Saturday, 17 January 2009

role model of a dead grrl

here i am practising for eternity or whatever (as always, click on pic for engorgement — photograph by Mick, Artistic Director of Mane in Bristol). this photo reminds me of Christine's suggestion for my next poll, sump'n i haven't yet decided on (not which poll but if another). i mean, i'd wanna post it and shit but seeing the results of the first one is kinda like a chronic reality check, sump'n i need badly cause in all truth, i feel i've way overstayed my welcome here on Planet Earth, so thanks, folks! it's been totally real and stuff, bye-eeeee! ;-)

*sigh* oops, i mean LOL, *snigger* what was i saying again? right, Christine's excellent suggestion for a poll:

'What would be your fave (or preferred) way to die in a natural disaster?'

hmmm... i guess we're looking for the natural disaster which the most people believe to hold the least amount of fear and pain. the choices would be:

a) freezing to death
b) heatstroke
c) drowning 
d) suffocation (like from an earthquake).

i decided to leave off my fave mode of dying cause it's not a natural disaster: the easy-peasey, rather pleasant (though chickenshit) one-way journey to permanent oblivion: death by overdose. hang on... do y'all think this topic is like, too um... morbid? if your answer's Yes, thank your godz you don't know me. if No, then keep those virtual cards and letters coming cause we wanna get to know you better (we've got ideas). *giggles*

*cough* on the seriousity front, more Role Model Show details and photos as soon as i can be bothered. in other news, Kate practically moved in thursday night but we decided that before we kill each other — i blame the drugs, of course. and the damn booze — we should look for a larger flat and this'll happen on wednesday evening, after what's become our (almost) fortnightly ritual: a dual session at Holey Skin followed by Lunch Noms No. 5 at the Hatchet (or maybe it's number 6). anyway, happy weekend and peace out, yo. :-)

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Thursday, 15 January 2009

LOL, this city is afraid of me

editor's note: since i'm forced to endure the horrors of TRW soon, i'll be adding crucial links later on this afternoon (if i survive what's on the agenda today). moving right along, i took the above whilst walking home from Queens Road the other night. as always, i was drawn to the windows of my local Forbidden Planet but AFAIC, this time was different (and special!) cause of the familiar — to me — Watchmen logos displayed on the promo posters for the forthcoming film. y'know, the smiley face with dripping blood and other cheery iconic images Dave Gibbons first created under the specifics described in vasty detail by Alan Moore.

and as per usual ('From Hell' and 'V for Vendetta' come to mind first), Alan Moore removed his name from this film and i don't blame him

'...Fox asked author Alan Moore to write a screenplay based on his story. When Moore declined, the studio enlisted screenwriter Sam Hamm to pen the script. ... Hamm found the task of condensing Moore's 338 page, nine-panel a page script into a 128 page script arduous...'

oh, poor baby... he found it 'arduous'. moron...

'...He took the liberty of rewriting Watchmen's complicated ending into a "more manageable" conclusion involving an assassination and time paradox...'

bloody hell — that's total sacrilege! anyway, a few other quotes from the film were blasted from various posters, posters for which i plan on asking the manager. he's a handsome young dude with whom i'm well acquainted, so i don't expect to hear him go No. and knowing me, i'm gonna have to reread Watchmen again — always a pleasure; never a chore — cause i don't remember these quotes from the actual book:

'The existence of life is a highly overrated phenomenon'. yup, i agree but don't remember that from the book, a book i read and reread at least a hundred times cause not only is it a wonderful read but i always found some tiny detail i'd missed the first 1 to 99 times or so.

'I'm used to going out at 3AM and doing something stupid'. yeah, me too but i just know that shit wasn't in the book either. goddammit!

on to other things before i forget: 1) big thanks to The Newswriter for the kitty-wink in Dumb and Dumberer. and if y'all haven't yet, i'd strongly urge Stop The Press! to be a crucial bit of your required daily reading. as youse can see over to the right under Reservoir Dogs, not only do i list her site, but i'm proud to say i actually *heart* her and don't give a damn who knows it.

2) mail from Chuck (mentally filed under Esoterica): 'This would seem to suggest "One Little Indian" is actually part of Sony'. y'all don't geddit? then skip it cause i ain't explaining.

3) someone who wishes to remain Anonymous Coward (as they say on Slashdot) mailed me with the following info, so i twat this instead: 'just got mail pointing out i'm no. 29 of the Twitter Elite in England. yo, twit-grader dudes: i think you're algorithm or whatever's fucked'.

anyway, there's more where that came from — stuff like The Lit-tle Slum Who Could — but i've gotta get a move on, so i'll be back either later today or when i damn feel like it. um... dunno how to say this without hurting people's feelings or whatever but, YES! i know that i haven't been posting much Tawdry lately... big thanks to everyone who pointed out this moronic obviousity. judging by y'all's thinking i'd assume at least five or six of youse actually think SG and rimone are two different human beans or deities or whatever. *wack* LOL, this is me giving an actual fuck: *yawn* *dead silence* (with emphasis on the dead bit). *snigger*

edit@18,55: ooh, Kate's here again. :-) and Mick gave me the Role Model Exhibit photos today, some of which i shall post once i've decided exactly how much i wanna show of me. *smirk*


Sunday, 11 January 2009

lying like a rug / trite yet true

not really* but i got lost writing (not writing Tawdry but Real Writty Writing) so think of this as me bullshitting y'all in a feeble effort to hang onto yer attention. i've got both good news and bad but now there's no time to get into anything specific apart from saying that two of my dearest friends have suddenly found themselves sans income. all i can say is, it's the fault of the um... The Fault of The Heavy. }-(

ooh, i unwittingly gave myself a jumping off point for the ADD to run wild: in Julius Caesar, Shakspear wrote '...the fault, dear Brutus, lies not in our stars, but in ourselves...'

to which i shall paraphrase: 'the fault, sweet friends, lies not in our stars, but in an overwhelmingly obese woman with shit for brains and way too much time on her chubby hands and nothing better to do than despise those thinner than she is and in her latest frustration, went for the kill (in this instance, reporting on a friend who, thanks to her, totally lost his gig)'. }-(

nope, if i were youse, i wouldn't be able to make sense of that either but so it shall remain until i get permission to spew the sordid details from the parties in question. and if not? whatever... just chalk it up to yet another mystery of the Tawdry; y'know, one of those things about which i begin tawking and never come back to give any closure. y'all don't dig it? sorr-reeeee (not really).

*regarding the technical difficulties stuff, i'm here to say 'Yo, Sod! this ain't an invite (either)'. moving right along onto other things, i'm sure y'all are way more clever than to be fooled by my mindless wittering here but i must say for the umpteenth time, i'm quite proud of the way i can go on and on and ON, tawkin' loud and sayin' nothing and miraculously, people actually keep reading. *gazes off in wonderment*

if one is so inclined, one might ask what the hell have i been up to these past 11 days or so? that's apart from my standard answer: 'STFU — it's none of yer biz'. anyway, i can honestly say i've been doing my typically (nothing out of the ordinary) mulling and bitching. y'know... bemoaning the fate of the world, the heavy-duty soul-searching that happens during the long, dark nights i spend writing my liddle heart out as well as my lifelong M.O. of lying, cheating and stealing, all of which make up the essential me of me; that for which y'all know me and (dare i say it? fuck, yeah!) love me. about that soul-searching shit, it's the kind that reaches 'deep, deep, deeper down, to the comfort of the old narcolepsy...' but i'm sure y'all are clever enough to know that already. right, my attribution gland's been tickled so big thanks to Reverend D Wayne Love for each and every word i stoled offa you.

with that outta the way, let's get down to cases. monday morning found me with the now familiar symptoms of my old friend 'Flu, all of which bloomed larger than life and way more moisty as the day wore on and my temperature rose higher and higher. IMO, last week was the coldest since i've moved here and being a weather freak, that liddle fact helped me neither a whit (nor a jot or tittle). whoa, where the hell did that come from? anyway, this past week found me checking the damn weather like three or four times an hour as i alternately shivered and perspired whilst gasping for breath cause by dose was all sduffed ub.

worse yet i was all bundled up bigtime as i lay on the floor pillows, under three blankets, checking my mail as well as the weather, without having to move my ass deskward, all thanks to the power of my iPod-Touch. on the chilliest day — i believe it was wednesday — i had on two tanktops underneath my Sex Pistols T-shirt (thanks Rob) under my Clash T-shirt (thanks Jem) under my Motorhead T-shirt (thanks Chris) and then like three sweatshirts over and two pairs of leggings but it did me no good cause i froze my ass off anyway. my weak imitation of the Michelin Tyre dude totally didn't bode well for my head cause it spurred my normally nasty attitude further on into the bowels of my own little corner of hell on earth. and it's times like those that i thank my godz i live alone with Hunter cause when i feel like shit, heaven help anyone in earshot. 

[editor's note: for some strange reason my doorbell rang twice on thursday; once for the Royal Mail dude and once for Fed-Ex and the only reason i rang em in was cause i've been expecting stuff from Amazon. lemme tell you, the Royal Mail cat got away lucky but the Fed-Ex dude bore the brunt of my wrath as i gave him fucking hell i.e., 'you see four doorbells. WHY RING MINE?' had i wanted to be a prick, i would've refused to sign the slip for the neighbors' package — thus forcing him to return — but even in the worst of moods, i knew he was only doing his damn job. kinda like Hitler but different. wait... shite analogy. fuck it.]

moving right along, since i never attempted to hide the fact i'm a lazy fuck, i shall copy and paste that which i twat on Twitter this week, stuff that has any bearing on my latest bout of 'Flu (or The Old People's Disease Cause They're Supposed to Get Jabs And I Won't Do It). whoa, i'm lost here. right, before i forget, i wanna note that i'd turned my cellphone off a few hours before midnight new year's eve for my own reasons of deviousity (none of which i care to explain). actually, my first twit of the year's kind of a pisser if you despise the Borg, i mean m$, as muchly as i do:

1. january: 'feeling Schadenfreude at first news i read this year thanks to (Ars Technica link)'

2. january: 'now txtng back the fuck-knows-how-many people who txtd Happy New Year since two nights ago. late as usual...'

then i had a liddle back and forth with Tom Loves You — the contents of which can be found on our pages if anyone cares to look. shit! totally forgot about this next and right on cue, here comes the guilt:

4. january: 'i'm staring at a stack of xmas cards that should've been given to people in London last week (now they're too late to post). oh, well...'

and here we go... bringing it ALL back in living heated and snotty color with electronic thermometres fallen under the sofa as i wheezed my way round the pillows and blankets in misery, searching for remotes found in my other hand and using up the tissues within arm's reach. then i said 'fuck it', crawled to the cupboard and brought back a roll of TP which i kept next to the sofa as i muddled through my misery. but looking on the bright side, it could've been much worse. i mean, i could've had actual work to do and — wait — every time i say that shit, i just die LMAO cause i'm so the opposite of harbouring any bright side.

yup, the glass is always half empty within the confines of Chez Hunter and it'd be pathetic if it weren't so goddamned laughable. hang on — i smell a Lebowski quote but i'll just let it slide and pray it won't erupt in front of normal people. hey, wait... this just occurred: Chez Hunter? the Inn of the 666th Unhappiness, more like. anyway. *glances up and rereads prior 'graph* whoa, this's almost a diagram of my ADD, like leaving a trail of breadcrumbs or whatever. well, not breadcrumbs. like specks of flyaway coke or sump'n. what am i tawkin about again? right... that which i twat when ill:

5. january: 'i'be ill agaid od the sofa w/flu tryid to read Thobas Pydchod, i mead Thomas Pynchon. boss's still id suddy Spaid. rather, in sunny Spain'.

bloody hell! i spelt 'mean' wrong. it's bead, dammit, not 'mead'. oh wow, totally forgot about this. thanks to my Tawkin' Flu Blues, i pity-mongered, rather attention-whored to a lovely dude who expressed his sympathy and made me LOL, so i replied:

5. january: @mleis why TY kind sir. it's teh suck; i hadn't a cold in 20+ yrs & think it's the moisty climates in both Bonn & Bristol which cause it'.

as they say in the States, time for a station break: friends, let's be truthful: are y'all bored yet? shit, i am but i'll gamely souljah, i mean, soldier on or whatever. as Dragnim once said, i'd talk to the graffitti on the wall if i could (oh, wow — yet another testimonial). *snigger* anyone can see how shite i felt cause i didn't twat again until three days later and whoa, i was verily pissed off when i did. anyway, i'll spare y'all, mostly cause i'm sick and tired of copying and pasting the twits i twat. suffice it to say, it's all on my page, the situ, the horror and my very unexpected but necessary trip to London on friday.

this was all thanks to the British Embassy's whim; they rang me late thursday and that's another story i twat on Twitter but as i said, i'll spare youse — and i mean it — mostly cause the pills are kicking in and after everything i've been through, whether self-inflicted or happenstance, i totally deserve to enjoy every damn second of every damn high, not sit here writing rubbish. heh: 'rubbish'. it's all in the eyes of the beholder, actually. your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to discern exactly what's bullshit and what's not. to a novice, it all might sound easy-fucking peasey but believe you me, those who know me for ages in meatspace are occasionally clueless as to what's actually what and that's the way i like it. :-)

on the other hand, all anyone need do is ask and i'm totally willing to spill whatever. not that i have a choice since the Asperger's puts 'paid' to any actual lying i might wanna do, but hey, not many people know that shit. oh wow... look over there! LOL, um... about those pills i mentioned before? *whispers* i don't think i should've taken that last one. or maybe it's the dope i smoked, the finest ganja money can't buy. *preens with a superior sneer* (cause i'm good buds with Gardener Dude). BTW, it occurs there's a dumbass pun on 'buds'. please take it at face value cause i don't mean it to be a pun, OK? shit, maybe i should change it to 'friends'? ah, fuck it.

back to the tablets, maybe it's the weed that's giving me this extra-strong reaction, enhancing their powers but hey... needs must and all. anyway, i've got a reputation to uphold and what kinda 'pill-poppin' hollerin' deviant' would i be if i turned my nose up at M.O.R? arrrrghhhh! shit! i mean, 'more'. anyway, we all know the answer to that — what's even worse is my rep would totally be in ruins if word got out i turned shit down. just think of me as the gaping maw. or Alice about to obey those beautifully drawn Tenniel labels commanding her to Drink Me and Eat Me. :-)

anyhoo, please stay tuned cause apart from the bad shit happening to my friends which i mentioned all the way above, i've got a motley crew of disparate stuff about which i wanna tawk and amazingly, most of it's positive. will wonders ever cease? (hope not.) anyway, my boss-dude's back from Spain and i just got my first gig of 2009. surprise, surprise — it ain't fucking chemistry so hoorah for that. *to self* to think at this point of my life i'm so grateful for small favors kinda shames me, but hey.

right, before i forget, i wanna say Happy Anniversary to Mr and Mrs Ifor The Engine (or the Choo-Choo Twins as i think of em whenever they're not looking). *giggle* much love to you both. *whispers* and first dibs on the coffin! don't forget!

as for meh, i'm gonna sign out for the nonce but beware cause i'll be back with all kindsa gossip, the usual rumour mongering, trouble-starting and my own unique brand of — yup, you guessed it — *eee-vil*. and at this point in time, all i'll say is tee-hee.

and so, as the sun dips down below the horizon, we hear a faint sizzle as it hits the ocean, so it's time for us to bid a fond farewell to all those who make it possible for me to act like an asshole and get away with it. am i reaching a bit too much? *snigger* y'betcha ass i am. right now, i'm actually wondering who's gonna be first this year to comment on how i'm way different in meatspace than s/he originally assumed i'd be. *smirk* the thing of it is, i'm exactly the same on the page as i am in TRW but Some (not naming names) find it difficult to accept that shit. their loss, my gain though i do find it more than a bit depressing to realise so many are so damn dumb. *cough* iz stawree of mai lief, akshually.

so i'm keeping a lit-tle list, naming names and shit, cause judging by mai mailz, there's like a string of dummi- a string of contenders and i'm totally wondering who'll be the first to come out with that sentiment both Alma Tender Love and i have heard for ages now: all variations on the one tired old theme: 'You're totally not what I expected!' — always muttered in a breathless tone so c'mon, don't be shy! do me a solid — i'm dying to hear this *whispers* cause believe you me, it takes all i can muster not to laugh in your faces.

but wait! i ain't done yet. to quote Walt Whitman: 'Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself. I am large; I contain multitudes...' to which i might add 'i am small; i contain multitudes... of nastyass backtalk' as my mother so cogently told me lo these many years ago (and on the phone last night as well).

scanning upward after my fave new app just went off, i can only say in my own defence, It's Not Me, It's The E Talking (big thanks to Soulwax for the extended and way better version than the original). and if y'all made it down this far, i totally commend youse on your patience, tenacity and especially the lack of a working bullshit detector.

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