We're getting a little scared

I feel guilty a lot. I always apologise, I have a permanent guilty conscious, even when I've done nothing. I worry about looking guilty, something is being announced in assembly about, anything, everything, kids scrawling "dictation" on the back of chairs (doing the dick, something boys seem to have a constant fascination that they could fill by looking at themselves in the mirror, not in fact by drawing the male genitalia everywhere and at any point in time, and then completing with "tation". "Woah! Did you come up with that yourself?") and I feel guilty. I look worried, I swallow. Then wonder if my swallowing of saliva has been realised and someone will conclude that I am the guilty one. That yes, I have been the one in my lunchtimes running to the Maths department and scrawling obscenities on the back of chairs. I sometimes try not to swallow and leave my mouth parched, I worry that the strained look will lead to my arrest. In the end I just blank out during speeches which often leads to me missing all announcements meaning I often don't go to things or have to read the notices ritually, looking like a right nerdy twerp.

This stems from the time some real bitch brought her dumb "under the sea" themed Polly Pocket. I hated her and her spiffy, glittery shiny things so stole her sea horse. It was a tiny, stupid purple thing that has a plug on the bottom that would stick into the Polly Pocket. I took it home, I remember holding it in my hand feeling ultimately evil. The next morning I tried to sneak it back into her bag.
I can't remember if I was successful or not, I think I probably felt guilty trying to do the right thing and failed, all I remember is I felt like a thief, an evil dirty thief. I still do.

I was later repaid for my evil deed by her doing my hair for my school photo. I ended up looking like a bad Rastafarian, inclusion of hat and my mother wondering what the hell happened. Karma I guess, yet she does not have to deal with the photos being rehashed and mentioned nearly every year, enduring the "peer pressure" speech and "don't trust girls" speech.

Sadly, this performance was beaten by last years photograph in which, angry at the world, I gave myself a hair cut. This ended up with a sort of mullet that my friend assured me looked good, "framing my face" (note taken, don't trust girls). So my photograph was taken, my friend giving me the thumbs up, to later be laughed at endlessly by family and friends alike. Then placed in the corridor, for the whole school to see, their lasting impression of me. Thankfully my hair has finally grown out and the mullet is no longer evident, besides on my father on his wedding day.

Though, apparently that girls a right bitch now as she was then and I may still own her sea horse, she may not know it, but I have won.

One night stands are very tender

As an Australian, I feel it is obligatory to post this, so they're not really Australians, but it is Mark Seymour's (Hunters and Collectors) song and they perform is so beautifully. Being there would be an absolute amazing feeling, if I never am able to see The Clash or The Smiths perform (I saw The Cure so at least I saw one third of my fab three) then I want to see this song performed live.

This is Why my Parents Shouldn't Allow Nights Alone

When karate/ kung fu people do their moves their not actually shouting "wa chow" or anything, they're in fact yelling "SAMTYLER".

I have come up with this after much thought and testing to karate moves around the house, apply it to your life and normal day to day karate moves. It makes sense.

Think about it, yeh? Its an act, yeh? Trying to trick the mind, yeh? Subliminal messages, yeh? Yeah.

The Modmaster

I spent my Friday night playing Roadie Rage and wishing I was Paul Weller.

I think I need a hobby.

Messy Head

I leave mess every where. I accumulate it, its my super hero power. Today we had to clean our locker, over the past term I had collected around two armfuls of trash in my tiny locker. This included sheets with pictures of brains on that I think I was meant to fill in, a paper bag with my name written on it repeatedly for some unknown reason, a bag for bread with nothing inside it and brochures on safe sex with happy, shiny, young people (who actually were holding hands) on. I told you, its my special power, I keep everything. Today I found a piece of newspaper, and instead of putting it in the bin, I put it in my pocket. I would later take it out, analyse it in full detail, think for a while and then replace it in my pocket. By the end of the day I empty my pockets and I have about 20 different items I can line up on the table. ("Hey is that a mandarin, newspaper clipping on Amy Winehouse, used panadol packets and feather in your pocket or are you just happy to see me")

Due to this, most of the time I leave stuff downstairs in our lounge room, in about any place I can find that looks inconspicuous. My mother lines these items up on the stairs hoping that, if I use logic, when I go upstairs I will take the items and put them in my room. I don't have logic. Realising this finally, after around four days, and the items almost reaching my room, journeying upstairs boots and all, my mother asked me to remove them. To which I stated:

"Well done, I see your also working in installation art"

I shall explain. Around three years ago I witnessed Tracey Emin's messy bed. Since that eye opening experience I have called every mess an artwork, its not like I'm being a critic to modern art, I think that Emin's work is an amazing piece of artwork that deserves all of its praise. But for me, its just an easy way out. I have abused art but at least I get to watch the end of "Dead Like Me". Par example:

"Clean up these cups"
"Can't, work in progress. I call it "Dirty Cups""

OR

"Move your bag! Its been here for two weeks!"
"I'm trying to get the right balance, the right feeling. I just have not achieved my full artistic potential yet"

OR

"Take your stuff up, if you haven't realised it there as you step over them again and again"
"Wait, I'm layering the different medias together to form an aesthetically pleasing finished product"

It mightily pisses them off, but I usually get my way after a while. My bag is taken up, the cups gone and my Docs dragged to their resting place.

Except for this one time:

"I'll shove your installation art some place where it won't be too comfortable"

No one appreciates the arts these days.

Alice Sighting!

I track these, honestly, Alice is every where, influencing everything. Robert Smith stated it was his favourite children book, and if you don't take his word, well you don't take any. Here here!

Some girl quoted it today, the Red Queen poem which was nice, everything is nice and humble at this present time, no one likes her though. Which is sad. I like her.

I shall soon be painting my house forest green. That way Google can't track us. MY! Blogger is google owned! Foolish being! They have found us!

Turnip Prize

One day, he will be a famous artist.

Are they the lemmings? Or are you Cliff?

A time when Rik Mayall was seriously shaggable and rather funny too.

I love quotes, they unite people as one due to the fact that we are usually unable to think of anything witty to say ourselves so therefore, steal. How many times have you found a deeper connection with someone due to the use of a quote? My friend and I rely upon quotes to keep the conversation going, without, I don't think we'd be able to communicate.

Perhaps one day the world will become a wittier place, where Stephen Fry is our hailed master and we are all quite interesting and quite clever and quite witty too. This would be nice. I will live in this world with Hannah.

Hello Hannah.

Every morning I eat Toast but our toaster broken so only one side is toasted. I think this sets my day off badly

cheshirecat says:

really?

cheshirecat says:

i prefer it sort of wet, smooth

cheshirecat says:

oily

cheshirecat says:

and then

cheshirecat says:

i rub it all over james

cheshirecat says:

I DID IT MYYYYYY WAAYYYY

I need to stop staying up late on msn or else I end up with conversations like this. This particular conversation stemmed from using butter, which I supposedly prefer wet, smooth and oily to then rub over poor defenseless boys, before announcing that "I did it my way".

Which, I guess, makes sense in some sick demented way.

That Minty Goodness

So, I received another baby sitting job, this time with the decency not to mention any insults they could later use against me. Its a bit shocking, really, I am generally terrible with children.

There was no need to sacrifice the child, no need for a beating stick, no need to call a priest/ slayer with a fully fledged sword (as apparently that's the only way to kill the demon child, arriving at the door to state "yes..this is my friend..he's very good with children") and no need to use dettol: lime fresh.

Instead I was forced into watching Hannah Montana, proving my theory, she truly is the devil child.

I feel so very sorry for the youth of today. Montana, a direct copy of practically every teen movie of any generation ("Ahh! We've gone back in time, my parents aren't meeting and I am fading away!", hey kids! Spot the rip off again! This show is fun for the kids, as they sit there dumbly playing along with the chipmunk in a wig and fun for the parents, or torture, who knows, as they try and figure out what shows being ripped off this week). The show features some annoying girl whose name sounds like some kind of disease who later transforms into some other annoying girl with a name that rhymes with an American state, Alexis Texas or something, who can supposedly sing. The twist of the show? No one can tell its her because get this, she puts on wig. Yes, unlike Superman, who could be disguised by his apparent geekiness (if only such worked for me) , Clark Kent in glasses, Cyrus here, just shoves on a badly made honey blonde wig. Where is she? I don't know! And don't care! The girl is so utterly annoying, that in real life you'd most likely slap with a double edged mackerel and not even bother with the dance. She just doesn't deserve it.

I have nothing against Miley Cyrus, its just badly scripted and a product of Disney. Which seems to ruin practically everything it touches, tainting it with its "good connotations" that never seem to turn out that "good". Case in point: pedophile Madhatter. Just plain wrong.

So what are kids meant to inspired by? If not Hannah Montana, the Jonas Brothers, a bunch of ponced up idiots who like to state they're called "Danger", or the other servings of goodness offered by Nickelodeon. Long gone are the days of Angry Beavers and Rockos Modern Life, now we are left with shows about young bands who write songs about not doing chores. Riot worthy stuff, I tell you, those pre-pubescent are bringing back Punk. And, unlike Disney, who seem to chose the kind of kids that would be on toothpaste ads, scaring us with their wholesome goodness and pearly whites, Nickelodeons offer is, well, not exactly pretty. I'm not discriminating, its a nice change to those shiny, happy people holding hands. But in reality, those kids are the kind that would be slapped around at the playground, Nickelodeon is implanting false hope into young minds. You will never be cool.

My inspiration as a child was Daria.This could explain a few things, that I would hope you would not point out, have some decency please. Yet, I think I'm better for it, I associated myself to a cartoon character who never changed clothing, was down on fashion and fashion club, wore Doc Martens and never really showed any emotion, ever. But its sure better than a chick whose last name sounds like some kind of sexually transmitted disease.

Just, Plain, Lovely.

"trust me catlin, you had me at hello"

this person is the most truly fantastic person ever

Crowley!

Whoever made this is rather amazing.

Happiness