July 28th, 2004

kh || axel || hip to be square

On Ants

From shoeless_girl in a locked post with permission:

When contemplating your disgusting kitchen, deciding where to start on the tidying of said kitchen, DO NOT, for the love of God, sit down and watch A Bug's Life to procrastinate.
At the end of the movie, you will go back in to the kitchen and be unable to kill all the fucking "cute little ants" that have set up home.
That is all.
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    amused amused
Newt Recovery
  • sekl


Stolen with permission from binderbright's post on movie worsts:

Worst Movie Title: Tie: The Phantom Menace and Attack of the Clones

Both are imminently evokative of bad horror movies from years gone by. AOTC reminds me of Clones: The Clonus Horror, an MST3K gem in which rich white people are raising clones of themselves in blissful slavery so that they can be harvested later for organs. Either that or an army of Dolly the Sheeps marching steadily towards an unsuspecting town. But at least "Clones" actually refers to something in the movie. I suppose the appearance of the Sith is supposed to be the menace, but why it's a phantom is beyond me. I keep expecting to see Michael Crawford in a Darth Maul mask that only covers half of his face.
intertubes tmicore

The travails of ultra_lilac's morning.

"I am filled with boundless, lime green rage at the underhanded behaviour of Boots the chemists.

I arose before dawn to perform the ancient and sacred rituals needed to purify my soul. My hair was sanctified with the great straighteners of the almighty goddess Babyliss. I anointed my head with the holy styling wax of Tony&Guy, destroyers of worlds.
The Goddess Rimmel was saluted with lip-gloss and eye shadow, and the ceremonial kohl of the Aztec deity Shitipokedmyselfintheeyeagain was applied.
The sacred blue feather boa of sneezing was packed into my bag along with the Tiger print sunglasses of Ra and I arrived at the temple in good time to perform the most potent ritual of rebirth.
Only apparently Boots doesn’t open until 9am on Wednesdays so I couldn’t take my new user pic after all.
I’ll try again tomorrow as I’m not about to worship at the filthy papist alter of that painted heathen 'The Woolworth’s Photo Booth'."


(no subject)

My friend, danicia, occasionally posts the text of some of the random IM messages she gets. The names are my edits.

Random Guy: hey there - interested in chatting?
danicia: About what?
Random Guy: anything - liekd your profile and of course your pic - and thought we might see if we clicked
danicia: Clicked for what?
Random Guy: to be friends maybe more
Random Guy: no assumptions or expectations
Random Guy: yes/no?
danicia: Sorry, I'm at work...slow response.
Random Guy: I can wait

He's still waiting........

Basically everything adidi has to say is witty in some respect,

but this caught my attention:

ehhhhh. i'm partial to movies with no plots and at least one swishy character of suspect sexual orientation. that way, you can always fill the time up after the movie debating his sexuality.

(an excellent tip for those first date awkward conversation crises.)
some movies of the sort---> a) lord of the rings 2-3. swishy characters of suspect orientation: all. (aragorn kissing his horse? blatant bestiality!) plot: wandering at best, thanks to peter jackson's obsession with image, rather than content.
b)harry potter and the prisoner of azkaban. swishy characters of sexual orientation: ...do you need to ask? alfonso cuaron is a sex maniac. plot: a mix of jk's genius and cuaron's viagra working overtime.
c) remember the titans. swishy characters of suspect orientations: you know what they say about those repressed footballers in small, southern towns. plot: what the hell was going on in that movie, anyway?
  • Current Music
    travis - writing to reach you
I am unreasonable


From dpaul007's friends-only post, with permission:

I've already had my laugh for the day, as well.

Old man comes in, pissed off mightily. Doesn't have his rebate, hates his phone, hates his service, hates me, and is going to report me and my business to the Dept. Of Business and Professional Regulation.

I let him get through his spiel; as he finished up, I said, "Well, I see one unsurmountable difficulty in regards to me fixing your problem."

I pointed to his paperwork, which has the word "Verizon" emblazoned across the top.

I then pointed to my left pectoral muscle, which is clothed in a red shirt with "Sprint" emblazoned across it.

It took him almost 6 seconds to figure it out.

*stomp-stomp-stomp out the door*
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    amused amused

Ah, English, we barely knew thee

sclerotic_rings, in one of his usually vitriolic, painful, yet funny posts to customers_suck, presents some examples of what he has to hear to get through the day:

Customer: "C'n Ah get my confidentation number?" (We get a lot of these; "Authormentation", "conformentation", "cowlfermentation", and just about any word that sounds like a Triple Word Score in a game of Scrabble run by Bart Simpson.)
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    amused amused
Bob "Uhhh..."
  • tania

(no subject)

ursulav contemplates the bright future here.

"James!" I said. "Donate my body to science!" (Having learned what exactly will happen to said body, I am not at all deterred, despite the occasionally trivial seeming uses, like practicing cosmetic surgery, that the human body can be put to.)

"Okay," said James.

"Do you want to be donated to science, or cremated?" I persisted.

James got about a syllable and a half into "Surprise me" and stopped. There was a brief pause. "Cremation's probably good," he said. I have no idea what goes on behind his eyes at moments like this, but possibly he was having horrible visions of being made into fertilizer for Purina Wombat Grass or being used to train a legion of attack capybaras to crave flesh. I figured it was probably polite not to ask. James trusts me, but being a wise man, he trusts me to be myself, and this is inherently somewhat unpredictable and prone to strange behavior. "Surprise me" was probably too much of a blank check.
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    amused amused

(no subject)

linnelleth on how to write a poem:

I have come up with a few rules for writing modern poems for publication in well known and generally respected magazines:
1. The poem absolutely, positively MUST NOT RHYME. Not even internal rhyme is acceptable. Alliteration is barely tolerated.
2. The poem must utilize metaphors or similes that no one has ever heard of or would be likely to think of. The more obscure the better. They need not draw any sort of recognizable picture nor serve to elucidate in any way. For instance, you might write a poem about your car and call it "jello-colored".
3. Breaks between lines and stanzas must appear haphazard. Try to avoid lines that can be scanned and if possible, break the line up mid-sentence.
4. Avoid conveying any simple meaning. Or indeed, any meaning whatsoever. If there is meaning intended, please try to make it as difficult as possible for any reader to arrive at an understanding of it. Remember that the modern poem is saved from being pure prose only by it's lack of clarity, so clarity is to be avoided at all costs. This is especially important as it offers those who consider themselves to belong to a literary elite a way of separating themselves from the rest of us. After all, they can find meaning in this crap art, and if you can't, it just shows how far beneath them you are.
5. Never hurts to throw in a classical allusion, like the name of an ancient Greek hero, for instance. It is preferable to choose gods or heroes that are not well known, as it demonstrates how well-read the author is while at the same time preventing the average reader from finding it intelligible.

The rest of the post (where she analyzes a modern poem) is really funny, too.
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    amused amused
I'll Need Booze For This One

(no subject)

From here:

quixotic_sense: I love SEAsian international relations. :))
serabut: i know! we're all literally, ONE BIG FAMILY
quixotic_sense: Yes. A *real* family, as opposed to the Cosby Show. :))
serabut: lol. with all the infighting and bitching
serabut: there you have phillipines going, "sabah's mine!!!!"
serabut: malaysia: talk to the hand, cos the face ain't listening
serabut: sabah: wtf mate?
quixotic_sense: Sabahans: You're BOTH fuckers. Leave us alone.
serabut: bwah
serabut: and then, malaysia: would you please stop sending terrorists over?!
serabut: thailand: waaaat? it's your fault you're muslms
quixotic_sense: :))
serabut: then, indonesia: you're smaller, and rich, I hate you.
serabut: malaysia: i think we're runnign out of cheap labour. send us some
serabut: indonesia: yeah sure ok.
serabut: myanmar & vietnam: *gibberish*
serabut: malaysia: .....
serabut: Bangladesh: If I may add--
serabut: everyone: SHUT UP
quixotic_sense: Singapore: *smug flash of gold bangles*
serabut: lol
serabut: singapore: I rule, and you suck
malaysia: you suck more!
singapore: economically-behind older sibling!
malaysia: .... israel!!!
quixotic_sense: *DIES* So. True.
serabut: and it never ends.
shark hug
  • cortie

(no subject)

from the wondermous squeeb's journal -

Have just had a very odd dream in which Mr. Owen, my former AP World History teacher, took myself, Rachel, and Casey bowling, and was trying to relate how he spun the ball to Napoleon's favorite foods.

cars kill more people than al Qaeda

veejane here:

[The protest] was messily disorganized and announced itself to me with a scruffy-looking gentleman with a sign saying, "cars kill more people than al Qaeda."

Which, statistically, is true. Then again, cars don't actually have a choice in the matter, unless you count KITT the sapient car, who to my knowledge is not and has never been homicidal.


Commenting on a post in asperger that, among other things, discusses the autistic self-calming technique of rocking back and forth:

redshira writes:

And what is the deal with people being so freaked out by rocking? I will never understand that. It's not like I started masturbating in front of them or anything.

To which analkant replies:

but you say "it's not like i started masturbating in front of them" as if that would somehow be a reason to get freaked out

(quoted with permission)
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    amused amused
Rock and rule

When clothes are too big

enchantee in a friends locked entry with permission when the clothes her mother bought are too big has this to say:

All my fears have proven true... My mother thinks I'm anorexic My mother wants to fatten me up and eat me! My own mother! Oh woe! Oh anguish! Oh get back to folding, bitch!
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    Havana Lied - Miranda Sex Garden

Orlando Bloom really lends himself to metaquoteness, doesn't he?

I kind of feel sorry for Mr. Bloom, though. He won't *ever* play a grown-up. He'll be, like, fifty and then film people will go, "hey, I know! You could make your big comeback as this early 30s detective in this film noir thing! Except you're really just a teenager pretending to be a detective! Teeheehee. How about we cast someone like, uh, Haley Joel Osment as your father?"

- The hilarious cosmic commenting on a not-very-funny post in my journal, here.
general: red tide name

(no subject)

puffgirl_two, in a locked post.

It's like, sometimes you can't open your brand new lip gloss but then skripka unsticks the cap for you and you wish that she would never leave because then who else would carry your stuff and talk about Sean Maher's pretty blushing smile all day and let you squee in her ear then you're putting on the new lip gloss and looking in the mirror and thinking what a pretty colour it is and then you think to yourself, my God.

If I were any shallower, I'd be Michael Shanks.
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