I love movies, I can usually find SOME redeeming characteristic, even in the most horrid of movies. I’m also something of a horror movie junkie, and if you’re familiar with horror movies at all, you probably know that some of them are pretty bad. But still, I can even watch the most cheesy “The Sorority House that Dripped Blood” B-movie and enjoy myself. Even if the acting or the effects are bad, I can usually enjoy the movie for a laugh (see Zombie Strippers). This is not so for Serge Rodnunsky’s 2007 film, Chill. If I were a film teacher, I would use this movie as an example of how not to make a movie. Low budget is no excuse, there is nothing redeeming about this movie.

Story: Okay, the movie is based on a story by HP Lovecraft. I’ve never read that story, so I can’t tell you how much of the horrible plot should be blamed on that story. The plot contained many holes, some of which were haphazardly filled with characters or situational explanations that felt so forced, they must have been added after the fact. Forget the lack of character development. Most bad horror movies lack that, but now imagine a sex scene that came out of nowhere, and went nowhere. It wasn’t even gratuitous, so it wasn’t added for the T & A value. The rule on editing is that if a scene, or a character, does not add something to the plot, it should be cut. This movie is filled with scenes and characters that should have been cut.

Acting: It’s really sad to think that THESE were the people who passed the audition. I can’t imagine how people of this acting calibre could still consider themselves actors. I bet a random sample of people pulled in off the street could do a better job. There’s a lot of overacting, especially during simple dialogue, but in “horror” scenes where the overacting would at least provide a laugh, ironically, there is only UNDERacting. The fuck?

Editing: The bad acting was only exacerbated by bad editing. Imagine a scene with forced, unnatural dialogue, cut so that you never see both actors in the same shot, but instead when each person is talking, their head fills the screen, then you cut to the other bad actor to get his response while his face fills the screen.

Sound: The music was almost comical. The “creepy background music” that we all take as our cue that something bad is about to happen doesn’t just happen in those scenes where something bad is about to happen (or when they want us to think something is about to happen), but all the time. It’s like they could only afford to pay the composer for one song, so they just used it everywhere. Lack of money isn’t an excuse for this one either; director John Carpenter scored Halloween himself, and gave us a classic horror movie soundtrack in the process.

Effects: Oh. My. God. There’s “low budget”, then there’s “not even trying”. The effects for this movie were so bad, they would have been put to shame thirty years ago. The explosions, the smoke that filled the sky afterward, they looked like a cheap transparency overlaid on top of the original scene.

Makeup effects: This was probably the least crappy aspect of the movie, but being the best thing about a bad movie is a bit like being the prettiest turd in the toilet bowl. There were some bad make-up effects in this one, and some almost not bad ones.

Overall, I know I could have made this movie myself, using my own friends as actors, and only using filming and editing supplies and software that I have used in the past, and made it better.

Sexuality is really a multifaceted enigma, and I’m not going to pretend I totally understand my own, much less anyone else’s, but for me, being gay was not a choice. The scars on my arm mark the road map of my self-hate that began when I was 12. I grew up in a homophobic country, and though I was never told explicitly that homosexuality was wrong, I got the gist. When “faggot” is the absolute worst insult a boy can be called on the playground, it’s a subtle but ongoing message. I can’t imagine the young queers growing up now, when “gay” is a synonym for “crappy.” It took me a while to realise that there was nothing wrong with me, and that those who hate me for being gay are just as stupid as those who hate someone for their skin color, religion, or style of dress. I am no longer even remotely ashamed or apologetic; my gayness is just one thing about me, like my natural talent for music, my penchant for philosophy, and my dislike of lima beans. I’m cool with me now.

Enter political lesbianism. Wha??? I am definitely a feminist, and I am definitely a lesbian, but I am not a political lesbian. Political lesbianism, from what I understand of it, is the rejecting of men and heterosexuality and a conscious decision to identify oneself as a lesbian for political reasons. In the 70s many feminist groups took this road as a way to fight misogyny. I can see how enveloping oneself in the lesbian feminist movement is very empowering for women, I happen to think that lesbians are awesome, feminists are awesome, and lesbian feminist are awesomer still, but there are a couple of problems I have with the idea of political lesbianism.

At least in the 70s, lesbianism was touted as a conscious choice for otherwise heterosexual women to undertake for political reasons. It was said that all women can and should forsake men and become lesbians. This represents a number of problems for me.

The first is that this concept seems very heterosexist and heteronormative. Heteroseuxality is the assumed default, and anything else is a choice to be different.

Second, though sexuality may be a choice for some people, for others, it is not. I think of sexuality as a spectrum, and though most of us tend to fall in the middle, there are those who are actually either 100% gay or 100% non-gay. For some in the great bisexual midland, a choice to stick to the ladies would be easier, but for those who fall closer to that hetero side, or for those few who are truly 100% hetero, this could be a great hardship. Though I don’t think I’d consider myself 100% gay, I know that I am close enough that if I were to have to choose a heterosexual life, I would not find it fulfilling. Is it fair to ask women to give up their true selves to conform to their group’s ideals?

Third, I understand wanting to immerse yourself in those like you, but why do we have to think of men as the enemy? Is the feminist movement so strong that we can afford to exclude possible allies? Some men are feminist, and are willing, wanting, and waiting to fight alongside their mothers, sisters, daughters, lovers, wives and friends. These men are every much as feminist as I am, some of them even more so. Political lesbianism excludes these men by labelling them as the enemy. I, personally, am against any such prejudice behaviour.

Lastly, political lesbianism is a love of women that is built upon a hate or fear of men. I want a lover who chooses to be with me because she loves me, she thinks I am funny, intelligent, she loves my personality, and she thinks I am sexy as hell. She can be with me because I am a woman, but I don’t want her to be with me because I am not a man. There may not seem like much a difference, but I think it’s a big difference. I want her love for me to be because of me, not because of men.

Of course, I have never meet any of the Pumpkins in person, much less spent a day with any of them, or more importantly, seen them at work in the studio (except on video), but from their music, interviews with them, seeing them interact on stage, et cetera, I think I know enough to make a comment on this.

Billy is a god. Anyone who knows me knows I pretty much worship the man. He's a heavenly guitar player with the capacity to write extremely kick-ass rock songs and some unbelievably beautiful music that defies placement in any single genre, as well as the occasional dud (like all composers). He pretty much has done all the recording for the group single handed-ly, despite what liner notes say, partly because of his intense focus on music, not leaving room for anything but (hence the failed marriage), and partly because of his perfectionist mentality when it comes to his music. Not many people would be willing to work with someone like that for very long, and that makes no difference with the kind of quality of music we can expect from him in the future. Pumpkins releases have mostly been Billy solo gigs anyway.

What does concern me is...and I don't know quite how to put this nicely, so I'll just say it...Billy needs a leash. He's an intense man, and his ideas can be intense as well. Some of the directions he likes to go musically, while genius, need a bit of grounding to them. He's like a kite free floating on the wind during a hurricane. Without a string and a tail to anchor him and help keep him on course, he's really nowhere. He needs someone around who can stand up to him, tell him when he's being crazy, tell him when an idea needs some softening around the edges, tell him when he's gone too far, tell him when it's getting too dark, too loud, too conceptual...Without a conduit to channel his raw talent in a productive way, he's a nuclear reactor exploding randomly at will, a lot of power without any control.

My assumption is that James was that ground and center for Billy in a big way. I base this assumption on the fact that the songs that were written by Billy and James together are consistently very dynamic, beautiful songs. The ones James wrote alone were never really my cup of tea, the ones Billy wrote alone either really rock, or kinda don't (though the majority are very excellent), but the ones they wrote together are what I consider the epitome of what the Pumpkins were capable of. I think that Jimmy was a ground and center for Billy as well, though not as strongly. I base this assumption on Zeitgeist, which, while it does contain some great music, feels a bit like Billy taking some ideas too far.

With Jimmy now out of the band, the big problem with Billy now is he's a big enough talent that not many around him are willing to stand up to him, and when they do, his ego is big enough that he too easily disregards what they say. He needs a producer, a band member, a friend, a lover, or someone who can help him find the best way to do what he wants to do.

I’m currently writing a sex scene for one of my fics. It’s the first scene like this I’ve ever written. I’ve written plenty of blowjobs and hand jobs, but this...

I researched the fuck out of this, including sites for queer men looking for first time anal sex advice, and watching a few videos (research, of course, all research). I’ve never had sex with a man, and I’ve certainly never been a man having sex with a man. I know what’s going to happen, and most of the scene is already written, but I’m thinking the first time advice sites and videos were a mistake now, cos I think it might be a bit too graphic. Not violent or anything (in fact, it’s pretty loving), but definitely explicit in its details.

I’ve read the posting guidelines for both of sites, and while the scene is fine for my art journal and web site, which will get the full version, I doubt fanfiction.net and fictionalley.org would consider it suitable for their sites. I’ve already got the first 11 chapters of this fic up on both, so I can’t just not post anything.

So… do I post anyway, hoping no one complains, or do I post an edited version, with a trail of bread crumbs leading readers to my art journal if they want to read the full scene?

And how do I know if what I’ve written is too explicit? What amount of detail would push a written account of sex from the R rating to the X or NC-17 rating?

So the weather’s nice, and I’ve been walking home from school for the past few days. In fact I just got home from one of my walks, which I normally enjoy. I tend to not get much alone time, so I savor my walks as a time to put on my headphones, listen to my music, and get my heart pumping a little on my way home.

Not today, apparently. I was listening to my music, walking down Woodland Ave, when a black pick-up truck with two guys in the front seat pulled into a driveway in front of me. I’ll have to add a visual aid here, to show you exactly what happened.



The blue square is a two car garage attached to the house I was walking by. The house is the pink rectangle. The lighter grey is the driveway (and the curb), and the darker grey is the sidewalk. The green is the bit of grass growing between the curb and the sidewalk, and the lawn of the house as well. The yellowish creamish tan is the road, the black rectangle is the truck, the red lines would be the path of its wheels, and the yellow dot is where I was, the arrow shows the directing I was walking.

So the truck pulls into the driveway, not into the driveway as if it were going to pull into the garage, but as if they were parallel parking, and thought that along the sidewalk was a good place to do so. Also bear in mind, I live in America, so the lane of traffic next to me was moving toward me, and this car went across traffic to do this. Also, if you look at the path of the tires, you’ll see that for a person on foot, they got a bit too close for comfort. They pulled in, tires running over the curb in the process, and then just sat there looking at me through the rear view mirror. No one got out of the car, they just sat. I waited for them to move their car, but after a while it became apparent that they weren’t moving. I walked around the back of their car, which was sticking out just enough that I had to actually go into the lane of traffic to get around them, but only by a foot or so. There was no way in hell I was going to walk around the front of the car.

As I began walking away, I didn’t want to turn around and look at them. Sometimes these (for lack of a better term, I’ll have to quote Dazed and Confused) “dominant male monkey motherfuckers” do things like this to get a rise out of people, and any response just encourages them. I did reach into my pocket and pause my iPod, though. I heard them pull out of the driveway again, but there was too much traffic to hear if they went away from me or toward me, and I wasn’t about to turn around and find out.

At this point I was two blocks away from my house, and glad that there was so much traffic (people). A lot of scenarios started going through my mind. Was this a gay bashing attempt? Was this just random? It’s been a while since I was harassed for blowing a bell curve or anything, but I did take two tests last week, and was the high score on both. As far as I know, only one of those teachers curves his tests, and there’s probably no way anyone would know what I got on the test. Perhaps this was a ‘get the fat girl’ scenario? Et cetera...

So I’m two blocks away from my house, and debating whether I should run or walk. Should I circle the block in case they’re following me, or just go straight home? I decided to walk, but go straight home (I didn’t want to get caught in an alley if they were still behind me). I do have a large St. Bernard who is pretty protective of her home base, and doesn’t warm up to men very easily (she’s scared enough delivery drivers). I figured she’d protect me if it came to that. Jon is home too.

I got home and locked the door. No cars were turning down 5th street, but there were too many going down 21st Ave to tell if they were there or not. I’m sitting here now with a spiked flail in my lap, wondering if it was a mistake to go straight home. If they did follow me, they know where I live now.

So...

WHAT. THE. FUCK??!?!??!?!?!

Okay, I took this picture of Billy, mostly cos of the sexy intensity of his eyes, and it was a bigger picture. Adjusting all manner of brightness/contrast, opacity/transparency, and turning everything greyscale, I superimposed it with this skull, and this and this image for texture.

Whaddya think?

I just wanted to introduce you to my new girl.

She's about two, she's 110 lbs. She's cuddley and affectionate. She pulls like a Mack Truck when on a leash, and answers to the name of Kasey.

( KASEY!!! )

Words v. Sounds
The power to affect

We’ve all had the experience of listening to a song so beautiful, we’ve cried or gotten goose bumps, right?

Well, after one such occasion while walking home from school today, I got to thinking. What was it about Evanescence’s Bring Me To Life that put a swooping feeling in my stomach like I had just fallen off a cliff, (or just fallen in love)?

The lyrics are powerful, and can evoke a response. The music is powerful too. Was is a combination of words and sound, or was it a combination of the song and my mindframe and the environmental context at the time of my listening? I thought back to other songs that provoke a equally strong response in me.

About Billy Corgan: I love the man, but aside from the occasional astute lyric that touches me, his words are not exactly Orpheus-worthy. His poetry book totally bombed. I have never read any of it, so I can’t give non-hearsay explanations for this, but I do know that where Billy is the most powerful is behind a guitar, seated at a piano, behind a microphone, or holding a pen to manuscript paper. What makes me weak at the knees about Billy’s songs are not the words, though occasionally it is the sound of his voice.

There are some songs whose affect one me have nothing to do with lyrics. I can’t be the only non-christian who gets goosebumps during Oh, Holy Night. That’s a fucking beautiful song. When sung by the right group of voices a cappella, OMFG! The Star Spangled Banner and The Halleluiah Chorus by Handel can equally affect me when done the right way, but it has to do with the complexity of the song, not the words themselves. And a few months ago I watched a concert on PBS filmed in Ireland. One song sung in some foreign language that I know none of (Gaelic or something) brought tears to my eyes.

Then there’s the fact that some songs without lyrics also affect me so powerfully. I can think of many examples by Vivaldi. And violins in general tend to do that to me.

I can’t think of many song lyrics or poems that have the affect on me that many songs do. It must be that music can be listened to subjectively, and applied to your own life in a personal way, whereas words often must be taken at face value. The exception are times when the meaning behind the words must be interpreted, like with some poems and some of Billy’s more non-literal lyrics. That lets our minds insert meaning that may or may not have been intended by the writer, but that mean something to us.

( Read more... )

In tribute to Harry, Ron, and all other students of Prof. Trelawney who don't have the special aptitude for prognostication that Chaos was naturally gifted with, I have decided to offer a new feature. Swami Chaos will share her enormous talents and help guide the sorry lives of lesser folk with her amazing ability to see through the boundaries of time and space to offer advice for such important matters as love, money, employment and the stock market.

Swami is well versed in such manners of seeing as phrenology, palmistry, tarot, scrying, runes and the pendulum. Swami can also read the stars to see what will be happening to all of you sorry folk.

And sorry I am.

January
Apparently January will not be a good month for those born in January. The Januarians, having fallen asleep in a snow drift after a night of imbibing way too much Egg Nog, will awaken in some pain. Not only will there be some minor frostbite, but those who were unfortunate enough to misplace their clothes during their night of partying will be major-ly sunburned. The sun reflects off that snow like a mirror. Januarians will inevitably come to resemble half-cooked lobsters. Even those who avoided the rays of the sun, Egg Nog, and snow drifts will have widespread rampant cases of skin cancer. It will be operable, but will leave ugly poc marks all over their posteriors. I'm afraid there will be no more nude modelling for any of our January born friends.

February
Those born in February will be blessed with good health, but won't be able to enjoy it. The love lives of those born in February are going to be going through upheavals in January. Those born in the early part of the month are going to walk in on their significant others in compromising situations. Especially wary should be those born on the 14th, who will be walking in on compromising situations involving barnyard animals. And more bad news for those born on the day of St. Valentine, those stains will NEVER come out of the carpet. The lucky ones born in the latter half of the month only have to deal with a less than spicy sex life, and syphilis. But the good news is that the stars have foretold that there will NOT be a shortage of penicillin in January.

March
Loss of jobs and wallets will leave those born in March with skinny bank accounts in January. As a result, the Marchists will attempt to rob said banks (and various convenience stores,) but to no avail. During their 3 year prison sentences they will find employment working in the prison laundry, and their cellmates will be kind enough to offer them protection from the other more dangerous inmates in return for certain *ahem* favours.

April
Any April born people should be especially cautious in doctor's offices, as the month of January will have an uncharacteristic up-shoot of botched surgeries for those born in April. The wrong legs will be taken, or the leg will be taken when all you came in for was a bit of lipo. Doctors born in April will be more prone to mistakes than usual. The most important thing to keep in mind is that gynaecologists typically do NOT work on males.

May
Mayites have a lot to look forward to in the month of January. There will be good fortune for all but those May-born food service workers, who will have to beware of nasty grease spills that could leave feet horribly disfigured. There will also be an inordinately large number of costumers with attitude problems.

June
Nasty spills down flights of stairs will leave our June-born friends with permanent limps. Clumsy feet and badly placed banana peels will also plague Juners with falls and fat lips, and therefore lisps. But alas, the worst will come when they try to explain their afflictions to those they come into contact with. Worry not, children of June, they laugh with you, not AT you. Oh, who are we kidding? But the laugher will pass.

July
Those born in July will have very annoying songs stuck in their head for all of January. Come and knock on our door, we'll be waiting for you. Where the kisses are HERS and HERS and HIS, three is company too. DAMMIT! See, it's starting already!

August
The cars of Augustians will stall this month. Of course, they will always choose the least convenient times and places to stall. (Train tracks, when rushing to the wedding chapel to stop the love of your life from marrying that idiot, when you very badly need to get home because of a horrible case of diarrhoea…) The repair bills (medical bills, emotional scarring…) will be great, funds will be low, and Agustinians will have to decide whether prostitution or declaring bankruptcy is the more appealing course of action.

September
September born folk will be prone to paranoia this month. This is not so much a prediction as a self-fulfilling prophecy. Any September-born reader of my journal will be in a state of high alarm all month. What's that noise outside? What lies just beyond the light? Who lerks around the corner, waiting to jump out and scare me, thus making me scream like a stereotypical horror movie whore? Well, even if you weren't going to be thinking it before, you will now. You're welcome.

October
Beware of online banking in January, my October born friends. Any slight typo and you'll be sending the contents of all of your accounts to Sven, an accountant living in Switzerland. He has conveniently set up a Swiss account to receive your funds, and has hired an armada of hackers that will help you with the money transfer if you neglect to do it yourself. Sven thanks you for your generosity.

November
Beware eating any dish involving anything brown, for I have foreseen that those born in November will choke to death on either breaded chicken (or a soy chicken substitute), bread or chocolate. Some who are lucky enough to choke in the company of others will be Heimlich-ed, which will result in broken ribs and punctured lungs, but not loss of life.

December
Boredom. Unending boredom. Those born in December will be subject to much boredom in January. Your birthday and the holidays have passed, and there are no opportunities for the receiving of gifts for months. The most interesting thing that will happen this month will be a fit of hiccups that lasts two hours. The levels of boredom for our December born friends will reach a fatal level for some by the end of the month. Their deaths will be the most interesting thing to happen to some of their acquaintances in the month of January, but they will not get to experience any of the interesting activity (and fights over inheritance) resulting from their deaths, because they will be, well, dead.

OMG Susan B Anthony!!!!!! OMG!

This woman rocks the jailhouse!

In 1873 Susan B Anthony was arrested for voting. I have a little excerpt from the trial documents that rocked my world.

JUDGE HUNT [Ordering the defendant to stand up]: Has the prisoner anything to say why sentence shall not be pronounced?

MISS ANTHONY: Yes, your honor, I have many things to say; for in your ordered verdict of guilty, you have trampled under foot every vital principle of our government. My natural rights, my civil rights, my political rights, my judicial rights, are all alike ignored. Robbed of the fundamental privilege of citizenship, I am degraded from the status of a citizen to that of a subject; and not only myself individually, but all of my sex, are, by your honor's verdict, doomed to political subjection under this, so-called, form of government.

JUDGE HUNT: The Court cannot listen to a rehearsal of arguments the prisoner's counsel has already consumed three hours in presenting.

MISS ANTHONY: May it please your honor, I am not arguing the question, but simply stating the reasons why sentence cannot, in justice, be pronounced against me. Your denial of my citizen's right to vote, is the denial of my right of consent as one of the governed, the denial of my right of representation as one of the taxed, the denial of my right to a trial by a jury of my peers as an offender against law, therefore, the denial of my sacred rights to life, liberty, property and-

JUDGE HUNT: The Court cannot allow the prisoner to go on.

MISS ANTHONY: But your honor will not deny me this one and only poor privilege of protest against this high-handed outrage upon my citizen's rights. May it please the Court to remember that since the day of my arrest last November, this is the first time that either myself or any person of my disfranchised class has been allowed a word of defense before judge or jury-

JUDGE HUNT: The prisoner must sit down-the Court cannot allow it.

MISS ANTHONY: All of my prosecutors, from the 8th ward comer grocery politician, who entered the compliant, to the United States Marshal, Commissioner, District Attorney, District Judge, your honor on the bench, not one is my peer, but each and all are my political sovereigns; and had your honor submitted my case to the jury, as was clearly your duty, even then I should have had just cause of protest, for not one of those men was my peer; but, native or foreign born, white or black, rich or poor, educated or ignorant, awake or asleep, sober or drunk, each and every man of them was my political superior; hence, in no sense, my peer. Even, under such circumstances, a commoner of England, tried before a jury of Lords, would have far less cause to complain than should I, a woman, tried before a jury of men. Even my counsel, the Hon. Henry R. Selden, who has argued my cause so ably, so earnestly, so unanswerably before your honor, is my political sovereign. Precisely as no disfranchised person is entitled to sit upon a jury, and no woman is entitled to the franchise, so, none but a regularly admitted lawyer is allowed to practice in the courts, and no woman can gain admission to the bar-hence, jury, judge, counsel, must all be of the superior class.

JUDGE HUNT: The Court must insist-the prisoner has been tried according to the established forms of law.
MISS ANTHONY: Yes, your honor, but by forms of law all made by men, interpreted by men, administered by men, in favor of men, and against women; and hence, your honor's ordered verdict of guilty; against a United States citizen for the exercise of "that citizen's right to vote," simply because that citizen was a woman and not a man. But, yesterday, the same man made forms of law, declared it a crime punishable with $1,000 fine and six months imprisonment, for you, or me, or you of us, to give a cup of cold water, a crust of bread, or a night's shelter to a panting fugitive as he was tracking his way to Canada. And every man or woman in whose veins coursed a drop of human sympathy violated that wicked law, reckless of consequences, and was justified in so doing. As then, the slaves who got their freedom must take it over, or under, or through the unjust forms of law, precisely so, now, must women, to get their right to a voice in this government, take it; and I have taken mine, and mean to take it at every possible opportunity.

JUDGE HUNT: The Court orders the prisoner to sit down. It will not allow another word.

MISS ANTHONY: When I was brought before your honor for trial, I hoped for a broad and liberal interpretation of the Constitution and its recent amendments, that should declare all United States citizens under its protecting gis-that should declare equality of rights the national guarantee to all persons born or naturalized in the United States. But failing to get this justice-failing, even, to get a trial by a jury not of my peers-1 ask not leniency at your hands-but rather the full rigors of the law:

JUDGE HUNT: The Court must insist-

[Here the prisoner sat down.]

JUDGE HUNT: The prisoner will stand up.

[Here Miss Anthony arose again.]

The sentence of the Court is that you pay a fine of one hundred dollars and the costs of the prosecution.

MISS ANTHONY: May it please your honor, I shall never pay a dollar of your unjust penalty. All the stock in trade I possess is a $10,000 debt, incurred by publishing my paper-The Revolution-four years ago, the sole object of which was to educate all women to do precisely as I have done, rebel against your manmade, unjust, unconstitutional forms of law, that tax, fine, imprison and hang women, while they deny them the right of representation in the government; and I shall work on with might and main to pay every dollar of that honest debt, but not a penny shall go to this unjust claim. And I shall earnestly and persistently continue to urge all women to the practical recognition of the old revolutionary maxim, that "Resistance to tyranny is obedience to God."

Well done, sister suffragette!

I recently noticed that the peel-off strip of my pantiliner had a bunch of "Kotex Tips for Life" on it. Annoying advice such as:

Staying active during your period can relieve cramps.
Avoiding caffeine may help reduce cramps and headaches.
Drink 6-8 glasses of water a day to keep you hydrated and feeling fresh. Try Kotex blah blah blah other products...

Obviously the individual behind this was someone who has never possessed a functioning set of ovaries.  Go ahead and tell a menstruating woman that drinking 6-8 glasses of water will help keep her feeling fresh. Like we need more fluid inside our bloated  bodies from hell...but go ahead...I triple-dog-friggen-dare-ya...See what  happens and report back. I'll wait.

While you're at it, dump out the coffee at work and remove the chocolate from the vending machine.  I garan-friggen-tee that the first responders will be females who just ovulated.

Staying active will relieve headaches & cramps...well guess what, the only activities that interests me is eating..sleeping..bitching or crying for no apparent reason.. .and oh...does ripping someone's head off count as a friggen' activity?????

Look, females don't need or want tips for living on their feminine hygiene products. Younger girls are already hearing "helpful" crap like that from elderly relatives. Veteran females have already concocted their own recipes for survival, many containing alcohol &  barbituates.

Printing out crap advice while sneaking in ads for the brand that was already purchased is just plain annoying, not to  mention rude, and is enough to send a girl running to the Always  brand.

It's not a fun time, but DO NOT try to cheer us up by adding smiley faces or bunnies or flowery cutesy crap to your products or the packaging. Put the crap in a plain brown wrapper so we can throw it in our carts discreetly and have it blend in among the wine and beer.

There is nothing more annoying than having a blinding pink package announcing your uterine state to everyone in the store. Why don't ya just add an in-store microphone to the damn package & announce that...helloooo, another female in the store is on the rag!!!!!

So take your tips for living and your cute bunnies & the smiley faces and shove them right up your ass.

PS How about adding a free sample of Pamprin & maybe a shot of Bourbon to your packages instead !!!

This is the kind of thing I do when I have insomnia.

If you yelled for 8 years, 7 months and 6 days you would have produced enough sound energy to heat one cup of coffee.
(Hardly seems worth it.)

If you farted consistently for 6 years and 9 months, enough gas is produced to create the energy of an atomic bomb.
(Now that's more like it!)

The human heart creates enough pressure when it pumps out to the body to squirt blood 30 feet.
(O.M.G.!)

A pig's orgasm lasts 30 minutes.
(In my next life, I want to be a pig.)

A cockroach will live nine days without its head before it starves to death.
(Creepy.)

(I'm still not over the pig.)

Banging your head against a wall uses 150 calories a hour.
(Don't try this at home, maybe at work)

The male praying mantis cannot copulate while its head is attached to its body. The female initiates sex by ripping the male's head off.
("Honey, I'm home. What the....?!")

The flea can jump 350 times its body length. It's like a human jumping the length of a football field.

(30 minutes..lucky pig! Can you imagine?)

The catfish has over 27,000 taste buds.
(What could be so tasty on the bottom of a pond?)

Some lions mate over 50 times a day.
(I still want to be a pig in my next life...quality over quantity)

Butterflies taste with their feet.
(Something I always wanted to know.)

The strongest muscle in the body is the tongue.
(Hmmmmmm......)

Right-handed people live, on average, nine years longer than left-handed people.
(If you're ambidextrous, do you split the difference?)

Elephants are the only animals that cannot jump.
(okay, so that would be a good thing)

A cat's urine glows under a black light.
(I wonder who was paid to figure that out?)

An ostrich's eye is bigger than its brain.
(I know some people like that.)

Starfish have no brains
(I know some people like that too.)

Polar bears are left-handed.
(If they switch, they'll live a lot longer)

Humans and dolphins are the only species that have sex for pleasure.
(What about that pig??)

Ahhh, Easter!

The one day of the year when all pseudo half-assed attempts at a diet can be guiltlessly laid aside in favour of the highlight of this chocolate addict's year...

The Cadbury Creme Egg.

*indecent moans of pleasure*

Okay, so here's the scoop. My Culture and Environment professor showed us a segment of 60 Minutes that played last week. I've only seen it once, so don't take my words as gospel

There was a man on 60 Minutes last week who is a scientist that works for the government (maybe NASA, not sure.) He's a climatologist (or similar) and has been looking at global warning patterns. He studies them and writes reports for congress and passes along his findings to the press.

When Clinton was president he asked this man to 'embellish' his reports to make the problem sound worse than it was. I imagine this was so that people would start taking notice of the problem. Immoral, yes, but when the scientist explained that he wouldn't change his scientific findings to accommodate anyone's agenda Clinton was like 'ok fine.'

Well now that we've got a new president, things are a bit different. This scientist got in trouble for using words that Bush's people thought were too harsh. When he said that he's only reporting his findings Bush decided how they would fix that. Now every report he writes for congress and everything he is allowed to say has to be approved by the white house.

He sends in his reports and Dubbya's chief of staff for the environment (whatever the job title is) goes through and makes the 'presidentially approved changes.' The former chief BTW was a lawyer. He used to be a lobbyist for GM (I think that was it) and now that he is no longer the head of the president's environmental committee, he is a lawyer for Exxon (I KNOW that was it.) Cos of course, when I think environmentalism, I think GM and Exxon!

These presidentially approved changes involve quibbles over the wording (you know, we don't want to scare anyone) and whole paragraphs that are Xed out (we don't want to overload the 'Merican people with more information than they can handle.)

The scientist got in trouble once for using the word 'dangerous' during a speech and now he has a tail following him to make sure he doesn't say any naughty words; perhaps with a remote to some electrodes attached to his scrotum. So basically we have a first amendment in theory, but not in practice.

You get the gist; if you are interested I suggest really looking into this, cos I am not a reliable source here. I only saw the segment once, and was not taking notes, so some of the information might be off. Or perhaps it's off because Bush's posse went through and edited my post before I was allowed to post it.

The Washington Post's Mensa Invitational annually asks readers to take any word from the dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting, or changing only ONE letter, and supply a new definition. Here are a few examples of past years winners:

Intaxication: Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until you realize it was your money to start with.

Foreploy: Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting laid.

Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period.

Sarchasm: The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it.

Hipatitis: Terminal coolness.

Osteopornosis: A degenerate disease. (This one got extra credit.)

Karmageddon: It's like, when everybody is sending off all these really bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and it's like, a serious bummer.

Glibido: All talk and no action.

Caterpallor (n.): The color you turn after finding half a worm in the fruit you're eating.

Reintarnation: Coming back to life as a hillbilly.

Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.

Giraffiti: Vandalism spray-painted very, very high

Inoculatte: To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.

Decafalon (n.): The grueling event of getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you

Dopeler effect: The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly.

Arachnoleptic fit (n.): The frantic dance performed just after you've accidentally walked through a spider web.

Beelzebug (n.): Satan in the form of a mosquito, that gets into your bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out.

Frisbeetarianism (n.): the belief that, after death, the soul flies up onto the roof and gets stuck there.

And the pick of the literature:
Ignoranus: A person who's both stupid and an asshole.


The Washington Post has also published the winning submissions to its yearly contest, in which readers are asked to supply alternate meanings for common words.

And the winners are:

coffee, n. the person upon whom one coughs.

flabbergasted, adj. appalled by discovering how much weight one has gained.

abdicate, v. to give up all hope of ever having a flat stomach.

esplanade, v. to attempt an explanation while drunk.

willy-nilly, adj. impotent.

negligent, adj. absentmindedly answering the door when wearing only a nightgown.

lymph, v. to walk with a lisp.

gargoyle, n. olive-flavored mouthwash.

flatulence, n. emergency vehicle that picks up someone who has been run over by a steamroller.

balderdash, n. a rapidly receding hairline.

testicle, n. a humorous question on an exam.

rectitude, n. the formal, dignified bearing adopted by proctologists.

pokemon, n. a Rastafarian proctologist.

oyster, n. a person who sprinkles his conversation with Yiddishisms.

circumvent, n. an opening in the front of boxer shorts worn by Jewish men.

For a state that continuously votes democratic it's surprising to see the bumper stickers that permeate our roads. I couldn't count on my fingers and toes the number of cars that have some combination of the same bumper stickers.

Why don't they just compile all of their stickers into one to save space?

Save the unborn babies
Kill the Arabs
Support the war
Hate the fags
Tote the guns
Go America!!!

Yup, that about covers it. Am I missing anything?

There is a clump of hair on the side of my head that stubbornly has decided to point to the right. It won't listen to me when I tell it that it should really be pointing down. I hate it when my hair decides to be a brat. Fucking hair.

I like this theme because there is a place on the sidebar where I can put a little blurb. Since I am a quote whore it affords me a perfect opportunity to put my favourite quotes up and change them periodically. I once got a quote book for Christmas. It was awesome, but somehow I lost it.

It's first day back after spring break and I feel like my brain has atrophied, a bit; I need to flex it a few times to get it up to speed.

Well I suppose I had better go to school now. Good day to y'all.