Buckle-Up With The Guv'ner

You Sexy Thing

2008-06-10T09:04:00.001-05:00

I am still lazy, but I'm also stealth. You can find me this fine day over HERE , giving you an intelligent breakdown of some fine disco lyrics.

Don't say I never teach you anything.

Oh! Hi! You're looking fine today!

Bite Sized Thoughts 2

2008-05-26T12:32:00.003-05:00

Inside the mind of celebrities: Courtney Love

Oh shiny stuff you got any druggs can i have some omg people justr dont get me at all you are all monsters i might need to have surgrey again as I dont look enuf of a freek yet theres alwayss room for improvment and oh is that prada i like prada i am classy you people need to shut the fuck upp i didnt kill kurt why would i do that he was my true luv and you suckas will never know luv like it so fuck you all sideways. i stripped in japan you know i no how life works and you suckas have no idea what its like to be me frances give momma her fuckin speedballs you lil fucknut.

Finn The Cat

2008-05-22T13:04:00.003-05:00

I’ve been a little out of the loop lately blog wise. No updates or ridiculous pie charts or swearing profusely and calling people names. I’ve been a little down you see. A little bluer than my normal, rosy self.

You see, the other day – Sunday to be specific and late Sunday night to be completely accurate – I lost my baby Finn-the-Cat to an illness of the respiratory nature. She died in the taxi two blocks from the animal hospital. It was a hopelessly horrific thing to witness, especially when you are unable to do anything to help. She has had trouble breathing for a while now and been treated a lot recently to help her feel better.

I’m not a people person so much as an animal person. I can read about famines and floods and earthquakes and feel sympathy for people, but they don’t touch me like animals do. Losing my Finn-the-cat (that is her full name!) is the same as the loss of a person to me. For ten years she has ceremoniously grunted, shattered my crockery with gay abandon in an attempt to suggest to me that maybe I might like to feed her dinner, lay on my chest and purred when I went to sleep at night and attacked my ankles as I’ve walked through the living room in the dead of night on route to the bathroom. She has dispatched of rogue bugs, the occasional mouse and lots of cheese with admirable efficiency. She has sat on the feet of guests and slept on their beds at night. She’s protective you see. She used to chew my hair. Freaky cat.

On Sunday, while I was organizing some stuff I had in storage, she hindered my attempts at every turn by getting in the storage boxes and sitting on my clothing piles. Afterwards she cuddled with me on the bed while we procrastinated doing any more work because we’re a team you see. I work and she gets in my way, It’s an arrangement we have.

Then a few hours later she was gone, just like that.

She is beautiful. I say is, because she is. Not was. It sucks losing a friend of any species. But I wanted you to meet her, so here she is. My Finn-the-cat. An awesome force of nature.

Bite Sized Thoughts

2008-05-18T20:07:00.008-05:00

Inside the minds of celebrities.

Today: Gary Busey

"Hey I'm lookin' goooood! Hey baby nice ass, swing that sweet thang over here! Dang, let me tap that! Since when is gin cheaper than gasoline? Where's my hairdresser's phone number? I totally look great for a dude who drinks his bodyweight in Scotch every day...whoa my chompers are HUGE! Hey, I'm still relevant, ok? This Cover Girl Age Defying Foundation is da bomb! YEEEEEEEEEEHAAAAAA! Hook me up to a vodka IV! I wonder if Mickey Rourke and Nick Nolte wanna come over and part-ay?"

The True Story of the American Civil War

2008-05-14T21:27:00.002-05:00

Let’s get one thing straight. The American Civil War was long and included a list of battles as long as shit. Allow me to condense it into tasty, bite-sized morsels for you.

In 1860, Abraham Lincoln – he’s the tall, gangly dude with the beard and funny hat, who looked like Jimmy Stewart - was elected president, despite only managing to garner 40% of the popular vote. He was the guy who said, regarding slavery, "Government cannot endure permanently half slave, half free...", which pissed off a lot of people in the South, who immediately polished their muskets and rushed to the dry cleaners with their white robes and pointy white hats, all in a tizzy.

In the first few months of Lincoln’s presidency, South Carolina, Mississippi, Florida, Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana and Texas, all seceded from the Union, unhappy with all that Yankee claptrap about all people being equal, regardless of skin color and human beings not being permitted to “own” other human beings. I'm unclear what baseball had to do with anything however.

By spring of 1861 the South was so pissed off, their grits were going sour. Some French-named idiot, Pierre Beauregard, got a bee in his bonnet about something or other and dragged his Confederate derriere to Charleston, South Carolina where he opened fire with some big, scary cannons. At whom or what I don’t know, just pretend you’re with me, people. Anyway, somehow that started the Civil War.

It’s sort of ironic when you think about it, because the French are normally running away from wars, or surrendering in the first hour, so old Pierre was something of a rarity.

Lincoln, slightly alarmed by this rudeness, called a meeting of Congress and asked for 75,000 men to come and help kick some Confederate butt. This dude named Robert E. Lee, who held a high post in the U.S. Army, and who rode around in an orange 1970s’ car with a Confederate flag emblazoned on the roof (I can’t remember if he was the blonde or the brunette though…), was offered charge of the Union army. He spat on the ground and said, “Bite me, Abe!” or words to that effect, causing Lincoln to turn white and call for his mama.

Just after this, Virginia, Arkansas, Tennessee, and North Carolina seceded from the Union also, which left the Union holding only states where people had proper dental hygiene and professional hairdressers. This however, meant that the Confederacy held eleven states, all of dubious orthodontic merit, with a population of nine million people and four million slaves, who, as we all know, are not people at all.

Nine million people with mullets is a pretty scary concern for any attacking army.

Lincoln, getting ticked off with these shenanigans, unleashed a medieval ass whooping in the form of a blockade on Southern Ports, blocking supplies to the south for the rest of the war, causing people to eat their own grandmothers' ear lobes and wear clothing made from leaves. You might not read that anywhere else, because not everyone is as in the know as I am. Word!

In disgust, Robert E. Lee resigned his post in the U.S. army and ran away to Richmond, Virginia, where he had a little girl hissy-fit, before taking over command of the military and naval forces of Virginia for the Confederacy.

Meanwhile, Congress thought, “Oh shit!” and immediately called up 500,000 more men for the Union.

The Union army, headed by a huge Yankee, Irvin McDowell (must've been a pitcher I guess) got their asses handed to them on a platter at Bull Run, southwest of Washington D.C. and Abe replaced McDowell with George B. McClellan, whose head immediately swelled to the size of a large beach ball, with all the power he thought this meant he held over Congress, the president and the country. He was a little bit like Bill O’Reilly today, only with more guns and minus the designer ties.

For the next three years a whole lot of stuff happened. Frequent bloody battles were to the Civil War, what large lapels, armpit sweat, perms and disco were to 1977. In the war there was little dancing but the choreography was eerily similar…

On January 1, 1863, the Emancipation Proclamation went into effect. This was the declaration of freedom for the slaves in those Confederate states not held by the Union, and which people in the South didn’t care for one iota, mainly because it meant they’d have to either pay their slaves, or learn how to wash their own frigging dishes.

The same year Lincoln gave his famous Gettysburg Address which lost me after the second line but which basically called upon people to continue kicking ass for the Union in honor of all the dead soldiers, whom he dedicated the Address to. He then buried all the dead soldiers in General Lee’s back garden and called it Arlington.

In 1864, Lincoln put Ulysses S. Grant in charge of the Union army. This was way before some other dude put him on the fifty dollar note. Grant decided to go after General Lee and some heavy scene went down in Richmond, but I fell asleep during that part in history class and all I can remember was some Confederate ass took a kicking and Lee surrendered like a Frenchman.

That was pretty much the beginning of the end for the Confederacy, since the North had effectively and spitefully cut them off from the vital supplies they needed to continue the war. The last Confederate army surrendered in 1865 in Indian (feathers not dots) Territory, giving the North its victory.

In April 1865 some asshole actor named John Wilkes Booth, who had a lithp lovey, took exception to Lincoln’s support for voting rights for blacks, crept up behind Lincoln in the Ford’s Theater in Washington and shot him in the back of the head. What a gentleman. Lincoln died the next day and as a consolation got his face printed on a five-dollar note, in a portrait that makes him look seasick for all eternity.

Today's Ejamacashunal Essay

2008-05-12T15:18:00.007-05:00

You know what’s weird? Beefeaters!

No, I don’t mean Texans or rampant carnivores who like to tear the flank off a cow with their bare hands and teeth, I mean those guys who guard Buckingham Palace. They might even walk the corgis, because someone has to stop the royal dog poop from staining the antique Persian carpets.

Now I was under the impression that this was a beefeater right here:

However, no, he’s just a guy in a big, fey chapeau who stands emotionless at the Palace gates to scare off ne'er-do-wells and intruders who want to maybe touch the Queen's bottom or like...perverts who want to see Prince Charles.

We like to say things to these fur-hatted fellows, as they aren't allowed to respond or react to anything. You can taunt those guys all day long and insult their mothers and they won’t even be TEMPTED to make you into a kebab with their bayonets. Well they might be tempted, but they're not allowed to do it, so if you go to visit the Palace be sure to greet them with a hearty “FUCK YOU, Q-TIP HEAD!”

No, honestly, they like it!

I don’t understand why it’s necessary to have such a large fur hat though. What does he keep in there and is it something useful like a bottle of gin? ( Beefeater Gin maybe?)

Also, what if that guy has to pee? Maybe he has an elaborate hidden system full of pulleys and secret chambers that direct his pee-pee into a convenient hot water bottle type contraption strapped to his leg?

I mean, it’s a thought, right? And even if this isn't true someone should market that pronto, because there's obviously a huge demand! Someone should open a Cafe Press store and sell them with the Queen's crest emblazoned on them. Because a royal pee vessel is superior to your ordinary, run of the mill pee vessel.

Incidentally, on second thoughts I'm totally patenting that so don't think about it.

This is actually a Beefeater here:

They’re totally gay looking. In fact they look like they are straight out of a “Blackadder” episode in their little lampshade hats and ruffly, frilly shirty things.

You can insult them too but they’re liable to strap you to a cannon ball and launch you at Scotland, so I don’t recommend it. Plus they might LOOK flaming, but they’re ex-military and won’t think twice about decapitating you if you even suggest their mom has a penis.

Haiku Friday

2008-05-09T12:58:00.006-05:00

I'm feeling lazy and boring so it seems fitting that I present to you my Friday so far, in haiku:

Rain can bite my ass
Where is my precious sunshine?
Why is life so hard?

Grilled cheese for the win
Greasy, tasty and so good
Now who's on the phone?

You are strangely mad
Not in a good way either
Shove it up your ass

Hey man, don't feel blue!
You deserve a giant hug
Just come over here

Jesus Effing Christ
Vermont and New Hampshire suck
Which way round are they?

Who is Mike and Why Is His Booze Hard? Because I've Drunk a Lot of It and It's Pretty Soft!

2008-05-05T22:39:00.010-05:00

Dear Mike:

I don't know who the hell you are but you know your shit when it comes to alcoholic goodness, let me tell you. Your Hard Lime in particular is a Guv'ner favourite - filled with tart yet sweet, sultry, citrusy sexiness and sass. Yes Sir, it puts a spring in my jaded old step that's for damn sure. Then I fell over cos things got all blurry after four bottles.

Not that I wish to pick favorites. Your Hard Cranberry also does the trick nicely in a pinch and I see you have a Hard Berry now too, you wicked, wicked boy. I will suck the neck of one of those pretty soon, I am certain.

I'm not a whore though. Sure, I've had dalliances in the past with Corona Light (flighty and only in it for the good times) and Labatt Ice (brooding and incomprehensible), Smirnoff Ice (confused as to its identity - is it vodka or is it a malty lemony drink or something else entirely, I couldn't take the anxiety or ambiguity) and even Scrumpy Jack cider, which used and abused me and made me dance to Bon Jovi IN PUBLIC. Well naturally, that was a fling that had to end.

Since I met you Mike and your Hard goodness (!) I know I never need stand alone amongst the Miller and Coors and substandard alco-pops ever again. I just wanted to say thank you. And that wasn't a burp it was merely the chair.

And your catch phrase there: "Cold, hard and refreshing"? You know what else is cold, hard and refreshing, Mike? ANNA NICOLE SMITH! (Well ok, two out of three ain't bad...)

Cheers!

Redneck EHarmony Profile Rejects

2008-04-28T20:14:00.008-05:00

1) Billy-Bob - Arkansas

Hi their ladies. I am Billy-Bob from Arkansas and here is a fine pictor of me in my swimming pool that I done built myself with my uncle Phil. It keeps the old jewels nice n cool in the summer months when I can't git to the creek. OK so it's really my pickup but don't worry none, I done gone insulated her with a little plastic so her innards don't git all fucked up. I'm looking for a lady of breeding who appreciates corn dogs, the state fair and pig farming and who ain't bothered about gitting on down in the mud or gitting it on in the mud. Yeeha. I'm looking for a big ass, some o'them big boobulas and legs that don't quit. I like's the little chillun, animals and killing pigs with my bear hands.

2) Randy, Alabama

High there ladies, Randy here from Alabama and don't be a feared cuz I might look like a real badass motor scooter and I truly am when it comes to bar fighting and hog wrestling but when it comes to you ladies i am a big old pussycat meoooww! Here's one of my special home made horseshoes for you lovely lady and it will bring you much luck, yes ma'am. It done brung me luck that one time after I snorted down half a hog after a hoe down and needed a place to sit to fart out my inners. Don't worry though, i done sponged it down since. I'm looking for a lady who likes a good time, can handle a moonshine still and who can ride the mekanical bull at the rodeo for more than 30 seconds that's how I know she the lady fur me.

3) Clarence Filburn IV, Louisiana

Goddamit. My buddy Keith wants me to git my ass on here to find me a wimmens. I'm just sick of looking after my damn self when there is perfectly good wimmens out there who kin do it fur me. I've a lot to offer the right wimmens like my castle here behind me and I got the built in air conditioning espeshly in the latrine area as shown above. I used to have the shitter inside the castle but then the damn vermins moved in and shit all over the place and i had to move outside for a spell. I'm looking for wimmens who will pay attenshon to my pecker and cook grits. Maybe you kin do it at the same time? She also need to be stacked like a water melon cart and she needs to know how to shoot a gun cuz the vermins move fast and I ain't got the time.

4) Cletus, West Virginia

Hi there! How yoo doing! Cletus here, good ole boy from West Virginny, yes ma'am. This pitcher is me after the town clam bake and hog roast back in summer 0h sevin. Was a scorcher that day yip. That there in my claw is a little special lemonaid made by Dolores Masterson and full of Jesse Oak's moonshine juice. I thought I had a shot with old Dolores as she a hottie. Wore my special occashun overalls and everything but she done gone made the beast with my cuzzin Fred. Well I say cuzzin but he's also my grandpaw. He says I should come here and find me a hottie of my own so I figure I'd like a blonde with big waps and tiny shorts and some spunk. I'll give her some spunk yes sir. I likes them gals with the sass and the gum. If yous one of those gals gimme a call on the blower with your bra size and bank account details.

5) Lurleen, Texas

IT'S LURLEEN GRADY I'M THE CUTE ONE IN THE PRINCESS CROWN. I AM LOOKING FOR A MAN WHO AIN'T A DAMN SUMVABITCH. MEN IS ALWAYS RUNNING OUT ON ME TO GET CIGARETS AND NEVER COMIN BACK AND I'M ABOUT THRU WITH THAT. I AM A CARING LOVING WOMAN WHO HAS HER OWN BIZNESS DOING NAILS FOR THE TRAILER PARK. THIS PIKSHUR IS LAST JULY 4 WITH MY SISTER JOLENE AT HER HOUSE. SHE GIT HER A HUSBAND WHO DRIVES TRUCKS SO I COME ON HERE TO FIND ME A MAN WHO AIN'T A MOTHERFUCKER. I GIVE GOOD SERVICE AND KIN TELL HIM WHEN HE NEED TO WASH THE DISHES OR BRING ME A PIE. HAD A FELLA NAMED CARL WHO BRUNGED ME A WHOLE PIG TO CHEW. HE WAS GOOD PEOPLE BUT WE HAD TO KILL HIM FOR GIVING MY LITTLE NIECE A BABY WHEN SHE WAS TWELVE. NO ONE CAN PROVE NOTHING.

Six Word Memoirs

2008-04-17T15:44:00.001-05:00

My good bud CHRIS kindly tagged me to do this here meme type thing and naturally I cannot refuse because a) it's only six words long (i.e., my kind of meme!), b) it's all about me (again, MY kind of meme) and c) Who can resist Mr. Radloff's crazy ways? Not I that's for sure. So here it is. I'm not going to go around tagging folks so I say you all do it and do it now.

The rules:

1) Write your own six word memoir
2) Post it on your blog; include a visual illustration if you’d like
3) Link to the person that tagged you in your post, and to the original post if possible
4) Tag at least five more blogs with links
5) Leave a comment on the tagged blogs with an invitation to play!

My Six Word Memoirs (I did six of them to be all about the six. Like the 666 tattooed on my forehead)

My Life Is All About Freedom
Loves Animals But People Must Die
Overly Fixated On Simple Pie Charts
Living Through Mirage of Good Cheese
Expecting The World To Worship Me
Loves Space: Too Lazy To Go

Your turn? Do it in comments if you like! I'm all about the freedom as I said.

How NOT to Write a Blog Entry

2008-04-14T00:36:00.003-05:00

Have you ever wondered what a blog entry written at 1:45 in the morning, while drinking tequila might look like? Well wonder no more! Hi!

I should be going to bed now, I've been told, as it's work in the morning, however, I don't feel like it and since I am not ten years old any more, I don't have to. So there. So instead I thought I'd type some stuff as it comes into my head, which will be an exercise in how not to write anything, ever.

For example, I could tell you that late night Adult Swim is full of cartoons where giant asses talk, deformed, radioactive families live among the normal and giant boxes of French fries float in the air and have a beard and talk and stuff. It's like life on acid except...it's real. Well ok, it's a cartoon, but it's a real cartoon. What? Shut up Guv.

I could also tell you that 1:45AM is the official time of day you most would like to eat onion rings because I suddenly have an enormous craving for them.

I could point out that my neighbour is not long for this world and I know this because I am going to kill him for being a noisy motherfucker who is probably cutting up bodies in his living room judging by the thumping and buzzing sounds coming from in there.

My belly button is itchy, that must mean something.

Finally, who thinks having sex in an igloo sounds like a fun idea? I'm not offering or anything, I just mean in general. I can't explain where that thought came from but I thought I'd throw it out there regardless. Sex in igloos, discuss.

Bring It

2008-04-09T10:11:00.002-05:00

April 24th will be "Bring your Son or Daughter To Work" day once again. I never understand this day. People bring in a bunch of hyperactive little people who don't do any actual work, wear a bunch of oversized free t-shirts and buy the last soda in the cafeteria when you've been looking forward to it all morning and are about to expire from dehydration. I feel that there needs to be similar catering to other, more childless entities like myself when it comes to invading your work day with foreign outside influences.

"Bring a Keg To Work Day" - I would approve this day heartily. A keg would fit under my desk nicely and a long straw running from said keg straight into my mouth would be a good way to spend any day. When you're mainlining Heineken normal workday hassles seem irrelevant. Or so I'm told...moving swiftly on...

"Bring Your Dog To Work Day" - Again, far superior to children, dogs could actually make your day more productive. For a start he can shred documents pretty well. Granted, not usually the ones you had in mind, and sure you still had a couple years wear left in those shoes, but hey. A dog can also finish any lunch scraps you didn't eat and chomp enthusiastically on the cajones of your boss when he's being a giant ass. What's not to like?

"Bring An Attitude To Work Day" - For me, this occurs every day but I'd like to make it official. A whole day where you are not only permitted, but expected to be an ass. "Expense reports you say? Why don't you shove those right up your poop chute and maybe they'll come out the other end making sense."

"Bring a Devious Friend To Work Day" - I can think of no more fun way to spend a day at work than with a similar bad influence. You could play poker (or Canasta if you're over 60 and still devious) smoke doobies, drink absynthe and belch at callers. Bring in a blackjack table and a few hookers and you have yourself a work party.

"Bring a Cake To Work Day" - The world would be a better place if, when you get a little stressed out or flustered, you can put your whole head in a cake. Tell me I'm wrong. You can't can you? Because I am correct.

Get More Intelligent With The Guv'ner

2008-04-02T19:06:00.005-05:00

I thought it was about time I taught all your uneducated heathens a bit about history. Forget what you read in text books, people, this is the story you won't get in school.

Note: This entry is where I manage to singlehandedly insult a) the French (repeatedly) b) Napoleon c) English people d) Sacred September 11th victims and e) George W. Bush (although this one is generally acceptable)

The Guv'ner's Essay on The French Revolution

I’ll keep this as short as possible, because the French Revolution was really, really boring, full of lots of constitutions and extremist groups and who the f*ck knows what else! And besides, let’s face it, who cares? It’s France. Cheese eating, surrendering assmonkeys.

Anyway, Louis XVI - that’s a whole metric shitload of Louies, no? - was the dude who invented the Estates-General in the eighteenth century. Don’t ask me what they did, or what the point of them was, because 1) I don’t know, and 2) I don’t care. All I can tell you is, they apparently disagreed on virtually everything from voting procedures to how much garlic to put in their boef bourgignon.

Anyhow, there was a whole bunch of flea-ridden commoners who controlled this other organization called The Third State – it was never clear to me what in the name of Elvis the other two states were, but whatever, like I said before, it’s France, ok? – and the Third State ended up surprising everyone by gaining control of the Revolution by doing something bogus to someone else, sometime, regarding something or other. It's really not important. I had trouble staying awake that far.

So, anyway, these Third State people took all the privileges away from the Aristocracy and made them cry and wear pink, frilly panties, which would usually be a completely bodacious thing to do, however, despite their “power to the people” philosophy, once the commoners got the power, they didn’t actually bother using it to help any of the poor people, who, as a result, ended up covered in pox and dirt and weeping sores and sleeping in their own feces and not liking it one bit. (A little like rednecks today, except they didn’t have any sofas or a rusty 1955 Chevy with three wheels and a guy in a wife beater scratching his balls, in the back yard.)

They decided it would be good ethics and like totally outstanding, to take the monarchy away from Louis, but Louis had a great big girlie huff about not being king anymore, because not being king sucks I suppose, and so he did what any real man would do faced with the threat of being denounced – he ran away to England to eat caviar and do rich man, nancy-boy things, with lots of gay looking dudes in white wigs and tights. However, he never quite made it as he was captured near the French border and made a prisoner of the French people who tickled his balls with a feather, or something equally gay and French.

Because of all this hilarity with the monarchy, monarchs in other countries like Prussia and Austria got their panties in a knot and decided to make a big French stew. They marched on France with their armies, causing France to run out of bread and start to panic. Well, you would wouldn’t you? During the whole September 11th 2001 thing, we here in lower Manhattan ran out of bread AND milk, and pizza went up 50 cents a slice! It wasn’t pleasant at all!

Then in some manner, that escapes me right now, a bunch of French radicals, known as “The National Convention”, took over operations in France. The most famous radical of this group was Maximilien Robespierre, who had a silly name that was also spelled wrongly by the looks of it, and he and his cronies demanded help for the poor by taking over the government and commencing an almighty “reign of terror” against their enemies.

Right on Maxie!

This reign of terror was a major can of whoop ass, which killed 250,000 people in nine months, which is more than even Kraft Macaroni Cheese!

After this, things got a little out of control, although I can’t remember how exactly, and to be perfectly honest, I couldn’t care less, but Robespierre ended up being executed by his own justice system, which must have been a bit of a bummer to say the least. The French like to execute people almost as much as George W. Bush. Whether they also enjoy cowboy boots, barbecuing and butchering the English language as much, remains to be seen.

Anyway all this palaver led to a new constitution being written in 1795, which annoyed a bunch of people, which, in turn, induced some sort of a coup d’état by none other than tiny, snack-sized, odd hat-wearing crazy man, Napoléon Bonaparte, and mama, at Waterloo Napoleon did surrender, whoa yeah.

This is already more than you need to know.

Honestly, you can thank me later.

There Is A Porcupine Living In My Head

2008-03-29T12:14:00.003-05:00

Notes from last night and despite what I said, the typos have been removed for the good of humanity:

12:10AM: Damn, these margaritas are good. And a little on the potent side. I wonder how long it's going to take to get a buzz from these suckers!

12:20AM: Oh yeah. There it is! That was fast! Tequila is the devil's drink. The devil and I have so much in common. I don't have horns though. I'm not touching that...

1:00AM: What the eff are "tenichlatilies" Danny? I'm thinking someone's even more buzzed than I am. Long Island Iced Teas, jeeze. That dude is going to hit the deck hard, later. Victory is so mine.

1:19AM: My toes are feeling odd. Like they're not really part of the rest of me. Sort of like Monaco and France. My toes are a principality, yo! I can still type though so far. I've only corrected 300 typos so far...

2:05AM: I can still spell "thalidomide" with a buzz on. Anyone would think I'd typed that 500 times this week already or something. Haha no one will ever know how funny that is.

3:00AM: Haha, this conversation is about fourteen different kinds of inappropriate right now. I'm not sure there's anyone left to offend on Earth. It's also a new record I believe. Normally ten is my limit.

3:33AM: Yeah. There is no way this transcript is going public. Like, EVER. Can the FBI monitor these things? Should I move?

3:46AM: Note to self: Your pants are inside out.

4:02AM: Other note to self: Do not close eyes at any point. Think riding on a moving freight train. Also? Do not admit this to the enemy.

4:04AM: Like the enemy is at all coherent.

4:59AM: Holy freaking shit. We are not right. Current topics of conversation: drugs, pick up trucks, oil fields and something totally unprintable about George Bush and Saddam Hussein's forbidden love.

5:12AM: I wouldn't bet money on it but I have a feeling my tongue is too big for my mouth.

5:25AM: I am about 300% certain there is a foreign hostile takeover going on inside my head that will come to a point during most of tomorrow.

6:06AM: Drinking water now. I think I'm getting away with it...

6:38AM: What's that huge light outside my window. Turn that thing off! Oh....it's the sun. Fuck!

7:00AM: I already have a hangover and I haven't gone to bed yet. This is alarming.

7:29AM: Hahaha Dan is like...seventeen sheets to the wind right now. It looks like a Tasmanian Devil on crack has taken over his keyboard. I'll spare you the details. Plus he's typing what looks like a load of left over Scrabble letters. Looks like a town in Hungary.

7:34AM: The quiz to decide the winner's going to have to wait until I can think a coherent thought again. Plus I'm not sure Dan knows where he is right now.

7:40AM: Yeah, bed time. I may already be asleep. I know my toes are. And I know my dignity died about 3 hours ago.

The T-Shirt Tag

2008-03-20T21:21:00.005-05:00

My good bud Suze made me…I mean…asked me if I’d be so kind as to do this t-shirt meme thingy. The idea is to pick five t-shirts you own and write something about each, or something to that effect. I don’t do well with instructions, I just see “blah blah blah” and dive right in. Anyway, my response was, "ONLY FIVE?" because really, all my t-shirts are splendid and tell a story and I could go on for probably three weeks!

OK, I’m suddenly seeing the point of choosing five now.

I believe I’m supposed to tag some people to do similar, so I tag, you and you and oh yeah…you! Have at it. Seriously, all of you go do it, I want to see what crap you all have in your wardrobes then we’ll see who gets to be all high and mighty.

So here, with no further ado – The Guv’ner’s T-shirts

Bobz Bunz – Best Bunz in Town

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, "Guv, I honestly am having a hard time seeing a cultured, educated, classy, upper class toff like yourself wearing something featuring such a crass slogan!" And you would be at least partially correct, my friends. I have never actually worn "Best Bunz In Town" in public. Not because I wouldn’t wear such a fine piece of high-class garb, so much as the fact the shirt is almost the exact same color as my skin, therefore wearing it in a public place might cause cars to crash into rivers or something, when drivers with short attention spans think I’m walking around topless sporting a tacky tattoo on my chest. It was an oversight on my part when I bought it.

In my defense, Bobz Bunz is from the fabulous Islamorada diner in the Florida Keys and I did fall heavily and truly in love with Bobz Bunz on my visit. His buns were huge, sticky and brimming with cream cheese, so given those filthy odds I defy you not to have bought his t-shirt. Plus, it reminds me of long hours of sunshine, ocean, palm trees, liquor and getting my ass evacuated by a hurricane the very day after I arrived. Thanks Rita, you punkass bitch. And the moral of this tee? Never go on vacation with The Guv’ner. She will get you either, a) arrested, b) killed, c) evacuated, or d) chased by an alligator. Of course if you like adventure, hell, gimme a call!

Small Stars

Austin’s Small Stars are one of my favourite bands, maybe my favourite. I know, I know, you’ve never heard of them. No one has. But what’s the point in having a favourite band that everyone knows? Hmmm? Then I couldn’t pull an "I am better than you plebs in my hipster superiority!" type of defense. I wouldn’t be a quarter as awesome as you all know I am, if I liked Bryan Adams or something, right?

Naturally, you should go check The Small Stars out immediately anyway because they rock to an almost epic proportion of fantasticness. Their song "Bombarderos Y Pistoleros" especially, makes my entire world rock out with its cock out. That song just lights my fire. And believe me. You will be lying there one night, just about to drop over that line into a deep, relaxing slumber when boom, the intro to "Bombarderos" will start pounding in your brain until sleep is futile and you have to get your ass out of bed and dance around the house in your underwear, playing your imaginary washboard. Yes, I said washboard. Do you wish to say something?

Sure, they’re a real band made up of fake characters but they write a mean, catchy song and so my friends, this is why I have the t-shirt. It’s a fairly small babydoll shirt so I can’t eat for about a week before I wear it or it gets a little tight and things get a touch obscene in the breastular region. Let’s just leave it at that...

Mello Yello

Mello Yello is the coolest soda on Earth. Except Barr’s Irn Bru. But that’s in a league of its own. Mello Yello is the best American soda on Earth, how about that? Not only does it boast a cunning use of pineapple, but it’s harder to find in NYC than a straight waiter. In fact, one of the Subway Sandwiches franchises, right here in downtown, by the World Trade Center is the only place in Manhattan I know who offers its wondrous fizzy nectar for sale. Before I discovered this, I used to actually head to Chuck E. Cheese in Brooklyn to find heaven. Now tell me that’s dedication! Or desperation. Whatever, who asked you? Oh wait, I did. Anyway, yeah, it’s basically a trade off. One cup of Mello Yello cost 99 cents and about two thirds of your sanity because you have to drink it surrounded by 80 shrieking six year olds. On the way out they give you a free gallon of the stuff and a medal for perseverance. At least on the days you’re not handcuffed and on your way to the slammer…

The shirt’s awesome but virtually unwearable. I mean look at the colour. I’m crazy but I’m not howling at the Moon, crazy! I’m a reddish haired pale chick, if I wore that shirt in public I’d get arrested for crimes against fashion. All it needs to complete the felony is some royal blue pants with suspenders and some big, red clown shoes. It's actually a junior's t-shirt but I'm not proud. Because, it’s Mello Yello people. I sleep in it, because it’s awesome. The shirt I mean, not the soda. That would be pervy.

Homosassa Springs

I got this t-shirt in Florida from the Wildlife Preservation park there of the same name. It’s a man’s t-shirt actually and way too large, so it’s pretty much sleep material. I have worn it on the odd occasion with some leggings to run a swift errand in the neighbourhood, when I’m 100% positive I won’t run into someone I know. In fact, the last time I wore it was on a warm summer’s day last year which just happened to be the same day as the Gay Pride parade which runs through my neighbourhood. I went out, ran an errand, bought a drink and sat down in the park near my apartment to enjoy the weather. The park was full of me on my own and 100 people draped in rainbow flags who’d been enjoying the parade. It wasn’t till I got up to leave and glimpsed my reflection in a store window, I realized my messenger bag strap cut across the logo, splitting it in two, so it looked like I was wearing a shirt that said "Homos" and "ass". Nice. Hey never say I’m not topical.

Let’s Play Global Thermonuclear War

C’mon people, this shirt is the bees knees. Am I wrong? Who doesn’t fill their pants at that line in "War Games" when Matthew Broderick realizes the computer isn’t playing a game? Plus it’s a real geeky t-shirt and I’m a real geek. Nerd. Dork. I know, you’re thinking "Really Guv? You hide it so well! We’d never have realized if you’d just kept your trap shut!"

Like the Small Stars shirt it is very fitted so it might as well say "HERE ARE MY BOOBS!" OK it’s not that bad. It’s short though. You have to be careful when you reach for stuff unless you want the world sticking things in your belly button. And really, who wants that? I mean I usually charge for that service.

Your turn!

Homicide Haiku

2008-03-19T21:20:00.007-05:00

Guv'ner is pissed off

Damn loud neighbour must die now

Butcher knife in heart

The Excellent Files

2008-03-13T20:51:00.004-05:00

OK I promise this is the last X-Files post for a while and it's brief. Mulder's been dispatched to the desert to find a downed alien spacecraft. This is the trailer.

"Hey Scully! Can you hear me? Can you hear me now?"

"What's that? No, I'm not wearing eye shadow Scully. I just haven't slept in three days. I'm in the desert. Yeah, the desert. I've had reports of a downed alien spacecraft. I brought my pointy alien killing thingy just incase! What's that again? No, it's the weirdest thing. I have 30 points of articulation and I still can't get this damn cell phone all the way to my ear. I'm not yelling!"

"Sh*t Scully, I think I found it. It's...it's amazing. No sign of life though. What should I do? I know! I'll recite a really long paragraph full of impressive jargon and intellectual phrases in a serious monotone, then I'll approach it cautiously! I got my piece out. OH...and my gun!"

"Scully! I know I hung up five minutes ago, but I need to talk to someone. Hey, there's weird alien hieroglyphics on the side. It....It says....I.K.E.A."

"HOLY SHIT!!! What the f*ck!? Where'd the sun go? The craft is glowing!"

"Goddamn it Scully. The sun's back and there's an alien in front of me. He's already dead. I never even got to use my pointy alien killing thing! I never get to have any fun."

To never be continued....

What? Do you think I have all day for this crap?

The Sex Files

2008-03-05T23:14:00.005-05:00

In this episode of "the Guv'ner has too much time on her hands", I bring you - The Sex Files. I actually posted this at Live Journal before, but I thought you all might like it. Don't say I never show you nothin'.

I've managed to get hold of the secret, never seen before episode of "The X-Files" that Fox tried to ban. Would I lie to you? Tsk! I am hurt you doubt me.

If you're still on dial up, what the hell is wrong with you? Also, I'd quit now.

SCULLY is in the morgue late at night about to perform an autopsy

So now you know...

Hey You! Get Off Of My Cloud

2008-03-03T13:52:00.004-05:00

Am I the only person out there with issues regarding “personal space”? I’ve just been noticing a lot lately that some people in lines just can’t seem to stand close enough to me. Maybe I'm exceptionally fragrant and lovely, I don't know. One guy the other day was practically inside my pants - in a non-vulgar sense. I know I’m fabulous but could you tone it down a little fella? My Thetons are overheating.

I LOVE THIS WOMAN!

Then today I am in our quarter-empty cafeteria having a late-lunchtime sandwich and soda and looking out the window, when this rotund fellow comes over with his food, ignoring the twenty or so empty tables all around me, and says, “Can I sit with you since you’re on your own?” like he’s doing some enormous favor to the poor girl with no friends who is sitting in isolation because she obviously hasn't heard of deodorant or has The Cooties.

Um…listen fella, I am here on my own because I want to be. I could sit at my desk and chat to everyone while I eat, but I really kind of like spending one hour of the day by myself with my thoughts, my sandwich and the view, which doesn’t include you. Plus I have a messy sandwich full of tomato and condiments, I don’t need to be dripping it all over the table and my chin while you’re sitting there staring at me, freak-boy. I mean I’m a friendly, tolerant (yes really!), polite person but really.

There was this other time when I was on a crowded bus home and this fifty something, portly, mustache-sporting gentleman asked if he could have the seat next to me. “Sure, it’s free.” I said, because the bus was busy and the seat was empty, I mean I’m no seat hogger and it’s public domain and all.

I’d like to ask that gentleman, which part of “Sure, it’s free” translated as, “Hey fella, why don’t you take over three quarters of our double bench with your vast spread-open leggitude while you spend 45 minutes telling me the history of every, single building on Fifth Avenue that we pass on the way downtown, being sure to point out particular locations where various ex-girlfriends have lived or died, while making amazingly cheesy and unfunny jokes and nudging me at every punchline!”?

Which part of me looking out of the window in an effort to hint that, “I’m a little tired and would like to be left alone if you don’t mind” made you think I would possibly be interested in going for “pizza and some drinks” with you and your friend Kevin who still lives with his mom at 57?

I don't know. I'm just desirable I guess.

And What You Are Is A Crack Whore With No Fashion Sense

2008-02-27T20:04:00.011-05:00

photo by Jeremy Scott

Hi! Lindsay Lohan here! Yeah I know, like...a superstar like ME, in this piece-of-shit blog thing. When I learn to read I'm so going to write someone an angry email about suing. So like, I thought I'd share my newest cover photo for next month's "Paper" magazine. I was psyched to do this shoot because it's a very elite publication. I turned down like....100 other shoots to do this one you know. I totally made the people at "Dog Fancy" cry! Yeah! Anyway, Paper's really high class so you philostines probably never even heard of it. Anyway, they totes wanted me to do it as I'm like...the biggest skan...star...I'm the biggest STAR in the world.

Of course they wanted me to look really sexy as usual cuz sex sells suckas. Like I could be anything else. I wake up sexy. I go to bed sexy. I take a steaming dump sexy. You all just wish you were as sexy as me.

I'm wearing this chic little silk Chinese inspired number here to highlight my fabulousness and it is SUBTLE, cuz like, it doesn't even show my whole boobs! I feel like an Amish lady.

OK, well, look, maybe it's not SILK so much as polyester but it's really hot.

Talking of hot, oh my God, my special place itches like a shit. That's what my daddy calls it "my special place". At least when he's sober and not trying to kill my mom. Granted, it's less special nowadays and more like a YMCA for b-list actors and homeless guys with accents. I wonder if there's a pharmacy round here that sells Vagisil. Or Monostat. I wonder if this is what they mean by FIRECROTCH...

Are my legs blotchy? I think the people at Paper totes made my legs look blotchy. Oh wait, it's my freckles. Some guy just said I look like a whore but I don't pay attention to that sort of thing. Good luck finding a whore who can blow three Italian men in one night while wearing VERSACE, asshole! I've had more spicy man-sausage in my oven than a German Bratwurst factory.

Where is Germany anyway? Is it near Florida?

The Funny Part of Tragic

2008-02-25T15:24:00.005-05:00

I'm so sorry. I had to post this because it's so goshdarn funny. Just when you thought that pictures of Amy Winehouse couldn't get any more tragically funny, today I saw THIS. I mean I know it's not funny to mock the afflicted but dude. How high do you have to be to leave the house looking like that? Because I'm thinking at least "sub-orbit" possibly higher.

Another Britney Moment

2008-02-24T17:16:00.006-05:00

In case you're wondering, "What does the Guv do with her downtime, with those moments home, relaxed and with time on her hands?"

Well, here is your answer. While looking through some folders on my laptop I found the following from a few months ago that I made then promptly forgot about. So just for you, dear friends, the Guv'ner presents: MY BRITNEY.

It's rather NSFW so you'd think, out of the kindness of my heart, I'd put it under some sort of cut wouldn't you? HA! Suckers.

I know. I'm sorry, truly.

The Guv'ner Pretends There Are No Embarrassing '80s Photos Of The Porcupine That Lived On Her Head

2008-02-22T16:00:00.009-05:00

This entry is for everyone, but I dedicate it especially to FALWLESS, Catholic schoolgirl and Jesus' personal home girl.

You see, unlike Falwless, as a little child, Jesus most certainly did not love me, nor did he touch me in any way (because that would be a felony) since I was a godless heathen who ate babies and puppies. Here I am right here, looking 6 years old and Scottish - both of which I was - and if you look real hard you can see Satan's reflection in my 6 year old blue eyes. Yes, I was a tomboy child. Yes, I wore that sweater of my own free will. It was part of a set of fashion statement pieces I like to call "desperate 1970s' hell". Don't worry, that non descript hair soon became a big, spikey '80s pineapple of hell. And yes, despite this picture, I DO have eye lashes.

I'll spare you the 1980s' photos mainly because I've burned them all due to the eye burning danger element and my desire not to get my ass sued for cruelty. Ok, I admit, I do have some and one day I will scan them and in a particularly low, drunken move, post them here for hilarity purposes.

For now, here's one from the mid 90s of myself and my big-faced sister.

I should point out that I have no idea, a) why her face is the size of a small planet as it really isn't in real life, b) why we look like we've never seen the sun - damn photobooths and their flash of death, c) Why I have no chin, d) Why we share two parents but look nothing alike. e) Why I look totally cheesed off.

Around this time, I was playing in a band so here's one from about the same time of me looking uber-cool, like the freaking ghost of Kurt Cobain or something. Gosh, you are pointing a camera at me, I HAD NO IDEA! Allow me to caress my Les Paul and pretend you don't exist.

Now here's one from 2005, taken at a weird "My Space" type of angle that makes me look like my face is totally squished and that I have a giant, Karl Malden nose (I do NOT). I have no excuse for that hairstyle (two pony tails, I am hip!) or the fact I'm standing in front of a shower curtain.

Don't you feel like you know me now?

How Low Can YOU Go?

2008-02-21T14:48:00.014-05:00

You know what's funny? Duets are funny.

No, no, I'm not talking about Barbra "Mecca" Streisand and Kenny "Beard" Rogers singing "You Don't Bring Me Flowers" (Or its lesser known but still relevant trade title: "You Don't Give Me Herpes") or Elton John and Kiki Dee crooning their ginormously, annoyingly catchy 1970s' pop hit, "Don't Go Breaking My Heart" (Trade: "Don't Go Breaking A Fart").

No, I'm talking about the sort of duet that occurs when you emit a particularly violent sneeze and as a golden bonus, an unexpected keester-kamikaze at the same time.

Not that I am suggesting I would ever do this. I am a lady therefore I don't emit gases of any sort from my posterior (only Jade plug-in scents in peaches and cream). However, let's say for a moment someone else busted a sneeze with such gusta that out popped an air grenade, unannounced? That would be very hilarious, no? Take my word for it. It would be even more hilarious if the butt-muffin and the sneeze were in the same key and produced a little light harmonizing. Like a barber's shop quartet of bodily expulsions. A Satanic Butt Orchestra.

Which may be the name for my new band.

This would probably not be cute, however, if one were to get the ratio slightly wrong and sneeze viciously only to realize they had stamped their underpants with a beige daisy. I know because this happened to my friend Timo while on a conference call and he was so surprised he had to email me about it.

Farts are funny.

This public service announcement brought to you by the Guv'ner, aged 7.

Happy You Know What

2008-02-14T13:01:00.001-05:00

For all you lovely people. The Guv'ner loves you.

(pilfered and altered from FALWLESS' even funnier Jew Card)

The Guv'ner is Cross

2008-02-13T20:49:00.007-05:00

There's nothing screams "I'M A BRIT!" quite like standing in the supermarket line clenching a jar of Roses' Lime Marmalade in your sweaty fists. Well, except maybe standing in a supermarket line wearing a Union Jack t-shirt while sporting a skinhead and featuring a tattoo of the Queen.

Naturally I was doing that as well. Look. Apparently I was also a zombie, but no law says you can't multi-task.

Scary isn't it? Maybe I should do it for real and freak my coworkers out? Anyway, lime marmalade is the cat's bollocks. (Not literally, that would be gross!)

This damn writer's strike will be the death of me. There's only so much Vagina Vision one can take, you know. Lifetime, LMN, O. Hallmark. Movies where fancy dressed soccer mom types solve murders. Where widowed housewives rent their guest house to some suave but overly creepy dude, with poufy hair and amazingly he turns out to be a pyscho mad stalker type who video tapes her in the shower and then tries to kill her with her own panty hose. Whoa dude, no one saw that coming!

I'd actually like to see the national, female suicide rate for the period of the strike. There must be thousands of TV addicted women throwing themselves out of windows and slicing into their wrists, while muttering, "Not fucking Valerie Bertinelli again!" and "What does Richard Grieco DO these days anyway?" and "You'll always be LAURA INGALLS, bitch!" I blame Canada for making movie making affordable. Damn you Canadia.

End the damn strike already!

Hobos and Miscreants Line Up Here

2008-02-07T15:36:00.000-05:00

Once, while a touch intoxicated, I let my guard down and kissed a dude with a moustache. Not the “permitted” type of moustache either, for example, that which is attached to a cute goatee or a nicely trimmed beard, no, I'm talking about a little bum-fluff, downey, trainee moustache, the sort that screams, “I aspire to grow a mullet, wear plaid and belch hilariously when I grow up!”.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “Just how high were you at this point in time, Guv’ner?” and you could be forgiven for thinking it. However, I had merely partaken of a few stiff ciders and I was 18 and this volatile combination of these two combustible elements made for a very dangerous evening. Thinking back, this is probably why having a legal drinking age of 18 is probably not a wise idea.

Even while I was dancing with Mr. Suave, I knew it was wrong. I just didn’t much care. I was inebriated and happy and I was looking sassy, thanks for asking. I was at an indie show and the band had been great, the drinks were cheap and the world was my oyster. And given that analogy, when you consider I could’ve gone for the pearl, I instead decided it was wise to snog some moustachioed undesireable who looked like Joe Dirt.

This was the first of many undesirable men I would kiss over the years, for varying reasons, because I was an equal opportunities kisser and thought I was doing my part for humanity. I mean for some of those men, who would kiss them if not me? See? Call it the good deed of my lifetime. A public service if you will. (I didn’t “public service” any of them though, don’t go thinking it.)

Mr. Moustache though was a strange oversight. Kissing him was like kissing a particularly hyperactive slug – one that had digested a bunch of crack causing it to wander around my mouth aimlessly banging off my teeth. And he sort of grunted while he was kissing me which creeped me out because I kept envisioning opening my eyes and noticing that I was actually kissing a pig.

After about two minutes of this I claimed I needed another drink and while he went to fetch it, I ran off and hid in the cloakroom where two of my girlfriends staged an intervention that went something like, “You are coming home with us RIGHT NOW, miss, you will NEVER drink again and you will gargle mouthwash until your lips burn off.” And next thing I know I’m in the back of the car, still drunk, singing Pogues songs and going “Did you see that guy? Did you see him? He was NASTY! Did you see that guy?”

Yes indeed they saw. And proceeded to remind me of him for the next 10 damn years.

A few days later Joe Dirt called my house. Yes, I’d actually given him my phone number. My real phone number! I guess I was drunker than I thought. Luckily, I was sober by then and managed to get out of the whole thing. This was also the first of many times that would happen over the years – in particular there seemed to be a slew of hippies and other people no one else wanted anything to do with, that I’d encounter in clubs, feel sorry for, dance with, let follow me around all night then a few days later they’d call and I’d have to instruct my sister to say I had gone on a very important mission to Timbuktu, possibly never to return. Thankfully I didn't kiss many of them. But still.

I don't know what was wrong with me. I'm quite picky nowadays about whose tongue I allow to sweep my molars.

The Guv'ner Gets Creepy

2008-01-30T23:27:00.000-05:00

Someone called me out recently because I happened to mention that I don’t watch much in the way of TV shows. “Are you some kind of pervert?” they wanted to know? “Who doesn’t watch TV? What do you have to do in the evenings that's so important? What are you, a serial killer?”

I can’t help it. I have never seen “Heroes” or “Lost” or “Gossip Girl” or “The O.C.” or “Will and Grace” or that abominable sit-com that Charlie Sheen is in, or "American Idol" or "Survivor" or that tart Tila Tequila, or a multitude of other offerings from recent years. I just don’t watch many current shows mainly because they are either reality shows, which I hate, or they are ridiculous dramas featuring overly pretty people in designer clothes and perfect eyebrows, emoting all over the damn place without their make up even running.

If it’s not one of those it’s guaranteed to be a law enforcement show about some police types or government agency, running around being angsty with guns and still sporting the perfect hair and make up.

I don’t have much patience for all this perfection. Therefore, my TV viewing is restricted for the most part to older quality shows, because I am a TV snob. My favourite shows are quite lovely and apart from being quality, well-written dramas, they feature some quite bodacious gentlemen. Not that the Guv’ner watches TV shows for the men, of course, but she is certainly not complaining if some happen to find their way in there. And none of them are perfectly coiffed and wearing Armani thank you very much. Think of the eye candy as a bonus. Like the frosting on the cake. The cherry on the cocktail.

One of my very favourite shows ever made is the outstanding Baltimore detective show, “Homicide: Life on the Street” and I fully believe if you don’t like this show, you are missing a chromosome and should just end it all now because there is no hope for you to ever win at life. I mean the show is real, gritty, funny, disturbing, haunting, hard-hitting and if I can just throw it out there for a moment – hosting some prime eye-candy for the Guv’ner’s discerning gaze. I mean I can’t help but notice. Sue me.

Take Detective Lewis here. I would certainly like to! A mere photo doesn't do him justice, but what a prime hunk of big, black, sexy, manly man. The way he fingers his big, steel Glock with a glint in his eye. The way he bites into a doughnut. The wicked grin as he’s joshing with the scary, rubber-faced Richard Belzer. The aloof leather fedora he likes to wear to crime scenes. He just oozes sex. The raunch is just enormous! Get me to a nunnery.

Then there’s Detective Bayliss. There’s a lot a lady can do with a tall, lanky, white guy with brown eyes and floppy hair and a penchant for complaining and trying to be deep. Because honestly, the more neurotic he gets the more the Guv’ner would like to teach him a few hard lessons on the floor of her living room. Yes ma’am! Look at him. He’s just asking for some Guv Luv. You know it’s true.

Moving on in a timely fashion, my other all time favourite show is the X-Files. Contrary to what you might believe, I did not have the hots for David Duchovny at all even if he did look cute in a suit. That was more my sister’s domain. She made it clear that if I stole her love for Agent Mulder she would cut me. No, I loved Mulder in purely an innocent, sisterly way. If I was alone with him I’d make him play Scrabble and watch a chick flick and we’d braid each other’s hair and eat nachos.

The X-Files was an amazingly atmospheric show with some inventive storylines. It was a great accomplishment of film making for the small screen.

Naturally, I must also add that Alex Krycek was totally smokin' hot for an evil, double-crossing agent dude. Look? Did someone turn the heat up in here? If I got him alone in a room I’d chain his wicked ass to the radiator and do things to him with a feather, chocolate pudding and evil intent until he was my slave forever. I mean the Guv is only human after all. If he didn't want such treatment, he shouldn't be looking all leather clad and brooding should he? No!

“But do you like any current shows at all Guv?” you may ask. Well heavens child! Of course I do. I love South Park and the fact it pushes the envelope to the limit every year then proceeds to outdo itself in the next season. Of course it doesn’t host any eye candy unless you count 9 year old boys made out of construction paper. That would just be wrong even for the Guv.

I also love “Medium” but Patricia Arquette isn’t my type, mainly because she has a vagina. Therefore, that’s all I’m going to say about that.

Wasn’t that enlightening? It's like you can see into my soul.

Can You Feel My Love Buzz?

2008-01-26T00:30:00.000-05:00

Hey there! Yes, you! You're looking FANTASTIC. Yes, really! No, don't listen to that guy, you're beautiful. I might kiss you.

The Guv'ner is a little TANKED right now having succumbed to the evils of tequila finally. Icy, frozen, made with fresh strawberries tequila. It just took me five attempts to type "strawberries" because I HAVE RUBBER FINGERS! And a serious buzz. Typing with rubber fingers and a buzz on is laborious and dangerous all at once. But you people...you are worth it. The Guv'ner loves you all.

Myself, and my lovely boy-toy El Codo, put on our party pants and went to my fave Mexican bar which coincidentally and quite conveniently, is just across the street from my apartment. Within handy staggering distance, one may say. Their margaritas are frozen, gigantic (they come in a freaking sundae glass) made with fresh fruit and potent as holy shit. Is holy shit potent? Can shit even BE holy? And does it matter?

Anyway, I am out of practice with the old alcohol consumption due to recent financial hardships, therefore, it doesn't take many of these colossal beasts to push me over the edge into the drunken void. There must be eight shots in those suckers. I'm not even kidding. My tongue just quadrupled in size and gave me a lisp! And I think it's possible I have no toes. Or someone replaced them with french fries! And I love everybody!

But I am in control, people. The past will not be repeated. I will not wake up tomorrow still wearing one shoe because I got exhausted half way through undressing and gave up. Ahem, not that that's happened before, you understand. Well, not more than twice anyway.

Hey, it's the weekend goddammit.

Long Meme Makes the Guv'ner Flippant

2008-01-09T13:21:00.000-05:00

I stole this excessive meme from Miss Wendy B. so you can blame her for the tedium. Thank you.

Do your closest friends have any nicknames for you?

None that they’d dare tell me about to my face. I have a feeling the words “psychopath” and “delusional” would feature quite heavily.

What would your ex-(boyfriend/girlfriend/spouse) say about you in one sentence?

He’d say “Man, I really let the most wonderful woman in the whole world go, I am a peckerhead of the highest magnitude and a first class moron!”

What is the greatest achievement of your life so far?

I’m still here. Maintaining an astounding level of immaturity that will probably continue until I’m 92.

How should people think of sex in this, the 21st century?

A little like jogging only without standing in dog shit.

Where would you live if anywhere was possible?

In my vivid imagination. You have no idea the magnificent scope of my imagination.

Is there a sex toy that you would endorse?

I don’t know…is there a good looking RealDoll type of male figure that cooks, tells good jokes and vibrates in all the right places?

Is there a religion that's fulfilling for you and/or the masses?

The Religion of Cheese. I invented it. We all gather and drink wine and worship a wheel of Dutch Edam. We get a tax break and everything.

What inspires awe in your life's experience?

Nature. I’m really a tree-hugger at heart. Save the Earth! Do they know it’s Christmas time at all?

What and when is the most potent emotion you've ever experienced and why?

Lust and anger. If you say otherwise you’re lying.

On what occasions do you act self-absorbed or just plain selfish? If someone assigned you a quest, or if you decided your own, what would you be looking to find?

Selfish? If there are two people and only one chocolate I can see that happening. As for the rest of the question, say what?

If you had to choose between them, would you live in Hollywood, Washington D.C. or New York, and why?

Well I’m already IN New York and have little desire to live in either of the other two places I’d have to say….Santa Fe.

Who or what makes you feel "whole”?

Big, open scenery like the ocean or the desert or the Scottish Highlands. Or a good margarita (frozen, no salt).

Where is your greatest opportunity for change?

I'd say the best place to get change is a bank. Drumcrash.

What do you consider to be the greatest opportunity for humankind?

I’m all about space travel. We need to know what’s out there and more importantly, who. And if their ears are pointy.

What surprises you about getting older?

That you don’t feel any different than you did at 21, you just KNOW more.

What or who makes you feel younger or rejuvenated?

I think I’ll always feel like I’m 25 inside. Music is a good one though. Music can take you anywhere. Even Iceland.

Where or when do you feel most alone?

In a crowded room. I know it’s a cliché but it’s true. I only ever feel lonely in a crowd of people. I don't really feel lonely much. I like lonely.

Where or how is society most ripe for change?

Well wherever people don’t change their underpants regularly, certainly.

Do you think of yourself as attractive to the opposite sex?

I’m more of the girl-next-door, tomboy type whose shoulder they cry on when their girlfriends dump them.

When or where do you feel the most free?

On a sunny, deserted beach or in Death Valley. Or when I’m driving.
.
What is the greatest memory of your life to date?

I don’t think I can pick one thing. My most vivid and traumatic memory was the death of my dog. I’m more of an animal person than a people person so it affected me a lot. I think I started getting cynical after that. Before I was all angelic and stuff.

Where and when did you find out who you really are?

Well I have my birth certificate! I mean DUH.

How and when do you collect your thoughts and why?

Seriously, do I seem like someone who collects their thoughts ever?

If someone told you when and where you would die, what would you do immediately after being told?

Well first I’d drink till I fell down. Then I’d inform all my friends never to let me go to that place. Then, assuming my death date was many years in the future I’d party like a monster and do all sorts of crazy stunts knowing I would be fine since I wasn’t going to die for many years. See? Logic at its best.

What are the best parts of being in love?

Anticipation. When that person is the most exciting person in the world.

What's your favorite libation (a drink offered to a god)?

MARGARITA of course. Again, frozen, no salt.

What "life philosophies" have you adopted since you've become an adult?

“Adulthood is seriously overrated.” Oh yes. And "Never lick your own or anyone else's arm pit."

How would you like to be remembered?

I think a bigger than life-sized statue of me in a bikini would suffice.

7 Random Things About The Guv'ner You Have No Desire To Know

2008-01-04T10:00:00.000-05:00

That mischievous beeyotch, TERI has tagged me to do this meme thingy, and since this blog lately seems to be all about the meme, here it is! Try not to faint with the joy.

Seven Random (or Weird) Things About Me. (only seven??)

I don't burp. Really. It's not an etiquette thing or some noble reason like that, it's just that I can't. I try really hard. I want to be able to burp words like my sister Ahnnie. She can say things like "BOLLOCKS!" while burping and this is a talent I long for. She got all the talent in cool stuff and I got none. (She can also do that wolf whistle thing with two fingers that can hail cabs two miles away. I can't do that either.) I only burp maybe once a year if I get taken by surprise by a super gassy soda or something and even then it's a weak yelp that no one can hear and I'm more surprised than anyone. So surprised in fact I have to advertise it to anyone in the vicinity. "Did you hear that? That was me! I let rip with a mouth-fart!" I do make up for the lack of burping prowess by emitting gasses from my rear at regular intervals and blaming the cat.

I have fantasies about moving into one of those perfect showrooms at IKEA full of furniture called Krav and Hub and Stankar.

I secretly like mariachi music. The simplicity. Harmonies and Spanish guitar. Perfectly melodious. Big-assed sombreros and sequins! Ahem...yes.

Sometimes, at home, I talk to myself in French.

I wish all my neighbours would move out and disappear and that the new people moving in would all be older, quiet, childfree, enjoy solitude and have no urge to party or play loud music, but not be too old that they'd fall asleep soaked in gin and set the house on fire with a stray candle.

When I was three I fell over, hit my face off a shop window and split my lip open, requiring stitches. I can still remember every moment of this incident including the sewing of the lip and having to eat custard and soup for a week. I know, how interesting.

I once recorded an E.P. of "comedy" songs about British celebrities I hated and sold it at my band's shows. I recorded it on a four track in my bedroom and produced a fanzine to accompany it. I had a lot of free time on my hands in those days. No I don't still have a copy.

Well that was sort of anti climatic, no? Oh well. January is sort of a blah month, what do you expect? Happy New Year!

Are you There God, It's Me, The Guv'ner

2007-12-14T00:01:00.000-05:00

Dear God,

What have you done with Bert and T.? I don't actually believe in you, God, but if you do exist I'm sure you believe in me, therefore, please let me know where Mr. Bananas and Big T. are because I'm getting kind of worried, ya know? Are they being held hostage by wild coyotes in the desert somewhere, unable to crawl to a water pool for sustenance, limbs hanging by a thread, throats parched like sandpaper? Did they elope to Mexico and not tell us and are, even as we speak, living a life of debauched luxury in Acapulco surrounded by Latin lovelies? Are they looking for Lord Lucan? Please God, I'm worried for their balls. It's golf season in SoCal you know.

Love,
The Guv'ner

Kat Rocket Gets a Year More Fabulous

2007-12-10T12:09:00.001-05:00

Saturday was the fabulous Miss Katrocket's birthday and I assume Canada was awash in Labatt's and frosting and hot car-racing men in tight leather, carrying chilled champagne in celebration.

Myself, I wrote a poem in commemoration of the lady who just proved that even cool, popular, cutting edge gals possibly once sported a mullet.

BIRTHDAY OF THE KAT

There's booze and there's cheer
For Kat's birthday is here
And Canada's back in the race
To head south, I must mention
You have no intention
But the border is closed just in case
There'll be wine there'll be cheer
Naked men toting beer
There'll be cake full of frosting and glaze
There'll be glamour and glitz
Kat screams "LOOK AT MY TITS!"
Before falling down flat on her face

OK, I never claimed to be a poet. But (belated) happy birthday miss Kat!!!! I hope all the cake/booze/men came true.

The Gland...It is Watching You

2007-12-03T14:21:00.000-05:00

I have a gland of death.

Before anyone thinks that would make an excellent concept for a horror/porn movie, the gland in question is in my neck and it hurts!

I've had this pesky pestilence since before Thanksgiving and it keeps mutating and infecting other parts of my respiratory system. Last night my breathing sounded exactly like Darth Vadar! And smelled just as evil. The cats dove for cover under the bed and the neighbourhood quaked in fear, but I was high on Robitussin so I merely waved an indifferent hand and went to sleep.

I have had sore throat, scratchy throat, red throat, dry throat, phlegmy chest, coughy chest, bronchitis nastiness and now the wheezy breath and the gland of death.

OH...

That should so be a band. Coming to a Heavy Metal Hair-fest near you: Wheezy Breath and the Gland of Death. It should feature a tiny geriatric rocker like Brett Michaels and his walking frame and there should be oxygen tank refills between songs.

Everyone is sick. The world is ending.

Talking About Boobs With The Guv'ner

2007-11-30T16:16:00.001-05:00

I don't wish to imply I think about boobs a lot (my name ain't "Pistols"). However, as the owner of a pair, I was just thinking about men and their unnatural preoccupation with all things boobular and I can't really figure out what the attraction is. I mean, they're just fleshy bags with a tiny bump on the end, they don't really do anything magical except feed babies and although I'm sure that's quite beautiful it's also not sexy particularly. The only other use they have is as a coat hanger when it gets a bit chilly and you're wearing a thin top.

Really boobs just sort of sit there looking either perky and interested or suicidally depressed and floppy. They also like to jiggle up and down while you run, get in the way during sports and sometimes attempt to make a break for freedom out of your tank top if you're in a particular hurry and wearing a somewhat compromised balconette or demi bra.

I can only figure they must be the equivalent of those deluxe stress toys that you keep on your desk and squeeze when you feel a little agitated. Those siliconesque lumps of gel you can prod and squish and pull into long stretchy things, sort of like Stretch Armstrong.

And if anything puts a man thinking about boobs off his stride it might just be thinking about Stretch Armstrong.

26

2007-11-26T21:52:00.000-05:00

The perky and sexy miss Catherinette made me do it. I didn't want to, she made me. 26 random facts about me (as if choosing 26 as the number of facts wasn't quite random enough).

My right foot is one size smaller than my left and a whole width wider.

I once tried to take a whiz in the woods and while squatting, fell over into a patch of stinging nettles and got nasty white bumps all over my butt.

I am left-handed therefore much more intelligent and fabulous than you.

I'd secretly like to own a handgun.

I once kissed some guy with a moustache while severely intoxicated in a student union bar.

I once sent my ex-boss an "official" letter on Photoshopped, very authentic looking letterhead, telling him he'd won an award in his field. It was a very serious letter and it asked him to call to find out when the award would be presented and the number on the letter was for a help line for people with severe adult incontinence.

I hate Ben Stiller and fantasize about bashing his stupidly expressioned head with a frying pan.

I hate tea.

I have never smoked a cigarette. Not the kind you buy in a store at least...

I have eaten cakes in Amsterdam that uh...made me feel "special".

I loathe soccer/football.

I once attended a garden party with my dress tucked into my underwear.

Once, for a joke, a friend and I bought a third friend a rather frightening looking vibrator as a birthday gift (birthday friend was a boy). We were there when he opened it. Unfortunately, so were his parents. Excruciating.

I can say the alphabet backwards super fast.

I think Al Pacino and Robert deNiro are overrated.

Secretly, I'd love to work for the FBI as a profiler.

I get a lot of Kelly Clarkson's phone calls.

My favourite fruit flavour is lime.

I like lonely, desolate landscapes like the Scottish glens and the American desert.

I spent months traveling in Europe with a balding, straight guy who liked to wear granny nighties to bed and who wore bras and fishnets under his clothing.

If I won the lottery I'd start a no kill luxury animal shelter so all those abandonned, misplaced and abused animals could live in peace and comfort.

If I could pass one law it would be making garroting irritating or cruel people, legal.

Cake!

My land line phone is a rotary phone with a dial. Pray you never have an emergency in my house. I call my mum in the UK once a week and half the time I have to quit half way through dialing the number because I fall asleep.

I don't get why anyone thinks Orlando Bloom is hot.

I have a birth mark on my bum that feels like a third nipple. (it isn't)

Eight (Part Three)

2007-11-19T11:00:00.001-05:00

I say lots of things, mostly nonsensical. These are fairly common though for me.

Eight Things I Often Say

I just ripped one: I say it so that people around me don’t think the boiler’s exploded and start making for the fire escapes.

Will there be cake?: If you want the Guv’ner’s attendance anywhere, there will be cake…oh yes, there will be cake.

Do you want to see my finger?: Because ingrate, I will show you my finger.

Get out of my office: You have no idea how many times I say this. Sometimes I even say it to myself!

See anything you like?: People are always staring at me. I’m pretty sure it’s not my fabulous serene beauty so what? Do I have a booger? Is my top on backwards again? Did I pull a “Britney” and forget my underwear and indeed my skirt?

Where is my machete?: Seriously, do not fuck with my machete.

Where is my Diet Pepsi?: Let me make one thing crystal clear. I don’t do a single thing till I have my Diet Pepsi. Don’t even try to make me. No I won’t Xerox your document, not until fizzy, caffeinated, faux-sweetened goodness is in my tummy. And it better not be Coke. The Guv’ner does not do Diet Coke. If you bring me Coke I will heat it to boiling point and pour it in your pants.

Fuck you, you fuckin’ fuck! . There’s always a reason to use this. I live in New York City. Whether it be a rude commuter slamming their bag/child/crotch in my face on the subway or a fucktard on a cell phone wandering all over the street in front of me like a lost chicken, while I'm trying to walk home, or a demented fuckstick on a phone, driving an SUV through a red light in the crosswalk and almost sending me into orbit. I once had the distinction of uttering this phrase at a raised volume while kicking a yellow NY taxi cab that tried to kill me when I was crossing the street on my light. Fuck YOU you fuckin’ fuck!

Eight (Part Two)

2007-11-17T15:36:00.000-05:00

Back due to no demand, whatsoever...

Eight Things to Do Before I Die

Live in a desert town. See last entry. I think I've made my desert love perfectly clear.

Swim with dolphins: Preferably not overly amorous ones who would try to do it with me using their stupendous marine appendages.

Go to Antarctica: Do you know the movie “The Thing”? For some bizarre reason, despite that movie being about alien life forms and its starring one (i.e., a bearded Kurt Russell), that movie actually inspired me to want to go to Antarctica. Now how screwed up do you think I am?

Finish writing a book: Again, see last entry. One day I will finish it damnit. And I will tie people down and force them to read it too. And don’t laugh because it might be you.

Go to Key West: OK I know what you’re thinking, “How hard can that be?” but honestly, you don’t know me. Every time I try to go to Key West I get my ass evacuated before I get anywhere near it due to various Hurricanes. I’ve gotten as far as Islamorada in the middle Keys to this point. I’m pretty sure someone in the Keys hates me and plans all this evacuation nonsense the second I book a ticket to any place in Florida. Bastards! They’ve obviously heard of my legendary capacity for tequila and are aware of the very real possibility I will make Key West a dry town within hours.

Drive across the U.S.A. and Canada: I’ve always wanted to drive across the country and now I want to do the same to Canada (I have no shame). There are so many places to see and no time (or money to do it). This makes me very sad. I like to drive. And I like to go places. This seems the perfect combination to me, why won’t my life cooperate? Won’t someone give me a grant?

Own a Vespa: I love Vespas. The closest I’ve ever come to owning a Vespa was an old Honda, 49cc Moped that used to belong to my room-mate’s dad. This was back in the 1990s, and I used it to zip around my town at a whopping 30mph (35 if you could find a vertical hill and coax a gale force wind to blow behind you!) The thing was fun but not very cool. I mean it had pedals, for the love of God. Pedals! The idea was you can either ride the bike with the engine or pedal it like a bicycle. In theory yes. In actuality? Don’t even go there. I once broke down a mile from home and tried to pedal that sucker home. It was like pushing a military tank with a feather. Oh you can pedal ok, but I defy anyone to make that sucker actually move. On the upside, I made three local teenagers practically laugh till they vomited.

Quit Swearing: Because I’m a potty mouth and it has to stop. I won’t though because swearing is funny, goddamn it. In print at least.

EIGHT

2007-11-16T15:47:00.001-05:00

The lovely Mr. Radloff tagged me to do this meme thingy. If I ever meet Mr. Radloff face-to-face some day, I will have to kill him.

Naturally I can never just dole out one word answers I have to post a diatribe, so here's what I'll do. I'll post the first part today. And subsequent parts (rants, all of them) in following days. No? Believe me I'm doing you a favour by not killing you with words.

Eight Passions In My Life

Food: Who doesn’t love food? An idiot with no taste-buds, that’s who. Sadly good food is fattening so I must reluctantly limit my consumption of it and sacrifice my “all cake all the time” mantra, for a few carrots or accept that I may just be mistaken some day for the Goodyear Blimp. If a genie granted me three wishes, after the obvious “world peace” and “Get Britney a Decent Weave” my main wish would be that I could just eat food 24 hours a day without putting on an ounce.

Animals: Honestly, I love animals. People can bite me most of the time but animals are special. They provide unconditional love and trust. They live by instinct and are non judgmental. Me, I can’t even read animal cruelty stories on the news because it would ruin my entire week or send me into an axe-wielding homicidal frenzy. When I'm in a position to donate to charities it’s almost always animal shelters. I think being a crazy old cat lady one day sounds appealing.

Men: Men are nice to look at. You know, in theory. Naturally not all men. I mean look at Fabio. Or don’t, might be a more prudent idea.

Travel: The Guv’ner loves to travel. I would travel full-time if I didn’t have to do tiresome things like work and care for cats and men. I love to visit new places. I really want to do a lot more tropical traveling and maybe some sliding around in the Antarctic too. I would like to be one of those eccentric people who just live in an RV and go where they please.

Photography: I love photography. I love taking pictures and I love looking at pictures (again, not pictures of Fabio). I would love to be in the position to travel and take pictures and therefore kill two passions with one stone. Or something...

Music: I love music like everyone else. I play it too and have done since I was six and took up the recorder. I can read music, I can write music, I have written hundreds of songs, played in three bands, recorded for the BBC and played live in the UK and Europe. (Yes, I am aware the UK is IN Europe, thank you). I love having a fresh new song to listen to – those first few moments of aural delight, before it becomes familiar, are magical.

The Desert: Not to be mistaken for “The Dessert” which I’m also quite passionate about, particularly Lemon Meringue pie!

I love the desert. I can only fathom that this is because I grew up in a cold country with long dark hours in winter and often extreme snow/wind/fog/rain. Really though I truly believe I was born to be a desert dweller. I just have a fascination for it and I feel a pull towards it. I love heat, sun soaked landscapes and sparse terrain. I am over the city.

Writing: Sure I’m passionate about it, but I’m also lackadaisical when it comes to actually doing it. I have started about eight books and haven’t finished a single one. I aim to rectify this, I really do, but you know, you have to have things aligned just right to be that creative.

Next up, 8 Things to do before I die. Boy, I bet you can hardly wait, huh!

Silly Britain

2007-11-07T14:15:00.000-05:00

Apparently The Kingdom of Great Britain, of which I am a vexed citizen, has some rather antiquated laws, still on their books. They just published a list of the top ten ridiculous ones. You'd think maybe instead of publishing them, they might just go ahead and abolish them but whatever.

It is illegal to die in the Houses of Parliament.

That’s a hard one because YOU want to try staying awake and indeed alive listening to some of the claptrap that they talk about in that place. Besides does this mean if Guy Fawkes had succeeded in blowing up Parliament, he’d have made criminals of all those he murdered? Tsk!

It is an act of treason to place a postage stamp bearing the British monarch upside-down.

Firstly, why would the Queen be upside down? Does she hang by her knees from the parallel bars? Is she secretly a bat? Also, note that there is nothing in there about not being able to draw a moustache, glasses and horns on the Queen’s portrait. So long as she’s right side up you can have her brandishing a golden dildo and you'd still be rocking.

In Liverpool, it is illegal for a woman to be topless except as a clerk in a tropical fish store.

Really, I would like the job of the person who comes up with these laws. WTF? I mean really? Do the piranhas react better to a topless woman? Was there some lady of the past (or of the night) who declared herself and her tropical fish shop her own country or something and this was the resulting law.

Mince pies cannot be eaten on Christmas Day.

Well I break this law every year and I didn’t even KNOW I was breaking a law or I would have enjoyed those pies EVEN MORE. Mmmm mince pies. Contrary to what you American types might think, mince pies are nothing to do with meat. They're fruit pies. Mincemeat is a fruit filling. Don't say the Guv'ner never teaches you anything.

Apparently this law relates to regulating "gluttony". But why single out the mince pie anyway? You can stuff a whole pig in your piehole but that’s ok? A turkey dripping with grease and stuffing? But have a mince pie and you’re pushing the limits, pal.

In Scotland, if someone knocks on your door and requires the use of your toilet, you must let them enter.

Being from Scotland, I have never heard of this law. I wouldn’t be letting any of you compromised bladdered riff-raff use my lavatory with your germed up derrieres. The thing that worries me slightly about this law is, it doesn't exactly state what it is you are permitted to enter. The toilet? The house? Your no-no place? What?

A pregnant woman can legally relieve herself anywhere she wants, including in a policeman's helmet.

…I’d say that’s called justice only if it was a policeman’s “helmet” that got her in that state in the first place.

The head of any dead whale found on the British coast automatically becomes the property of the king, and the tail of the queen.

I just…firstly does the Queen HAVE a tail? Is it a royal trait? I mean all that in-breeding must have some consequences, surely? But then the question arises, what does the Queen’s tail want with a whale part? And do the whales normally wash ashore in parts? And what does the King do with the head, does he make a nice chowder? And do we actually have a king?

It is illegal to avoid telling the tax man anything you do not want him to know, but legal not to tell him information you do not mind him knowing.

“I’m 72 you know! I have measles. I like blue! This survey is pants! My son is called Graham. I live in a tree!”

It is illegal to enter the Houses of Parliament in a suit of armour.

Well thank you so much for ruining my next trip to London, pigfuckers.

In the city of York it is legal to murder a Scotsman within the ancient city walls, but only if he is carrying a bow and arrow.

As a Scot and a Sagittarian I am staying the hell out of York for the foreseeable future. I wonder if honestly you could get off on a technicality should you actually murder a Scotsman carrying a bow and arrow in the city of York? Who wants to test this?

November Spawned A Monster

2007-11-01T22:19:00.000-05:00

I cross posted this from Live Journal since I'm saucy like that. And I'm omnipotent. Get used to it, citizens.

I just realized, it's November. I'm not sure what I was expecting the day after the 31st of October, but still. November. That's like...the end of the year!

So because I'm bored and somewhat kind of heart, here are some interesting facts about November. You can pay me later. I accept food stamps and naked photos.

According to Morrissey and his fey hair, it "spawned a monster in the shape of this child"! I wonder if Morrissey was born in November because, if so it would go a ways to explaining THIS photo of someone's dad going to the Bingo Hall Social. Aaaaargh!

November 5th, we Brits celebrate "Guy Fawkes Night". Mr. Fawkes was some dude who, with a bunch of Catholics, tried to blow up parliament with gunpowder, back in the olden days and given the fact he had a ton of it he failed miserably and ended up executed by the Protestants.

I imagine the night of the "incident" went something like this.

"Are these gunpowder kegs in position? Yes? OK then. Light the thingy then on the count of 'one' run like your knackers are on fire. Which they will be if you don't pay attention to that last point! Wait... What do you mean you 'didn't bring any matches?'"

Now we remember his "lack of win" by letting off fireworks, roasting marshmallows on a bonfire and setting scarecrows on fire. Don't knock it till you've tried it.

Allegedly, it is somewhat customary for humans of the male persuasion in Melbourne, Australia to grow a big, furry mustache during the month of November. This is apparently known as "Movember" for "moustache" and "November". So if you're a fan of the Village People or the seventies, take a trip to Melbourne some nice November day.

In Finland, November is celebrated as "Month of the Dead". That's Month. Take that Mexico. And let me tell you from the experience of one particularly blurry night in Helsinki, the Fins know how to throw a fucking celebration. Those people drink like prohibition is just over the horizon and barreling towards them. And I'm from Scotland so you know, don't go thinking the irony's lost on me here! So dude...don't go to Finland in November. As well as your balls freezing off you're liable to get iced in another way. Just saying.

In Croatia, November is known as "studeni" which apparently means "cold one". I'm not sure if they are referencing the weather, Hilary Clinton, a stiff (Hi Finland!) or they want another hit of Karlovačko. Believe me, regarding Karlovačko? I imbibed that very Croatian beer while sitting in a square in Split once (at least I think it was square, it was spinning a lot though). For two days afterwards I thought I was the Russian prime minister. That stuff is dangerous. They say it's only twelve percent proof, but twelve percent of what, that's what I want to know...

November is the most boring month of the year because I can find almost nothing interesting that happened during it, probably because everyone's getting either hammered or murdered. Even Wikipedia was like, "Dude, that is SO all I have, go find a life or something, please!"

So welcome to the Inebriated Month of the Dead Mustaches.

Brain In Trouble - Send Help

2007-10-31T11:32:00.000-05:00

I'm exhausted. My brain is thinking this:

Goddamn allergies, why did I take a double dose of Benadryl this morning and not notice it was the nighttime version? I'm going to fall asleep at the Photocopier. My eyes feel like they spent an hour looking at Carrot Top.

Why is my office phone clock an hour slow? Why does it not obey daylight savings rules?

Why was there no egg and cheese croissants at the cafeteria this morning when the only reason I came in early was to procure these beasts? A pox on you all, cafeteria people.

I have a headache too. Where is my sympathy? I get no sympathy.

And it's Halloween. That means a parade. In the Village. And I live in the goddamn Village. And every year I can never get my ass home without walking ten blocks out of my way to circumnavigate Washington Square Bloody Park which is closed to the public on Halloween - even for the drug dealers! And I can only get onto my street with ID (or if I show that nice policeman with the big gun, my boobs).

And my back neighbours who are fucksticks will throw an outdoor party till 4am full of screeching, inebriated ghouls and it will result in homicide (by me, after the egg throwing fails to hit any target).

I want a pumpkin to carve.

I want to sleep.

Just In...Work Can Make You Sick

2007-10-25T14:54:00.000-05:00

From the current issue of Forbes magazine:

If you're a member of corporate America, chances are you've got access to a state-of-the-art gym, a gourmet cafeteria and an array of wellness services, including health risk assessments, telephone and Web-based consultations, and weight-loss programs.

Why yes! And we have a heliport on the roof and a little immigrant man who earns minimum wage to fan our corporate farts out of the nearest window. And did I mention the swimming pool and jacuzzi with cocktail bar on the roof (you know, next to the heliport?)

Um...no, no and hell no, Mr. McFancypants.

Don't get me wrong, we have some "stuff" going on. For instance, we have yoga. You have to pay for it but it's there, on the premises should you need to meditate out your stress. We also have things like 'Weight Watchers' for those wanting to be tinier and healthy living seminars and then we have a little mini university where we can do various software classes, etc. for free.

I even did a defensive driving course a couple of years back which everyone I knew found hilarious. "Like you could be any more defensive!" they snorted. "You beat drivers' heads with a tire iron if they so much as look at you funny at the lights!"

Haters.

Anyway, I took the course which saves 10% on your car insurance for three whole years, without even involving a gecko or a caveman!

OK, so I live in Manhattan and don't have a car, big deal. But at least I know that tailgating will get you a lot more up close and personal with some dude's pick-up than nature ever intended, thank you defensive driving! And you wouldn't believe the various suspicious practices people like to get up to while driving that really, they shouldn't. Yes, I mean you.

But really what I'm saying is, my company aren't so much state-of-the-art cool as, trying really hard to go from very staid and vanilla to something more youthful and creative. I mean we have an on-site pub once a week how's that for a start? Besides face it, nothing brings out the "youthful" in a group of executives quite like free liquor.

But despite a noticeable shift toward promoting healthy workplaces, your job can still make you sick. From uncomfortable workspaces to poor air quality to depression-inducing stress, there are plenty of opportunities to come home feeling worse than when you left in the morning.

Damn straight, Einstein. Sonny, I wrote the book on the coming home feeling worse than when you left. And I usually feel pretty bad when I leave, due to the fact I've just been forced to get out of a warm comfortable bed to do expense reports. Going home feeling worse than when you arrived comes from working with giant, IQ deficient assholes all day, and while my current employer has mercifully freed me from those for the most part, my last job provided enough of them to see out the next millennium.

[Berman] says that everything from mold spores to office furniture that off-gases formaldehyde to changes in humidity can affect a worker's upper respiratory system.

Whoa! Hold up one goddamn minute here. Did you say formaldehyde? The stuff they embalm dead people with? OK I know it's used for a lot of other stuff but really. My desk/dead people - two things I don't want to see in the one sentence ever again, ok? I don't suppose I can go home because I'm "allergic to my gaseous desk"? I didn't think so.

In fact, work-related stress has a powerful impact on employees. A study in the November issue of the American Journal of Public Health demonstrated a significant relationship between work stress and depression.

That's...no. Really? Stress at work is linked to depression? Tell me you are shitting me? It usually makes me want to buy the world a Coke.

I'm not sure I can accept that someone wrote that paragraph, seriously.

Five Lame Things About Me

2007-10-16T13:23:00.000-05:00

At the request of The Lady...

Peoples, these are the instructions. I’m not going to tag anyone because then you’ll all hate me and say mean things like “God, the Guv’ner is a slave driver and is trying to steal information about us for the FBI.” Which, while possibly true, is quite unfair of you and I might cry.

TO DO: List 5 things you do, did or like that some may consider “totally lame,” but that you are totally proud of. Tag 5 others:

1) I like toys. Not little kid toys but theme toys. Like my X-Files dolls. I have Mulder and Scully and sometimes I pose them in compromising positions and take photos (see Exhibit A) and I think this is quite hilarious. They live in a cabinet in my living room with my South Park Dolls, my Dalek cookie jar and my giant imagination. I will even use props (See Exhibit B). This is because I have a) too much time on my hands, and b) I’m slightly retarded.

2) I often cut my own hair and think it looks great. I mean I do go to salons but in between it gets all annoying and odd and I’m not made of money so out come the scissors and then I think it looks fabulous and all those people on the subway are only looking at me out of sheer jealousy at my all-encompassing beauty.

3) I secretly like big, emotional soundtrack type songs that make you cry. I hate to admit this since I’m a former punk band member and formerly of the school of “if it’s not obscure it’s heinous” but soundtrack emotionally draining songs? Get me every time. Even that abortion of a song Aerosmith did for “Armageddon” with the really creepy video that intersperses Steven Tyler looking like the Grim Reaper with parts of the movie that make him look like he’s having a love affair with his own daughter. Ew! Actually, him having an affair with anything of the human species is kind of frightening to think about.

4) I watched “Rock Of Love With Bret Michaels” on VH1. Need I say more?

5) I like to listen to conversations on the scanner radio between pilots flying into the NY airports and the control tower. This does not make me a geek. They say the occasional funny thing like “This is American 509 Heavy, I just spilled hot coffee on my crotch and burned my berries, it was high-larious. Oh and yeah, there’s an Air France jet about to collide with us if you could do something about that, over?”

I am not lame!

For Future Reference

2007-10-10T23:01:00.000-05:00

After a crazy, busy, grouchy day at work, as I was sitting on a bench outside my building scrolling through tracks on my iPod, a cherubic, blue eyed eight year old approached me with a smile and a piece of paper which she held out to me, practically begging me to mess with her head.

"No thanks!" I said. "I already have ten of those."

"It's for the fortune teller." she told me. "So you can find out your future."

"I know my future." I replied. "It involves homicide and a bong."

She looked at me not saying anything, probably because she didn't understand either word although she understood enough to know I was being a douche.

"I'm kidding." I said, feeling bad for her. "I don't have a future. And neither do you. We're all going to die, so you should ditch the paper and get a real job."

She blinked at me, unsure what to say. "I'm only eight." she pointed out.

I sighed. "Just gimme the flier." I said.

Poor kid. Who sends an eight year old girl out to hand out fliers to strangers?

The Guv Gets Her Serious Head On

2007-09-25T11:49:00.000-05:00

So this crazy Iranian dude with the impossible name that sound straight out of "Team America" is a few blocks from where I am right now, being driven in police motorcades and wined on dined on the public's tax dollars. Hell there's nothing we like more than a genocidal, bigoted dictator hanging out in the city. Maybe Dubya would like to join him for an aperitif? I'm sure they'd have lots to talk about.

People are all pretty liberal and outspoken about it. "We don't like him, what he has to say or what he stands for but we support his right to say it."

Well fuck that. I'm a pretty liberal person myself and I say "Screw that guy and the plane he flew in on." You hate the west so much, stay the fuck in the middle east, asshat. Don't come to my city and spout your nonsense here. Can I come to Iran and tell you the multitude of things I find offensive about your country? I'm thinking not.

While I agree with people having the freedom to say whatever the hell they want, I also agree that I have the right to not donate my tax dollars to pay for him to do so on American soil.

Hell, my sister had a tiny glitch in her visa and was denied entry to the U.S. People accidentally answer questions on the visa waiver form incorrectly and get sent back to where they started. If you have previous drug convictions or sometimes a traffic offense they can stamp your passport "DENIED", yet this guy only wants to wipe out entire races for no sane reason; he only encourages people to beat women with sticks if they are caught holding a boyfriend's hand in public; he only wants to destroy the U.S., the Jews and the entire western civilization because he's a ranting lunatic and we, because we are so frightened of being categorized as bigots or dictators ourselves, are all for letting him come here and talk about it in the name of "freedom of speech". Screw you Iranian dude.

I'm sure the six zillion cops outside my building right now are all working for free though, right?

The Guv'ner Defends Scotland. Sort of.

2007-09-20T10:06:00.000-05:00

Gosh it's hard to be Scottish.

I liked this part of the article:

Think of the worst possible stereotype of the Scot; double it, and you have got [Grounds keeper] Willie — a red-haired, bearded, foul-tempered, incompetent, haggis-eating, testosterone-filled boor who spends his private time secretly videotaping couples in their cars.

Jeeze they say that like it's a bad thing!

I'm not getting what we Scots are getting their panties twisted about. That's a fairly accurate description. Throw in hip flasks of Glenfiddich and a pocket knife and you practically described each and every one of us. In fact, I'm PROUD of my red beard and foul temper.

I did enjoy the parts about Americans wondering whether or not the Internet had reached Scotland yet (answer: No, we prefer the tried-and-tested 'two tin cans and a taut rope' for our communication methods) and did we know what microwaves were (midgets gesturing for attention perhaps?)? We prefer our cooking the traditional way - a Sassenach (English person) in a cauldron with appropriate seasoning.

Call me romantic (really, it'll be the first time ever) but I think most Americans when they think of Scotland are probably more likely to think of lochs, loch Ness Monster, castles, scenery and Sean Connery. Me, I think of butter tablet and soda scones and my beloved Irn Bru and the fact I could kick each and every one of your weak, pasty, American asses, ye bourbon drinking fanny-pack sportin' wee girls.

Huh?

Three's The Charm

2007-09-18T11:56:00.000-05:00

Yesterday The Guv'ner had a not at all unusual urge for cake. In fact, days when this urge does not present itself are generally days I call a doctor and demand to know what's wrong with me. (Usually he asks me, "How long have you got?")

Luckily our cafeteria stocks such emergency items as cake and they're always freshly baked on the premises, so I scooted on down there and procured some sugary sustenance.

I remembered to dedicate my cake eating to Pistols, mainly because the cake I was eating was Tres Leches Cake, which I know is his particular favorite snack. In fact, I know he likes to eat tres leches cake three times a day (for balance - three milks? Thrice daily) Tres Leches Cake is like a chubby girlfriend with an overbite - you think she's groovy, you like her more than most girls but you don't want your friends to know about her. Pistols loves the Tres Leches but he'll never come out and admit it.

In fact, he's dreaming about it right now. Just do it, Pistols. Just eat the cake.

Why The Scots Are Strange Part One

2007-09-14T13:24:00.000-05:00

My homeland of Scotland has been responsible in part at least for some of the greatest inventors and entertainment ever. John Logie Baird (nothing to do with Yogi Bear), Alexander Bell - inventor of the telephone, Robert The Bruce, Robert Burns, Sean Connery, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Robert Luis Stevenson, William Wallace, The Bay City Fucking Rollers, people! The Proclaimers? OK, I'm not sure I'm proving this point very well.

Ahem...

Anyway, now someone back in my homeland has decided to break some records by making the biggest bowl of porridge ever.

This baffles and confuses me somewhat. Of all the great stuff we could be attempting to do, like cure cancer or transplant brains or produce great tasting chocolate with zero calories or banning kilts on almost anyone or cloning more sheep - someone chooses to instead make a giant bowl of oatmeal.

I was particularly alarmed by this quote: Not only will we have the largest bowl of porridge in the world, we'll also have the world's largest spurtle.

I'm not sure I want to know what a "spurtle" is or if it's even legal, although we're talking about a country where sheep are pin-ups so who the hell knows.

Actually, to many Scotsmen, after a few drams of whisky, most sheep probably make them produce a "spurtle".

The Guv'ner Recommends...

2007-09-07T10:59:00.000-05:00

The other day I bought some chocolate covered pretzels (two food groups in one - 'yum' and 'yummier') and dragged my lazy carcass to Times Square to see a movie. Usually I am anti-Times Square movie viewing since the time I went to see the 'Sixth Sense' there and spent more time listening to the traffic honking by outside and smashing over metal grids in the road to concentrate on the actual dialogue and creepy silences. Seriously, who thinks putting a movie theater next to the melting pot of humanity is a good idea? A MORON that's who and when I find out his name, his ass is toast. I see dead people. I'll show YOU dead people, pal.

Anyway, the movie was showing barely anywhere else so choice was not on my side.

This was a different theater and the movie was "Sunshine" a film I'd been chomping at the bit to see since I first heard the basic outline (and the fact it was directed by Danny Boyle and written by Alex Garland who brought us the fab "28 Days Later" of which I'm a huge fan). Plus I'm a sucker for anything suspenseful, doomlike and sci-fi so long as it's good sci-fi. Some say I'm a sucker, PERIOD, but to those people I say "Bite it, hater!"

This was good sci-fi. The basic plot premise involved 8 astronauts flying on a mission to the Sun, which is dying, knowing that if it dies, so does Earth which is currently in the midst of a solar winter. The astronauts are carrying a nuclear bomb the size of Manhattan which has to be jettisoned into the Sun and detonated in the hopes it will kick start the star and reignite life on Earth. See? How awesome does that sound? Tell me you didn't just pee in your pants a little with the awesomeness of that. Things are compounded when in the "dead zone" - an area beyond Mercury where all contact with Earth is lost - they receive a distress signal from the previous spacecraft who disappeared seven years ago while attempting the same mission. They have a dilemma of whether to continue on to the Sun and deliver their payload, which has no guarantee of success, or to divert to the lost ship in the hope of recovering the second bomb therefore having two chances of success, but at the possible compromise of their oxygen supply. Then a small human error causes a domino effect (nothing to do with pizza) of catastrophe that leaves them fighting to survive long enough to deliver the payload.

So those chocolate pretzels. I had eaten maybe three of those before forgetting they existed for the duration of the movie. I was balanced on the edge of my seat with a look on my face that said, "What. The. Fuck." for the whole movie. In fact, I can't remember a time I was last so slack-jawed with awe at a movie. It was terrifying, magnificent, awesomely beautiful to look at, menacing, heart-breaking and included one of those moments where your stomach falls through your rectum and hits the floor with a thud when a little plot twist kicks in towards the end.

Naturally I have one question. What is it about sci-fi movies (and scary ones in particular) that bring out geek boys and practically no one else? The theater had about sixteen people in it. All alone. Fifteen men of different ages and varying degrees of hygiene, and then me (I just showered, honest).

I guess what I'm saying here is, if you get a chance to see "Sunshine" and suspense is up your alley (maybe with a touch of horror action toward the end) then GO DAMMIT. Honestly, I am still a little freaked out.

The Real Yankees Vs. Red Sox

2007-08-29T19:40:00.000-05:00

In baseball there are the guys who wear the uniform "modern" - slightly wider legs, looser shirts. Usually they're the younger, Hispanic guys. Then there are the old schoolers who wear their uniform fitted and featuring the knee-high sock thingies - normally the young, in awe newbies just up from the minors, or the old codgers hobbling round the bases with their oxygen tanks.

This latter look doesn't work for everyone, especially a great big fathead like Roger Clemens. Roger, when you have a big, wide ass the diameter of Texas and you attempt this look, you look like a giant, retarded pussy. Either that man does not own a full-length mirror or it's a special mirror that lies to him (and if those exist I'd like one that will tell me I'm five ten, 110lbs and 19 again).

Also, the Red Sox catcher, Jason Varitek (for some reason I tend to call him Homotek although I'm ashamed because it's insulting to gay people to suggest he might be one of them, but it tickles me that if he knew about it, his big, swollen head would probably explode with indignance, a big macho guy like him) has the same big, wide ass and those same girly socks, only on him it's even worse because those socks are RED. Only a great, big, flaming fan of Liberace would wear those. Oh, duh! See what I did there? And they make him look like an enormous, out-of-proportion, bearded lady, which of course he is. (I don't like him, but I think I hide it well. Just don't get me started on David Ortiz, or as I like to call him "That Big Fuckin' Fuck")

Strike two against Varitek is on his uniform collar he has the name "TEK" embroidered. Any grown man, even a hairy girlie-man like Varitek, who not only shortens their name to sound like a "KEWL DUDE" but also has it embossed on his gear, deserves to be cock punched, but since he doesn't have one I'll settle for pummeling his great, fat head until he is dead. Plus, a team captain who blatantly needs to wear a giant "C" on their uniform to validate themselves doesn't deserve to live amongst decent people.

Unless of course, that "C" doesn't stand for "Captain". Then I concur, Jason.

The Way Things Aren't

2007-08-28T12:01:00.000-05:00

I’m getting really pissed off with the way things are. Not at work or home in particular, just in life in general. Why do the all the best foods like cake and donuts and cookies and grilled cheese and French fries and…and…fudge and chocolate and roasted potatoes and mashed potatoes and mushrooms fried in garlic butter and pizza and nachos and crème brulee and lemon meringue pie…why can’t these foods have three calories, zero fat or carbs and come recommended by a doctor? I want someone to say, “Guv’ner, you could stand to lose a few pounds, I prescribe two entire layer cakes and a pecan pie, twice a day or else you will die!”

Why, just for one day in my life, can’t I wake up, mouth watering and think, “I can’t wait to get to work so I can nibble on a carrot.”?

A Short Aside

2007-08-22T14:48:00.001-05:00

One of the ladies I work with just returned from a meeting with one of our creative guys, whose name is Richard Evans.

She just came back and loudly exclaimed to the whole corridor, "OMG I LOVE DICK!"

I am the only ten year old in this building, I swear.

Shattered Dreams

2007-08-21T14:08:00.002-05:00

I actually posted this in my Live Journal but it's more fitting over here.

When I was a kid I always loved the Bacharach song “Do You Know the Way to San José?”. I still dig it, it's a lounge classic, baby.

Now, I was growing up in Scotland, where it was chilly and instead of palm trees we grew thistles and heather and men wore skirts. So I thought San José had to be about the most exotic place known to man, because that song just conjured up images of sunshine and beaches and riding around in convertibles wearing a headscarf, to my little, ideal self, even though it’s actually about going to L.A., working menial, mundane jobs while waiting to be discovered and resulting in broken dreams and a burning desire to return home, in this case, to San José. But its melody, the tempo, the Spanish name just seemed so special. So foreign and tropical and sunny and perfect.

You see, when I was a child, I assumed all of California was like a 1960s, Technicolor “Gidget” beach movie, full of ice cream parlors, bronzed surfer boys who said things like, “Golly gee Susie, you sure look like you need a milkshake!” and, “Silly, girls don’t surf, girls fetch Coca-cola and sit around on the sand and look pretty!” while girls with demi-perms, full-coverage swimwear a nun would approve of - that cinched in their waists like a corset and made their boobs pointy - indeed sat diligently around on the sand looking pretty and beaming Ultrabrite smiles, while Rock or Skip or Bud partook of some wave cruising in some fiendishly unflattering shorts.

Then one day, in the autumn of 1999, I actually did it. I ended up in San José, visiting friends who were living in nearby Mountain View.

And I wanted to stop the nearest pedestrian and ask, “Do you know the way to San Francisco, because San José sucks!”

OK, it didn’t suck per se. It was fine. It was just a regular concrete city. It just wasn’t tropical or exotic in any way and in fact, it looked more like what an ex-coworker of mine back in the UK used to call “San Joe-zay” because she didn’t know any better.

Or maybe she did…

The Hurricane Guy

2007-08-21T11:22:00.000-05:00

You know what job I want? I want to be that guy who decides what this season's hurricanes will be called. The ones they choose now are just unacceptable, quite honestly. Take this year:

We had Barry. Barry? What's he going to do, bluster into your state and steal your girlfriend then hit 700 home runs?

Then there was Dean. Hurricane Dean? Sounds like he's more likely to blow into town and install new spark plugs in your Oldsmobile.

Hurricane Humberto is kind of sad. Your mama could totally kick Humberto's ass.

Then there's going to be a Jerry who will show up to appraise your jewelry and feed you matza before Lorenzo gusts in to shake his dynamic bon-bon and seduce your sister.

Olga however - now Olga sounds like a hurricane!!! A huge fucking hurricane. A hurricane with a 3000 mile eye. Olga's a ball breaker, although I'm sorry, you can't call a hurricane Sebastien. What's Sebastien going to do, blow into town and look for the nearest hair salon?

Also, excuse me for not being alarmed at the idea of Hurricane Tanya. She might hit you with her handbag or poke you with an eyeliner stick but really...You can't call an almighty force of nature "Tanya" and keep a straight face, surely.

Hurricanes should have names like "Thor" and "Gunter" and "Tempest". They shouldn't sound like they're coming to town to do your taxes.

Fuck You T-Mobile

2007-08-20T13:24:00.000-05:00

Please try not to pass out and hit your head with astonishment at an update. The Guv'ner's very busy you know. Be darn lucky you got anything, ingrate.

My young man and I went to the T-Mobile store at lunchtime because his cell phone SIM card ceased working. This made me realize a couple of things: 1) SIM cards can break for no apparent reason without even leaving the phone, and 2) T-Mobile stores will rip off orphans to grease the corporate pocket.

They told us a new SIM would be $20. No tax if we paid cash (HUH????) We're like "Dude, you'll take credit and that money will go in the fucking register!" So then they give us a twenty dollar leather cell phone case, ring it up and charge the $20 plus give us the new SIM. Which isn't on the receipt because it is FREE.

So let's recap: Basically they want to get money out of you and a SIM is free so they tell you the SIM is $20, ring up an accessory for that price, give you the SIM AND the accessory so they can keep the books straight as a twenty dollar sale and you get conned to shit into buying something you didn't want in the first place.

The boy wanted a case anyway. he didn't like the one they gave us and asked to switch to one better suited to his needs. Which they agreed to. And it turned out to be cheaper (only fifteen bucks) so they refunded the extra five. Which means that SIM magically now costs only $15 (hmmmm....) further proving my point - the SIM is free and they don't "throw in" the accessory that's what you're paying the fucking money for.

This does not sit well with the Guv'ner who didn't have the wits about her on the spot to tell them to go fuck themselves sideways, but who will be shortly formulating a plan.

So the moral is: SIM cards are free. if a store tries to charge you by "throwing in" some other accessory tell them to stick the accessory where the sun don't shine and take the SIM card. They can't charge for that. Fuckers.

Ebay

2007-05-21T14:10:00.000-05:00

I'm confused. How come, when browsing Ebay, the more gushing and glowing someone is in their description of an item, the more eye-meltingly heinous the item is going to be? If a dress is described as "stunning" or "absolutely beautiful" that's usually code for "this dress should not be viewed without a special government license and strong sunglasses".

And what's with the selling of "well worn women's gym socks"?

Not that I was looking...

Pay Up Lazy Bones

2007-05-04T10:51:00.000-05:00

Drivers up here in NYC are getting bent out of shape over the proposed "congestion charge" thing they want to introduce. The big cheeses want to charge eight buckaroonies to each car entering the core of Manhattan on a week day, the idea being less traffic will cut down on pollution and congestion in a gridlocked city. It will also cut down on sidewalk rage from people like me who spend countless minutes a day giving the big middle digit to stupid drivers in cross walks, gassing away on cell phones and almost creaming pedestrians.

Naturally, people are birthing huge pink cows over this idea ('people' being drivers) and obviously, the Big Cheeses, not always being the smartest, are surprised at the resistance.

Personally, I don't get what all the fuss is about. There is ZERO need to drive a car into midtown Manhattan unless you are either a private car service, a taxi, a commercial vehicle or totally, criminally, lick your mother's underwear, insane, so get out of your heated leather seats Mr. Lazy Ass from Long Island or Connecticut and get your lard-like posterior on the subway or train or bus like normal people.

People who drive into the city when there's such a stellar public transport system, are idiots. Besides, anyone who isn't post-lobotomy knows that public transport is faster than Manhattan gridlock.

Besides your excuses don't wash. If you live in Manhattan and own a car you are exempt from this charge. If you need to drive a car for work, your company will foot the bill. If you want to drive your stupid car, regardless, you still can. It'll just cost you eight dollars for the privilege and I am quite down with that. If you can afford to drive into the city every day you can afford $8, Scrooge.

Actually, I'm sure it's mainly spoiled executives who are crying into their wine over this because they're going to have to rough it with the plebs on the train. Which is kind of ridiculous when they're the people who can afford to pay the eight freaking dollars anyway.

Thank you and goodnight.

Grammar, Period

2007-04-24T14:56:00.000-05:00

I was kind of sad to see this headline: "Reds' Ken Griffey sidelined by colon problem" because I totally sympathize.

With me it's commas. Do you insert them intuitively, while talking the phrase in your head, or do you sprinkle them liberally like salt in a stew?

Gunning for the Answer

2007-04-17T11:40:00.000-05:00

I've been thinking about that old chestnut, the gun debate. To arm or not to arm. To me it seems like the old chicken and egg question.

Take the abominable shootings at Virginia Tech, for example. The gunman - a non-U.S. citizen to boot - was able to walk into a store and purchase a gun and acquire others, all of which he used to massacre 30 people at VT. Now part of me is thinking, if a large proportion of those students at VT also carried guns, maybe after the first couple of deaths someone would've had the gumption and balls to retaliate by blowing the gunman's head off, therefore, saving another 20 or more people from the terror and eternal peace that followed.

Then the other part of me remembers student union bars on a Friday night and knows that guns in the hands of people who get intoxicated enough to wear traffic cones on their heads, play beer-pong and end up pissing in their laundry hampers while still wearing Hawaiian shorts and a sombrero in December can never be a good thing.

Remember, guns don't kill people, but intoxicated students certainly might.

I Heart Florida

2007-04-11T12:47:00.000-05:00

In part seven hundred and sixty three of "Why Floridians are bonkers" it is now illegal to feed the homeless without a permit in Orlando. Whoa, hold on to that sandwich sister, you'll find yourself in pound-me-in-the-ass prison before you can say "Want some mayo on that, dude?" if that sandwich winds up in the hands of Scruffy McHomeless over there. I mean I sort of see the point if some vindictive SOB is feeding the homeless arsenic-laced bratwurst or some other such tasty produce, but regular food?

In other news, backassward laws are nothing new to Florida, after all can't you shoot your gun at anything with a pulse down there, legally (possibly while boning your sister)? In fact, if you don't have a gun you better drag your ass across the border into Georgia or Alabama, pronto. OK, maybe those were bad examples...Maybe keep driving till you get to say...Delaware.

And...

2007-04-11T12:35:00.000-05:00

This is the last thing I will say on the "Father of Anna Nicole ~~Skank~~ Smith's baby" thing. Howard K. Stern is reported to be elated to learn the baby is not genetically his, because now he can sit back and relax for eighteen years till it's safe to buy her lingerie.

Won't Anyone Think of the Children?

2007-03-07T14:48:00.000-05:00

OH MY GOD the sky is falling, the sky is falling!

How utterly tragic! I guess someone somewhere will put one of these coins under the microscope, recoil in horror and immediately sprinkle it and its vicinity in holy water and prayer. What if foreign visitors withdraw their tourist money and take it to some country that isn't a great, big, stinking, godless cess pool?

We don't ALL trust in God or even the same God and I kind of resent the Government putting this stuff on coins and notes to begin with. Is there going to be an Atheist coin that worships cake and poker chips? Then I protest. Don't presume to speak for me Mr. Government. Stick it up your pie hole.

Smokey Eyed

2007-03-05T13:59:00.000-05:00

The human race is a complex and fragile thing. There are people in all corners of the Earth (Earth has corners?) who have developed amazing talents, relevant to improving their situation or adapting to climate. People who can do marvellous things in the name of entertainment, for the betterment of humankind, or just for survival. Men and women who possess or have developed talents to wow and bedazzle our psyches and showcase how truly unique human beings really are.

Then there's this guy, who proves that Darwin may have had a point after all.

Huh?

2007-02-21T16:05:00.000-05:00

The book's open on the next milestone on Britney's rapid descent to hell. My money's on her carving the words, "Official fuck vessel of the lord" on her stomach with a Mach3.

It's either that or standing up in a courtroom claiming to be the father of Anna Nicole Smith's sprogette.

Coin in the Slot

2007-02-12T13:08:00.000-05:00

It seems a brand new one dollar coin has been minted. I'm not entirely sure why... I don't know about you but my dollar notes generally work fine. Coins make your wallet heavier and psychologically make you feel like you have less money.

Plus let's face it, things are going to get a touch awkward in strip clubs, no?

Darwin Drinks Here

2007-02-07T17:06:00.000-05:00

Some backwoods hick bartender threw a guy out of a bar for not being drunk enough.

Like designated drivers weren't hard enough to find. Like that poor, unfortunate, soda-drinking driver you had to bribe to fill the role isn't pissed off enough that he has to sit at the table with four insane, intoxicated baboons who think everything is hilarious, then drive them home afterwards.

If you're in a bar and you're the designated driver and you're drinking soda or juice, what's the big deal? Those drinks have bigger mark-ups most of the time than alcohol does anyway. Where else can you charge $2.75 for a Coke without someone punching you in the face?

The only time I'm interested in paying $2.75 for Coke is if I'm snorting it out of some hot, buff, boybo's navel.

Even then I'd have to think about it.

Brass Monkeys

2007-02-05T11:57:00.000-05:00

Global warming can kiss my ass. There isn't a single brass testicle remaining on a primate in New York City. It was 6 degrees Fahrenheit when I left this morning with a wind chill factor of -10. I don't want to hear about your -40 in Canada or your -30F in Minnesota because that's what you expect in those godforsaken icy climes. This is New York City, for the love of God. We don't DO arctic cold, ok, so a wind chill of -10 is akin to making us swim naked in liquid nitrogen.

Wow...what an attractive image that is.

Groundhogwash

2007-02-02T13:37:00.000-05:00

Call me cynical if you must, but the idea that a squirrel can predict weather for a whole year is a little much to expect of a furry rodent who only just about manages to stand upright. If a groundhog doesn't have a shadow you might want to check out the "Big Boys' Book of Demons and Otherworldly Beasts and Bastards" first for an explanation, before you start deciding this equates weather predicting. Allegedly, Adolf Hitler didn't have a shadow and look what happened to him! You won't find that information on the Internet either, so don't even try.

I have a much better idea for Groundhogs. The police could recruit them to carry little, tiny keyhole cameras implanted in their foreheads, so they could scurry around, recording drug dealers in the park, particularly the one in Washington Square Park who accosts me every night as I'm walking home, offering me some drug that sounds like an tropical disease. Or maybe he actually IS offering me a tropical disease? I'm almost tempted to find out.

Random Thought Thursday Part Deux

2007-02-01T16:31:00.000-05:00

One phrase I have always wanted to use is: "I've got freckles on my schmekel!", however, I don't have a schmekel to my knowledge, nor am I Jewish.

I do have freckles.

Random Thought Thursday

2007-02-01T15:14:00.000-05:00

I often wonder why someone wishing to commit suicide would choose to do it by jumping off a tall building. I mean taking pills would be peaceful. Shooting yourself in the head would be instantaneous and pretty much pain-free. Jumping off a building seems to have too many pitfalls. For example, it gives you at least a few seconds to actually contemplate what you're doing on the way down. If you've swallowed 50 Xanax tablets at least you have a window of time to have your stomach pumped before the inevitable happens. But if you jump off a building what happens if you're halfway down, the sidewalk is coming up fast and you suddenly decide that little blonde thing with the pouty lips might make life worth living after all?

Boy, are you going to feel stupid, 'though admittedly, not for long.

Boston Creme

2007-01-31T15:51:00.000-05:00

On the continued theme of terrorism, it seems Aqua Teen Hunger Force has persuaded some ass-dolt to play a little game with authorities by placing suspicious looking packages all over Boston bridges and subways, working up a panic in a city, the likes of which hasn't been seen since the Red Sox flushed their World Series hopes straight down the pooper by selling Babe Ruth to the Yankees. The packages, when opened, were full of Aqua Teen cartoons and pictures of the guy flipping off the cops.

It's funny. All Aqua Teen Hunger Force ever makes me want to do is eat copious amounts of French fries...

While this tosser should enjoy some cop's boot filling his rectal cavity this evening for immobilizing an entire city, one can't help but snigger just a little bit, no?

Although, if the Cartoon Network really did do this for a publicity stunt, a) how dumb can you be, and b) it's hard to insert your steel-toe boot up a network's ass...

Aero-Panic

2007-01-31T11:20:00.000-05:00

Terrorism is a global concern and not wishing to make it all about me (well ok...not much) I have to say that I'm a little peeved at terrorists' apparent desire to exterminate me at all costs. For instance, it is always the flights between the U.S. and the U.K. they seek to explode - a route they know that sooner or later I'll be travelling, armed with my trusty Xanax and a nervous disposition that would put Woody Allen to shame and with my penchant for attracting disaster like a big box of nails near a horseshoe magnet, these deadly explosions will happen right around the time I'm flying - most likely the night before I leave, forcing me to tackle the first swarthy dark-skinned person I see boarding my flight and restrain him with a trusty yet hastily concocted contraption made from bra elastic, the strap of my carry on bag and some Big Red gum at which time he will turn out to merely a) Portuguese with a tan, and b) Related to both royalty and the local Chief of Police.

Idiot

2007-01-25T16:35:00.000-05:00

It's the little things that make me laugh.

From Overheard In New York

Lady: Hey, I have to get going to that puh-taa meeting tonight.
Husband: That what meeting?!
Lady: Puh-taa. For the school...
Husband: ... You mean the P.T.A. meeting?
Lady: You know that's what I meant!

--W 5th St, Brooklyn

A Funny Thing

2007-01-23T00:12:00.000-05:00

People have told me, "Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit."

I'd like to tell those people, "Go eat a dick!" because sarcasm is funny, ok? It's non debatable. It's dry, it's wicked, it's rude, it's disrespectful, it's irritating and it's goddamn hilarious.

Those people who tell me that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit are the same people who belly-laugh at the Benny Hill Show, as some lecherous village idiot, who's old enough to know better, chases scantily clad ladies around a field in fast-motion with a big, cheesy grin on his face.

Random Thought Monday

2007-01-22T16:04:00.000-05:00

This headline on Yahoo today made me really happy: Keith Urban Thanks Fans For Support During Rehab

The mere fact that some country singer thanking his fans is a news headline, means that there are obviously no more wars, floods, famines or droughts in the world, we've cured cancer and AIDS and everyone has enough to eat. I sure wish I'd known this before I gave that homeless guy on the subway my sandwich.

Yay, let's celebrate by drinking things.

(A)I.M. IN HELL

2007-01-19T15:48:00.000-05:00

I hate stupid AOL. I don't use any of their cluttered, in-your-face, badly designed, ugly interfaces or indeed their services and would rather have my toe nails pulled out with pliers than hand over any money to their stupid, evil, money-grabbing overlords, but I have always liked their AIM service in terms of it being basic, plain and efficient. I mean it's instant messenger it's hard to screw that up, even if you're AOL.

However, one thing I'm really not liking one bit is their highly irritating habit of trying to make me upgrade my version of IM every couple of months. Great, if they want to introduce new features or a new look or whatever the reason for this annoyance, go right ahead, just don't force me to do it.

I want to be able to have online conversations with my friends. That's pretty much all I want from my IM service. I don't need it to cook me dinner or teach me Swahili or beam me to the Moon, what feasible level of upgrade could you possibly be offering me to necessitate me upgrading my service? Will your upgrade fan me with a giant palm frond and feed me pineapple? Then I don't want it.

Usually I ignore the messages and it flips me one of those sad-face smiley icons - the ever so subtle passive-aggressive message being, "It's ok if we worked really hard upgrading the service and making it pretty and didn't sleep for like...two weeks, or see our wives, or get to go to our kids' play, but we don't mind if you don't want use it!" and despite the fact, no programmer working for AOL could possibly have a wife, it makes me want to pummel something with wanton abandon.

This latest upgrade, however, is just trying to make me homicidal by giving me no option. The only option is "uprade now" or "x" out the little exit box, which only makes it pop up again ten minutes later. Fuckers. And what's up with this Plaxo business? Stop trying to give me software I don't want. What in the name of God is Plaxo FOR anyway? I'll be damned if I can figure it out and if I can't figure it out why would I want it?

Do You Like Scary Movies?

2007-01-19T12:31:00.000-05:00

Film-makers seem interested in fast money and gruesome effects nowadays to provide a "scary" movie. What happened to actual tension and skill? Maybe some interesting techniques in story telling or suspense building? I don't understand why so many movies, supposed to be tense or frightening, rely solely on the visuals of gore and guts and less on tension. The only tension involved is the inevitable, hackneyed pursuit and picking-off of victims and which character is going to bite it in the most unusually atrocious way .

Is it all down to the need for instant gratification? Do young people nowadays have such low concentration spans that they literally can't sit still long enough to wait for a tension to build? Or maybe they're just so used to violence in all its forms from the Internet and video games and film makers have to go one step further to even interest them in a movie.

The best scary movies are ones where nothing much actually happens involving the spilling of people's innards or over-the-top psychotic monsters with a terrific imagination for unconventional weapons. One of my favorite scary movies - Stephen Spielberg's, 1970 made for TV movie, "Duel" - doesn't even have more than a few lines of dialogue, it's just 90 minutes of a guy driving through the desert being pursued by an inexplicably pissed-off truck driver you never get to see, yet it's a chilling, piece of work where the truck and the scenery provide all the dread necessary. Of course, it wouldn't satisfy today's sixteen year olds as I think the only blood in that movie involved Dennis Weaver bumping his head off the dashboard during an errant emergency stop.

I love scary movies, there just aren't enough of them around that aren't just an excuse to show the most grotesquely dreamed-up carnage ever inflicted upon human beings at the hands of emotionless psychopaths. Yawn. Where is the fear people?

I Wonder

2007-01-18T14:54:00.000-05:00

Is it possible, that bleary-eyed from several consecutive nights without sleep, as you are escalating into a crescendo of confusion over the slightest of tasks, that you really did have a conversation with that coworker that smells like Brussel Sprouts, about the superiority of Hong Kong Phooey over Top Cat.

Small Wonders

2007-01-17T20:53:00.000-05:00

Why are people getting bigger whereas gadgets are getting smaller? Is there some direct ratio conspiracy at work? Out there somewhere, is there a 1200lb man with a cell phone the size of a splinter, implanted in his enormous girth, gurgling amidst the remnants of his latest Whopper?

Cell phones are crazy these days. They can fit in the palm of your hand. They can be skinny enough to give food-deprived supermodels an anxiety attack. They can not only allow you to talk to someone in another hemisphere, but you can play your favorite songs and calculate your taxes while riding the bus, or make a video of your dog eating your wife's panty hose to delight all your friends. One day you're going to need a homing device and tracker to even find your phone as it will be the size of a garden pea, will fit inside your ear and thus ensure the E.R. is constantly full of inattentive people who have seen their device slip down their ear canal into the ringing chasm of their brain.

I saw an episode of "The X-Files" the other night and thought David Duchovny was lugging around a full sized armoire, but it turned out to be a mid-nineties cell phone with an antenna that could tickle a giraffe's chin. No wonder he never actually got to see any aliens, he couldn't see around that huge monstrosity. And I don't mean Gillian Anderson either. Shame on you for thinking it. If you showed Mulder a "Razr" phone he'd probably have declared it alien software and spontaneously combusted on the spot.

Plus what is with the new iPods? (And what does it say about me that five years after acquiring my iPod, the word "iPod" still makes me think of "IHop"?) My iPod, when I bought it, was the sleekest, sickest, most fabulous, sexy little piece of genius you ever saw. How could this tiny little thing be so sleek and little and streamlined, yet store so much music? Nowadays it looks like an enormous World War II tank compared to the little slivers of machines they make, that can not only play tunes but show video and probably tell you the number of times your heart beat increased during the season finale of "24". The new iPod Shuffle isn't much bigger than a postage stamp. I once couldn't find my rental car, there's no way I'm going to be safe around a tiny, musical gadget.

I'm not exactly sure where I'm going with this.

You Know...

2007-01-17T15:33:00.000-05:00

Why do people say, "I could care less about such and such..." when it doesn't make sense. You could care less? Then why don't you? Can't you be bothered? If you're not going to care, at least do it properly.

Random Thoughts

2007-01-17T13:13:00.000-05:00

If I had a party today I'd like to have a Saddam piňata. I'd hang an effigy of Mr. Hussein by its neck, from a long rope and then smack it with a stick till it gave me candy.

Some people might think that tasteless. The idea, not the candy. However, it's decidedly less tasteless than say hanging an actual human being, even if they are an evil, genocidal maniac with a bad moustache.

Cabin Fever

2007-01-14T14:26:00.000-05:00

Another reason why certain airlines suck the life out of passengers, would be this...

Flying

2007-01-13T23:23:00.000-05:00

I've never been keen on flying. It just isn't natural for human beings to soar through the sky in a metal cylinder filled with fuel, at 500mph.

It's not strictly true to say that I'm afraid of flying. I'm not. I love flying. It's crashing and exploding I'm afraid of.

For example, most people seem to request aisle seats on flights, for the extra leg room. Me, I like to make sure I have a window seat, so I can keep an eye on the engines and make routine checks to make sure they're still firmly attached to the wing and that the wing is still safely bolted to the fuselage. If, at some point, either of these things is not as it should be, I pledge to be the one who brings it to the attention of the flight staff by standing up on my seat, flailing my arms like a demented octopus and screaming, "Oh my God, we're all going to die!"

In conclusion, flying is not natural.

Random Thought of the Day

2007-01-13T23:12:00.000-05:00

People will always tell you, "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything." Hogwash. I say, if you don't have anything nice to say, start a blog. I mean isn't that what the Internet is for, making a complete ass of yourself?