what made you frown today?

nicky wire's legs

Christ is king!
there was a bon jovi song on the radio today and the lyrics were thus:

i hijacked a rainbow and crashed into a pot of gold

what IS that? what utter nonsense. i had to increase my frowning efforts to twice their normal capacity upon hearing that.

also, at another point, a silverfish was crawling across me :(
 
a dime sized section of hair came out in my brush this morning. i have chronic low ferritin, and at one point years back had bald spots because of it, which thankfully all grew back once i got my iron up. i havent been taking iron for a while though, becoming complacent and hating the effects it has on me--causing my diaphragm to seize up--and so it must have gotten too low again. i actually felt the hair come out, and when i looked at the brush i could see the multiple parallel strands, all obviously from the same area of scalp, trailing from the brush. surely such violence shouldnt be so neat, so uniform? ugh, a frown worthy moment for sure. time to start taking iron again :(
 
olivia palermo. what an ignorant, repugnant creature she is. if you do a google image search of 'olivia palermo fur' you will see picture after picture of one extravagant (and hideous) fur coat after the next. i think she must have a mental illness. just look at her in this picture below, that coat has ten times more fur on it than her dog. if she wouldnt skin her dog while he still breathes and drape his fur over herself, how can she justify doing it to other animals? not only that but the coat is aesthetically atrocious.
38m0gk-l.jpg
 
some dopey guy at work named mac (what the f*** kind of a trailer trash name is that?) asked me what i was going to get up to (he actually phrased it like that) after work, and i said "well it's a nice day out so probably hiding indoors" to which he cast his head in the direction of the sunlight shining through the door, ran his fingers through his icky slicked back hair, and said in his best westcoast meathead voice "yeah, i gotta get out there too". no, pal, no. that's not what i said. i said the opposite of that. you just didnt listen because you thought you knew in advance what i was going to say. i didnt correct him though because i'm sure now that his whole narrow world view would likely be torn asunder if he were to realize that not everyone likes or wants the same things he does and that there is more in heaven and earth than is dreamt of in his philosophy. ho hum. sometimes i wonder what is the point of even talking to people.
 
aw i love mountjoy. even though it's a sad song dealing with sad topics and with lyrics like "there is no one on this earth whom i'd be sad to leave" and "we all lose", i still find it more beautiful than sad. or perhaps it is both. beauty and sadness, after all, are best when they go together (be beautiful and be sad commanded baudelaire). despite the song dealing with the prison system--which is an abomination--mans inhumanity to man, and the things that kill us long before we are dead, it still has about it a reassuring poetic element, and to be able to imbue suffering and sorrow with poetry is the absolute triumph of art.
 
some stupid hungarians, family of my hungarian landlords, are outside on the patio, creating quite a ruckus in their mother tongue. it is most annoying. today was the day i was to begin my masterpiece of a novel, and i was counting on it raining as had been predicted and the soothing sound of the rain having to be the only sound i would need to contend with. but the sun is pouring down it's cancerous rays yet again and instead of rain, that great hush, i get to hear the mewling voices of wretched hungarian children. i dont think these people quite understand that the muse simply does not attend when there are awful hungarian children playing out on the lawn. presumably one of these days they're also going to have some easter egg hunt to whose noise i shall also likely be subjected. oh heavens please open up and pour down your fury and drive this wretched clan indoors.
 
Last edited:
some stupid hungarians, family of my hungarian landlords, are outside on the patio, creating quite a ruckus in their mother tongue. it is most annoying. today was the day i was to begin my masterpiece of a novel, and i was counting on it raining as had been predicted and the soothing sound of the rain having to be the only sound i would need to contend with. but the sun is pouring down it's cancerous rays yet again and instead of rain, that great hush, i get to hear the mewling voices of wretched hungarian children. i dont think these people quite understand that the muse simply does not attend when there are awful hungarian children playing out on the lawn. presumably one of these days they're also going to have some easter egg hunt to whose noise i shall also likely be subjected. oh heavens please open up and pour down your fury and drive this wretched clan indoors.

I was laughing from start to end, you have a flair for the dramatic...and so does Morrissey... *squints eyes suspiciously*
 
some stupid hungarians, family of my hungarian landlords, are outside on the patio, creating quite a ruckus in their mother tongue. it is most annoying. today was the day i was to begin my masterpiece of a novel, and i was counting on it raining as had been predicted and the soothing sound of the rain having to be the only sound i would need to contend with. but the sun is pouring down it's cancerous rays yet again and instead of rain, that great hush, i get to hear the mewling voices of wretched hungarian children. i dont think these people quite understand that the muse simply does not attend when there are awful hungarian children playing out on the lawn. presumably one of these days they're also going to have some easter egg hunt to whose noise i shall also likely be subjected. oh heavens please open up and pour down your fury and drive this wretched clan indoors.

Stylistic writing & composition = 10 points
Compassion = 0
It remains to be seen how far in life you will get with these traits.
 
Stylistic writing & composition = 10 points
Compassion = 0
It remains to be seen how far in life you will get with these traits.
well i have compassion, but since when does compassion get a person anywhere (clearly you are not familiar with the psychology of the sociopath)? i would say that my ambition and drive hovering around zero is a bigger factor in my not going far in life :p
 
some dolt, --some old dolt, --some old, detestable dolt who uses phrases like "right on" in a tone that sounds like an engine revving, horrifically gave me flowers. why i do not know. because i once feigned interest in his cryptic crosswords? anybody could see that that was only a ploy to boastfully interject--on the subject of crosswords!-- how good i am at sunday new york times crosswords (a pointless and disappointing endeavour because he took no notice of my boast. and, in addition, when i stooped to help him with his cryptic crossword, he seemed not to believe me when i provided him with the obvious answer of 'recondite' to a clue involving the word 'abstruse', the logic being that because he didnt know what either word meant it couldnt possibly be the correct answer. him, continuing to circle the clue with his pencil and wrack his feeble brains rather than dutifully filling in the answer i had just given him: i dont know what this word abstruse means, though. me: it means recondite, c'mon we're done with that one, next question. doltish old bugger: well, i dont know what recondite means though. me: sigh, it means abstruse).

what i would like to know is exactly what was he thinking? hes about twice my age, and i am not, thank you very much, desperate. what interest does he think i would have in him? how dare he think he can just insert himself into my queenly realm unbidden like that? i dont even want to know what he imagined might possibly come of it.

when i carried the flowers home it was by a corner of the cellophane wrapping as far away from my body as possible, with a look of utter mortification on my face, just so that every passerby would know how displeased i was to get them. when i got home i found to my increasing horror that there were lottery tickets stuffed in the flowers. i've never been so insulted. you do not, under any circumstances, give lottery tickets to classy dames. i hope they won tons of money, because i refuse to scratch them. the whole thing makes me want to weep.

i mean, i dont even like getting flowers in the first place, not just when they're from maggoty faced old men. i rarely even buy them for myself (although i made an exception when dear sweet david died). all they do is die and then you have to wash the vase. bloody nuisance.

i am so very sickened, i am so sickened now.
 
some dolt, --some old dolt, --some old, detestable dolt who uses phrases like "right on" in a tone that sounds like an engine revving, horrifically gave me flowers. why i do not know. because i once feigned interest in his cryptic crosswords? anybody could see that that was only a ploy to boastfully interject--on the subject of crosswords!-- how good i am at sunday new york times crosswords (a pointless and disappointing endeavour because he took no notice of my boast. and, in addition, when i stooped to help him with his cryptic crossword, he seemed not to believe me when i provided him with the obvious answer of 'recondite' to a clue involving the word 'abstruse', the logic being that because he didnt know what either word meant it couldnt possibly be the correct answer. him, continuing to circle the clue with his pencil and wrack his feeble brains rather than dutifully filling in the answer i had just given him: i dont know what this word abstruse means, though. me: it means recondite, c'mon we're done with that one, next question. doltish old bugger: well, i dont know what recondite means though. me: sigh, it means abstruse).

what i would like to know is exactly what was he thinking? hes about twice my age, and i am not, thank you very much, desperate. what interest does he think i would have in him? how dare he think he can just insert himself into my queenly realm unbidden like that? i dont even want to know what he imagined might possibly come of it.

when i carried the flowers home it was by a corner of the cellophane wrapping as far away from my body as possible, with a look of utter mortification on my face, just so that every passerby would know how displeased i was to get them. when i got home i found to my increasing horror that there were lottery tickets stuffed in the flowers. i've never been so insulted. you do not, under any circumstances, give lottery tickets to classy dames. i hope they won tons of money, because i refuse to scratch them. the whole thing makes me want to weep.

i mean, i dont even like getting flowers in the first place, not just when they're from maggoty faced old men. i rarely even buy them for myself (although i made an exception when dear sweet david died). all they do is die and then you have to wash the vase. bloody nuisance.

i am so very sickened, i am so sickened now.

Welcome to club Morrissey, you managed to turn an innocent sweet gesture into a gruesome laborious insult.
 
it smells like cigarettes. why the f*** does it smell like cigarettes? the hungarians better not be smoking. there are, like, rules. i'm not breathing in that shit. maybe it's just my sage. it had better just be the sage.
 
Back
Top Bottom