Best Blog Ever

Martial Arts Films in the 2000-2010 decade.

noreply@blogger.com (Cold Bacon) — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 23:00:00 +0000

13 Assassins – meh.
Ip Man – stupid.
Ip Man 2 – stupidr.
Iron Man 2 – I was depressed.
The Warrior’s Way – actually not that bad.
Bunrako (2010) – Guy Moshe // This is good. Better than Tarantino. Not as good as Takeshi Kitano. This film is actually fun. It’s got the same number of filmic references as Tarantino. But the difference is the references are canonical, not simply idiosyncratic. Somehow I think that means something. Or should I say, “That’s the spirit.”

TV Doctor Who - You Know What This Will Ask

noreply@blogger.com (Cold Bacon) — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 22:58:00 +0000

I used to think Tom Baker because that’s who I remembered as a kid, and also the general consensus. But I think maybe that was because the general consensus of people talking about such things happens to just be my same age. So I got into it again because, well, because. And then I thought David Tennant. And then I thought, well poor Matt Smith never had a chance. Then I thought, yes he did? He does have a chance. And the person who I had completely no interest in whatsoever in the beginning of my monologue, is now my favorite. David Eccleston. I think of the three recent doctors, Eccleston is the most like the spirit of the doctor I remember.

Special mention to John Simm for his playing of The Master. Those episodes were very memorable, I thought.

how it is

noreply@blogger.com (Cold Bacon) — Tue, 22 Nov 2011 06:39:00 +0000

Her face was awful. But it didn’t matter. He’d screwed worse. He just needed anyone. Who would. Who. Oh, anyone. Her.

And besides she had better CDs.
He liked that.
Everyone noticed.

And when she threw him out.
They noticed that too.
They said, “Man she had—”
“I know.”
“Just saying.”
“Thanks.”

Leter, in EAST Brooklyn.

You can smell the onions from the apartment below at 6pm every night. We’re not usually there. We’re usually still at work. But it’s happening. The onion odors come up between the walls. They are little particles too small to measure. But they go up your nose. It only takes one or two. You’ll be walking across the street to that Middle Eastern place at 7pm. And it won’t be the same as what you imagined. When you smelled the onions from your neighbors’.

They don’t just have onions. They have other things. They have a routine. They have each other. My anxiety doesn’t allow me a routine. It says, “No you can’t” and “Try this instead.” I throw pills at it. They scatter on the floor. Maybe they are not the right pills. Maybe if I had better CDs?

“I hate gmail’s new interface.”
“Enough to kill someone?”
“Mmmmm...”
“Imagination is better than real.”
“Yes.”
“Ever since.”
“Ever since.”
“I’m sorry I threw you out.”
“Thanks.”
“But you were such a bad person.”
“Thanks.”
“Really. But now that you’re out I can help you.”
“Thanks.”
“Here are some CDs.”

since i don't make anything new i'll just post an old review of a messican restaurant i wrote like 10 year ago

noreply@blogger.com (Cold Bacon) — Tue, 01 Nov 2011 03:59:00 +0000

El Tiempo (Richmond)
Ambivalent. I am ambivalent. Strong margaritas, but they damn well should be at these prices. Wait a minute. I think it’s time to discuss margaritas. I’m tired of people heaping praise on restaurants for having good margaritas. I’m sorry but it’s just not that hard to make good margaritas. Frozen limeade, ice, tequila, triplesec (if you have it) and a blender. People who crave it. Not that difficult to please. That said, El Tiempo’s margaritas were a hell of a lot better than Donneraki’s rip-offs, which were the most expensive and nearly the weakest in the city. Getting back to ET, the red and green dipping sauce for the chips is very good, and the dark tables and atmosphere are as close as you’ll get without actually driving to Nuevo Laredo (which by the way I can no longer recommend unless you bring your bullet proof vest and take out a nice life insurance policy). Cool enough to use the color-rimmed Mexican glassware, but not cool enough to use the kind with the gripping dimples. This review has gone astray. The chili rellenos were like poblano corn dogs. Pathetic. Corn dogs!!!

The mari queso is very good as are the jalapeño sausage enchiladas. - GH

noreply@blogger.com (Cold Bacon) — Mon, 31 Oct 2011 01:23:00 +0000

Oct 30, 2011 – 11:10am
You grew up in Houston? I used to go to Houston and Dallas with my grandparents. I grew up in Kansas City. My grandfather sold meat so there were road trips to Dallas, Houston, Tulsa, Oklahoma City. I mostly remember there were giant shopping malls and I think one of them had a skating rink in it in Houston. And bigger hair and more make up than KCMO.

Oct 30, 2011 – 12:18pm
yup. i can proudly say i've never actually gone ice skating in the galleria. but it definitely was an institution growing up. going to that mall. because that's where everything a little suburban kid cares about is. video games. music stores. i mean. remember. no internet. :) different world. there was even a "novelty shop" there where you could buy your novelty gag items. which now as an adult. um. yeah. now mostly i just wonder when death comes, if i will accept it or what i will feel. different times.

hey everyone. the facebook page. is where it's at. come on.

noreply@blogger.com (Cold Bacon) — Mon, 18 Jul 2011 02:07:00 +0000

Сталкер

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Sat, 02 Jul 2011 01:58:00 +0000

I'm watching Stalker dubbed in English. Does that make me an asshole?

Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Bears

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Thu, 30 Jun 2011 16:27:00 +0000

I checked with Carol at the mini-golf hut and no pants were found on the fence.

Massanutten is a small community in Virginia, US, with a population currently comprising of two thousand old people, their cats, one Australian on a tourist visa, his beautiful partner, and a dog named Further.
Being an Australian, the town of Massanutten is like another planet to me. A heavily wooded planet founded by Norman Rockwell and colonised by John Deere tractor owners with a vision that included water slides and mini-golf.
Along with mini-golf, water slides, old people, cats, one Australian, his partner and a dog named Further, Massanutten apparently has bears. I haven't seen any yet but that is only, I assume, due to most people following rules outlined in section 9 of the MPOA Agreement which states:
No trash may be put out before Sunday evening. Any trash not in a secured trash container or trash dispersed by animals may be picked up by MPOA employees and owner may be billed for cost. Bear proof trash cans have been provided at Hopkins Park and the MPOA pool located on Peak Drive for overflow or early check-out trash.

From: David Thorne
Date: Thursday 7 October 2010 11.04am
To: mpoa@massanuttenvillage.com
Subject: Bears

Dear Sir and/or Madam, I have received a request for seventy-five of my dollars for putting my trash out for collection without securing it inside a bear-proof container. Due to a series of events the night before, I forgot to put my trash out and had to run it out the next morning after hearing the collection truck approach.
As regulations govern only actions within certain defined limits and thereby justify all similar actions that lie outside those limits, I request that my offence is changed from 'unsecured trash' to 'secured trash barring the possibility of bears formulating a strategy in which to take advantage of the few minutes between deposit and collection.'
Regards, David.
From: Patricia Jennings
Date: Thursday 7 October 2010 5.16pm
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Bears

Hello Mr. Thorne
Section 9 of the MPOA Agreement which you would have signed clearly states that trash must be secured.
The reason we have these rules is so that bears and other large animals are not attracted to the area. This is for everyones safety. All bear sightings should be reported immediately to the MPOA. A ladys cat was almost bitten by a bear just a few weeks ago near the mini golf course.

From: David Thorne
Date: Thursday 7 October 2010 9.12pm
To: Patricia Jennings
Subject: Re: Re: Bears

Dear Pat,
Due to the abundant supply of cats in the area, I'm surprised bears bother with the trash at all. As I have run over at least four cats this week and one of those did not put up much of a chase, it may be suggested that elderly residents and their cats pose more of an attraction for bears than unsecured trash. For the safety of all residents, section 9 of the MPOA Agreement should probably be amended to state that all cats, and their elderly owners, be kept in bear-proof containers.
While out walking this evening, I witnessed several cats having some kind of cat meeting on the sidewalk ahead of me. Possibly discussing the local bear problem. After reading that a bear recently ate a ladies cat in the area and hearing a twig snap in the shadows behind me, I decided to take the shortest route home by cutting through the Massanutten mini-golf facilities. Managing to scale the three metre fence via fear and a trash can, I slipped, caught my back pants pocket on one of the pointy metal bars, and hung there for several minutes before managing to wriggle out of them - dropping to safety and to the right of hole 7. Fashioning temporary legwear by removing my jumper and placing my legs in the sleeves, figuring they would look like Hammer pants to people driving by, I left the premises by climbing the papier-mâché boulders near hole 16, leaping onto the ticket hut roof and dropping down the other side to safety. If my shoes had not been soaked and slippery from the pond to the right of hole 7, I am pretty sure I would have made it on the first attempt. While not pointing any blame, I quite liked those pants as they fit really well and cost me around seventy-five dollars.
Also, as per your instructions to report bear sightings immediately, I have attached a photograph taken outside my premises a few minutes ago. I apologise for the quality but was fearful of getting too close due to the fact bears constrict and consume their prey whole, taking several days to fully digest. As I have a short attention span and would prefer a quick death such as removing my helmet in space, I request you send assistance immediately.
Regards, David.

From: Patricia Jennings
Date: Friday 8 October 2010 2.26pm
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Bears

I checked with Carol at the mini golf hut and no pants were found on the fence. I doubt any of that really happened. That looks like a dog with a blanket on it. I'm not going to waste anyones time sending an officer out to check that.

From: David Thorne
Date: Friday 8 October 2010 2.51pm
To: Patricia Jennings
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Bears

Dear Pat,
If Carol from the mini-golf hut has time to check the perimeter for pants, why not send her? While issuing me a seventy-five dollar fine by justifying it is for the safety of others, you seem pretty quick to dismiss mine. As people rely on your protection from bears and your position consists entirely of not waiving fines issued to ensure the compliance of regulations that protect people from bears, you should probably send out a memo or something stating that we are on our own in an emergency situation. On the back of the memo, you could include instructions on making a pointy stick to protect ourselves with.
I own a gun but am unsure if a bear, shot with a Daisy .177 calibre BB air rifle purchased from Wal-Mart for $39.75, would be wounded or just pissed off. While testing the rifle last week, my offspring was definitely the latter. I have heard that the best way to protect yourself during a bear attack is to roll into a tight ball and cover your face but I am pretty sure a flame-thrower or a special suit that metal spikes spring out of when you press a button would be more effective. I have also heard that music soothes the savage beast but the last time I sang Whitney Houston's 'The Greatest Love of All' to my offspring, it had the opposite effect despite what I considered to be an excellent reproduction of her tonal range.
Although wary, after reading recently that a bear ate a lady and her cat in the area, I decided to risk leaving the premises in order to drive to your office and pay the fine. Unfortunately, possibly due to an unsecured Snickers bar on the dashboard, the bear is now in my vehicle and I am unable to do so. Please send assistance immediately as I have also run out of cigarettes and need to drive to the shop. If you send Carol, please ask her to stop on the way and grab me a pack. While you may not class this as an emergency or possible danger to others, you haven't seen me after two hours without nicotine.
Regards, David.

From: Patricia Jennings
Date: Friday 8 October 2010 3.18pm
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Bears

I wont be sending an officer because your not in any danger at all. You have obviously just put a blanket on a dog while it is sitting in your car and taken a photo. If you want to express your opinion on trash collection rules you are welcome to attend the next MPOA community meeting which is held each month. Not understanding the importance of bear safety doesnt mean you dont have to follow the rules. I'm not even sure what your point is.

From: David Thorne
Date: Friday 8 October 2010 4.22pm
To: Patricia Jennings
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Bears

Dear Pat,
My point is, barring the possibility of strategy formulating bears, stating my actions constitute a punishable breach of regulations structured to protect the community only enables you to be wrong with authority, not right.
Contrary to your statement, I do understand the importance of bear safety. Several years ago, I went camping with a few associates and thought it would be amusing to jump out of bushes while wearing a bear suit. Renting the only bear costume available, which was a koala, I altered it as best I could to make it look frightening by taping down the fluffy ears, adding sharp cardboard teeth and constructing two downward slanting eyebrows with electrical tape. While sitting around the campfire, I excused myself, donned the concealed costume and leapt out yelling 'Rawr'. Moments later, I realised the screaming and falling back off chairs was not due to wearing a bear costume but the fact I was standing in the fire while wearing a bear costume made of polyester. After a two-hour drive to the nearest hospital, I underwent three weeks of skin grafting on my left leg and six months hearing about how I ruined the camping trip. To this day, when anyone asks about the scars, I simply state "It involved a camping trip and a bear, I don't like to talk about it" which is true because I don't. While I was in the hospital, my mother went to my apartment to get some clothes for me and found my porn collection so it is a touchy subject.
Also, while I was able to persuade the bear to exit my vehicle by pretending to be an old lady looking for her cat, it is now inside my premises. Although not immediately evident from the attached photograph, the bear is sitting between myself and the television remote control, located on the cushion to its left. As this effectively cuts off my ability to change channels and The View just started, this should be classed as an emergency situation. If I wanted to watch a group of old women carry on, I would attend an MPOA community meeting.
Regards, David.

From: Patricia Jennings
Date: Friday 8 October 2010 5.03pm
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Bears

Fine. I will waive the amount this time if you agree to make sure all your trash is secure in future.

From: David Thorne
Date: Friday 8 October 2010 5.16pm
To: Patricia Jennings
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Bears

Dear Pat,
Regardless of whether you waive the fine or not, and despite conditional terms added to reassert authority, I will continue to secure trash correctly. Not because it is a rule, but because it is a logical rule to follow. Despite my continuing doubt as to the ability of bears to plan and execute manoeuvres requiring SWAT team precision, I will also do so regardless of the time frame between deposit and collection. Not because it is a logical rule to follow, but because it is a rule.
How about you agree to waive the fine and I promise not to email you the remaining eighty six photos of my dog dressed as a bear.
Regards, David..

From: Patricia Jennings
Date: Friday 8 October 2010 5.24pm
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Bears

Agreed.

You have to click it so it will work dammit.

noreply@blogger.com (Cold Bacon) — Fri, 10 Jun 2011 22:45:00 +0000

Okay so in addition to eating and drinking a lot of booze and annoying the crap out of almost everyone who still talks to me

noreply@blogger.com (Cold Bacon) — Mon, 06 Jun 2011 03:59:00 +0000

I set up a really neat page on FLICKR where we can all blossom. No rush. Just blossom at your own pace.

sorry but...

noreply@blogger.com (Cold Bacon) — Mon, 06 Jun 2011 03:50:00 +0000

noreply@blogger.com (Cold Bacon) — Tue, 24 May 2011 22:54:00 +0000

Once you have finished making any chages, please click Continue to submit your updated information.

noreply@blogger.com (Cold Bacon) — Mon, 09 May 2011 16:05:00 +0000

In the beginning of the 14c, there was a lad named Jack
Who was very fond of bread.
One day Jack discovered the pleasures of jam.
Day after day he indulged in it.
Sometimes several times even
In the same day—a behavior which might even have worried Jack, if he could have stopped thinking about Jam long enough to be worried.
One day Jack met Pam,
And together they enjoyed their bread and jam.
Jack had thought himself content before, but now he realized that having bread and jam with Pam was even better.
He grew very fond of Pam. In fact,
Sometimes he was even able to enjoy Pam without even having any of the jam.
Occasionally, while Pam was away, he would make himself French toast.

From the Archives of the Smithsonian

noreply@blogger.com (Cold Bacon) — Sun, 17 Apr 2011 04:17:00 +0000

Dear Martha,

This sucks. The weather is ridiculous. The Delaware is way too wide. I hate it. We’ll never make it across. I don’t even know why I signed up for this crap. The snows are not letting up at all. Some of the men have worn through their boots, and the frostbite has already begun to take its awful toll. Our supplies are running low. We’ve finished the entire hundred cases of Sam Adams we had brought from Philadelphia. Then the hundred cases of Red Stripe. We drank the Rolling Rock in two nights. I don’t even know whose idea it was to buy that. We only have one case of Budweiser remaining. I am praying to God, to give us the strength, to find some store where we can get a case of Amstel Light.

Yesterday, one of our supply wagons fell into a gorge. Can you believe that? A fucking gorge. It had four cases of Smirnoff Ice. Lost! We still have the three cases of Mike’s Hard Lemonade. Which is okay. But then the worst, one of our canons sank right into the mud. What a tragedy. I had stashed two bottles of Negro Modelo down the barrel. I was really looking forward to those.

Some of the men don’t even have rifles. It’s terrible. I sold them to get a case of Harpoon IPA. I have written the Congress to tell them of our grave situation. We desperately need reinforcements. And they need to bring at least six cases of Pilsner Urquell.

I gave the Bacardi Silver to some local Indian chiefs. Hopefully they won’t try any before we’re long gone. That stuff is awful.

Which got me to thinking. I really do miss you, Martha. Those long walks in the back yard, sitting on the veranda, sipping Goldschläger. Can you believe they forgot to bring the Ace Pear Cider? I mean of all the stupid things to forget? God dammit. I am missing you Martha. Your tender touch. Kissing you in the balmy night, the taste of Absolute Cherry still on your lips. God I hate Bacardi Silver.

I will write again as soon as I can move.

Your Loving Husband,

George

Young People Support Status Quo in Online Dating

noreply@blogger.com (Cold Bacon) — Sat, 16 Apr 2011 22:56:00 +0000

I was recently alerted to a CNN article by Brenna Ehrlich and Andrea Bartz, wherein they wrote things like:

“not responding is an acceptable move in online dating”

And

“You should not, under any circumstances, continue to message someone who's stopped responding to you. Persistence doesn't pay off in the game of online shopping for strangers. It just makes you seem like a creeper, reinforcing said person's unexplained decision to cut you off.

Like it or not, ghosting on someone you're messaging with is completely acceptable in the digital realm. (And let's face it, an out-of-left-field ‘You're just not quite what I'm looking for’ missive would be sorta weird.)”

Basically, it appears as though the authors are embracing the shallow and insensitive behavior that occurs in online dating rather than trying to remedy it. The idea that if you get rejected the thing to do is immediately try another person seems to preclude self-reflection or introspection. Why did I get rejected? What can I learn from this? Obviously sometimes there is no explanation and dwelling on something meaningless probably won’t help matters. But in general, racing ahead to the next rejection is probably not the best next move.

That it’s okay to just ignore or walk away from an online conversation without giving a reason and that it’s not okay for the recipient of this discourteous behavior to expect one seems wrong headed. Of course, sometimes it is best to just walk away from any rejection or even vanishing act. But this doesn’t excuse the perpetrator of the insensitive act. Perhaps it would be “weird” to tell someone why you’re moving on, but it would also be the right thing to do. In my experience, I end up having to write a lot of these notes to people, explaining why I cannot continue messaging. Usually the response one of relief and acceptance. By taking this extra effort to write these “weird” “missives” I do not dishonor myself. In addition, the other person has some kind of closure, one hopes.

Treating others well is nothing to be ashamed of. There is no such thing as being a good person “IRL” and a bad person online. The authors state that a massive “overhaul” of the rules is unfeasible. Of course they are right. There can be no top-down overhaul of anything on the internet. It must happen organically over time. Who knows what the online dating rules will be in ten or twenty years? But they may look very different than what they are today. As society becomes more and more accustomed to online dating, rules may slowly come into being which account for some of the above concerns, mainly that one cannot have two personalities for real life and online without consequence to one’s own psyche. Check your superego at the door? I don’t think so. I suspect the willingness to embrace rather than apprehend and deal with the destructive or harmful elements of online dating stems from a larger notion that the virtual world can somehow offer an escape from the basic rules of cause and effect. There are some things we as a society have not quite grasped about the internet. Hopefully in time we will.

Letters Through Plexiglass

noreply@blogger.com (Cold Bacon) — Sun, 19 Dec 2010 03:44:00 +0000

This is a letter. There was once a time when people would use such things to express thoughts and feelings they had, often for other people. Perhaps to convey news of some events, like a baby, or a shortage of babies, or vaccines for babies, or perhaps just to say, “I’m here.” Well. At the moment, I can only assume by the blackness outside of the window-hole to my left and that my ears have already popped and that the pilot himself has even stopped talking about it that I am at a particularly uninteresting number of miles high above the earth. I, along with the necessary number of colleagues are somewhat intentionally disturbing the air at a speed which has been carefully predetermined by people to save money. I do not really care how fast we are moving because I trust the shareholders to vote carefully and with an abundance of knowledge at every turn, so it is almost assured that I do not die today because of any one person’s misdeeds, both professional—and personal. In fact more personal to be sure. Everything is personal. Even if the metallic aerodrome sounds and “once-removers” keep telling you it’s not. It is. It most certainly damn is. Personal.

Plexiglas. Does not choose sides, when two people are fighting. Over a soap. For example. Plexiglas does keep things (me) from being sucked through the window and into the cold air—cold because of how high up we are—still wouldn’t matter exactly how high, I maintain—look, the point is if Plexiglas—my Plexiglas—had feelings, say it was mad at me, for example, because I talked some shit about its mother, and it decided to get a revenge fuck at me, or slit its own wrists, right in front of me, or worse yet, just took off—kersplit—without a word, I would be sucked like a bubble tea bloblet through a hard straw, and I would die a quick and painful death, which would, of course, suck. Some definite “me-time” there, but not as I envisioned, when I was complaining about that, not having enough of it, the “me-time” to my soap monger. Just before I got into the cab, which I chose myself, out of thousands, carefully and with an abundance of knowledge. Be nice to Plexiglas. And its family. Is what I am trying to tell you. Or I could die. And it’d be all your fault. Like I said, it’s personal.

The person next to me could read this if they wanted to. That would be fine. We could talk about it. I’m always happy to talk about it. I have a blog. So that proves that. I say better to talk about it than stew, which can totally change your heart for the worse. Too much of that shit’ll right kill you. Quick and painful, and expensive, death. Now we’re in worse trouble than before even. Should have just gone with the Plexi-death. Much faster, and newsworthy even. If you’re beautiful and white and have blue eyes, like I do.

Oh god, here they come again, my thoughts. About me. How do they think of me. What would they say. Am I hot or cold? I can feel them coming on now. I wish they would leave me the fuck alone, but they just—keep—not doing that. The person sitting next to me, could be concerned about all this. She wouldn’t even need to have good eyesight. Or be telepathic. Hell she’s right next to me! We almost share the same seatbelt! Do I smell bad? Should I smell better could be another question? Should I smell like peaches? Would we arrive sooner and with less turbulence along the way if I smelt like peaches? Is it too late for me to smell like peaches? Could be another question. If you know, tell me. Cause I don’t. I just hate stewing because I can’t afford that kind of death. I need better health insurance first, obviously, if I’m going to die like that. Can we talk about it? Are you reading this? If you are, and you know anything about peaches, or elbows, please give me some advice. Not just to shut me up, but because you work for a health carrier with a heart. Help. But don’t hurt my feelings. I have lots of them. And they don’t like to be hurt any more than Plexiglas likes to have its mother ripped on. And unlike Plexiglas, which can just, well—you make me cry—and I really don’t have anywhere to go.

So letters. Written by a lonely prostitute. To her landlord. About some cockroaches. Cockroaches are very bothersome to both prostitutes and non. And landlords must hear about this in letter form or else they just won’t take you seriously. You all do know this right? I mean I do not want to be that guy. The one who tells everybody what they already all know only he now just discovered it—this revelation of his—because he’d been living under a rock these years. Just these years. Not different ones, like earlier in his life. But exactly these last say, two or three. Well now he’s here to tell you. Unsuspecting or bored reader, that yes, if you want to get cockroaches gone without learning their language—they do have one and they’re actually very good listeners—you’d better put pen to paper. Or paper underneath pen. Some combination of pens and papers or an email is good. If you want your landlord to let go of his wife’s left breast (girls have tits, wives have breasts) for two seconds and make good on promises that he made. To you. When you gave him everything. Your everything. On dotted line. On sacred parchment passed down from generations. Blood dripped and dipped by a quill pen, owned by none other than Sal from down the street. Never mind where the pen came from. Point is your blood. Is not enough. Apparently. You’ve got to also be able to write a letter. Or it’s you, and some cockroaches, forever. Or until you walk away. Just walk away. They can have it. Or don’t. This place is sweet! Or would be. If it had a few less cockroaches. Mostly in Winter. Summer you’re outside and whatever. Unless you sleep in the parks. Which I don’t recommend.

This is not a stream of consciousness. And if you keep thinking that I’m going to talk shit about your mother. Unless you are Plexiglas. In which case, may the road rise to meet you, and your mother, anyone in your family. Your family’s family. I love them all. I met them, or I want to meet them, really I do. I swear. You just never really seemed like you cared. And I wanted to give you your space. You know. The space I took from you? That space. Well there you are. Stuck in alloy. Bolted in place. Did anyone tell you how clean and see-through you really are? Did I ever tell you how beautiful you are. Well I am now. Right now. You are fucking beautiful. The most beautiful Plexiglas or variant I have ever sort of looked at my whole life. Everyone knows it. Everyone always talks about it and a’course I totally agree and say, “Yes, oh yes, the most.” Any time anyone says anything. I set them straight. That guy behind me now. He was just. Well. I shouldn’t say too much. Okay I won’t, say too much, but I’ll tell you that when he stopped kicking the back of my chair—I suppose he had to locate a bit of pretzel—I do distinctly think I heard him say something about your mother. Not sure. Totally not sure. Absolutely totally not sure. One hundred million percents not sure would never want to assume anything or be judgy or jump to conclusions but yes he did. He most definitely did, actually. Oh yeah. Oh no. Oh no. No no. He did not. He—oh my God—that’s it. I’m not letting him keep saying all this shit about your awesome mother. I will totally rip him to shreds if he keeps doing it. Really. I told him before when he did it, but nobody listens, to anybody, ever, they just keep talking and talking and talking and—sploosh. Wow. That—was amazing. But your friend certainly just showed him. You must be so awesome you have such awesome and loyal friends. They would do anything for you. Kill a man. I am so sorry you had to deal with that shit. But you did. Can I buy you a drink? For twenty thousand dollars? Bloody Mary? Queen Elizabeth’s rash? Prince Albert’s junk? These are all twenty thousand. Which would be my honor.

We are all here gathered here now here to celebrate, how close we are to each other, and how wonderful is the jet hum, and the promised land, which was promised, to me, or you? No, me. Maybe. Don’t know. But damn we’re so close to each other. We’re just—we’re justabout—yeah let’s think about the last time I wrote someone a letter. I mean a real improper letter. I think I was a kid. No. I was a boy. No. A man. Woman. Snake thing. Man. I had a pen. And a hand. And something to stress about. I think I wanted to have sex with someone so bad once. That I started writing her this letter. And she fell asleep. Next to me. I had almost damn near finished it too. Before she felld asleep. I had so much to say. About something. That was so important. I bring it out now and then. The letter. Look at it. Put it back. Sometimes I just don’t bring it out. But I think about bringing it out. But I don’t. I just think about it. Like now! I have a .JPG of it. Scanned it couple years back when I went on one of my benders where I forgot to buy the gin first. Those are the most dangerous ones. So anyway I just look at that image file, of the words. So there. I don’t mean so there like “I have more chickens than you so there!” I mean, so on the page there. Picture? Page. Page? Monitor is an ugly word. And I deny it. I deny knowing that word. I have never heard of that word. Never said or uttered or owned or busted my eyesight prescription or blew out any discs in my stupid back. Or almost hung myself from a beam to escape the consequences which befell me because of my addictions, including cathode ray tubes. I don’t even know what that means. And when Carrie made fun of me for still having one I had no idea what she was on about. I just assumed it was her period. Wasn’t it? Flat screen is two words? One word? Two. Two? I have never even thought of projecting that letter I wrote that girl that time on a wall somewhere in SOHO in hopes of making people cry, and later pay me money—for my trouble—or because it makes them feel good to part with their money. How hard could it have been to earn it if you are in such a hurry to part with it? I wonder. Anyway. So parenthetically, this is just us talking. Nobody is thinking here. I can assure. Nobody thinks. Not anymore we not. Nobody does any. With letters. Just is talk. These are words. I have totally lost that girl’s number and—ohmygodshejustfellasleepagain.

Maybe I can text her back to life. Text text. Text. Text. Text. Txt. Txt. Chat. Dammit. Nothing. Fuck gimme an amp of epi and atropine! Fluids wide open! Pout. I mean, no, pour—that was a typo—this is different than two seconds ago—we’re all different—we don’t make typos anymore—look, shut up, pour it in! Two lines. Fluids wide open. Maybe it’s a PE? Why? Just do it. Check for a pulse. Another round of epi and atropine. He was only 50. Err—young enough—too young by our standards. I don’t know he’s not one of mine. Well he’s here. Right in front of you. No pulse. Feel the neck dumbass. What are you—a—is that a pulse? No. Thought bubbles popping. Not helping. Just going “bloop” times twenty people. “blooooooooooooooooop.” (This guy is dead.) That’s my thought bubble, there. The only one that counts right about now. Any objections? Call it. Someone text—no—does anyone know this guy’s wife’s email? No not her fucking work email you asshole, her personal email. She’s right over there. In the waiting room. Well duh!? Go get her email then. So I can tell her. God. These people. So stupid. Kids. They don’t even train them anymore I don’t think. It’s probably even worse than that. Why are they so stupid now? I’m going to email the program director about this. Fuss. I’m going to make a stink. I am thinking so clearly. Now that I’ve made my stink. Or thought about it. At least. I can go treat myself to a double latte teeno. Then they’ll know. That I have five dollars. Had. Well. They shouldn’t a put one in the damn lobby if they didn’t want me to have it. They do want me to have it. I think.

Let’s see. Okay this isn’t working anymore. I can’t bring anyone back to life. That I’m aware of. I’m outta here. This is crap. Nobody ever invites me into the broom closet for sex. This hospital sux. I swear everyone is having sex every damn minute of every damn day in every damn broom closet everywhere. Just look. I’m telling you. Just look. Really. They are. All of them. Assholes. Probably that’s why the young ones are so stupid now. Too much exposure to closet items. Obviously. God. Do I have to think of everything? I’m so fucking—I’m asleep now. Okay this is new. I’ve talked myself to sleep. I could have not done this without my help. Great. Fuck. Now I’m fucked. Or not. I am totally not fucked. In no broom closets. Nowhere. And worse I’m asleep already. No chance. Of even fucking. In any broom anythings. Anywhere. With anyone. Too late. And I don’t smell like peaches. And I could have known this was coming because god damn she only told me fifty five hundred times it was peaches. Peaches peaches peaches. Peach scented soap. Will get you fucked. She said. Really? I would have said. If I were listening. Or there. Present. Caring. Oh yeah. That’s all you need. Peach scented soap. Just buy me some on the way home from work today she said. Only she didn’t put quotations on it. And make a fuss. Like I would have heard that either. No. I’m asleep. And not fucked. And not smelling like anything good at all.

Least I escaped the sucking. Let some other guy really have it. He had it coming. That quick and painless—oh wait—I’m—I’m going to die too am I? Is that it?

Knock, knock.

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Fri, 29 Jan 2010 17:47:00 +0000

...

This blog still exists?!

noreply@blogger.com (The Khanh is Dead.) — Mon, 22 Jun 2009 05:32:00 +0000

I'm on W's comp. As per usual, he's talking someone off a ledge somewhere in another room. He is. The person is not. His place on the first floor. There are no ledges. The worse that could happen is that a terra cotta pot would fall off a sill and he may prick himself trying to clean up the mess. The worst that could happen.

Or the fact that I'm being left to my own devices while he talks someone else off a ledge and boredom drives me to one.

But you know.

Insert cute puppies leaping here.

Help me out, guys

noreply@blogger.com (Sarah) — Wed, 20 May 2009 00:12:00 +0000

I need the things you don't want people knowing you've done, or are thinking.

Things My Mother Shouldn't Read

Our first entry went up today and it's about Casual Encounters!

Sexy.

Dear BBC America,

noreply@blogger.com (Cold Bacon) — Sat, 02 May 2009 23:25:00 +0000

Fuck You.

Speaking of Crazy

noreply@blogger.com (alice) — Fri, 24 Apr 2009 13:24:00 +0000

In light of recent events giving online hookups a bad name, I've been thinking.
Is it unethical to harness the crazy the internet has to offer by purposely seeking out the psychos? I'm not talking scary psychos, though for a girl looking for a guy, the line is much finer than a m4w, I'd say. So this is more conjecture and less an actual plan on my part. I just can't help thinking it's a shame the power of these crazies won't be able to make me laugh as much as i deserve.

I recently signed up for OkCupid, though immediately realized I have no place there, and don't want to meet anyone. I have plenty of good friends and am not looking for a boyfriend. I don't even like people I don't already know, so I pretty much ignore it. But i do check in every once in a while for curiosity's sake. A few days ago i received a note from someone calling himself Pete1. Here goes (prepare gag reflex):

As I Pluck you down from your tree out of my reach 12
I would savor your flavor just like a ripe peach. 12
Want to walk hand in hand with you across the beach. 12
So many lessons in love I'd like you to teach. 12

You say that you were working so hard at your school, 12
As I wipe off my chin overflowing with drool, 12
Your pictures responsible; this nat'(u)ral event, 12
Know all of this is true; that what I said I meant. 12

What I said was genuine, I wipe off the glob 12
Because it is my heart that you've have managed to rob. 12
Remain convinced that you're act-u-lee a burglar, 12
Still really want to take you out for a burger. 12

I know there is more to you than read-uh-lee seen, 12
As my waking thoughts are plagued with you in my dreams12
It is for only you that this here song is sung, 12
I really want to massage; your lips with my tounge. 12

Out of my mouth; with all of the things that I had said, 12
This insane balding man; who is out of his head. 12
Hope I kept your int-rest with this here little poem, 12
And within your eyes fine-a-lee find a new home. 12

Uh. User blocked, obv. But I just went back to the email message because I couldn't help wanting to get to the end of the poem. In order to do that I had to go onto his profile and unblock him. Minutes (seconds?) later I get a new email message. Oh boy:

It's good to know that you are a human furnace, 12
Really think that you are hot enough to burn us, 12
So I hem and haw just left with only here: this, 12
As I stand here just begging for your touch and your kiss, 12

I ask you like princess Leah from the star wars, 12

"Help me here my dear, 6
You are my only hope" 6
As I tighten my noose, 6
And unfurl my own rope. 6
I hope to hear from you...6
Before I hang this dope. 6

Not speaking of me here, but of your ex-boyfriend. 12

I've got that sucker tied up in my basement here, 12
This poor guy is filled with nothing but dread and fear. 12
Keeping him captive 'till I hear from you again. 12
Because you know I want to be more than just friends. 12

I am literally just reading this for the first time.
I think I just changed my mind. In conclusion, maybe avoid psychos at all costs.
Unless you are a male looking for a female. If that applies to you, I still expect some good stories.

Crazy ass bitch stabs lead singer of Ladytron for not signing autograph in timely enough fashion

noreply@blogger.com (Cold Bacon) — Tue, 21 Apr 2009 19:06:00 +0000

details unnecessary.

Happy Monday

noreply@blogger.com (Sarah) — Mon, 13 Apr 2009 21:34:00 +0000

This is the type of thing my boyfriend sends me when he's bored:

Cheers.

Screw you all

noreply@blogger.com (alice) — Tue, 07 Apr 2009 03:02:00 +0000

For not showing me this video earlier.
How very dare you.

Best part of this video

why is it okay when someone your own age

noreply@blogger.com (Cold Bacon) — Sat, 28 Mar 2009 05:28:00 +0000

baby's you, but it's not okay when your parents do it?