There's a REASON I don't show you a picture of what I've got at home.
It's the same reason I sit on the front porch and shoot at passing cars. It's because when you have GOOD STUFF you don't advertise it around like a dipshit because then people will be all ''Oooo, lets break in and STEAL it!" And then those people would have to die and I don't need that all over my front lawn because it's already hard enough to mow as it is.
I know that this has been dissappointing for many people worldwide.
Here is something to take your mind off your petty meaningless whining. Think of it as a kind of Amazon Books 'Bestsellers' but with no books.
Supplies are limited.
Act now.
Ladies and gentlemen, the Hot Hot Men and one Woman of Blogworld!
James Bluecat....Taken postmodern urban techno heat. The definition of 'bisho boy' has his avatar next to it. Really. It's in Wikipedia.
.......well, it should be.
Frobisher...They call this lefty rebel 'Mt. Everest', and he's sure to infest the coal-blackened Victorian slum of your soul with the pasturella pestis of love. Long, lean and dangerous; bad, mad and dangerous to know. Somebody buy this man a Harley!
Beast...Something about his communications leads me to believe he has that irresistable British 'Borstal Graduate' sneering thing going on. And the words 'toy' and 'standard' tattooed on his knuckles. I don't know what I mean by that.
Hardhouse....We used to call boys like this 'fast.' By day a student, by night a Werewolf of London. Ask him where the best Chinese is because baby, HE KNOWS.
The Champ....He has the looks, he has the hair, he has the body mass, and all of it spells BEAR. A perfect toy for a frisky cougar!
You do know what that is, right? Ok.
Tom 909...Virtual reality rural counterculture heat. 100% pesticide free! Go ahead and have a glass. You'll be shaken AND stirred.
mrcunttours...He'll launch a Molotov cocktail onto the virtual porchstep of your heart. Rocking the Bad Boy heat, he's a hormone driven midnight marauder searching for a bitch to pack. (that probably sounds way dirtier than what it actually means, unless I'm lying.)
Piggy*... This member of the 'Suidae' family is the ultimate thrill ride. For a small extra consideration, he'll provide a video of your adventure too!
Tazzy*....Profusely illustrated Tazzy is the reason they invented 'Tribal' style. Tastes just like Piggy.
* only available as set
Fukkit....Gone but not forgotten, Fukkit is the very epitome of delicious dykiness and blends in well with nearly any decor! Recently shipped to Australia in chains for stealing a loaf of bread.
Wyndham.... He has that 'doomed British pilot from a WW2 movie, just-one-last-sweet-interlude-before-I- go- my-darling' thing all happening. I feel confident in describing his look as 'Wahoo Serious with better hair'.
Tim Footman....GOD, the children. See him there, sipping a glass of warm gin under an umbrella whilst observing the battle from the walls of the city...hint of a sardonic smile faintly playing across his features....ripped on opium....
Glitter.....A radio tower in his background, a whole lotta love in the foreground. Trust me when I tell you that you need to unfasten his stockings with your teeth RIGHT NOW. Rocky? Ugh!
SID...Bog hoppin' , shorts wearin' peat heat. You SO know he does that sexy Irish thing where he pronounces the word 'Fuck' as 'fook'.
DavetheF....Swings with the 'distracted intellectual in nothing but a poorly fastened bathrobe, drinking a cup of coffee and staring out the french doors into the morning fog' brand of allure. Kind of like a CK ad. Only you don't have to guess what it's about.
BobSwipe...Unattainable, world weary, Jack Keroac-in-a-thong sexy. Make sure you reserve a table for two in the very back room. A table with a loooooooong tablecloth.
Doug....The kind of charming intellectual guy you take home to momma, and she steals. And he lets her. And then he call you up and apologizes and asks you out again and you actually consider it.
UPDATE:
Tickersoid:
(cue C+C Music Factory )
/Martha Wash/ "EVRAH BUDDY DANCE NOW!" *bump! bump! bump-bummmpbump bump! bummmpbump bump*
/Martha Wash/ "EVRAH BUDDY DANCE NOW!"
(cue lasers and fog)
The man works in a steel mill. I don't think I need to draw you a picture.
(release soapsuds)
Billy: "Oh my, do you mean to tell me I've been running around like this all day? Well, would you come help me zip it up? Yes, the coatroom is probably best; we dont want the whole world seeing, do we? Oh! careful, that tickled. Goodness, I thinks it's good and stuck. Looks like I'll have to take them off. Will you help me? Oh! Did I hear the teacher come in? Sh! There, thats all right, I doon't mind if you hug me, I was startled too...mmmm....you hair smells nice...." aaaand he's taken.
Treespotter... That brown bowler shades a secret so hot that bottles of amyl nitrate spontaneously combust when he walks by. By day a mystery, by night a roving tomcat with sin on his breath and a pirates glint in his eye. He's the reason your topiary is dying. He's the reason you leave the window open just a bit at night.
Ok? Happy? You can stop it with the emails already guys, I did it. Leave me alone.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Monday, October 02, 2006
The Great Demon Silver Tortoise Summons Three Monsters
Welcome to October!
In keeping with the season, I will be writing a post about one of the two spooky encounters with the unknoooooooown that I have had in my life. But that will not happen until Halloween. Not like its worth waiting for with bated breath, because it's only about a 5 on the 1 - 10 scale of spooky bookiness, but it did happen to me, and you can't say I didn't warn you now.
The first of the spooky encounters I've encountered with the unknooooooown is posted up at The Shadowlands in their 'True by cracky stories of scary ghostly spooky shit pages'. Guilty admission: I love this site.
No I will not tell you which story.
About once every three months or so, if I'm feeling bummed out, I go to the Shadowlands site and do nothing but read these accounts obsessively for a couple of days. For some reason, and I have no idea what that reason is, it make me feel better. Not that we are besieged by the shades of the dead here at Rancho FirstNations; no, we are not. Anyway, that would not bum me out so much as I would just skip the running away part and go directly to the 'mindless terrified gibbering from which there is no return ever' part. For you see: I know ghosts are bullshit. Theres no such thing. And they scare the shit out of me.
After all - just because I don't believe in (fill in the blank) doesn't mean it isn't real. And of all the things I know aren't real, ghosts are the NUMBER ONE thing I know isn't real. Followed closely by aliens who want to peer up your butthole* and jam big old long fucking hypodermic needles into your eyeballs.**
I have a friend who is a believer. She just loves ghostly anything. She has gone on the Myrtles Plantation ghost tour, the New Orleans ghost tour, the Victoria BC ghost tour....and she claims she experienced paranormal things on each one. In other words she pays cash money hoping that some unnatural dead old deceased damn thing will leap out and make her pee herself. See, now, me...? This is not how I choose to spend my money.
Now, I have been to quite a few places that I've subsequently found to be registered on the 'haunted crap' sites (and didn't I feel all warm and fuzzy when I discovered that?)
Not a thing.
Not a tingle, not a chill, not a 'let me eeeeeat your souuuuuuul'whispered from a dark basement, nothing. And for this I am truly, truly, truly grateful. But if my friend were to go to any of these places she'd be palpitating and recieving mental images and I don't know what all. Anyway something would happen.
When we spent New Years with her she thought that it would be terribly humorous to make reservations for us all at a hotel in Vancouver BC which is supposed to be haunted, knowing how I feel about this stuff.
I caught on when I heard her and her partner murmuring about 'The murder suite' and 'the woman in the lobby' and fronted her up on it.
Yes, she admitted, the Coronation is listed on the 'Haunted Vancouver' site.
Oh ha!
So funny!
Here I'm stuck in a foreign damn country, profoundly and comprehensively fucked up, yea; stoned to the very roots of my hair, with no vehicle, in a haunted hotel, with dead shit floating around going 'wooooooooooo', and bleeding, headless, with death, and horror, scary, and death.
YAY!
I grabbed her by the hand and we took a little tour of the haunted hotel.
Haunted lobby? check.
Haunted ladies room? check.
Haunted auditorium? check.
Haunted staircase? check.
Nothing.
Nothing, nothing, nothing.
HA! upon you, Ghost Hotel! I laugh in the face of your spooky hauntedness!
Go sit upon your mothers hat! I am spit upon your so called 'Lady in the Lobby' with her so-humorous not appearings to me!
Oh crap, was I relieved.
*Aliens are not interested in your ass. Not my ass, not your ass, not anyones' ass. Not even Frobishers ass. To abduct us; possibly to take us to their mysterious homeworld and drop us in the mucus-filled digestive pits of Arzal-Thror where we will scream in unimagineable agony for ten thousand years while they caper and laugh obscenely, possibly. But to think that they came zillions of parcecs just to peer up our colons?
Come on.
I claim no great state of advancement; yet if I found an alien lying around somewhere, would I take it home and poke stuff up it's butt? No I would not. In fact I can state conclusively that looking up it's hine is the very last thing I would be considering.
In conclusion: Do I give one well-lubricated hoot in hell about the entire issue of alien buttholes? I do not. Despite what Homo Escapeons might think.
**Guilty admission #2 - the movie 'Fire in the Sky' scared me so bad I had tears of pure terror running down my face, and I wasn't crying. I could NOT look out the windows. I went to bed with all the lights on.
In keeping with the season, I will be writing a post about one of the two spooky encounters with the unknoooooooown that I have had in my life. But that will not happen until Halloween. Not like its worth waiting for with bated breath, because it's only about a 5 on the 1 - 10 scale of spooky bookiness, but it did happen to me, and you can't say I didn't warn you now.
The first of the spooky encounters I've encountered with the unknooooooown is posted up at The Shadowlands in their 'True by cracky stories of scary ghostly spooky shit pages'. Guilty admission: I love this site.
No I will not tell you which story.
About once every three months or so, if I'm feeling bummed out, I go to the Shadowlands site and do nothing but read these accounts obsessively for a couple of days. For some reason, and I have no idea what that reason is, it make me feel better. Not that we are besieged by the shades of the dead here at Rancho FirstNations; no, we are not. Anyway, that would not bum me out so much as I would just skip the running away part and go directly to the 'mindless terrified gibbering from which there is no return ever' part. For you see: I know ghosts are bullshit. Theres no such thing. And they scare the shit out of me.
After all - just because I don't believe in (fill in the blank) doesn't mean it isn't real. And of all the things I know aren't real, ghosts are the NUMBER ONE thing I know isn't real. Followed closely by aliens who want to peer up your butthole* and jam big old long fucking hypodermic needles into your eyeballs.**
I have a friend who is a believer. She just loves ghostly anything. She has gone on the Myrtles Plantation ghost tour, the New Orleans ghost tour, the Victoria BC ghost tour....and she claims she experienced paranormal things on each one. In other words she pays cash money hoping that some unnatural dead old deceased damn thing will leap out and make her pee herself. See, now, me...? This is not how I choose to spend my money.
Now, I have been to quite a few places that I've subsequently found to be registered on the 'haunted crap' sites (and didn't I feel all warm and fuzzy when I discovered that?)
Not a thing.
Not a tingle, not a chill, not a 'let me eeeeeat your souuuuuuul'whispered from a dark basement, nothing. And for this I am truly, truly, truly grateful. But if my friend were to go to any of these places she'd be palpitating and recieving mental images and I don't know what all. Anyway something would happen.
When we spent New Years with her she thought that it would be terribly humorous to make reservations for us all at a hotel in Vancouver BC which is supposed to be haunted, knowing how I feel about this stuff.
I caught on when I heard her and her partner murmuring about 'The murder suite' and 'the woman in the lobby' and fronted her up on it.
Yes, she admitted, the Coronation is listed on the 'Haunted Vancouver' site.
Oh ha!
So funny!
Here I'm stuck in a foreign damn country, profoundly and comprehensively fucked up, yea; stoned to the very roots of my hair, with no vehicle, in a haunted hotel, with dead shit floating around going 'wooooooooooo', and bleeding, headless, with death, and horror, scary, and death.
YAY!
I grabbed her by the hand and we took a little tour of the haunted hotel.
Haunted lobby? check.
Haunted ladies room? check.
Haunted auditorium? check.
Haunted staircase? check.
Nothing.
Nothing, nothing, nothing.
HA! upon you, Ghost Hotel! I laugh in the face of your spooky hauntedness!
Go sit upon your mothers hat! I am spit upon your so called 'Lady in the Lobby' with her so-humorous not appearings to me!
Oh crap, was I relieved.
*Aliens are not interested in your ass. Not my ass, not your ass, not anyones' ass. Not even Frobishers ass. To abduct us; possibly to take us to their mysterious homeworld and drop us in the mucus-filled digestive pits of Arzal-Thror where we will scream in unimagineable agony for ten thousand years while they caper and laugh obscenely, possibly. But to think that they came zillions of parcecs just to peer up our colons?
Come on.
I claim no great state of advancement; yet if I found an alien lying around somewhere, would I take it home and poke stuff up it's butt? No I would not. In fact I can state conclusively that looking up it's hine is the very last thing I would be considering.
In conclusion: Do I give one well-lubricated hoot in hell about the entire issue of alien buttholes? I do not. Despite what Homo Escapeons might think.
**Guilty admission #2 - the movie 'Fire in the Sky' scared me so bad I had tears of pure terror running down my face, and I wasn't crying. I could NOT look out the windows. I went to bed with all the lights on.
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