I am watching a film on the television that, PERSONALLY, I'd say verges on "a bit bad". Or as the French say, trés caca. The prostitutes in it are currently scrapping over a trick and there's fake fur flying everywhere. Morgan Freeman is an alcoholic who just downed a few shots of cheap whiskey. Like some class of a pure idiot. The hot lawyer chick is being pursued by a dangerous man!! Lock the door! PUT ON YOUR BULLETBROOF JACKET!
False alarm! Now there is piano music and I'm a bit teary because I haven't had my period yet.
This movie is my childhood all over again! FURTHERMORE, Morgan Freeman is not trying to get pregnant. Thank goodness! THE TAPE IS EXCLUDED COUNCILLOR!
I am having trouble separating tv from reality. I will be back when I have something substantial to say.
neuro-praxis -- Out of Witnesses and Out of Time
You have been waiting so long to no longer see that sperm drugs message, haven't you, and now your days of arduous clicking and hoping and clicking and hoping are ended. Let the victory party begin. First let us have a lesson from an onion in how we ought not to set our wives on fire indoors.
Calcutta Fire Marshal: Many Indian Homes Lack Bride Extinguisher
CALCUTTA, INDIA—Failure to own or use a bride extinguisher results in millions of rupees of property damage in India annually, Calcutta fire marshal Prasad Chandra said in a press conference Monday. "This tragedy occurs far too often when well-meaning husbands, attempting to collect on a dowry, ignite their brides indoors. The damage is often compounded when a burning bride attempts to escape and spreads the flames to other homes," Chandra said. "If you absolutely must burn your bride, avoid additional destruction with an affordable bride extinguisher. And, if possible, confine the burning to your backyard bride pit." He also recommended that homeowners install and periodically test marital smoke detectors.
That's the kind of practical advice we ought to be getting at church, none of this nonsense about spirituality.
Speaking of spirtuality, I wonder if my housemates would be angry if I scanned their passports and put the images on the internet.
So they're leaving me and going to India like the inconsiderate self-focused bastards that they are. What if I need somebody to talk to while K is at work?! What if I need a lift and my car is in use? What if I cook enough food for four and there are only two people to eat it? Their precious Indians are all dying of starvation while they leave two plates positively piled with the most expensive caviar right here on the table in Ireland. Their selfishness surely knows no bounds.
Right. Let's get to the bottom of business. Has anybody noticed how crap it is having a full time job that just goes on and on, day after day, week after week, month after month? Being a two month veteran managing an office in an obscure monkey procurement industry, I have decided that this is not the life for me. Pending funding, I am going back to college to do a Phd or something in bioethics. This means that I will be able to judge you if you kill your dying granny with a morphine overdose. I don't care if she deserved it or not. Consider yourself judged. AH.
I am sucking on apple drops that I bought from an old lady in a truly manky and understocked shop in Greystones. They are sticky and delicious and most likely out of date. I have been working on the bag for a few days now and I can feel my teeth decay with each one. It's wonderful. Did you ever read the Roald Dahl book where one of the little boys insists that liquorice is made out of rats? His father was a doctor or something, so he'd know. I ate my liquorice with more gusto than ever after that book.
I once wrote a poem about Roald Dahl. it was during one of my "creative" periods. During those times I wear only brightly coloured scarves and I wave incence wherever I go.
In a rare move of vulnerable bravery I will now print my poem. Your opinion is not welcome. I am quite hard enough on myself as it is, thank you.
Roald Dahl, if I had known you
I wouldn't have liked you.
I would have rolled my eyes
at your enthusiasm, your eccentricities
and your mannerisms, your godlessness.
And I would have been altogether aloof.
But it would have been for jealousy's sake.
Because the worst of your books
will forever surpass my finest writings.
Fruity, juicy, bursting with life,
I gobble my way through them with
wicked gluttonous peals of laughter.
Sir! You were a genius, and
I am sorry that you have died.
~~~~~
I am sorry that he's dead. I would have liked to have forced a meeting with him in some uncomfortable way. Tracked down his house, climbed the barbed wire, marched up the front door and talked my way in with lies about being a relative. Then you can get violent, they don't usually have cameras in the living rooms.
Now I'm off to smoke a few packs of Johnny Blue, one after another.
neuro-praxis -- A Toxic Bit of Kitty