an underrated activity

an underrated activity: selecting a particularly droney (or other musical styling of your choice) album and tripping out to the itunes visualizer. and i'm not even high.

chai pussy

my pussy smelled like chai yesterday. it was awesome.

dear 1992 self,

in september of 2006, while you're in montreal to see megadeth, you'll learn that guns n' roses'll be playing in your city. not only will axl still be alive, he'll actually show up to your city, bring dizzy reed and a bunch of other reasonably random cats and put on an amazingly kickass show. you won't even miss slash (much). you won't have to "walk on your eyes" (you will actually say you'd do this) to see g'n'r-- they will come to you-- so be patient. there's no need to scream at your parents when they won't let you go see them with metallica in montreal this summer. although it will be one of their most infamous shows, you wouldn't get to see much of it anyway, as axl walks off stage after a couple of songs and james hetfield gets burned by pyrotechnics (but he'll be okay). ok, it would actually have been cool to see this show, but you won't get to go.
in november of 2006, however, after nearly eight weeks of wondering if it would even be worth it to see g'n'r anymore, one of your best friends manages to score really cheap floor tickets, you haul out the tiny axl rose-esque mesh football shirt you've been looking for since you saw the paris use your illusion concert on video, but you only found last year, and rock your cock competely off about five hicks away from the band. axl will sing all the ballads (except don't cry which is played as an instrumental) and you'll scarcely remember which boy went with which song. you won't cry when you hear any of them, but you do remember many school dances where you kissed boys and/or cried about them during each of these songs.
near the end of the show, for one song, some characters from a very popular locally-produced tv show will appear on the stage and play a song called "liquor and whores" with the band. one of the characters will play in the band "sandbox legacy," that will also play at your grade nine prom which you will go to with a drummer named ian and you'll wear a terrible purple dress. you will look back at this and find it pretty funny. i promise that you'll glance back at everything and find it really funny. but you won't listen to me-- like south park's eric cartman wouldn't listen to his future self in the recent nintendo wii episode-- because you're a stubborn little slut. anyway, i bid you farewell, sweet child o' mine. you're probably up right now at 3:59 in the a.m. on a school night, reading a g'n'r-related issue of metal edge magazine or writing in your journal about a stupid boy who likes shitty music and is a complete tool. all is cool in the future, man, don't fret! in 2006, you won't be married to a boy you met in university, but you'll be glad about it. you will get to see guns n' fuckin' roses--or what you'd begrudgingly call a reasonable fascimile. and they will blow both your 1992 and 2006 selves clear outta the water.
chin up, bitch!
love and much rawk and metal,
2006 self
xoxo

p.s. here's the set list
Welcome to the Jungle
It's So Easy
Mr Brownstone
Live and Let Die
Knocking on Heavens door
Finck solo
Sweet Child o' Mine
Better
You Could be Mine
The Blues
That annoyingly long rendition of Beautiful by Christina Aguilera
Out To Get Me
November Rain
Rocket Queen
Liquor and Whores
My Michelle
Patience
Bumblefoot Oh Canada/Don't Cry
Nightrain
Madagascar
Paradise City

i heart anime porn

oh yeah. just like that. omigod.

tap the trees, find my syrup

perhaps i'm pushing my luck, but the worst thing troubling my existence right now is that i can't find the 2L of maple syrup that i know are in the house. so i can't put any in my yerba mate or smoothies or baking. and i don't feel jusitified in buying more. pretty tough.

i shit pure energy

omig_d!

this is one of the funniest stories about someone who was injured whilst not doing something particularly stupid, that i've read in a while.
so. incredible.
in some ways, i wish this had've happened to me. blast the bowels good, wha?.
holy motherfuck!!!

LIGHTNIN'!

in montreal...

-nobody is fat (except tourists)
-everyone is well-dressed (except tourists)
-everyone speaks english (so convenient)
-nobody uses an ipod (i assume because there's so much cool to experience)
-there are hardly any painted crosswalks (why do we need lines?)
-rock shows begin at like 8 o'clock (such a good idea)
-nothing opens early (see next entry)
-i couldn't find anywhere close to downtown to eat a good breakfast (i ate clifbars)
-i was offered coffee, a massage and a private dance (heh)
-apparently nobody drinks water with whisky (hmm...)

boyfriend utterings of old finally make sense

finally i understand why boyfriends used to say the following seemingly hurtful statements: i don't want to talk about this anymore. can you please be quiet for just a minute? i've had a long day. what are you talking about? i have no idea what you're talking about. no, i don't want to plan our time together this week. let's just see what happens. i have crossed over to the other side. i am the one who doesn't want to talk about it anymore, or hear senseless ramblings. just shut up and kiss me. or fuck off and go home. or maybe i should go home. and leave you to be by yourself to pine away for me forever. man! g_d! gawd! demig_d! SHUT UP!

frequently wondered questions

the moment you've all been waiting for: ask me a question and i'll answer it!

the internet

Results 1 - 10 of about 31,700 for "i hate the internet".
Results 1 - 10 of about 234,000 for "i love the internet"

it was about ten years ago that i first went on the internet at school with my then-boyfriend, nick. i think we probably searched "metallica" when given the opportunity to look for anything. what did you search for?

the wicker man

i have a renewed crush on "the wicker man." it's an excellent film which i've seen only twice, but will surely watch many more times. i'm very concerned, however, about the rehash slated to be released on september first. originally, when i realized there was going to be a remake, i was really interested, so i rented the original again. it was so fucking choice, man. not only could this film not have been done better, but this remake, as i deduce from reading the wikipedia entry and watching the trailer, will completely repaint this entire story and muddy the entire idea.

to begin, the new film replaces christopher lee's incredible character, lord summeraisle, with a female role. this is just completely unnecessary and a too-obvious move to make it modern and borderless. blech-- especially since gender/sex was important to the belief system of this town. also, the trailer suggests that this film is trying to reach for the teen horror audience which demands blood and gore fancy tricks and quick edits. none of this was present or necessary in the original to make it frightening or worth watching. the suspense and creepiness in the 1973 version was inherent in its plot's setup, the setting in general and the tone of its characters. no intense horrror or graphic images were necessary. there was no specific tone of evil or fright-- much was left open to interpretation. i guess the new director realizes that most moviegoers need their movies to be interpreted for them. i shudder to think how awful the soundtrack to the new film will be. that of the original helped make the film. some even call it a musical, as the music was more in the foreground than not, and there a couple of blatant musicalesque scenes. and i abhor musicals.
i believe all the heart and the art will be lost in the remake, as is often the case. but this somehow makes me much sadder than the average remake. the original was made to be a horror film, but of a different ilk. altho i am no movie expert, i don't think there's another film that touches this one-- and i'm especially pointing my finger (and wagging it!) at the never-shoulda-been remake. you money-grubbing whores-- i wish you'd've kept your dirty american paws offa this one. i mean fuck- the original was filmed and set in scotland and this one is set in the US--ugh-- how unromantic-- and filmed in canada. nice way to ruin the mood, asshats!

as a stand alone film, as in had the original not been produced at all, this film could potentially be okay. i would never suggest anyone see it without first seeing the original--or hell, go see it and then watch the original if you wish-- i have confidence you will decide that the original far fucking surpasses this tripe. i'm an anti-fan of nicholas-my-uncle-francis-made-me-an-actor-cage. the new film would tempt me to see it just to see... well... just to see him suffer in many parts of the film. all in all, i haven't decided if i will boycott this new cinematic monstrosity, or if i'll see it just so i'll know how awful it is/ have something to be pissed about for a few hours. but i know i won't be paying to see it with my hard-earned scrill. and neither should you. you should, however (those in my city), gather four non-perishable food items (food drive ends sept 16th) and rent it at video difference. or somewhere else. just see it. there's lots of tits, great costumes, pretty scenery, pagan rituals, great songs, christopher lee, and best of all... sheer unfettered creepiness.

what's the world coming to?

this is something my parents used to say whilst shaking their heads when something unbelievable happened. i caught myself wondering it lately, because of a series of incidents:

1) scientists are developing a sticker which shows the consumer when a piece of fruit is ripe. just how lazy and ill-informed can people be?

2) 30% of canadians don't know they have HIV. this is staggering. stephen harper didn't attend the international AIDS conference in toronto (not as if it were in fucking zambia or something-- still, no excuse).

3) there are more obese people in the world than hungry people. this is downright appalling. i mean-- it's absolutely atrocious that there is more than enough food on earth, people are starving and we in the west are emotional eating away our healthcare scrill. i hate everything.

autumnal urges

bring on the effin'fall!

joyeux bloggeux a moi

wow. happy bloggin' birthday to this slutty biotch. she's two as fuck.

summer 2004 was a complete clusterfuck, but you can look if you want to. i was actively blogging, for what that's worth.

today last year i sold my crowbars for the first time and helped g move out of yukon st. for good. wow. i need a moment to reflect.

two reasons to leave halifax (if but for a day)

1) i am always wet (and not just in my netherregions). fuck, could the humidity level BE any higher?

2) there are no places where i can be dry where i'm not apt to spend money or freeze my cakehole.

3) even my dry towels are wet.

4) i can't count.

fuck.

two reasons to stay in halifax

(brought to you by the events of friday, july 28th, 2006)

1) (on my street) i saw a fellow riding a bicycle with another standing on a platform to the side. he was playing a cowbell.

2) there were fireworks on the commons at 2 a.m.

venus envy + wizard of oz= wizard of lesbians

reflections + metro transit= gay love

santa was the ass end of this parade

what's wrong with your fucking feet?

a couple of days ago on the waterfront, i happened upon two people using gas-powered scooters to travel across the boardwalk. neither of these folks had an inability to walk. they were standing straight up. in a world where obesity is a serious epidemic, there are wars over oil, and the last thing we need is another gas-powered vehicle to destroy our already skullfucked earth, why the serious christ would anyone want to ride a vehicle where they have to stand up, and get manage to get around slower than the average pedestrian whilst polluting the fucking earth? i don't throw around the term terribly often, but you people (and there were two of you, one working for the waterfront visitor information centre and another genius fellow) are fucking losers. especially the wvic (and by extension, nova scotia tourism), you fucking lose hard. you are thoughtless, moneygrubbing imps and i abhor you. you made taking a stroll on the waterfront during peak tourist season an even more vomit-provoking experience than i thought possible, and that is an "accomplishment" i didn't think possible.

come a little closer

a day where this seems appropriate. a day of thinking of actively doing and not just thinking of it, and by it, i must mean something. an important friend who constantly inspires the kind of self-questioning that allows me to wash my hair and get outta here each morning (or afternoon....), is leaving soon. i try to ignore it, but it's happening. everything about the situation makes me at the same time fearfully naseous and gleeful/hopeful. dry mouth. the inspired but the paralysed. the piece of me who has just listened to an hour of honest pleaing and venting. the piece of me that lies muffled under a pile of dirty black summer shirts. and the piece that actually wants change, but is drowning in its own blood. if glen allen anzalone was not glenn danzig, i ?wonder? what i'd be doing right now-- and always, when things are all afuck.

the sounds of children playing and sure, brutal death

one can gauge my mood by noticing how easily i tolerate the sounds of children playing.

on a great day, i marvel at the supreme specialness that children can exist at all and be able just to play, with all the g_dawful things happening in the world. pure innocence. bliss. i welcome and smile at it.

on a good day, i hardly notice, and my mood is unchanged-- if not slightly fortified by it as i pass.

on an off day, their terrible shrieks annoy me. i wonder how their shrill squawking, disgusting blubbering and fruitlesss hollering doesn't drive the playground supervisor to throttle them each with their own respective lunchpails.

when i'm feeling next to nowhere: melancholy, angry, nihilistic, i resent their existence. i question how their parents could've not strangled them with their own umbilical cords and stuffed them under the matresses they were conceived upon. i want to drown them in a mixture their mother's menstrual blood, the lifeblood of their ancestors' and my vomit, with a large concentration of spit and bile. their existence is the most revolting and excrutiating riddle. i'd rather not solve it, and end the crude nonsense forever. save the world from their mangy hands, mucousy noses and most of all their torturously diseased screeching... but then the assclown landlord next door deems necessary to use his whipper-snipper-- the second greatest aural monitor of my mood... when that piece of never-shoulda-been-invented tripe beast begins to "work" away, and the children are freaking out in disharmony, i am at a serious brink. i generally have to leave the house, blast norwegian black metal or go to sleep, with earplugs and a hot toddy. this ear-raping duo is the finish line of the race to end my tolerance.

this utter repulsiveness and complete frothing anger doesn't translate into the intense abhorrence of the precious mewing of tolerable, powdery smelling newborns or the brilliant, well-behaved run-off you sometimes see. just the ones that should rightfully drowned at birth, or rather their parents should have been. poor deadened souls. no hope.

anyway, today i am in a good mood with a 40% chance of greatness. this is how i noticed the usual disgustitude was less like torture and more like a robin's first song (ugh). i check my forehead, grab my metalstick-- just to be sure-- and head out, into a world that could turn it all around in 30 seconds.

ready to transport: one to the enterprise

only the crew of starship enterprise inspire me to have any faith whatsoever in humanity. if i had one wish right now, it would be to join them-- or at least watch season five all day, and not go to work, or have to speak to anyone i don't know.

whodunnit?

who built the pyramids?

sodomize his corpse!

on the edge of the commons. yes.

a speck of something

i just posted a draft from march.
today last year, i ate cereal with my brother.
today this year, the sky is pissing the ocean down, and i'm hungry for a rich treat that i won't taste.

76% metal!

I am 76% Metal Head.

I was born with the mark of the beast on my forehead and an axe in my arms. I am the god of all things metal! Now if only I could get my parents to give me back my car keys.....

Take the
Metal Head Test
@ FualiDotCom

a)

randomly happy days are much more difficult to write about-- especially when half asleep.

6.6.06. satan says: eat babies

two sexy glistening shirtless men with weapons

cake!

i like cake a lot. this weekend i got cake two days in a row, and it was fucking fabulous. this cake was the first one. i was at the polish fest dessert counter trying to decide which dessert looked like it would mix best with smirnoff and bowels when this jovial chap showed up suddenly with this pan of cake. he said he made it himself. he claimed it was the best one there. so with that kind of promotion, his was the cake i tried. and it was incredible. so i went back to tell him just how much i loved his cake. "i told you so," he said, knowingly. "and i would never lie to you." and i told him that i knew he wouldn't. i mean look at him: he's either truly not a liar, or too drunk to know he's lying. but it was fucking ridiculous cake. "what kind of cake is it? what's it called?" i asked him.
he shrugs, offering his answer,"cake!"

coming soon

...oh, fo' sho!

in the mouth of madness

you have to get yourself off before you walk to work even tho you're running late. you shake like a cardigan'd man in a hardwood apartment all afternoon. puke in your mouth all night. you know who you are when you get what you asked for and you're wrong. it's not as you like it. and you're better off without. paper lanterns have the potential to beat peaks of boredom. eat my wish. make my other one come true. surprise me and make me wrong. eat my fuck. die. put me under opposite house arrest. put my organs somewhere else.

when will i get my period?*

someday your vagina will drip blood. and you will be fertile. and have to plug your vag or put something under your fleshy rouge tap to catch the leak. you may be plagued with PMS, with stained panties, and your brother making fun of tampons. you won't be able to have sex without getting blood everywhere, yet you'll probably sharve for sex even more. you will feel dirty. sexy. mad. it will last for forty years or something. bleeding's end will be hell unless you eat soy. you will tell your mom you're going on the pill to control aunt flo. but really you're on the fuck. your mom will give you a pamphlet about your changing body. maybe she'll take you out for pizza for becoming a woman. or give you pearl earrings. or hug you. or hit you. or tell you stories about teen pregnancy that will scar you or inspire you or that you will turn into. whatever you do don't worry if it hasn't come yet. it will come to you in time. unexpected. at school while wearing white pants (after labour day! gasp!) at church. while you're touching yourself. in your sleep. you're not dying-- you're becoming a woman. in some countries you're sent away to a hut-- you: the unclean. enjoy the days of the clean vagina. of the fearless fuck. of the days of childhood dreams that you'll fuck away. you'll be 8. you'll be 18. you'll get it sometime. don't be hasty. get off the net and spemd the entire day reading anne of green gables under a shady tree and remember back on this day when the world asks too much of you.
*this question is probaby the single-most queried by (presumably) girls who end up here at my period. here's an answer for all the curious youngsters who'd rather ask the internet than their mothers, and whose teachers have not addressed it at school.
$$$ all this and i'm not even menstruating.

clean as a whistle

i'm officially void of all blood-borne and bodily fluids-borne STDs. i'm also not surprised, because i do it the safe way. but i am clean. and this is awesome. so go get tested.

change at quimpy

oh-- it's a bear with a huge penis, and breasts and he has a pentagram for a face-- and he has a cleaver.
and he's jizzing.
it's a satanic hermaphrodite killer bear.
oh my god, that was on your bill? oh my god, i'm sorry.
yeah, i'm keeping this bill to buy something at jeanna's cash.
that's awesome.
we should spend it on porn.
shit-- it has a cleaver, and it's jizzing. it's a fucking bear!

carcass sharvin'

i will be crushed, confused, appalled frightened if the world decides to embrace meat grown in a fucking petri dish, yet not to eliminating eating meat altogether.
p.s. the world's citizens consume 240 billion kg of meat each year. that, in case you're not sure, is a serious slutload of rotting flesh.

my period: the magic 8 ball for your period

whatever. whatever.
these are the kids trolling around on the interweb. this is what the assholes want to know about. this is where they come to find out about:

	2	8.00%	when is my next period
	2	8.00%	sex with sister
	2	8.00%	panties for your period
	1	4.00%	have period while sex
	1	4.00%	machinefuck
	1	4.00%	pics of my sister
	1	4.00%	on my period
	1	4.00%	lick my period blood
	1	4.00%	when is my period
	1	4.00%	shit stains
	1	4.00%	about my period
	1	4.00%	wife in white panties
	1	4.00%	i like to shit my panties and make my husband eat it
	1	4.00%	having sex with my sister
	1	4.00%	only sister fucking pics only
	1	4.00%	teacher in white panties
	1	4.00%	sister sex
	1	4.00%	my period
	1	4.00%	my sister fucked by me
	1	4.00%	when am i going to get my period
	1	4.00%	fuck my little sister
	1	4.00%	consentual sex

i'm not fucking kidding.

blogging is dead to me.

blogging is dead to me.
i can't say i won't do it anymore, or even that i no longer want to do it anymore, but it is dead to me. this blog was better when i told you more about myself. now i don't want to. and it's boring. part of me is sorry, the other part doesn't care. anyway, see y'around, in some capacity.

chercher ma plotte

most times, clicking on "next blog" will lead you to something not as cool or relevant (read: incomprehensible and worthless) as the ones you normally read. but occasionally, you find a few cool, if not edgy blogs.
and then you run across something as awesome as this. check out a few of your favourite things. distract yourself from the lack of fresh fruit from the loins of from my period.

three letters

dear french 33 year-old unemployed teacher who took 21 students (and two others) hostage today,

it sucks you're out of work. the only thing worse than having a job is looking for one. you might have, however, considered looking for work in another field while trying to make your point about the lack of jobs for teachers in france (or consider why perhaps they wouldn't give you a job) rather than holding students hostage. it sucks you're depressed, too. so seek help (i'm sure you'll have little choice now anyway). good luck getting a teaching job now.

love,
bean

dear state of georgia,

consentual sex is consentual sex. i know it's law in your state to prosecute those found having sex under the age of consent, and the law is the law and all that-- but fuck-- it happens all the g_d damned time and she was 15. and he was 17. it's not as if she were 12 and he was 24 or something. and she was willing. and it was oral sex. oh wait-- it was illegal for a husband and wife to enjoy oral sex in your state until 1998-- and punishable with up to 20 years prison time. what the fuck? regardless, 10 years is WAY too long of a sentence for this fellow. rethink. put your energies elsewhere.

love,
bean

dear birdflu,

don't even.

love,
bean

the feces files

if i have to shit one more time today i'm going to choke myself to death with my own feces. on a lighter note, i'm enjoying and distracting myself with a much sought-after x-files (fourth season) marathon.

when i say motley, you say crue!

today i'm going through drafts that i didn't post for one reason or another. mostly laziness and my lack of motivation to finish them. here's one:

it's still fairly fresh in my mind-- although i've stopped reeling: i saw mötley crüe. it wows me when i consider that i'd talked myself down from anticipation as recently as two days before the show. we had great fucking seats. scanning the crowd, it seemed i was the only one dressed ironically (except for one eager dude wearing a denim vest and a pink headband-- altho he looked more ready for a springsteen show). immediately, there were "little people". on the best of days, i'm not a fan of "midget" jokes or exploitation. if this were 5 years ago, i would have let it ruin the show-- but not tonight. i had to resign myself to believing the little people were well paid---perhaps even with pussy-- so whatev. i'm sure they weren't really whipping them that hard. also, there were hot lady acrobats who essentially made the show for me. climbing ladders and crawling along the floor like cats and using welding apparati and just plain being sexxxy.

vince neil: you're right in front of me. you look and act just like an old boyfriend (or rather he just like you. i didn't notice until now). so hot. you still know how to hold a crowd more than your counterparts, perhaps by your straightfowardness and conectedness to the reality before you. what?

nikki sixx: evil. you died twice. i liked the multiple "fucks" on your jacket and pants. you looked younger than i'd've guessed you would in person.

mick mars: your spine is fucking fused. i still wonder how you put up with these guys so long. you were such a sight to behold. i wanted to give you a hug.

tommy lee: you're lucky you're a hot ticket, because you seem like kind of a wank. worst. banter. ever. i did, however, enjoy how lame some of your gimmics were. i was all over it. did you hear me scream "methods of mayhem!" whenever you were a wank?

you're all lucky you're still alive and that people came in droves to see you. actually, i'm quite surprised at the turnout.

* i didn't really finish commenting on this show, so let it be known that "Live Wire" was my favourite moment of the night. that's all.