a Very Special xmas compilation of doom
It smells like a motorcycle store in here!
When I don't have to deal with the proles for a while, I forget how much of a classist, bourgeoisie pig I really am.
Walking around Toronto on Tuesday was more than enough to refill my hump of hate. I hadn't been minding xmas, but I realize now that was only because I've been nocturnal for the past month, dozing through the horror of malls brimming with chavs, children and cologne wielding snipers. The only valid defenses in fighting off holiday cheer are either hiding from it like I had absent mindedly been doing, or moving to Sudan where everybody's too busy getting ethnically cleansed to fuck about with egg-nog and sugar cookies.
See? I'm an optimist! I can find the good in anything.
--
While I'm sure there are worse things than cleaning dried excrement off the floor, I can't think of any at the moment. Sure, getting shot or stabbed is pretty far up there on the list of things that suck and I'm sure having a de-orbiting toilet seat annihilate my skull isn't peachy, but the chances of me experiencing any of those events in a domestic setting are rare. Cleaning shit off the floor is rare too, but guess what I'm doing right now.
... and I found the toe. Ew.
--
I went to my friend's for xmas dinner Monday and had a beer for the first time in eight or ten months. My not drinking hasn't been out of any edge reason but because I live alone in a farmhouse in the middle of the country. Drinking alone in this sort of environment leads to crazy drunken hermit syndrome without fail. An ex's dad developed the affliction and trust me -- it isn't pretty. He slept on his couch with his dogs (three border collies) because he was too drunk to walk upstairs to bed. Nice guy otherwise, but he took his love of Glenfiddich to an unusually professional degree.
Anyway, back to beer and my failure to drink very much: I have no physical tolerance for booze anymore. None at all. By the time dinner started I was feeling the one Coor's Light I'd drank. One. Coor's. Light. The yak's pee of beers. I've never had an especially powerful liver, but this was a pathetic showing of its ability to break down ethanol. Now I can get a buzz from sniffing the cap and feel a little ill half way into the bottle! I'm going to start throwing out lines like Danny Glover if someone offers me a shooter or some other foul concoction.
Dinner was awesome. Turkey, stuffing and mashed potatoes make up the best combination of food in the world (vindaloo, rice and naan coming in a close second). And carrots. And turnips. And cauliflowers. And pie. It was OMGWTFBBQ good. Srsly. If I had fourteen asses, tofurkey could kiss every single one of them.
--
I just dropped a 500lb motorcycle on a deep fryer. HAHAHAHAHA OOPS.
It smells like a motorcycle store in here!
When I don't have to deal with the proles for a while, I forget how much of a classist, bourgeoisie pig I really am.
Walking around Toronto on Tuesday was more than enough to refill my hump of hate. I hadn't been minding xmas, but I realize now that was only because I've been nocturnal for the past month, dozing through the horror of malls brimming with chavs, children and cologne wielding snipers. The only valid defenses in fighting off holiday cheer are either hiding from it like I had absent mindedly been doing, or moving to Sudan where everybody's too busy getting ethnically cleansed to fuck about with egg-nog and sugar cookies.
See? I'm an optimist! I can find the good in anything.
--
While I'm sure there are worse things than cleaning dried excrement off the floor, I can't think of any at the moment. Sure, getting shot or stabbed is pretty far up there on the list of things that suck and I'm sure having a de-orbiting toilet seat annihilate my skull isn't peachy, but the chances of me experiencing any of those events in a domestic setting are rare. Cleaning shit off the floor is rare too, but guess what I'm doing right now.
... and I found the toe. Ew.
--
I went to my friend's for xmas dinner Monday and had a beer for the first time in eight or ten months. My not drinking hasn't been out of any edge reason but because I live alone in a farmhouse in the middle of the country. Drinking alone in this sort of environment leads to crazy drunken hermit syndrome without fail. An ex's dad developed the affliction and trust me -- it isn't pretty. He slept on his couch with his dogs (three border collies) because he was too drunk to walk upstairs to bed. Nice guy otherwise, but he took his love of Glenfiddich to an unusually professional degree.
Anyway, back to beer and my failure to drink very much: I have no physical tolerance for booze anymore. None at all. By the time dinner started I was feeling the one Coor's Light I'd drank. One. Coor's. Light. The yak's pee of beers. I've never had an especially powerful liver, but this was a pathetic showing of its ability to break down ethanol. Now I can get a buzz from sniffing the cap and feel a little ill half way into the bottle! I'm going to start throwing out lines like Danny Glover if someone offers me a shooter or some other foul concoction.
Dinner was awesome. Turkey, stuffing and mashed potatoes make up the best combination of food in the world (vindaloo, rice and naan coming in a close second). And carrots. And turnips. And cauliflowers. And pie. It was OMGWTFBBQ good. Srsly. If I had fourteen asses, tofurkey could kiss every single one of them.
--
I just dropped a 500lb motorcycle on a deep fryer. HAHAHAHAHA OOPS.
I wish I had your problem with booze, I have an inhuman ability to metabolize alocohol with the quickened pace of a top fuel dragster. Perhaps if I took a very lengthy absence from it, I knock it down by a few drinks. I'm going into winter hermitage anyway so it's a good time. I'm getting the feeling I'm going to wake up one morning and see a note from my liver that reads:
I'm sorry it didn't work out between us, you know I love you, I've filtered all your poison and toxins since you were born but I have to leave you for someone who won't abuse me and treats me with the respect I deserve.
take care of yourself,
your liver.
I'm bummed I missed you this week. Come down after the horrordays and we'll go sit on bikes across the street.