Or: He heard the word Buggerer

On reading about the blockbuster 18th Century British pamphlet, "Satan's Harvest Home: or the Present State of Whorecraft, Adultery, Fornication, Procuring, Pimping, Sodomy, And the Game of Flatts, (Illustrated by an Authentick and Entertaining Story) And other Satanic Works, daily propagated in this good Protestant Kingdom" which equates effeminacy in men with a penchant for buggery, my first thought was "You know, this is exactly the sort of thing Bill Gibson would post to his blog. Exactly."

As a bonus, from 'The Ten Plagues of England' -- Plague III: Effeminacy

Read on, Homosexuality in the 18th Century.

Given sufficient motive and chance of evading arrest I would happily kill every last one of you.

Sleep tight.

Gone away
My heart's gone away
Taking everything
My heart's gone away
Take it now

Earnest sentiment? Why yes. Slightly undermined by the next two lines being:

Hunt for ogres and dwarves
Lion slicer

I was looking at The European Cluster Observatory, a map and database of how many jobs there are in various sectors and their geographical concentration, and was delighted to learn that the West Midlands are a centre of Metal.

Eyes are for the weak!


Mangalica pig


Angora goat


Puli


Alpaca

You get value for your time when you come to this blog, kids.

Why the fuck does everybody think Shia LaBoeuf is so great? It's a legit question.

When I expressed the opinion that I don't quite understand why he gets laid, I think victorymarch was dissembling like he isn't a hideous chud.

Bit of a mystery. I only brought of it up because another apparently intelligent and attractive woman had already expressed desire for him.

What is that about? Anyone?

I find the current layout of my Livejournal upsetting. This page is a succession of not adequately separated little paragraphs. I feel like it should look like a brightly coloured pop-up book for children or something. Maybe a Mr. Benn book. I always wished they'd made an Avengers cartoon in the style of Mr. Benn. I feel my life is lived somewhat according to his impeccable example.

This is not, you understand, some Fist of Fun attempt at nostalgia for the 70s. Some pretense that I was there. I was there, in the sense that I had two brothers who were children in the 70s and possess all their hand-me-downs, also kids' TV in the 80s was endless repeats. I do feel, more honestly, that my internal landscape is somewhat like the castle and surrounding environs from Trap Door. I invite your speculation: I seem to suggest that the competing motivations are a befuddled and obese peasant butler who is constantly told off by and strenuously appeasing a miserable old skull and a squealing, scuttling little bogey; and a faceless power who despises its caretaker and needs constant feeding from filthy jugs filled with worms and demands the custodianship of a badly secured basement filled with cruel and traumatic monsters.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

Reading other Livejournallers write about how their LJs are their own and that they shouldn't have to self-censor in fear of offending people amuses the shit out of me. Were I to express every opinion I hold regarding people in, or passing through, my life I'd be in a constant state of open warfare. I accept this place as a community of sorts and don't publicly whinge about my gripes with other individuals. This has a lot to do with my being not an overly dramatic petty-bourgeois turd with a bereft emotional and mental landscape and no means of self-validation through the functions of interiority. Tired drama, like your life is so important.

I'm also going to spit the word 'cunt' right in the face of the next person who self-identifies as polyamourous. Try 'fucking more than one person', it makes you sound like an adult.

He's a complicated man, that no-one unnerstan's bum-dum-toodle.

[22:54] 0001: charlie brown is spectacularly cruel
[22:54] 0001: there's a series of comics from 1962 where lucy is pontificating about his failure face. it's one of the most bitterly funny things i've ever seen
[22:57] 0001: they actually made a musical number out of it for the cartoon that has three girls dancing and singing around charlie brown telling him what a total failure he is
[22:57] 0001: it's pretty heartbreaking for an uptempo number sung by actual school children

It occurs to me that a significant difference between North American and British culture is that there is no romance to being a low-life in Britain. They've tried, but it always comes down to one or another species of Chav. Ronnie and Reggie, Nil By Mouth, Snatch, Shameless -- I'm looking at you. Goddamn social realism.

Irvine Welsh can fuck off as well.

Charlie Brown, in the style of Charles Bukowski. I think, "You ungrateful son of a bitch. I oughta let you starve" might be my favourite line.


sopwith camel

my dog is at it
again
I hear my neighbors
slam their windows
up

“shut that fucking dog up,”
they yell
every night it’s the
same

“shut that fucking dog up.”

it’s not his fault that he wants to dance
on top of a
piano

it’s not his fault that he pretends his doghouse
is a sopwith
camel

it’s not his fault that he spends many nights
pounding mad
on the typer

“shut that fucking dog up,”
they holler

it’s not his fault
he’s just a dog

Bart! The bakery caught fire and the whole of downtown smells like cookies! Wanna go smell?

Yes. Yes I do.

Shit son, my cup runneth over. The Irn-Bru factory, the baked-beans factory, the disused textiles factory - we got it all.

Two posts, both brilliant, but for different reasons. The first, for pointing out good things about J.R.R. that we all knew, subconsciously, but had failed to talk about lately; the second for its insightful satire and in spite of the Miévillian overwriting and linguopomp.

I enjoyed them, anyway.

As previously indicated, once long ago, Blackadder's response to Mrs. Miggins's condescension in this scene may be my favourite moment in Rowan Atkinson's whole oeuvre.

I hate hard-boiled eggs. Someone serves me a hard-boiled egg at any point in the future, starting now, I am going to fracture their fucking skull.

That is all.

Deary me. The £10 Breakfast, available just down the street from me.