A minor victory for the combined forces of Tuesday.
Posted on Sat Aug 04 21:07:00 UTC 2007
Names for the days in the middle of the week. Seems kinda superfluous really. Tuesday is a completely benign and meaningless day, full of empty exclamations like “crikey-dick!” and “by higgins!” and the women's welfare league bi-annual church scone sale.
“So what do you do?”
Well, look, basically, basically I'm a public nuisance. I mean: I “try” and be “nice” to people. I am a small but proud obstacle. A hindrance to society. On Tuesdays I like to play space-cricket with the entire solar system for the eternal glory of the intergalactic empire. My interests include “having fun” and I really, really enjoy fucking women. And money, I like money, money FUCKING RULES. Yeah I pretty much just shovel shit from pile A to pile B and pretend to take other people seriously. I am a freaky piston weird engine of fun.
There is a trail of vomit leading all the way up to our front door. Don't you look at me that way! Don't you mess with me cunt, I have a banana. It is cocked and loaded and the safety is off.
Me and Blair, we are the two most AWESOMEST and POWERFULLY ANNOYING pricks in the entire Parnell greater school district. The semi-conscious rubble of western civilisation, we are humanities last and most futile hope. Surrounded on all sides by radioactive mutants, rescue is improbable, the missing corner pieces to this bent and folded jumbled up jigsaw have fallen behind the couch and seem unlikely to be retrieved. Justifications are useless, you are well aware by now that we simply make up the rules as we go along. From the luxurious balcony of our oh-so-trendy corporate-cockwhore apartment we unroll the silver scrolls and make constant, loud proclamations of our genius to whatever poor unfortunates still squirm and crawl and slither along the broken city streets below. We're actually pretty smart guys, but we're not that smart, not smart enough to do anything really new or useful or brilliant. Really we just like to cause trouble. Spread rubbish. Make spectacles of ourselves.
A couple of walking disaster areas. Two renegade sell-outs with our pants down, shitting on the pavement.
Apparently we are highly skilled specialists. Obviously a filthy lie. But we are huge leaps heaps better than the rest of you scum cos we're the only ones who get that none of it makes any sense. We totally make up the rules as we go along – and unsurprisingly we always win. By the way I am awesome. Oh yes I am. No. Wait. Stop laughing, I am being serious. And it looks to be another perfectly beige Tuesday morning here in the bland fairytale kingdom of straight-out lies and ridiculous nonsense. You know, it's crazy, as I was leaning heavily on the wall of some fancy cocktail bar, throwing up my mint julep, looking sideways at all the people looking sideways at me, I thought to myself, the only thing I could think of, I thought to myself I thought: “So how can I make more money?”
There exists a perfect and conceptual orgasm. The orgasm “by definition”, a mathematical function that, once sufficiently grasped and understood, will blossom in your mind into constant endless bliss and numerical ecstasy without limit and you will just cum and cum and cum, and cum, forever.
I could tell you the formula.
I am like the nuclear fucking weapon of humour. I have the quantum potential to be FATALLY HILARIOUS. Charge it to my Tuesday account. Oh sure, I'll have it done by Tuesday.
- - -
On “foxy” 5-methoxy-N, N-diisopropyltryptamine all you want to do is fuck.
“So what do you do?”
Well, look, basically, basically I'm a public nuisance. I mean: I “try” and be “nice” to people. I am a small but proud obstacle. A hindrance to society. On Tuesdays I like to play space-cricket with the entire solar system for the eternal glory of the intergalactic empire. My interests include “having fun” and I really, really enjoy fucking women. And money, I like money, money FUCKING RULES. Yeah I pretty much just shovel shit from pile A to pile B and pretend to take other people seriously. I am a freaky piston weird engine of fun.
There is a trail of vomit leading all the way up to our front door. Don't you look at me that way! Don't you mess with me cunt, I have a banana. It is cocked and loaded and the safety is off.
Me and Blair, we are the two most AWESOMEST and POWERFULLY ANNOYING pricks in the entire Parnell greater school district. The semi-conscious rubble of western civilisation, we are humanities last and most futile hope. Surrounded on all sides by radioactive mutants, rescue is improbable, the missing corner pieces to this bent and folded jumbled up jigsaw have fallen behind the couch and seem unlikely to be retrieved. Justifications are useless, you are well aware by now that we simply make up the rules as we go along. From the luxurious balcony of our oh-so-trendy corporate-cockwhore apartment we unroll the silver scrolls and make constant, loud proclamations of our genius to whatever poor unfortunates still squirm and crawl and slither along the broken city streets below. We're actually pretty smart guys, but we're not that smart, not smart enough to do anything really new or useful or brilliant. Really we just like to cause trouble. Spread rubbish. Make spectacles of ourselves.
A couple of walking disaster areas. Two renegade sell-outs with our pants down, shitting on the pavement.
Apparently we are highly skilled specialists. Obviously a filthy lie. But we are huge leaps heaps better than the rest of you scum cos we're the only ones who get that none of it makes any sense. We totally make up the rules as we go along – and unsurprisingly we always win. By the way I am awesome. Oh yes I am. No. Wait. Stop laughing, I am being serious. And it looks to be another perfectly beige Tuesday morning here in the bland fairytale kingdom of straight-out lies and ridiculous nonsense. You know, it's crazy, as I was leaning heavily on the wall of some fancy cocktail bar, throwing up my mint julep, looking sideways at all the people looking sideways at me, I thought to myself, the only thing I could think of, I thought to myself I thought: “So how can I make more money?”
There exists a perfect and conceptual orgasm. The orgasm “by definition”, a mathematical function that, once sufficiently grasped and understood, will blossom in your mind into constant endless bliss and numerical ecstasy without limit and you will just cum and cum and cum, and cum, forever.
I could tell you the formula.
I am like the nuclear fucking weapon of humour. I have the quantum potential to be FATALLY HILARIOUS. Charge it to my Tuesday account. Oh sure, I'll have it done by Tuesday.
- - -
On “foxy” 5-methoxy-N, N-diisopropyltryptamine all you want to do is fuck.