telling them that while I knew they weren't at the Con, Joe Flannigan was supposed to be and he wasn't, and besides they were both on SG-1 and/or Atlantis.

I also met Natalia Nogulich (Vice Admiral Nechayev) and Suzie Plakson (K'Ehleyr) from ST:TNG. And also Michelle Scarabelli, who played Susan Francisco on the TV version of Alien Nation. And Bobby Clark, who played the lizard dude, Gorn, in that episode of ST:TOS called "Arena," where Kirk battles a lizard dude in order to save his ship and crew.

*****

Let's see, the next week I went out for a nice dinner with Tifling, Willlybean, and Willybean's brother, Dr. J. We sat outside at Chef's Station, which was nice, but a little chilly. Damn you, fleeting summer.

Willybean's just gotten the guitar-equivalent of Dance, Dance Revolution, called Guitar Hero, so he and Dr. J and Tifling took turns playing the guitar controllers in time to such classics as "I Love Rock & Roll," "Bark at the Moon," and "Cowboys from Hell." The controllers are fun, and come complete with whammy bars and all. Willybean even has the Flying-V guitar controller. I'm sure he can't wait until November 7, when Guitar Hero II comes out.

*****

I've been a little extra blue lately, so I've lacked super high-quality entertainment value. The mucky weather, an unhealthy diet, poor sleeping, and just being generally worn out isn't doing a lot for me. Fortunately, I've got a meds check with my doctor next week, so I can address that with her.

*****

I've tentatively hired a new stylist that actually graduated from my old beauty school, and am on the hunt for two more, hopefully one of which will return my call tomorrow.

*****

We're under a tornado watch in Chicago, and loud sirens were going off all over the place, but just stopped. The NWS says a tornado touched down in Humboldt Park, and would possibly wend it's way towards Downtown and/or Lincoln Park.

I think if one hit here, it would technically have to be a hurricane, what with the proximity of the lake and all. I will tell you, though, that it's all kinds of windy down on the ground level. I can hear debris and leaves whipping around down in the parking lot.

I suppose I might take the flood warning seriously, though.

8 bits of rage.

Today, reading Dooce led me here.

Which led me here.

And then here.

Which ultimately led to here.

And I have to say, Luvbeat makes me cackle with glee, even if they are on myspace.

EFF PSA.

i love myself because...

..I actually tell people things like,

"Any advice I have to offer has nothing to do with (subject), and everything to do with an impolite spatial suggestion relative to areas of your personal geography and the potentiality of foreign objects to be encountered therein."

apparently i'm an authority now.

I was cited as a source on spastay.com, regarding eyelash crap.

How surreal.

rude things.

I'm not entirely sure whether Cricket pestering me whilst I am asleep in the wee-hours looking for attention is her way of getting back at me for scritching her head when she's in the litter box making concentrate-y faces and can't really do much else, or if the scritching is my way of paying her attentions back at a time that she finds terribly inconvenient and irritating.

a parable, if you will.

(inspired by a conversation on Matty's site)

I hired a new stylist this last week, and he is very sweet. He is an incredibly professionally experienced, 48-year old Puerto Rican stylist and make-up artist that not only performs in drag, but also professionally styles other drag queens. He is also very gay, and very Christian.

Friday, the two of us were talking about the differences in people, which went on a tangent about people's belief systems. To illustrate some point he was making, he told me a version of a parable concerning two young eagles and a bunch of turkeys. Another version of the parable, presumably the more religious of the two can be found here.

The version I was told:

Two young eagles -- a boy and a girl, fell out of a nest, and were found by a bunch of turkeys, who took them in as a part of the group.

Being young, the eagles didn't know what made them different, and tried to fit in the best they could.

The first rule of being a turkey that the two were taught was that you should only eat the berries from the bush, and never from the ground.

When asked why, the turkeys told them that they had always only eaten from the bush, because that is what had always be done.

After a while of living as a turkey, the male eagle expressed to the head turkey that he wanted to learn to fly, and was told that turkeys don't need to fly.

Dissatisfied with this answer, the male eagle told the female eagle that he wanted to leave and find a better way.

She resisted because she felt comfortable only eating berries off the bush, and never trying to fly, so he went out on his own to find the truth.

After a while, he came across another group of turkeys, who again took him in as one of their own.

And the first rule of being a turkey in their group that he was taught was that you only eat the berries from the ground, and never from the bush.

When asked why, the turkeys told him that they had always only eaten from the ground, because the berries on the ground are definitely ripe, but the ones on the bush aren't guaranteed to be so.

And again after living with the turkeys for a while, the male eagle expressed to the head turkey that he wanted to learn to fly.

This time, he was told that while turkeys didn't need to fly, they could teach him to sort of jump and flap furiously, but that they didn't know how to really fly.

And it was suggested that maybe he should visit the wise old owl, because he flew every night.

When the male eagle told the owl that he was a turkey, but wanted to learn to fly, the owl laughed at him.

The owl told him that he wasn't a turkey, but was in fact an eagle, and that he could already fly -- he just needed to spread his wings and go.

So the eagle did.

And the entire time I was being told this parable, I kept thinking over and over and over again about the following quote from the movie Heathers:

"If you want to fuck with the eagles, you better learn to fly.*"

Which I didn't mention, mostly because it was neither germane to the conversation, nor particularly work appropriate.

I also wanted to ask if the eagle went on to hunt the turkeys and eat them, but I didn't have the heart, because he was being so sincere.

I just nodded my head a lot and said, "Uh-huh." a great many times.
____________________

*The entire quote is actually:

"Dear Diary: Heather says she teaches people real life, she says "real life sucks losers dry. If you wanna fuck with the eagles, you better learn to fly." I said, "So you teach people to spread their wings and fly?" She said, "Yes." I said, "You're beautiful.""

this doesn't sound anything like me at all...

Portrait of an ISFP - Introverted Sensing Feeling Perceiving
(Introverted Feeling with Extraverted Sensing)
The Artist

As an ISFP, your primary mode of living is focused internally, where you deal with things according to how you feel about them, or how they fit into your value system. Your secondary mode is external, where you take things in via your five sense in a literal, concrete fashion.

ISFPs live in the world of sensation possibilities. They are keenly in tune with the way things look, taste, sound, feel and smell. They have a strong aesthetic appreciation for art, and are likely to be artists in some form, because they are unusually gifted at creating and composing things which will strongly affect the senses. They have a strong set of values, which they strive to consistently meet in their lives. They need to feel as if they're living their lives in accordance with what they feel is right, and will rebel against anything which conflicts with that goal. They're likely to choose jobs and careers which allow them the freedom of working towards the realization of their value-oriented personal goals.

ISFPs tend to be quiet and reserved, and difficult to get to know well. They hold back their ideas and opinions except from those who they are closest to. They are likely to be kind, gentle and sensitive in their dealings with others. They are interested in contributing to people's sense of well-being and happiness, and will put a great deal of effort and energy into tasks which they believe in.

ISFPs have a strong affinity for aesthetics and beauty. They're likely to be animal lovers, and to have a true appreciation for the beauties of nature. They're original and independent, and need to have personal space. They value people who take the time to understand the ISFP, and who support the ISFP in pursuing their goals in their own, unique way. People who don't know them well may see their unique way of life as a sign of carefree light-heartedness, but the ISFP actually takes life very seriously, constantly gathering specific information and shifting it through their value systems, in search for clarification and underlying meaning.

ISFPs are action-oriented individuals. They are "doers", and are usually uncomfortable with theorizing concepts and ideas, unless they see a practical application. They learn best in a "hands-on" environment, and consequently may become easily bored with the traditional teaching methods, which emphasize abstract thinking. They do not like impersonal analysis, and are uncomfortable with the idea of making decisions based strictly on logic. Their strong value systems demand that decisions are evaluated against their subjective beliefs, rather than against some objective rules or laws.

ISFPs are extremely perceptive and aware of others. They constantly gather specific information about people, and seek to discover what it means. They are usually penetratingly accurate in their perceptions of others.

ISFPs are warm and sympathetic. They genuinely care about people, and are strongly service-oriented in their desire to please. They have an unusually deep well of caring for those who are close to them, and are likely to show their love through actions, rather than words.

ISFPs have no desire to lead or control others, just as they have no desire to be led or controlled by others. They need space and time alone to evaluate the circumstances of their life against their value system, and are likely to respect other people's needs for the same.

The ISFP is likely to not give themself enough credit for the things which they do extremely well. Their strong value systems can lead them to be intensely perfectionist, and cause them to judge themselves with unneccesary harshness.

The ISFP has many special gifts for the world, especially in the areas of creating artistic sensation, and selflessly serving others. Life is not likely to be extremely easy for the ISFP, because they take life so seriously, but they have the tools to make their lives and the lives of those close to them richly rewarding experiences.

my birthday activities.

1. Many times during the hours between 4:30 am & 8:30 am, I was mauled with noisy love-seeking from Cricket.
2. At 9:30 am, I got up, & I made the bed.
   
3. I abluted and popped my handful of pills.
4. I changed my ringtone to Super Mario Bros.
   
5. I was well-wished by my family.
6. I finally received a package of birthday goodness from Matty.
   
7. I puttered around on junkbbs.
8. I got dressed and gussied up my general appearance.
9. I drove to Lincolnwood, and had lunch at Olive Garden. I ate the zuppa toscana and salad, and drank a raspberry lemonade. I also felt a little lame.
10. I drove to Best Buy and used my Reward Zone certificates to purchase Spirited Away, which I have never actually seen all the way through without constant commercial interruptions.
11. I drove to Target and bought new 4 new pillows. I also bought 3 Sterilite under-bed storage boxes, 2 kitchen fatigue mats with roosters on them, 3 bowls of microwave brownies, and a 3-pack of cinnamint Orbit gum.
12. I purchased a strawberry mango smoothie and a bottle of nectarine white tea snapple at the concession stand.
    
13. I then went out to the car, where I realized that I was missing the bag with the brownies and the gum, and went back in for it, only to discover the weirdo in line behind me had apparently made off with it, probably by accident, but you never know.
    
14. I got 3 more brownie mixes and a pack of gum, and was checked out.
15. I drove home, where I ended up having a long conversation with my landlord, Mike, about how the city made him get rid of the stuff piled up behind the building as storage, and bemoaned the lack of general storage in the building.
    
16. I put the new pillows in cases and threw away the old pillows. I also put everything else away where it belongs.
17. I changed into pajamas.
    
18. I rearranged some underbed storage.
19. I ate half a medium bag of almond m&ms.
20. I rearranged furniture.
    
21. I watered the plants.
22. I watched a lot of Discovery Channel about the activities in KV-63, and how they relate to KV-54.
    
23. I shredded half of the shredding that I've been stockpiling.
24. I waved a feathery toy thing on a string and a stick for a long time whilst Posey happily chased it around like a little crazy person.
    
25. I watched Venture Bros. & Family Guy.
26. I cleaned out the litter box.
    
27. I did this.
28. I abluted and went to bed, where I intend to work on a crossword puzzle and then sleep.

i've now officially outlived jesus.

And me, I'm rocking some super serious pizza face.

My skin looks like I'm 15 again, and not in a nice way.

i'm not exactly certain why...

but for some strange reason, it makes me feel old to see Dermot Mulroney playing middle-aged roles.

I still see him as the guy that gets passed over for someone more mature, and now he's playing the role of the guys that get the girls that he didn't used to get.

It's all very perplexing.

something i tried once...

Once upon a time, I came up with the idea of " The Pixiemartin Lifestyle Fund," the premise of which was the following:

As far as ways to spend money, might I suggest participating in a new organization in the spirit of groups like The Christian Children's Fund, or the Adopt-A-Whale Program? I like to call it "The Pixiemartin Lifestyle Fund." For a certain donation each month, you can sponsor an important part of my lifestyle, and in return each month, you will receive pictures and letters from your sponsored item.

Examples?

• For $15/mo, you can help provide cellular support via the Pink Barbie Phone.
• For $25/mo, you can help provide hours of entertainment through the Big Talking Picture Box.
• And more!

For a larger, one-time donation, you can adopt and name a larger item, like the car or a piece of furniture, and receive a special certificate in recognition of your support.

Sadly, it did not fly, much less take off in any way shape or form.

And then this morning, I was thinking of all the thousands of dollars that I owe -- or would like to owe -- various medical establishments, and I was reconsidering the viability of the fund.

For less than $1 a day, you could help maintain a reasonable air temperature in this studio!
Think about the kitties and their little fur coats!

For less than $2 a day, you could make it possible for me to talk to people that aren't on the television or that happen to be cats, all without leaving the confines of this studio!

For about $5 a day, you can help keep it possible for me to coordinate online bill payments, entertain others as I mock strangers, or even help expand my intellect through the order and purchase of books from Amazon!

For a one-time, non-tax deductible donation of $1000, you could be awarded the status of Porcelain Crown Patron, and have a bridge and a crown named for you or a loved one!

commentary

Today, because I had the day off and had some errands to run where I should look nice, I wore a pretty cream, pink- and orange-flowered above the knee sundress.

That manages to reveal more real estate than has ever been seen by the people at the place where I work, what with all my pasty arms, legs, and upper torso visible to the public.

At work, I was asked if it was laundry day.

At Target, after I walked past them, I overheard one black woman say to another, "Whoo-oo! That girl need to get some sun."

Can't a girl just be extra girly sometimes? I have lots of dresses and pretty jewelry and darling shoes and handbags that are all sitting in their respective storage spaces, collecting dust and cat hair...

And dude, if it's good enough for Nicole Kidman to be pasty-ass white, it's good enough for me.

Zardoz (1974)

Channel surfing, I came across this movie as it was starting, and seeing that it had both Sean Connery and Charlotte Rampling in it, and it was about an Outlander shaking up the order of an immortal people, I thought what the hell.

And in the first five minutes of the movie I heard this giant floating statue head on the screen utter the following words, which I wasn't sure I had heard correctly and had to look up online:

Zardoz: "The penis is evil. The penis shoots seeds, and makes new life, and poisons the earth with a plague of men, as once it was. But the gun shoots death, and purifies the earth of the filth of brutals. Go forth and kill!"

Lo and behold, I did hear it properly, and it still makes me snicker. I can't wait for the rest of the movie.

Update: the giant floating statue head resembles Janus, and is apparently some sort of modern ship. Sean Connery is wearing a red bandolier and a red pair of speedos with a really short pareo that ties in the front in a big red bow, he had a long black ponytail, and a big handlebar moustache. And also, there are shrink-wrapped nekkid women. You even see boobs.

Update: He's also got burgundy thigh-high boots. And found/took a big honking ring that is holographic, voice-reactive, and educational. Oh, and big-ass mutton chops.

Update: He passed through some sort of portal between Zardoz and one of several places referred to as Vortex, where the immortals live. It's an idyllic society where everyone is snotty and genetically grown in big bubbles, so there's no need for sex. There are thought crimes and punishment is being aged. Oh, and everyone's got their own big ass shiny rings.

The immortals decide to study him, referring to him as a creature, a beast, a thing, or a monster,
they keep him in a cage, and seem particularly interested in his sexuality. His name is Zed, and he is being studied by Meg and Consuela.

There is a segment of the movie where he is shown erotic stimuli, in an attempt to give him a chubby. None of it works, but he looks at Consuela and pitches a tent.

The immortals are all apparently capable of merging all consciousnesses with each other on some "second level." When one of them Friend refuses, he is aged, cast out of the Vortex, and they take away his big shiny ring.

Friend is exiled to a dance hall full of old people in tuxedos and evening dresses, which is apparently what hell is like. Dancing with the Renegades.

And apparently after gaining entrance to Zardoz but before entering the Vortex, Zed killed some immortal named Arthur, who was in charge of Zardoz.

Update: In his former existence, Zed was an Executioner, responsible for hunting down and killing the regular old grubby mortals outside the Vortex, with a group of other Executioners.

On a raid, he stumbled upon books, and taught himself to read. When he read The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, he had a little breakdown, realized Zardoz was only a man behind a curtain, which made him decide to enter Zardoz and fuck with the order of things.

Update: Meg's name is actually May. I got that wrong before.

Zed manages to whip up the normally very stoic immortals into a mob frenzy, and he is forced to run or be hunted down and massacred by the masses.

He ends up hiding with the Apathetic -- immortals with severe ennui -- who all lick and kiss him and like a bunch of psychic vampires, sap his energy and make it theirs.

Zed is told by a super-ancient Renegade that May holds the key to their immortality, called the Tabernacle, and with its help, they can actually die.

Thanks to the thrill of the hunt, since the Apathetic joined in chasing him once they all got an energy jolt, a big ol' orgy ensued, disgusting the rest of the immortals.

Zed, of course gets the Tabernacle from May, has a ego battle with it, and ends up being able to rewind time. Consuela confesses her love, and he, Consuela, and a small band of like-minded immortals break away, with the small band leaving Vortex, and everyone becoming mortal, most wanting to die.

You can tell Consuela loves him because she kissed him and gave him a big ass shiny ring of his own.

It is revealed that Arthur and Friend conspired together to bring about the end of Vortex, and Arthur actually used his time and energy to selectively breed the unwashed masses into their savior and chosen one, Zed. Arthur was in fact the person that led Zed to the library, and the Oz book specifically.

May asks Zed to kill her, but he can't. However, the hordes of invading Executioners have no issue with slaughtering all remaining members of Vortex.

Zed and Consuela escape, then live a normal mortal life, with her having a kid. And they eventually die.

The end.

Plotwise, it's straight 1974 sexploitation. Tits ahoy and all that. You can tell that from the fact that every single female wore tiny flutter tops, wardrobe malfunctions a near-constant state of existence.

Oh, and the fact that Sean Connery is mutton-chopped, mustachioed, ponytailed, bandoliered and wearing a speedo with a big bow on the front, with thigh-high burgundy boots, and wielding a pistol.

Because bare furry man chests and guns are all sexy and the like.

Plus the boobies.

And the pansexual kissing and groping phenomenon. Girls on girls, girls on boys, boys on boys, boys on girls, etc.

It's all very scandalous for 32 years ago, you know.

And if you're keeping any sort of countdown, my birthday is in 2 weeks.

my trip to las vegas.

see here.

can't wait until next sunday...

The Trial of the Monarch

The Monarch: This all started soon after 'The Flight of the Monarch' was published. A mean little tell-all-book filled with nothing but lies and pictures of also lies.

(Cutscene to The Monarch's Floating Cocoon)

The Monarch: WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!

#24: A book?

The Monarch: No, but you would think it was right? You can read it like a book, here I'll show you:

The Monarch reading:'...riffiling through his pockets for change, the Monarch accidentily launches a sodium-pentathol tipped dart deep into his own thigh. Upon hearing a girlish symphony of shrill wails, a waitress comes to his aid..'

#24: Told you!

#21: You told me he wouldn't find out.

#24: You're such a d*ck, you put his face on the cover!

The Monarch reading: *there she was subjected to a lecture concerning her weight problem and the evils of over* '...plucking her eyebrows.'

The Monarch: Oh, it's almost exactly like a book. There's even some pictures, here's one of me a Danceteria making out with Stiv Bators and Lydia Lunch. (closes book) But this is not a book, this is a suicide note. Good news! The euthanasia will be carried out by me. The author has twenty minutes to seek my aid before I just KILL all of you. You'll find me in my room... crying!

...

Hank: And they kill clean, don't let dames get in the way.

Brock: Honestly, Hank, where do you pick that stuff up? I never see you read.

Dean: It's weird, right.

Brock: It's like he channels dead crazy people.

Hank: You think it's a cry for help?

Are You There God? It's Me, Dean

#24: Come on! They have one female servicing a large group of males. That implies a species that lays eggs.

#21: Oh my God, you're crazy! They're so obviously mammals!

#24: Please! She'd be in estrus 24/7 if she didn't lay eggs.

#21: Smurfs don't lay eggs! I won't tell you this again! Papa Smurf has a fucking beard! They're mammals!

Tag Sale -- You're It!

#21: Here is where you are wrong, my friend. This woman has killed before.

#24: Allegedly.

#21: Okay, whatever. But she was a big girl. We are talking about a large, healthy woman of questionable stability.

#24: Oh, you are totally underestimating the never-say-die scrappiness of a survivor.

The Monarch: Hey, guess what? Nobody cares who would win in a crazy fantasy fist-fight between Anne Frank and Lizzie Borden.

someone i noticed on flickr...

she's almost like a euro-dana...

but just not quite.