Sinister: more self indulgent shite (excuse the language, i'm feeling saucier than ravoli)

[Blake E Hamilton]

my desk lamp bids the crowds a glorious hearty greeting, and cackles with
excitement and glee that can only be detrimental to his electrical fusing...

and so it is.  for this post, I will institute a warning very similar to
Lesley Jo's this morning--this is really all about me, with very little B&S
(but a lot of BS, chuckle chuckle), so if you would like to read on, then
feel free to poke at things that you wouldn't normally poke at.  but keep
the foreboding scoffing for some other twit, sistas.

well i work at a deli.  and it's really an odd place.  everyone who works
there appears to be very run down.  it's a bit like a disease, i think.
deli-itis.  it's from inhaling too much honey baked turkey over the course
of the years, and i think it impairs the eyes first.  all of my co workers
are busy staring off into space at objects that probably aren't there in the
first place.  what i'm trying to say, is i don't want deli-itis.  i believe
i'll wander into the doctor's tomorrow and demand that a high concentration
of champagne mustard be shoved into my veins in order to vaccinate myself.
wouldn't that be a HOOT.  no, ok it wouldn't.

well i was washing the tables outside (we have a patio in which we have
several sets of plastic lawn furniture, though we call it our 'outside
dining area'.  please.)  well this really cute bird was eating her ice cream
(which yours truly was pleasant enough to sculpt into a twirling castle for
her) when she dropped a lot of it all over the tables.  so she asked me for
my cleaning fluid, in order to do it herself.  well i went to give it to
her, smiling like a crazed hyena, when i accidentally squirted her in the
face with the stuff.  it was only a little, and it hit her right in the
forehead.  oh, i'm sure those pores were mad at her.  well she couldn't stop
laughing and went on saying how it was her fault, and i ran inside and got
her napkins and rags and oh, the horrors.  it was funny, but she left, and i
haven't seen her since.  hmph.  funny story though.  it takes the 'hostess
with the mostess' story and flips it around.  maybe i shall see what l'amour
courtois is like on this side of food and beverage.  as you all know, i am
quite familiar with the kind where i'm the customer and she's the sassy food
preparer.  sort of an interesting smutty fantasy.

ok and i'll stop there.

parklife is the perfect britpop album.  that or different class.  there was
a huge discussion on the pulp ng about what britpop was and what the best
example of it is.  i really don't know, but parklife is top.  but so is
jarvis.  the dilemma of the stereo.  speaking of which, i can't wait until
tigermilk.  everyone scream a south carolina 'yeeeeeeeeee haw!'.  ok great,
that was good, now do it again.

cheers to timmy hopkins who admitted that The Who are so much more than
lustful arena rockers.  That was Led Zeppelin (booooooo hissssssssss).  The
Who are beautiful, caustic, whiny, and outspoken all wrapped up into an
imitation tortilla product with salsa on top.  I call it THE WHO BY NUMBERS.
it's the follow up to Quadrophenia and the most B&S like, but it has no BS.
bwa ha ha!

that's enough, i've overstayed my welcome.  for more bizarre sexually
awkward stories involving the food and beverage industry, stay tuned kids.

love
blake
the nerdy shy eyed pacifist.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
"Fuck!" - Jarvis Cocker





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