Sinister: * Who ate some dodgy curry, and got into trouble.

[Custard Pie Appreciation Consortium]

Hi, all you foxy foxy sinistereanies,

Our good mummy seems a bit distressed about the position she's taken
thus far in the Sinister village; were it not for that, I'd be really
curious to know how many people remember the ill-fated collective story
and (the remarkably worse-fated) collective limerick ideas, and of those
people who don't remember, what proportions blocked out the horror of it
all, and who really just forgot.

Happy Leap Year Day to those lucky Alaskan Belles fans who can still
celebrate it. Mine was an utter flop; but I'm resolved to do better come
2004.

Yestre-day morning I continued the saga of defying my Anglophilia by
going to the dentist. This is now my third Monday in a row; it's almost
like I've got a boyfriend. Last week, there was a really sweet moment
when my dentist told me that I had 'nice canals'. I closed my eyes,
tried not to feel the novocaine or the drilling, and pretty cleared
effaced the fact that my dentist is a middle-aged man with silly-looking
glasses, bad hair and a moustache, in favour of the image that he was
really just a floppy-haired English boy. In tonnes of make-up. It was
almost a highly erotic situation. Almost.

Robbie Pelican I'm sure drawled this with impeccable timing:

> I would like to state for the record, that I for one am all in
> favor of men in skirts.

I would like to make a point of disagreeing with this. Men in kilts is
all well and fine (as long as they don't sissy out and wear pants
underneath), but the whole point of wearing a skirt (or, rather, the
whole two points of wearing a skirt) is lost when men wear them as men
simply don't have the hips for it! Not that I mean to say that men
*never* look good in skirts, as in wonderful urban areas there seem to
be quite a few, but they seem to be much less common than the men who
either look like men trying to look like women with bad figures or the
men who can actually pass for women with bad figures. I can't remember,
though, the last time I saw an ordinary cross-dresser. Has it grown
unfashionable?

What's the point of this? Arse-dancing. Really, now. It's as unfair of
me to say that no man looks good in any skirt as it is for Leyla to
flagrantly and repeatedly imply that nobody can look good arse-dancing.
Which is why I'd like to take this opportunity to put forth the notion
that the Sinister Village Dance Academy (there has to be one, hasn't
there?) offer special classes in arse dancing. Come now, there *is* some
sense in it:  the kids are going to do it anyway, whether we like it or
not, and they ought to know how to do it right. How many times are we
going to have to have it proven to us that avoiding a known problem and
preaching abstinence simply doesn't work for it to take?

My, I'm feeling contentious. I'd better not finger an instructor.

Erica's gallery has been up long enough now for certain images to have
lost their fat L@@K AT ME! border, and nobody has yet put up anything
legitimately vulgar. I must say I'm disappointed, not only in all of
you, but in myself, for having not personally done so. But, really, it's
not my fault:  can a boy make it to 19 in this world anymore without
realising the thong panties are a bad idea? Feel free to mail me
privately with your thoughts/experiences on this intriguing and
universally relevant subject.

I hope everybody here sees what a desperate façade all of this is, and
that I'm really a quiet, reserved person. The World Champion Heavyweight
Introvert and not, as Marie Elia so succinctly put it last week:

> Ever Sexy, Ever Tarty, and Ever Leather-Clad.

Laura Llew painted a similar picture, but that was taken so hideously
out of context (No, I don't remember the context! but Yes, I'm sure I
was misrepresented!), so I won't work to refute it. Not that I could,
anyway, at the rate I'm going.

I've had two Sini-village job offers, and I must publicly decline the
one that I was publicly offered. I don't know that relevant experience
should immediately disqualify one for Sini-village employment, but in my
case, it really ought to. A boy apparently also can't in this krazy!
modern world reach 19 without learning that, no matter how well you try
to maintain your physique, no matter how many hours one spends jogging
and swimming, no matter how beautifully colour-coördinated one's outfit
is, men and average customers do not appreciate one's particular
inclination to wear hotpants and knee-socks. Even after one hikes up the
apron to it's clear from all sides that one's really wearing those
hotpants.

And isn't it patently obvious by now that my proper place is across the
counter from Marie?

Somebody a ways back wondered about the possible existence of
pornography in the sini-village, and I must say that I'm in favour of
it. With the sole qualification that it be for the people who really
want nothing more, and not for the people who really want other people.
For the latter, we should erect something of a charitable hospital where
lonely folks can come in and have their sorrows relieved and their
self-images repaired. I'm sure you all know what I mean, and shame on
you for thinking it!

This, though is a pale extension of Adam Apparatus' now-legendary
kissing-booth idea; as such, I'd like to nominate him as head nurse. The
ordinary nursing-staff would have a fairly high turnover rate, and would
be comprised largely of people convicted of minor crimes (it *is*
community service, after all), as an alternative to picking up garbage
or breaking rocks by the roadside. There would be tenured positions for
those sordid types who really might enjoy it, and the rest of the
employee body would be made up of people randomly chosen from the
populace. Quite like jurors. But, as a measure of good faith, I'd like
to enter myself as one of the first staffers, to see the operations go
smoothly.

Oh, dear. /me hurries frantically through memories looking vaguely for
content.

Yes!

I looked this up in the archives already, though, which I must say are
now quite fantastic. Plastic Fantastic, even, as you can search even for
things like 'arse muscles' and 'fisting malarkey' (both of which I
didn't search for, btw, but conjecture nonetheless).

I bought the Brian Jonestown Massacre's 1998 release 'Strung Out in
Heaven,' and have been loving it ever since. My nostalgia is 1968,
thankyouverymuch! I was looking through the notes on the inside, and
among the list of thank-you's is named Belle & Sebastian! Can anybody
(yes, of you seven of twelve hundred who's still with me by now) draw me
a little diagram of the connexion between the two?

I can't believe I'm feeling tarty enough to send this. It's probably
just a cry for discipline.

-Paralis.

Megan didn't discover Vin Diesel; but she did manage to make him GRATE.
Sort of like Monty Python and wensleydale cheese. It's like he's got all
the good things about being one half of Right Said Fred without actually
having the social stigma of being one half of Right Said Fred. And if
that's not perfect, I don't know what is...

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