Sinister: If you wash your ass you must use soap.

[vilkas]

Yo kids,
    I start my NEW JOB tomorrow at a mobile phone call center in the
suburbs.  I HATE the suburbs.  Ahhh but this job will pay my rent, my bills,
my student loans and keep me stocked in sneakers and beer.  Provided I have
the patience to last past training.  
    Sorry, I don't think there's enough fucking cursing or fucking smut in
this Goddamned post for all you cunts and fucking bastards. 
    Yesterday it was in the 100s. Uh huh. And the air quality was a purple. 
PURPLE!  Green means good air. Yellow means not so good, but not all that
bad. Red means the very young, the very old, and those with comprimised
immune systems ought to stay indoors.  Purple is one step beyond this.  And 
I'm not even gonna go on a rant about the causes of the poor air quality; 
because after all, I am writing this on an electrically powered plastic box.
 or as Lucy Alder called it, a tappity light box.  Which is the best word
I've ever heard a computer called. So I'll stop
complaining...sort of. 
    Ok. I wrote this last winter and it's been held hostage by my computer
until very recently.  I thought I would post it even though it's 10 months
later because the apocolypse is apparently upon us.  

>From Last Winter:
    Ok. I did 6 toploaders of laundry today, funnily enough dealing with the
washing machines is like the band of the same name, Toploader;  it's not so
pleasant to be around either of them but it's nice when it's over. Naw, I
like the Dancing in the Moonlight song, but that's a good song no matter who
sings it.  Still no excuse for the rest.
    I ran into one of my friends in the middle of folding the fabric
mountain. (lovely, lime green again, clean bathmats included) (An entire
backpack full of socks, underwear and bras included) He was washing his
clothes too, y'know being in the laundromat and all.  We knew each other's
faces from seeing each other out and about, but we didn't properly meet
until piss-drunk at 4 A.M. on our mutual friend's third floor back porch; 
hiding from the much drunker-than-us, one-eyed guy with the fireworks.  Hey
you in the back stop snickering, there were about six of us on the porch.
Ok, that doesn't sound any better...But there was no booty.  Until he left.
And at that point, there were just three of us up there.  Ahhh...but still
only full leg footsie and cuddling, sorry to dissapoint. 
    But I digress.  The conversation went on, no use boring you any more
than already with details. We ended up talking about the weather, but not in
that can't-think-of-anything-to-talk-about-so-let's-talk-about-the-weather
way. Because the weather here is a son-of-a-bitch and worthy of bitching.
The last few days of November and indeed most of the month, it was 70
degrees Farenheit. What up with that? Global Warming. Satan is living on
Earth, in Richmond, Virginia, home of Marlboro ciggies. This being Satan's
residance might explain a lot more about Richmond than the freaky weather.
    Now it's in the 30s-40s Farenheit at night and maybe 40s-50s during the
day. This is somewhat more acceptable; but still unacceptable. I'd like have
a talk with Mother Nature, but I guess she's still busy doing guest
appearances on talk shows to promote further syndication of The Smurfs or
summat. It's Fucking December! It's supposed to be cold as ass now. I know
I'm in Virgina, but I grew up in Virginia and when I was young it was cold
as ass in December. Granted, I was deep in the mountains, but only an hour
and a half away from where I am now. There was SNOW. Dammit. I WANT SNOW.
    Most around here that I talk to about this Satanic weather pattern love
the warm weather in winter. I think they're insane. They ought just move to
Florida or some state closer to the equator, where it's *supposed* to be
warm.
     Ah, I digress again. But it was essential to explain why it was so
cool, that when we started talikng about the weather, we agreed.  I was
speaking of thinking of moving to Chicago. The topic of cold-ass winters
came up. Y'know, we both agree that you can kit yourself out in loads of
warm things, coat, scarf, hat, earmuffs, gloves, balacava, thermal
underwear, etcetera. But you can only take off so much. You can't take your
skin off. Well, you can, but this would really hurt and would prolly kill
you and that would not be cool. Summer here is when your sorry ass can be
naked, sitting still, in the shade...and you're still hot.  
    We went off. It was nice to find someone who feels the same.
    Daaaaaam, I'm being petty *and* I've completely lost the plot. But Ihate
the Hot.  Wasabi is hot, tabasco sauce is hot, clubs are hot; these are all
good versions of hot.  Imagine eating wasabi, made with tabasco sauce, in
the middle of a jumpin' basement club. Whilst wearing a polarfleece catsuit.
For three to five months straight. Right, that's summer in Virginia.  Last
time I was in Scotland, an evening when I was out with a friend;  when I
said I came for the weather, one of her friends asked me, "Why did you come
here of all places for the weather?" as if I had come to erm...Pluto.  My
response that I'd stick with today was "Cos it's not hot."  I hate the Hot. 
I love sunshine but I hate the hot.  
    On that same trip, I was sitting with my friend Colin and his friend
Richie in a beer garden relatively near Colin's Bearsden hizouse.  Richie
was complaining that it never gets warm. Uh huh.  Same argument, you can put
more clothing on, you can only take so much off.  At least it doesn't stay
hot.  At least the sun isn't trying to kill you. [shakes fist at sun.
Naw,it's more than the sun; it's our foolishness at how we treat our
planet...another post...naw, another book]

        Luv, Skillkas cos Vilkas got Skills

P.S.1. Any of yous know anything about the Centimeters?
P.S.2. Or Discount? Try typing "Discount" into google. I didn't find the
band but lots of Viagra!  Mortgaes!  Porn!  Diamonds!
X-Box:  A quote from a German wesite that sells Irn-Bruuuuu:
Irn Bru is the Scottish " national lemonade ". Their typical taste, which
reminds easily of liquid Gummibaerchen, remains for everyone in memory,
which it drank once. It is according to sales figures in the western world
the only soft drink, which is better sold on the domestic market than a
well-known, koffeinhaltige lemonade from the USA.










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