Petunia the Evil One has recently posted what appears to be a blog entry. Do not be deceived, dear reader: this is an attempt to make you believe she is saying something important. The large pictures do more than demonstrate her incapacity for language: they affirm her desire to turn you into a brainwashed peasant.
Do you want to be a peasant? No, likely not. But there is nothing wrong with dressing like one. Petunia, you will notice with only a momentary glance, spews an ideology which can only be labelled as "Fashionism" - it is a system wherein rationality is tossed aside, and for a social hierarchy it relies on designer clothing, jewellry, makeup, scent, and other useless articles. In other words, you are placed as you dress.
I will not ramble on about the evils of fashion in the world: how it is a corruption of the human spirit, a degrading of the self into an object of mindless consumption and ignorant presentation. As if a logo might embody a state of mind, a belief, a principle, a movement - as if colour coordination equates to commitment to your fellow man or woman. Fashion is the disgusting result of our sick society's obsession with the superficial; and fashionism the hijacking of this en masse cultural stupidity as a means for Petunia and her collection of evil white cats to rule the world.
I shit you not.
We are in the grips of a coming struggle. Its spectre haunts Europe and rises with the moon. The countless fools who find meaning in collars, khakis, belts, and cowboy boots will soon witness the sky grow black; they will soon feel a tingle in their abdomen. It will all be too late, of course; for the black sky will be their forgotten mascara-drenched tears, and the tingle my 1972 Barbara Streisand Candle Collection Series 1 candle-putter-outer poker emerging from their stomach. And in the distance they will hear us laugh.
They will see it unfold as it has been foretold in the Blog of Revelations, last of the Blogosphere, and we three horsemen (looking for a fourth to make it more psychologically satisfying - applications still accepted...) will ride past the plain white gates into the New Valley of No Judgment where all wearable things are only worn for utility, and where global warming has ceased to be a problem because ignorant televsion-bashed brainless shitheads who overconsume for their own god damn feel-good shallow-minded piss-in-the-river-what's-it-to-me I'll-wear-what-makes-me-feel-sexy-and-good-about-myself-because-I-have-no-other-source-of-self-worth so let's-pollute-everything-and-buy-sweat-shop-but-YAY-DESIGNER fucking no-good self-centred mentality WILL BE FUCKING SHOT AND DROPPED IN THE CLEAR AND CLEAN RIVER!
But not into her trivial dogma. Fashionism will die. Join us now.
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Saturday 28 February 2009
Hear Ye, Revelators
Dearest Die Tye Die,
I am profoundly sorry you had to deal with the cockroach lady in such a manner. She is indeed insidious. In fact just this afternoon Generic Shithead and I met her avatar at the Ruv', and it was then and there she attempted to cast us asunder. Of course, GS and I tried to be friendly, as all decent human beings would be toward the wanna-be bloggers of the world...but little did we realise that this was her way in. Friendliness is the agent of Satan. She attempted to convince us that you were not committed to RLLS, that you might betray the cause, that for you it was but a passing phase. Your most recent posting of course nullifies such an idiotic charge, but it was not necessary - for the Revelators never lose faith. And, now that we are aware of her dark motives and darker means, we can only be more resolute in our campaign against the taint of Petunia.
Curse on SMS! Curse on leprosy! And double curse and endless shame on those who would seek to tear us apart! For we are the Revelators!
Your Dedicated Anti-Wannabe-Blogger Warrior,
Style-less Tramp
I am profoundly sorry you had to deal with the cockroach lady in such a manner. She is indeed insidious. In fact just this afternoon Generic Shithead and I met her avatar at the Ruv', and it was then and there she attempted to cast us asunder. Of course, GS and I tried to be friendly, as all decent human beings would be toward the wanna-be bloggers of the world...but little did we realise that this was her way in. Friendliness is the agent of Satan. She attempted to convince us that you were not committed to RLLS, that you might betray the cause, that for you it was but a passing phase. Your most recent posting of course nullifies such an idiotic charge, but it was not necessary - for the Revelators never lose faith. And, now that we are aware of her dark motives and darker means, we can only be more resolute in our campaign against the taint of Petunia.
Curse on SMS! Curse on leprosy! And double curse and endless shame on those who would seek to tear us apart! For we are the Revelators!
Your Dedicated Anti-Wannabe-Blogger Warrior,
Style-less Tramp
A note to fellow Revealators...!
Dear friends,
It is with a heavy heart that I inform you of the recent subversive actions of our competition. Through the medium of SMS Petunia has been attempting to spread disinformation, drive an emotional wedge, harbour mistrust and generally poison the strong bonds that we here at RLLS are (as a young {Jung} blog-family) attempting to nurture. It was just this morning that I was treated to an article of Petunia's thinly veiled corrosive material. Through her SMS she attempted to convince me that there was discontent among the ranks and that slander was being committed against me by one of my own! Fret not, fellows. I am secure in our bonds and took comfort in the knowledge that if there were any such discontent it would be dealt with privately and with class by us reasonable fellows. Clearly Petunia thinks of public back-stabbing as a concieveable threat to our group unity and singular vision (perhaps that is the preferred method of conflict-resolution for our competition - pah!). Well hear this Petunia...fuck you, our collective spirit will not be threatened by your jealousy.
DTD
It is with a heavy heart that I inform you of the recent subversive actions of our competition. Through the medium of SMS Petunia has been attempting to spread disinformation, drive an emotional wedge, harbour mistrust and generally poison the strong bonds that we here at RLLS are (as a young {Jung} blog-family) attempting to nurture. It was just this morning that I was treated to an article of Petunia's thinly veiled corrosive material. Through her SMS she attempted to convince me that there was discontent among the ranks and that slander was being committed against me by one of my own! Fret not, fellows. I am secure in our bonds and took comfort in the knowledge that if there were any such discontent it would be dealt with privately and with class by us reasonable fellows. Clearly Petunia thinks of public back-stabbing as a concieveable threat to our group unity and singular vision (perhaps that is the preferred method of conflict-resolution for our competition - pah!). Well hear this Petunia...fuck you, our collective spirit will not be threatened by your jealousy.
DTD
The Blogger: Scene One
Dramatis Personae:
Ainutep, female, mid-20s, flowery and pedestrian. Performed by Dame Edna.
Cockroaches. Performed by Pink Floyd.
Scene One.
Sickly lights rise on a basement. Cracks line the walls from which cockroaches crawl. The cockroaches hump each other endlessly, and their chorus of pleasure heightens as the scene goes on, much to the dismay of lonely, sex-crazed AINUTEP.
AINUTEP is sitting at a laptop. She raises her hands to type but gives up.
AINUTEP: Woe is me!
The chief cockroach approaches AINUTEP.
COCKROACH: Why haven't you written in your new blog, your majesty?
AINUTEP: Regdel Riah has betrayed me - she has retreated to the Ffid'!
COCKROACH: The Ffid'? That's disgusting.
AINUTEP: She is my only friend.
COCKROACH: And we?
AINUTEP: You won't cross your legs.
COCKROACH: But I can't help it.
AINUTEP: Oh I will lose this dastardly cyber-battle!
COCKROACH: But are you not a renowned blogger, your majesty?
AINUTEP: I was...I was...
COCKROACH: Then you must remain so!
AINUTEP: No, no, I can't! The Rival Bloggers are just too good! They are witty and prolific, they are so powerful and manly and expressive with the English language! They have made ten posts and I... I am but a cockroach.
COCKROACH: Don't be mean, your majesty.
AINUTEP: Yes, I have been through so much.
COCKROACH: No, I mean, to us. You should not be so mean to us, your cucurachas... Majesty.
AINUTEP: Oh you are my very best friends.
COCKROACH: Type, your majesty, type!
AINUTEP: It's too loud in here, you are all filling me with cockroach envy!
COCKROACH: Just type!
AINUTEP: Not yet, I need... I need inspiration!
She rises.
COCKROACH: Where are you going?
AINUTEP: To the Ruv'!
COCKROACH: Why?
AINUTEP: I must go read a great man's work.
COCKROACH: Who is that man?
AINUTEP: The Pinter.
COCKROACH: Ah, yes. Did you know he wrote in Old English?
AINUTEP: Yes. Yes.
She leaves. The cockroaches celebrate with champagne and smelling in between each other's wide open legs.
End of scene.
Friday 27 February 2009
Revelations of a life lived in (a) coordinated inability to write a single word.
I don't think it can be ignored. I don't think it can or should be ignored. It must be acknowledged.
Yes, it must be acknowledged that their is a rival to The Rival Blog of RLLS and it must be acknowledged.
.... And yet, why on earth would we not acknowledge a rival blog considering said rivals' puny pathetic insignificance! It does show, however, that already in the short time that the forefather (SLT) of our cause began this momentous and most sacred of blogs, and I, (GS) became its first disciple, already, we must battle against jealously and potential slander (which frankly could constitute as bullying)
This is until of course you let your eyes peruse the existing rival... and then your sides hurt from the monumental sidesplitting laughter that courses through your body as the so-called-rival has not even managed a sentence. Hasn't written a. Single. Word. A whole day on. Whilst this blog approaches double figures after just three days (which is paramount to a child taking it's first steps after a mere month of life) not even a single solitary letter adorns their page. They couldn't even muster the intelligence or wit to come up with their own title - instead having to rip off ours in a virtual cut and paste exercise (you will be hearing from our lawyers)
So it is with this that i encourage the disciples and wide readership of this blog to, please, go and look at the rival Rival Blog. Look and join in with my hysterical laughter till your shirt is wet with your own tears. Cackle at what is less a rival and more an afterthought.
Generic Shithead
(All the above was true as of 16.44 pm 27th Feb 2009, looking at a PC screen in the Ruv')
Yes, it must be acknowledged that their is a rival to The Rival Blog of RLLS and it must be acknowledged.
.... And yet, why on earth would we not acknowledge a rival blog considering said rivals' puny pathetic insignificance! It does show, however, that already in the short time that the forefather (SLT) of our cause began this momentous and most sacred of blogs, and I, (GS) became its first disciple, already, we must battle against jealously and potential slander (which frankly could constitute as bullying)
This is until of course you let your eyes peruse the existing rival... and then your sides hurt from the monumental sidesplitting laughter that courses through your body as the so-called-rival has not even managed a sentence. Hasn't written a. Single. Word. A whole day on. Whilst this blog approaches double figures after just three days (which is paramount to a child taking it's first steps after a mere month of life) not even a single solitary letter adorns their page. They couldn't even muster the intelligence or wit to come up with their own title - instead having to rip off ours in a virtual cut and paste exercise (you will be hearing from our lawyers)
So it is with this that i encourage the disciples and wide readership of this blog to, please, go and look at the rival Rival Blog. Look and join in with my hysterical laughter till your shirt is wet with your own tears. Cackle at what is less a rival and more an afterthought.
Generic Shithead
(All the above was true as of 16.44 pm 27th Feb 2009, looking at a PC screen in the Ruv')
Skateboards: Form of transport or Fashion Accessory?
What is it with Smithonian students carrying a bloody skateboard everywhere... and yet it is so rare for me to actually see one of them use the bloody thing. Whilst the debate of how 'boards fit in to some kinda Sk8r Bo1 culture has no doubt been covered before, (probably no less by Annoying Avril herself) can they actually be considered a form of transport? The fact that they seem terrifical unsafe is by the by, but if you were to try and use one to get from A to B would it be in any way significantly more advantageous than walking? And if so, can that be subset against how silly you would look in trying to do so?
Also, if anyone did consider them a form of transport (as i'm inclined to believe they are only used to play with and annoy the rest of the respectable public) should they have to travel in the cycle lanes? Whilst they would be an incredible annoyance to cyclists if people did use them as a form of transport more regularly (and if Smithonian's did a bit more with them than just carry them everywhere under there studenty arms) is it then the general unsuspecting pavement using public that would have to suffer youth's and general scruffy student ruffians 'boarding towards us at medium slow speed, whilst they career in god knows what next direction?!
I think it is an important (and in no way 'grumpy old codgerish') debate of our time
Generic Shithead
p.s. no sex yesterday either but i did think about different ways to scare cats.
Also, if anyone did consider them a form of transport (as i'm inclined to believe they are only used to play with and annoy the rest of the respectable public) should they have to travel in the cycle lanes? Whilst they would be an incredible annoyance to cyclists if people did use them as a form of transport more regularly (and if Smithonian's did a bit more with them than just carry them everywhere under there studenty arms) is it then the general unsuspecting pavement using public that would have to suffer youth's and general scruffy student ruffians 'boarding towards us at medium slow speed, whilst they career in god knows what next direction?!
I think it is an important (and in no way 'grumpy old codgerish') debate of our time
Generic Shithead
p.s. no sex yesterday either but i did think about different ways to scare cats.
Thursday 26 February 2009
Competition
"Do you like it when I caress your leg like that?" J-Star said, unequivocally.
"Well, I'm not sure yet... Do you like it?" I replied, unexpectedly.
"Absolutely," spoke J-Star with his acid-tongue slithering about in that broad moist upper cavern, "it softens me. Now I want to ask you about [DIE TYE DIE]."
"Oh, him! Oh let's not dally with [DIE TYE DIE], he is but a worm in the swamp of our discarded desires. He is the flower that always wanted to be, but never saw that he never was. Oh, [J-Star], let us not discuss-"
"We must," he interrupted, sexily. "You must understand, and take this with a grain of brown sugar. He has become...my favourite."
The dagger poked into my backside like a girth loosened from a horse drinking from a clear fresh-water pond. Waking from my stupor of disbelief, I felt as if I were forced to drink the tepid black filth dripping from some manly tap, silver but without reflection, as if the tap was too confident in itself, too strong, too...muscular. I opened my eyes and there before me, J-Star smiled that beautiful, sanguine smile I have come to know so intimately well - and to his right, below his relaxed arm, there he was: DIE TYE DIE. And he was smiling too, only his gaze was one of victory, of achievement - for he knew, he had climbed to No. 1.
And then I woke.
And then I saw: in my hand an apple. A Royal Gala apple, from South Africa. With a bite into it, the shape of someone else's mouth. And then, right there, I knew: my fight had begun.
J-Star must be mine.
I will climb up into the light of his soft illumination. I will promise my body to his everlasting wisdom. I will devote my being to the open plains of his chest, the grass being his unkempt yet lingering mess of hair.
J-Star will be mine.
Petunia is a fashion fascist and her horse is called Nad.
Dear reader,
First off, let me set the record (or any future record) straight by stating the following with as much clarity and gravitas a young (Jung) blogger can muster: I whole heartedly endorse every word printed beneath this post, on this particular web page (perhaps the finest i have seen [most specifically my own {which is not in anyway a slight against the others }}) and shall endeavor to not repeat was has been said with much elegance before my arrival.
So, what new do I have to add?
Firstly, this: Petunia is a fashion fascist. That is to say she exercises and attempts to enforce rigid restrictions on the sartorial expression (and similar arts) of those around her that are emblematic of a highly conservative, xenophobic view point. A view point indicative of one thing - fear. Petunia (a pleasant fellow in many ways) clearly fears the vivid, the surreal and especially the psychedelic. The harshest of her fascistic restrictions (and attempted punishments through humiliation tactics) are reserved especially for anachronistic items of fashionistic bliss. Well hear this Petunia, I will not be censored - for every rolled eye and sarcastic witticism or riff on colour-blindness (a genuine disability that should not be lampooned) or hippy-dom (refer to previous parenthesis) I will endeavor to up the ante! Long live the paint splattered v-neck!
Secondly, who is this Nad fellow? Has any one of us fair Revealators ever had the pleasure of a quibbling match or pun-dual with him? No. Have we ever viewed him (or even an effigy of him) with out the electronic interface? Thought not. Here, brothers (and reluctantly...sisters) is my explanation - Nad is not a man (or even a woman)...he is a horse. Why else would Petunia always wear cowboy boots? They aren't in fashion.
Much love,
DTD
First off, let me set the record (or any future record) straight by stating the following with as much clarity and gravitas a young (Jung) blogger can muster: I whole heartedly endorse every word printed beneath this post, on this particular web page (perhaps the finest i have seen [most specifically my own {which is not in anyway a slight against the others }}) and shall endeavor to not repeat was has been said with much elegance before my arrival.
So, what new do I have to add?
Firstly, this: Petunia is a fashion fascist. That is to say she exercises and attempts to enforce rigid restrictions on the sartorial expression (and similar arts) of those around her that are emblematic of a highly conservative, xenophobic view point. A view point indicative of one thing - fear. Petunia (a pleasant fellow in many ways) clearly fears the vivid, the surreal and especially the psychedelic. The harshest of her fascistic restrictions (and attempted punishments through humiliation tactics) are reserved especially for anachronistic items of fashionistic bliss. Well hear this Petunia, I will not be censored - for every rolled eye and sarcastic witticism or riff on colour-blindness (a genuine disability that should not be lampooned) or hippy-dom (refer to previous parenthesis) I will endeavor to up the ante! Long live the paint splattered v-neck!
Secondly, who is this Nad fellow? Has any one of us fair Revealators ever had the pleasure of a quibbling match or pun-dual with him? No. Have we ever viewed him (or even an effigy of him) with out the electronic interface? Thought not. Here, brothers (and reluctantly...sisters) is my explanation - Nad is not a man (or even a woman)...he is a horse. Why else would Petunia always wear cowboy boots? They aren't in fashion.
Much love,
DTD
Blowing Kisses
So, I am sitting in the Amer***m Ar*s writing my first blog. Last night's beer buzz throbbing in my ears...I hope my friends from uni don't notice the fresh scratches on my shoulder. It's okay, I've adjusted my v-neck. It's easy this time of year; I'd probably be wearing a wooly top anyway. But the summer, god the summer, jesus the summer - covering my body in the sweltering heat. My lonely, quivering body craves the heat, the sunlight on my virgin flesh. Oh god, to be bathed in sunlight; the warm breast and saccharine kisses of my favourite would-be/could-be/will-be lover. Dare I confide in you, dear reader, who I speak of? J-Star be his name, navigator of my heart-ship be his position, captain be his rank. Oh who am I fooling, me with the green hair sweat-patch diverted eyes coy smile illustrious flirting shameless blowing kisses when your not looking god i hope you rip me a new asshole and fill it. xxxx
Wednesday 25 February 2009
Sex and Royalism
Naturally, I agree with everything in the below blog from Style-less Tramp (especially in anything that derides our "friend" Petunia - have i mentioned before that this does not constitute as bullying?)
So, in response... What i, Generic Shithead, have done today (as i feel i have fully imbued the previous blogs message and should write thus) :
I have had many conversations; naturally many of them very intelligent (with me being the most intelligent, natch) and full of countless beautiful swearing. I have pondered on many occasions about my life, this that and the other and...oh. I haven't had sex today. Definitely no sex... I have thought about it a few times (Style-less Tramp was very well attired today, and Petunia and Ledger Hair are not unattractive) but have not enacted any such acts. More key, is i am still not a monarch of any sort (and depressingly can't profess to have any plans to become such, either). This is simply unacceptable! Why on earth am i not King G S? This is especially intolerable considering my family heritage (some people don't have one... not naming names...Petunia) If any one is down with Royalism it is me and i think it is about time some small island or principality or such took me up as their king or god.
Thus concludes my day. Generic Shithead
So, in response... What i, Generic Shithead, have done today (as i feel i have fully imbued the previous blogs message and should write thus) :
I have had many conversations; naturally many of them very intelligent (with me being the most intelligent, natch) and full of countless beautiful swearing. I have pondered on many occasions about my life, this that and the other and...oh. I haven't had sex today. Definitely no sex... I have thought about it a few times (Style-less Tramp was very well attired today, and Petunia and Ledger Hair are not unattractive) but have not enacted any such acts. More key, is i am still not a monarch of any sort (and depressingly can't profess to have any plans to become such, either). This is simply unacceptable! Why on earth am i not King G S? This is especially intolerable considering my family heritage (some people don't have one... not naming names...Petunia) If any one is down with Royalism it is me and i think it is about time some small island or principality or such took me up as their king or god.
Thus concludes my day. Generic Shithead
Sexism & Royalty
Dear Petunia,
First of all, apologies for not naming you 'Princess Pea' on this new and wonderful blog. 'Petunia' is easier to write and simpler to read, and so instead of diving into the pitfalls of over-wroughted-ness and ultra-complexity for the sake of complexity, my co-blogger and I have elected to a more egalitarian, may we say democratic, approach. For it is with the spirit of democracy and freedom that this forum for higher thinking has been engendered; with it we shall dismantle your veritable apartheid of personal expression. Heretofore there shall no longer be quabbles, but epic struggles; there shall no longer be in-fighting, but serious debate. We at Revelations prize grand thought over petty emotion, and vigourous passion over rigid dogma. We at Revelations shall bury your dispirited, value-less blogging beneath the oceans of liberated, priceless commentary.
And in this invigorated fury of righteousness, I move to my first subject. Sexism and Royalty. If Prince Charles were to marry, and then if he were to ascend the Throne of this wondrous, wind-swept land, would his spouse be theretofore known as 'Queen'? Undoubtedly, yes. Yet, our current Sovereign's husband is known only as Prince. Why can he not be King? Would we assume that if he were such, he would be in charge? Whereas, if Charles' wife were to be Queen, we would not make the same assumption?
Of course, you will probably now say that the British monarch no longer rules the Empire. Well, I say to you: how utterly mistaken, pupil. Parliament is a facade. The Cabinet is nominal. The Prime Minister a puppet. Her Majesty is well aware that in the Age of Web 2.0 democracy must have its illusion, lest the people, in all their despicable slaughter-borne drivelling, rise up and cause trouble. Understand, the Monarch needs not the Image of power, nor the trappings of Popularity, but only the means to rule and execute the proper will of this everlasting state. It is a will independent of any social contract or 'agreement' with the (P)people, capitalised or not - it is the Will of our Divinely Appointed (and Divinely Smelling, I might add - our Queen's feces do indeed not stink) Sovereign. And whether we are aware of her authoritarian sacrifices or not, her rule must now and always be absolute.
And so I hereby announce my intention to marry Deer In Headlights. You know exactly who this is. Through her I shall succeed in wresting the Throne for myself, and thus through the Might of England dominate this World to the Good of All! My plan is secret at the moment, but I will release my inspirations as you need to know them. For the Queen is merely a placeholder. And I am merely the Guardian of Knowledge.
With the Eternal Love of Those Who Are Meant to Rule,
SLT
PS: Petunia - Go Fuck Yourself.
First of all, apologies for not naming you 'Princess Pea' on this new and wonderful blog. 'Petunia' is easier to write and simpler to read, and so instead of diving into the pitfalls of over-wroughted-ness and ultra-complexity for the sake of complexity, my co-blogger and I have elected to a more egalitarian, may we say democratic, approach. For it is with the spirit of democracy and freedom that this forum for higher thinking has been engendered; with it we shall dismantle your veritable apartheid of personal expression. Heretofore there shall no longer be quabbles, but epic struggles; there shall no longer be in-fighting, but serious debate. We at Revelations prize grand thought over petty emotion, and vigourous passion over rigid dogma. We at Revelations shall bury your dispirited, value-less blogging beneath the oceans of liberated, priceless commentary.
And in this invigorated fury of righteousness, I move to my first subject. Sexism and Royalty. If Prince Charles were to marry, and then if he were to ascend the Throne of this wondrous, wind-swept land, would his spouse be theretofore known as 'Queen'? Undoubtedly, yes. Yet, our current Sovereign's husband is known only as Prince. Why can he not be King? Would we assume that if he were such, he would be in charge? Whereas, if Charles' wife were to be Queen, we would not make the same assumption?
Of course, you will probably now say that the British monarch no longer rules the Empire. Well, I say to you: how utterly mistaken, pupil. Parliament is a facade. The Cabinet is nominal. The Prime Minister a puppet. Her Majesty is well aware that in the Age of Web 2.0 democracy must have its illusion, lest the people, in all their despicable slaughter-borne drivelling, rise up and cause trouble. Understand, the Monarch needs not the Image of power, nor the trappings of Popularity, but only the means to rule and execute the proper will of this everlasting state. It is a will independent of any social contract or 'agreement' with the (P)people, capitalised or not - it is the Will of our Divinely Appointed (and Divinely Smelling, I might add - our Queen's feces do indeed not stink) Sovereign. And whether we are aware of her authoritarian sacrifices or not, her rule must now and always be absolute.
And so I hereby announce my intention to marry Deer In Headlights. You know exactly who this is. Through her I shall succeed in wresting the Throne for myself, and thus through the Might of England dominate this World to the Good of All! My plan is secret at the moment, but I will release my inspirations as you need to know them. For the Queen is merely a placeholder. And I am merely the Guardian of Knowledge.
With the Eternal Love of Those Who Are Meant to Rule,
SLT
PS: Petunia - Go Fuck Yourself.
One night stand
Petunia has got serious issues. And she can stop watching me type as well; i'm talking about her not to her. This is not a form of bullying - Who is Petunia? Maybe she is a figure of our imagination. Don't ruin our fun Ho'!
So anyway, swearing is great. Everyone should curse more. Why do we build up words to have such ridiculously high, negative values when all they are is made up of the same letters as any other word! It's really stupid and Style-less Tramp is correct in everything he is uttering to Petunia on the matter. She is so wrong it is not even funny and i think she should take a long hard look at herself... Because i think she would be ashamed to see the censorship she has tried to put upon us today... That's right... I said it... Ho'.
She is now smiling at me (slightly uncomfortably, as if she regrets the pandora's box she has opened - or Petunia's box if you will - as she clearly is not finding our humour as amusing as Style-Less Tramp and I are - apparently we are not 'taking this artform seriously'( and we will write in whatever grammatical forms we want we'll have you know)) and i think she thinks that i thinks that she thinks that we are not going to take this undertaking seriously. That we are going to just treat this escapade (?) frivolously. That it is just a one night stand. Well i would say to her, that this is the start of a beautiful relationship and that it is clear - even from day one - that our baby is clearly better looking and more intelligent than yours (and cleaner - no 'used' toilet paper on its head)
So.... there. No i don't need to click finish spell checking - Suck it! Suck our blog! Ho'!
So anyway, swearing is great. Everyone should curse more. Why do we build up words to have such ridiculously high, negative values when all they are is made up of the same letters as any other word! It's really stupid and Style-less Tramp is correct in everything he is uttering to Petunia on the matter. She is so wrong it is not even funny and i think she should take a long hard look at herself... Because i think she would be ashamed to see the censorship she has tried to put upon us today... That's right... I said it... Ho'.
She is now smiling at me (slightly uncomfortably, as if she regrets the pandora's box she has opened - or Petunia's box if you will - as she clearly is not finding our humour as amusing as Style-Less Tramp and I are - apparently we are not 'taking this artform seriously'( and we will write in whatever grammatical forms we want we'll have you know)) and i think she thinks that i thinks that she thinks that we are not going to take this undertaking seriously. That we are going to just treat this escapade (?) frivolously. That it is just a one night stand. Well i would say to her, that this is the start of a beautiful relationship and that it is clear - even from day one - that our baby is clearly better looking and more intelligent than yours (and cleaner - no 'used' toilet paper on its head)
So.... there. No i don't need to click finish spell checking - Suck it! Suck our blog! Ho'!
At the Ruv'
So, we're down at the Ruv' yo, and we're sittin' next to Petunia and she says that swearing is rude! Fuck the donkeys! Swearing and cursing and cussing and shitfucking is a legitimate form of communicado! Says I! Now Petunia says it's generally a form for those with "low levels of communications skills" but then I challenged her to a duel of words and I said you can "fuck right off" and she did. Then she came back with a snarky comment: "you're a style-less tramp" and then she called my co-blogger a "generic shithead" and so from here on out let the world know that Petunia has a new blog to reckon with: unpretentious, uncowardly, in-yer-face (non-whatever), fuck-this-shit-up-in-da-house-of-cards, bombing-poor-places, super-duper-blog! It's called Revelations of a Life Lived in Syntax - why syntax? Cause that's a complex word, fucker! And yes, we do take this seriously. Very seriously, Petunia. So go fuck yourself and if you ever want to use my toilet again you can god damn well ask nicely. And don't complain when the wet toilet paper falls on your disgusting little head.
PS: Naed needs to wash himself; and watch himself too, because if he ever threatens the Generic Shithead again he'll have this Style-less Tramp riding his ass to the gates of Hades wherein he will learn of his worthlessness and discover fierce self-loathing having such a stupid name.
PS: Naed needs to wash himself; and watch himself too, because if he ever threatens the Generic Shithead again he'll have this Style-less Tramp riding his ass to the gates of Hades wherein he will learn of his worthlessness and discover fierce self-loathing having such a stupid name.
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