I'm gonna go home, get into bed with a bottle of wine and drink while watching boston legal and playing video games. I AM A GENTLEMAN OF LESUIRE!
just thought you'd like to know.
Monday, July 06, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
In your face!
Or rather, in my face. And what was in my face was a squash ball. Hit, may I add, at large amounts of velocities. My lip swelled up and then stopped swelling and now is no longer swolen.
Which leads me to enter into my thinky state (oh no not the thinky state) where I am thinking: what the hell is with the human body? I just got hit in the face with a small, compact sphere of rubber, so your responce is deform my face so's I cannot leave the contry due to not looking like my passport photograph (which I do not have one of but if I did there would be trouble)? If you are a scientist, do not answer the following question because I actually just like complaining about things, but why is it a normal response for your body to swell up when hit? Is it to stop kissings happenening? Brusies aren't contagious, I hear, unless you are of a low socio-economic background. Is the throbbing there to make you aware of the injury and then stop you touching it/bannging into more things? Because I don't usually spend time prodding my lip unless It happens to be gigantic and throbbing.
Perhaps it is one of those things one was not ment to know. Like those dreams of falling when you suddenly wake and realize the dream was a little spunky... and you wonder why, because I definately do not have a boner for heigths. But anyway.
PART 16 OF FLAN'S EXILE FROM CIVILIZATION IN THE LAND OF THE DEAD SLASH WAIPUKURAU!!!!:
Nothin.
Which leads me to enter into my thinky state (oh no not the thinky state) where I am thinking: what the hell is with the human body? I just got hit in the face with a small, compact sphere of rubber, so your responce is deform my face so's I cannot leave the contry due to not looking like my passport photograph (which I do not have one of but if I did there would be trouble)? If you are a scientist, do not answer the following question because I actually just like complaining about things, but why is it a normal response for your body to swell up when hit? Is it to stop kissings happenening? Brusies aren't contagious, I hear, unless you are of a low socio-economic background. Is the throbbing there to make you aware of the injury and then stop you touching it/bannging into more things? Because I don't usually spend time prodding my lip unless It happens to be gigantic and throbbing.
Perhaps it is one of those things one was not ment to know. Like those dreams of falling when you suddenly wake and realize the dream was a little spunky... and you wonder why, because I definately do not have a boner for heigths. But anyway.
PART 16 OF FLAN'S EXILE FROM CIVILIZATION IN THE LAND OF THE DEAD SLASH WAIPUKURAU!!!!:
Nothin.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Misinformation
I am not back in Wellington. I am still in waipuk. Thats fine I guess. I'm ok with it sort of.
What I am not sort of ok fine with is the fact that I have an exam in a week. This by itself would not be too much of a problem either: I have alright marks for this and so as long as I am sober for the exam I shouldn't have much of a problem with the exam, even without studying.
And there we are: you have spotted the problem:
I get back to wellington on Saturday. The Exam is on Monday. It is traditional for me to get as drunk as possible on my return to wellington from the hawkes bay, it burns off the evil. And although it hasn't been a tradition, I should like to spend some time with my lady friend who I have not seen for two weeks when I return to wellington. You might not think that there is a problem here: two nights, two activities, you say. But I say I cannot put off the womanising for fear of deadly insult, and I cannot drink on sunday because I will not wake in time for my exam. I could wait until monday night to drink but I don't want to.
The is the possibility of doing both on sat, but that takes plans, and I don't know them.
In other news: Koalas.
What I am not sort of ok fine with is the fact that I have an exam in a week. This by itself would not be too much of a problem either: I have alright marks for this and so as long as I am sober for the exam I shouldn't have much of a problem with the exam, even without studying.
And there we are: you have spotted the problem:
I get back to wellington on Saturday. The Exam is on Monday. It is traditional for me to get as drunk as possible on my return to wellington from the hawkes bay, it burns off the evil. And although it hasn't been a tradition, I should like to spend some time with my lady friend who I have not seen for two weeks when I return to wellington. You might not think that there is a problem here: two nights, two activities, you say. But I say I cannot put off the womanising for fear of deadly insult, and I cannot drink on sunday because I will not wake in time for my exam. I could wait until monday night to drink but I don't want to.
The is the possibility of doing both on sat, but that takes plans, and I don't know them.
In other news: Koalas.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
In a serene land of serenity, full of serene things, like pixies of serentiy...
...but not unicorns. I'm not buying that bollocks they sell to tweens for nineteen dollars and eighty four cents: Not only is it an ominous number, but nothing in nature is pink which sparkles and smells like cupcakes. No, a unicorn would just be a great big horse, smelly and rank like other horses, but unlike other horses, it has a great big horn, pointy, you note, and not for conducting a symphony or showing students the position of uraguy, oh no.
Look into the eyes of a horse the next time you see one. In that dark eye framed with long lashes, you will see the soul of a bloddy minded killer, waiting to imdiscriminately slaughter all until the streets run forth with blood...all it is waiting for is for evolution to give it what it desires: a weapon.
And don't even get me started on those mini horses. Just because there is less horse doesn't mean there is less insanity. It's just more compacted. And their heads are groin height.
Speaking of insanit, I am at home. Home home. Home on the range home. Home in the middle of nowhere home, Waipukurau. It's a place I come sometimes, sometimes for a place to unwind, sometimes because I feel guilty about not seeing my parents for so long, but mostly because I am sick of toasties and have come to eat all their food and beg for money. Also, now, in the depths of winter, they have a fireplace with wood to burn in said. I like fire. I also like lounging around all day in frount of said fire, reading and playing guitar. I am trying to be a jazz person, but all that is happening is jozz, or possibly juzz. Most of the reason for this, I beleive, is becuase a person who is proficient at jazz needs seven fingers on each hand and must contain all musical knowledge ever, future included, in their minds. Never ever laugh if you see a jazz musician's tounge protruding slightly from the side of their mouth as they play. It is because their tounge is being forced out of their head by the gigantic pressures needed to bend quantum physics and only by clenching their tounge between their teeth as they strum that Am7+5dim chord at 12/7 rythm can they stop that precious mouth organ from rocketing forth from their mouth hole, causing them to bleed to death slowly from the wound, not to mention acute embarrasment.
I'm noticing that everything so far has ended in blood. Don't worry: thats just Waipuk. I'm often surprised that my hometown isn't known for its bloody gun rampages, but apparently people are saved from the general populaces muderous intentions by a comblination of rugby, laziness, and top quality television programming such as "border control". Just because it's on, does not mean you have to watch it! It's not even out border! It's Austrailia's! I have better things to do with my life that spend half hour segments of "reality tv" which is, in reality, what was first produced when a camera man went to lunch with his camera left propped up against a pillar inadvertently left on in his house. The next day, as this is new zealand and the production crew couldn;t afford a new video tape, they spliced scenes from the horror/comedy movie they had previously been making "House of the Reanimated Idiots", spent a few minutes for voice overs and Big Brother was born.
And that was all true. All of it.
In other news: I had vastly importaint and pertinent things to say here, but as they say here, "EaSYning", which, I belive, is some sort of addage on the fleeting nature of life around here. Or its just a muddle of sylables spewn forth but a member of this town known for it's one invention, a shot cocktail known as the "Main":
Take one large glass.
Place a piece of mouldy bread across the opening.
Filter 1/2 bottle of methelated spirits through the mouldy bread. Place bread to one side as chaser.
Fill the rest of vessle with Viking ("Conquer the taste!") beer. Mix thoroughly.
Add vanilla essance, lime juice, or rotted leaf mould to taste.
The best part is that you think I'm joking. Oh well. Back to the metropolis on Sunday.
Look into the eyes of a horse the next time you see one. In that dark eye framed with long lashes, you will see the soul of a bloddy minded killer, waiting to imdiscriminately slaughter all until the streets run forth with blood...all it is waiting for is for evolution to give it what it desires: a weapon.
And don't even get me started on those mini horses. Just because there is less horse doesn't mean there is less insanity. It's just more compacted. And their heads are groin height.
Speaking of insanit, I am at home. Home home. Home on the range home. Home in the middle of nowhere home, Waipukurau. It's a place I come sometimes, sometimes for a place to unwind, sometimes because I feel guilty about not seeing my parents for so long, but mostly because I am sick of toasties and have come to eat all their food and beg for money. Also, now, in the depths of winter, they have a fireplace with wood to burn in said. I like fire. I also like lounging around all day in frount of said fire, reading and playing guitar. I am trying to be a jazz person, but all that is happening is jozz, or possibly juzz. Most of the reason for this, I beleive, is becuase a person who is proficient at jazz needs seven fingers on each hand and must contain all musical knowledge ever, future included, in their minds. Never ever laugh if you see a jazz musician's tounge protruding slightly from the side of their mouth as they play. It is because their tounge is being forced out of their head by the gigantic pressures needed to bend quantum physics and only by clenching their tounge between their teeth as they strum that Am7+5dim chord at 12/7 rythm can they stop that precious mouth organ from rocketing forth from their mouth hole, causing them to bleed to death slowly from the wound, not to mention acute embarrasment.
I'm noticing that everything so far has ended in blood. Don't worry: thats just Waipuk. I'm often surprised that my hometown isn't known for its bloody gun rampages, but apparently people are saved from the general populaces muderous intentions by a comblination of rugby, laziness, and top quality television programming such as "border control". Just because it's on, does not mean you have to watch it! It's not even out border! It's Austrailia's! I have better things to do with my life that spend half hour segments of "reality tv" which is, in reality, what was first produced when a camera man went to lunch with his camera left propped up against a pillar inadvertently left on in his house. The next day, as this is new zealand and the production crew couldn;t afford a new video tape, they spliced scenes from the horror/comedy movie they had previously been making "House of the Reanimated Idiots", spent a few minutes for voice overs and Big Brother was born.
And that was all true. All of it.
In other news: I had vastly importaint and pertinent things to say here, but as they say here, "EaSYning", which, I belive, is some sort of addage on the fleeting nature of life around here. Or its just a muddle of sylables spewn forth but a member of this town known for it's one invention, a shot cocktail known as the "Main":
Take one large glass.
Place a piece of mouldy bread across the opening.
Filter 1/2 bottle of methelated spirits through the mouldy bread. Place bread to one side as chaser.
Fill the rest of vessle with Viking ("Conquer the taste!") beer. Mix thoroughly.
Add vanilla essance, lime juice, or rotted leaf mould to taste.
The best part is that you think I'm joking. Oh well. Back to the metropolis on Sunday.
Friday, June 05, 2009
Life is difficult...
...sandwiches are not. They aren't difficult to make, they aren't difficult to eat, and they aren't difficult to invent. Some bastard who was too lazy to stop playing cards, get off his behind nad make some soup. No, he sat there and his big old earl behind and said "O say I say serving woman, create me a meal that can be eaten in one hand while I construct this Royal Flush" and then when the woman had the great idea of putting a piece of meat between two pieces of bread he claimed the idea as he suggested and patented it and now thats why an egg mayo sandwich will set you back $4 at your nearest cafe. Earlcharge.
In other news, a friend of mine has just modified his remote control car so it travels at the speed of snail.
In other news, a friend of mine has just modified his remote control car so it travels at the speed of snail.
12 minutes before work super fast blog
HOLDIDAYS! Holidays happen soon after today FOREVER! Well, five weeks, but thanks to a edict passed down from the world institute of naming things (they never claimed to be good at naming things) a stretch of time totalling five weeks exactly can now be called "Forever". The reason being that we have names for two weeks, four weeks and even a period of 52 weeks, and so we obviously need a name for five. And since they couldn't be bothered coining a new term they just used an existing word. It is also hoped that this will stop plumbers and electricians from quoting that the work needed will take forever, and then living off you till the end of your life.
Ever wondered why there are so many damn plumbers in Tahiti? Thats why.
In other news that isn't so obviously made up, I am going to play poker tonight. But not for money, because gambling is a vice that lays open your soul ready to be snared by the devil. And because we are all really bad a poker and the las time we played with money, none of us one. The fifteen dollars is now kept in an ai tight bok, buried at the bottom of the garden, along with with three hands of two pairs of two. Thats how bad we were.
But Anywhoo. Queens of the stone age and low priced beer will be my friends tonight, as we jelosly horde our precious match sticks against those who would take them from us. Tommorow I shall go to the birth place of Katherine Mansield and clean my rancid living space.
I now live alone, by the way. People have warned me, my friends, my father, the festering hobo at the buss stop at the corner of cuba and manners, all have warned me that such a move might, finnally, make me so crazy that I no longer have the ability to tell the difference between the imaginary people I converse with everyday in my head and the weasle ridden, post apocalyptic world I actually inhabit. Oh reality checks. You can bee too cruel.
Ever wondered why there are so many damn plumbers in Tahiti? Thats why.
In other news that isn't so obviously made up, I am going to play poker tonight. But not for money, because gambling is a vice that lays open your soul ready to be snared by the devil. And because we are all really bad a poker and the las time we played with money, none of us one. The fifteen dollars is now kept in an ai tight bok, buried at the bottom of the garden, along with with three hands of two pairs of two. Thats how bad we were.
But Anywhoo. Queens of the stone age and low priced beer will be my friends tonight, as we jelosly horde our precious match sticks against those who would take them from us. Tommorow I shall go to the birth place of Katherine Mansield and clean my rancid living space.
I now live alone, by the way. People have warned me, my friends, my father, the festering hobo at the buss stop at the corner of cuba and manners, all have warned me that such a move might, finnally, make me so crazy that I no longer have the ability to tell the difference between the imaginary people I converse with everyday in my head and the weasle ridden, post apocalyptic world I actually inhabit. Oh reality checks. You can bee too cruel.
Wednesday, June 03, 2009
And a time better you had not having...yes.
It has been a long time... and yes, you may feel like you have read this line many times before, but many things have, in fact, happened.
I finished my teaching degree. Then I worked as a relief teacher for half a year. Unfortunately, my school, which was a rather un-traditional school and let me drink coffee while I taught, shut down. Such a shame I have never known. I don't think I could actually get closer to my ideal job, apart from my reccurring dream that when I retire I shall open a book-store/ wine bar. You heard it here first folks, and if I find you have stolen my Idea I shall hunt you down, take your kneecaps and sell them to foriegeners as overpriced trinkets from the japanese meiji era. AS you write in hell, know that you are part of a horribly racist conspiricay bent only towards money-making.
After having woked in such a wonderful school I found myself rather lacking in enthusiasm when it came to teaching in a more...traditional...school. Enter Honors english, at the presitgious university of wellington, where apparently I am a god. As you may recall, troughout my undergrad diploma I did mot much more than drink and sleep, only deigning to write an essay when curcumstances demanded. Not much has changed in my accademic lyfestyle now, but apparently even though I spend little time on my essays, and I hand in my first drafts, and my tutors know I hand in my first drafts, their cmments tell me so, but still I get A's and B's. I might as well just pay for an diploma over the internet and be done with it.
But now, against all expectations, I seem to have found myslef with a woman person. Perhaps that is why I haven't been writing lately. Or not. Maybe I just dont like you.
Next time I shall write more witt things, and soon, I promise.
I finished my teaching degree. Then I worked as a relief teacher for half a year. Unfortunately, my school, which was a rather un-traditional school and let me drink coffee while I taught, shut down. Such a shame I have never known. I don't think I could actually get closer to my ideal job, apart from my reccurring dream that when I retire I shall open a book-store/ wine bar. You heard it here first folks, and if I find you have stolen my Idea I shall hunt you down, take your kneecaps and sell them to foriegeners as overpriced trinkets from the japanese meiji era. AS you write in hell, know that you are part of a horribly racist conspiricay bent only towards money-making.
After having woked in such a wonderful school I found myself rather lacking in enthusiasm when it came to teaching in a more...traditional...school. Enter Honors english, at the presitgious university of wellington, where apparently I am a god. As you may recall, troughout my undergrad diploma I did mot much more than drink and sleep, only deigning to write an essay when curcumstances demanded. Not much has changed in my accademic lyfestyle now, but apparently even though I spend little time on my essays, and I hand in my first drafts, and my tutors know I hand in my first drafts, their cmments tell me so, but still I get A's and B's. I might as well just pay for an diploma over the internet and be done with it.
But now, against all expectations, I seem to have found myslef with a woman person. Perhaps that is why I haven't been writing lately. Or not. Maybe I just dont like you.
Next time I shall write more witt things, and soon, I promise.
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