S
suzanne
Guest
and the sad thing is that he knows it...
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L
Little Miss Curious
Guest
> and the sad thing is that he knows it...
He looks like he has awful acne on his chest though!
LMC x
He looks like he has awful acne on his chest though!
LMC x
S
suzanne
Guest
don't make me come over there. i'm not in the mood for it.
> He looks like he has awful acne on his chest though!
I suppose it is forgiveable that you have no idea what chest hair looks like, but you are really taking this emulation of Morrissey's celibacy too far...
> He looks like he has awful acne on his chest though!
I suppose it is forgiveable that you have no idea what chest hair looks like, but you are really taking this emulation of Morrissey's celibacy too far...
L
Little Miss Curious
Guest
Handbags!
> I suppose it is forgiveable that you have no idea what chest
> hair looks like, but you are really taking this emulation of
> Morrissey's celibacy too far...
Er...I'm not quite sure if you know what I'm on about.
LMC x
> I suppose it is forgiveable that you have no idea what chest
> hair looks like, but you are really taking this emulation of
> Morrissey's celibacy too far...
Er...I'm not quite sure if you know what I'm on about.
LMC x
P
punchdrunkGB
Guest
Re: Handbags!
wanna see a picture of me??
> Er...I'm not quite sure if you know what I'm on about.
> LMC x
wanna see a picture of me??
> Er...I'm not quite sure if you know what I'm on about.
> LMC x
L
Little Miss Curious
Guest
Re: Handbags!
> wanna see a picture of me??
Go on then.
LMC x
> wanna see a picture of me??
Go on then.
LMC x
S
suzanne
Guest
Re: Handbags!
> Er...I'm not quite sure if you know what I'm on about.
Sorry, but I lack that chromosome
> Er...I'm not quite sure if you know what I'm on about.
Sorry, but I lack that chromosome
S
suzanne
Guest
Re: Handbags!
> wanna see a picture of me??
Do you look like Morrissey?
> wanna see a picture of me??
Do you look like Morrissey?
P
punchdrunkGB
Guest
Re: Handbags!
yes on a very bad day on the booze he he he
> Do you look like Morrissey?
yes on a very bad day on the booze he he he
> Do you look like Morrissey?
S
somnium
Guest
> He looks like he has awful acne on his chest though!
> LMC x
and the sad thing is that HE will never know this or that, cause he doesn't care a sheet about you both.
> LMC x
and the sad thing is that HE will never know this or that, cause he doesn't care a sheet about you both.
S
suzanne
Guest
> and the sad thing is that HE will never know this or that, cause
> he doesn't care a sheet about you both.
Haven't you figured out that he reads these websites?
Hi, Moz
*wave*
The dream changes this time:
And so there I was, standing in line, two months later. Somehow, I manage to get away from the old tyrant as our bus overturns onto the train tracks, and I jump out of the way as an oncoming train slams into the side.
As I ran, I could faintly hear this, "I can see! I can see! Praise, God!" as Morrissey is too wrapped up in the miracle of his restored sight after 5 days of blindness to notice I was running away. The illness suddenly striking the moment he walked out on stage to do his first USFO show ever.
For the next two months, I spent in hiding, roaming from town to town, growing a beard thanks to modern science in an attempt to disguise myself from the onslaught of paparazzi, all two of them, hot on my trail.
At first, I ran to Pawtucket and did a relatively good job of hiding. Too good. I noticed they weren't finding me and my beard was beginning to itch, so I shaved it down to my usual mustache and hung around the hotels and restaurants where they were hanging out to see if they noticed me. I overheard one of them on the phone with their editor saying that the thousands of dollars he was spending on this trip was really going to pay off for their magazine.
I couldn't figure out how that was going to happen, but they I overheard something about Willie Nelson and the Backstreet Boys. Apparently, the magazine had decided to cook up a heartwrenching story and have these guys plus many other artists doing a "We Are the World" type tribute. The Jett's were going to be brought out of retirement, Billy Ocean was going to provide a little soul, and the Manhattan Transfer was going to provide the breakdown in the middle of the song as the Fat Boys brought it on home. Normally, these people work for the big bucks, but Melody Maker was simply determined to get a free performance out of all of them and donate the money to The Church of the Unfounded Truth....their own charity....which means being part of the pharmaceutical companies, I'm sure of it.
"My God," i thought, "this is terrible!"
And I knew this was REALLY bad. All evil guys in movies have British accents, and look at these jokers on their cell phones. They're journalists! They should only be able to afford rotary phones. They're British guys with Cell phones!
But I completely forgot about it, as i have a short attention span, and found some of my low-life friends: Screaming Agatha, Tae Bo, Bo Duke, and Cooder out to see the Wedding Singer at the Alamo Drafthouse.
We were sitting in the food court afterwards, when I saw this bearded guy, dressed in a blue blazer hanging around. It was friday night, and so I understood, but he kept hanging around. He was squinty eyed, and not a very good spy.
I jumped out of my chair, "That's the guy, officer! There's Johnny Rogan!"
And suddenly, he morphs into liquid metal and goes sliding down the stair way.
"After him!" I yelled, but everyone else sat there finishing their Taco Bell. So, it was up to me...mano e mano...with Johnny Rogan.
I looked around outside. I couldn't find him anywhere....and my mind started messing with my head. I knew he was liquid metal and could morph into anything and could be hiding right under my feet, laughing, and taking notes for the book that would never be published. and i looked...
"Wait, that pile of dog doo wasn't there when I walked in!"
and i started jumping up and down on it yelling, "die, mutha @#!!!a die!" but I slipped down and busted my ass instead.
Sometimes dog doo is really dog doo.
I had to reconcile myself with the fact the loser had gotten away. I walked back to the table at the food court in shame and sadness. My friends did not understand. They simply sat there, their mouths hanging in mid-air as the the insane girl comes walking back reeking.
"Um, who was that guy, Suzanne?"
"Oh...just some guy I used to date."
And that smoothed things over and nobody cared anymore.
But I was tired of living as a fugitive on the road. I begged my boss off for a couple of days and flew to Maryland. no sir, I was not going to be a pawn in Morrissey's game.
I took a big risk standing in line. I eavesdropped and sort of ducked around looking to see who was there, when I heard:
"DOOD, THE POLITICAL BIMBOS ARE EATING MEAT!"
Thrill!
"HEY GO V E G A N!" she screeched at some hungry tourists eating a bagel.
"DID YOU KNOW COWS WERE RAPED FOR THAT MILK?"
"oh my, she is very scaring!" said a voice with a heavy accent.
Fabricio!
Boy, this night could get ugly.
"DOOD, I'LL GIVE YOU 'SCARING' IN A SECOND."
"Cut it out. Leave Fabricio alone or i will use your ovaries as tree ornaments, you afterbirth of a Wombat."
"DOOD, COME AND GET THEM, UGLY GREASE..."
So, I started edging my way ahead of the melee, clinging to the safety of the skinheads in front of me.
Then, the auditorium doors open, and people filter outside.
The show was cancelled again.
I was glad for a brief shining period of time. I walked with freedom down the street, happy to get away from the ensuing riot. Even though I came prepared with body armor, I just didn't feel like having to deal with bodies hurtling towards me, and the police asking questions about why I was hitting them with a stick.
"To knock them back into play." would have been my answer. But that would have to wait another night.
Then, I saw the crew heading into a steakhouse, and a couple of screaming ninnies following them in.
"Alain, you are the best of t'lads" one managed all-knowingly.
"Um, thanks," he said eyeing the steak menu.
"Alain, do you have any really good dirt on Moz?"
"Hmm...in America, he still drives on the left side of the road..."
"No, no, no, silly willy!" she chirped. "Has he ever said which one of t'lads he thought had the cutest behind?"
"Umm" and he suddenly had an unpleasant look of realization creep across his face. "You know, now that you mention it, he has quit insisting I wear my shirts tucked in...I guess he just doesn't find me attractive anymore" and he suddenly loses his appetite as a small tear wells up in his eye.
I looked at him sympathetically.
"What am I going to do? he hired me to specifically be the Bait."
My heart was breaking.
"My days of being a heart throb for all of the middle age women in the audience are over! I was the cute one. Damnit! The cute one!"
"There, there....you are still the fairest of them all now that Spencer has left" I had to open my big mouth.
He slowly looks up, and I slowly look at him out of the corner of my eye in fear.
Uh oh...
> he doesn't care a sheet about you both.
Haven't you figured out that he reads these websites?
Hi, Moz
*wave*
The dream changes this time:
And so there I was, standing in line, two months later. Somehow, I manage to get away from the old tyrant as our bus overturns onto the train tracks, and I jump out of the way as an oncoming train slams into the side.
As I ran, I could faintly hear this, "I can see! I can see! Praise, God!" as Morrissey is too wrapped up in the miracle of his restored sight after 5 days of blindness to notice I was running away. The illness suddenly striking the moment he walked out on stage to do his first USFO show ever.
For the next two months, I spent in hiding, roaming from town to town, growing a beard thanks to modern science in an attempt to disguise myself from the onslaught of paparazzi, all two of them, hot on my trail.
At first, I ran to Pawtucket and did a relatively good job of hiding. Too good. I noticed they weren't finding me and my beard was beginning to itch, so I shaved it down to my usual mustache and hung around the hotels and restaurants where they were hanging out to see if they noticed me. I overheard one of them on the phone with their editor saying that the thousands of dollars he was spending on this trip was really going to pay off for their magazine.
I couldn't figure out how that was going to happen, but they I overheard something about Willie Nelson and the Backstreet Boys. Apparently, the magazine had decided to cook up a heartwrenching story and have these guys plus many other artists doing a "We Are the World" type tribute. The Jett's were going to be brought out of retirement, Billy Ocean was going to provide a little soul, and the Manhattan Transfer was going to provide the breakdown in the middle of the song as the Fat Boys brought it on home. Normally, these people work for the big bucks, but Melody Maker was simply determined to get a free performance out of all of them and donate the money to The Church of the Unfounded Truth....their own charity....which means being part of the pharmaceutical companies, I'm sure of it.
"My God," i thought, "this is terrible!"
And I knew this was REALLY bad. All evil guys in movies have British accents, and look at these jokers on their cell phones. They're journalists! They should only be able to afford rotary phones. They're British guys with Cell phones!
But I completely forgot about it, as i have a short attention span, and found some of my low-life friends: Screaming Agatha, Tae Bo, Bo Duke, and Cooder out to see the Wedding Singer at the Alamo Drafthouse.
We were sitting in the food court afterwards, when I saw this bearded guy, dressed in a blue blazer hanging around. It was friday night, and so I understood, but he kept hanging around. He was squinty eyed, and not a very good spy.
I jumped out of my chair, "That's the guy, officer! There's Johnny Rogan!"
And suddenly, he morphs into liquid metal and goes sliding down the stair way.
"After him!" I yelled, but everyone else sat there finishing their Taco Bell. So, it was up to me...mano e mano...with Johnny Rogan.
I looked around outside. I couldn't find him anywhere....and my mind started messing with my head. I knew he was liquid metal and could morph into anything and could be hiding right under my feet, laughing, and taking notes for the book that would never be published. and i looked...
"Wait, that pile of dog doo wasn't there when I walked in!"
and i started jumping up and down on it yelling, "die, mutha @#!!!a die!" but I slipped down and busted my ass instead.
Sometimes dog doo is really dog doo.
I had to reconcile myself with the fact the loser had gotten away. I walked back to the table at the food court in shame and sadness. My friends did not understand. They simply sat there, their mouths hanging in mid-air as the the insane girl comes walking back reeking.
"Um, who was that guy, Suzanne?"
"Oh...just some guy I used to date."
And that smoothed things over and nobody cared anymore.
But I was tired of living as a fugitive on the road. I begged my boss off for a couple of days and flew to Maryland. no sir, I was not going to be a pawn in Morrissey's game.
I took a big risk standing in line. I eavesdropped and sort of ducked around looking to see who was there, when I heard:
"DOOD, THE POLITICAL BIMBOS ARE EATING MEAT!"
Thrill!
"HEY GO V E G A N!" she screeched at some hungry tourists eating a bagel.
"DID YOU KNOW COWS WERE RAPED FOR THAT MILK?"
"oh my, she is very scaring!" said a voice with a heavy accent.
Fabricio!
Boy, this night could get ugly.
"DOOD, I'LL GIVE YOU 'SCARING' IN A SECOND."
"Cut it out. Leave Fabricio alone or i will use your ovaries as tree ornaments, you afterbirth of a Wombat."
"DOOD, COME AND GET THEM, UGLY GREASE..."
So, I started edging my way ahead of the melee, clinging to the safety of the skinheads in front of me.
Then, the auditorium doors open, and people filter outside.
The show was cancelled again.
I was glad for a brief shining period of time. I walked with freedom down the street, happy to get away from the ensuing riot. Even though I came prepared with body armor, I just didn't feel like having to deal with bodies hurtling towards me, and the police asking questions about why I was hitting them with a stick.
"To knock them back into play." would have been my answer. But that would have to wait another night.
Then, I saw the crew heading into a steakhouse, and a couple of screaming ninnies following them in.
"Alain, you are the best of t'lads" one managed all-knowingly.
"Um, thanks," he said eyeing the steak menu.
"Alain, do you have any really good dirt on Moz?"
"Hmm...in America, he still drives on the left side of the road..."
"No, no, no, silly willy!" she chirped. "Has he ever said which one of t'lads he thought had the cutest behind?"
"Umm" and he suddenly had an unpleasant look of realization creep across his face. "You know, now that you mention it, he has quit insisting I wear my shirts tucked in...I guess he just doesn't find me attractive anymore" and he suddenly loses his appetite as a small tear wells up in his eye.
I looked at him sympathetically.
"What am I going to do? he hired me to specifically be the Bait."
My heart was breaking.
"My days of being a heart throb for all of the middle age women in the audience are over! I was the cute one. Damnit! The cute one!"
"There, there....you are still the fairest of them all now that Spencer has left" I had to open my big mouth.
He slowly looks up, and I slowly look at him out of the corner of my eye in fear.
Uh oh...
S
somnium
Guest
Re: this one is not going to my book collection
> Haven't you figured out that he reads these websites?
> Hi, Moz
> *wave*
now you are makeing me laugh.
> Uh oh...
You made me read all this, but what really makes me angry is: that type of "hemingway" morrissey was not in this ego trip. Dear Mary Shelley, why don't you come back to your Frankenstein??? That was a good book for a 18 years old girl. ...Listen, i will smoke and drink all night long, so i will not have a dream to share with you. I was watching to an old stupid ELVIS film, and i'm missing the best part, so please... don't make me more upset !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
> Haven't you figured out that he reads these websites?
> Hi, Moz
> *wave*
now you are makeing me laugh.
> Uh oh...
You made me read all this, but what really makes me angry is: that type of "hemingway" morrissey was not in this ego trip. Dear Mary Shelley, why don't you come back to your Frankenstein??? That was a good book for a 18 years old girl. ...Listen, i will smoke and drink all night long, so i will not have a dream to share with you. I was watching to an old stupid ELVIS film, and i'm missing the best part, so please... don't make me more upset !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
S
suzanne
Guest
Re: this one is not going to my book collection
> now you are makeing me laugh.
> You made me read all this, but what really makes me angry is:
> that type of "hemingway" morrissey was not in this ego
> trip. Dear Mary Shelley, why don't you come back to your
> Frankenstein??? That was a good book for a 18 years old girl.
> ...Listen, i will smoke and drink all night long, so i will not
> have a dream to share with you. I was watching to an old stupid
> ELVIS film, and i'm missing the best part, so please... don't
> make me more upset !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
dude, you need LITHIUM.
And i'll have you know that i'm not offended by anything you said because i've read some of the other things you have moaned on about tonight, and i would be afraid to meet you in a dark alley.
Don't you know anything about subplot? Were you angry that you weren't one of the characters standing in line for the Moz show? There was Johnny Rogan, famed Morrissey biographer...there was Alain talking about Morrissey...I travelled to a Morrissey concert complete with skinheads and pissed off fans....it's not even finished and was left at a cliffhanger....what are you complaining about?
And it didn't cost you a dime.
> now you are makeing me laugh.
> You made me read all this, but what really makes me angry is:
> that type of "hemingway" morrissey was not in this ego
> trip. Dear Mary Shelley, why don't you come back to your
> Frankenstein??? That was a good book for a 18 years old girl.
> ...Listen, i will smoke and drink all night long, so i will not
> have a dream to share with you. I was watching to an old stupid
> ELVIS film, and i'm missing the best part, so please... don't
> make me more upset !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
dude, you need LITHIUM.
And i'll have you know that i'm not offended by anything you said because i've read some of the other things you have moaned on about tonight, and i would be afraid to meet you in a dark alley.
Don't you know anything about subplot? Were you angry that you weren't one of the characters standing in line for the Moz show? There was Johnny Rogan, famed Morrissey biographer...there was Alain talking about Morrissey...I travelled to a Morrissey concert complete with skinheads and pissed off fans....it's not even finished and was left at a cliffhanger....what are you complaining about?
And it didn't cost you a dime.
S
somnium
Guest
Re: você se considera tão astuta, não?
> dude, you need LITHIUM.
DON'T CALL ME DUDE !!!!!!!!!!!! Oh, I forgot that you are american.
> And i'll have you know that i'm not offended by anything you
> said because i've read some of the other things you have moaned
> on about tonight, and i would be afraid to meet you in a dark
> alley.
Oh, sweet child... Really??!!!!
> Don't you know anything about subplot? Were you angry that you
> weren't one of the characters standing in line for the Moz show?
> There was Johnny Rogan, famed Morrissey biographer...there was
> Alain talking about Morrissey...I travelled to a Morrissey
> concert complete with skinheads and pissed off fans....it's not
> even finished and was left at a cliffhanger....what are you
> complaining about?
See... you are not telling things that I don't already know, but you are soooo naive and you get yourself sooooo seriuosly, that the only thing I have to do is play with you.
> And it didn't cost you a dime.
Here you come with YOUR american money. Well, this is our collapse. you must be proud of it..... IT IS YOUR FAULT TOO...
> dude, you need LITHIUM.
DON'T CALL ME DUDE !!!!!!!!!!!! Oh, I forgot that you are american.
> And i'll have you know that i'm not offended by anything you
> said because i've read some of the other things you have moaned
> on about tonight, and i would be afraid to meet you in a dark
> alley.
Oh, sweet child... Really??!!!!
> Don't you know anything about subplot? Were you angry that you
> weren't one of the characters standing in line for the Moz show?
> There was Johnny Rogan, famed Morrissey biographer...there was
> Alain talking about Morrissey...I travelled to a Morrissey
> concert complete with skinheads and pissed off fans....it's not
> even finished and was left at a cliffhanger....what are you
> complaining about?
See... you are not telling things that I don't already know, but you are soooo naive and you get yourself sooooo seriuosly, that the only thing I have to do is play with you.
> And it didn't cost you a dime.
Here you come with YOUR american money. Well, this is our collapse. you must be proud of it..... IT IS YOUR FAULT TOO...
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