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Trashd, Mark II

The Best Buddy Movie Ever.

I have had a brainwave. A most fantabulous, geniurific epiphany that evanesced within the fuddled confines of my grey matter. Movie history will be changed by this, you mark my words. I will tell you, if you listen closely. And once told, you will be so excited that, like me, you will try to think of ways to convince Marvel Studios to make this most exquisite of cinematic dreams a reality.

What is it? I hear you yell, impatiently, with your mind*. It is Iron Man and Wolverine. Yes....I hear your sigh of ecstatic bliss. Yes.

Picture it** Hugh Jackman. Robert Downey Jr. Oh god, it's awesome already and I haven't even gotten to the plot points yet! Okay, right. So, Some evil bastard bad guy [yet to be decided- Galactus would do fine but Fantastic Four already gateballed*** it] is somehow threatening the world [in a manner yet to be decisded- nuclear annihilation? massive zombie mind-control? Interplanetary Engines of Destruction? Nuclearised hamsters? In any case, it's the MacGuffin]. No single Superhero can handle this alone? But who, pray tell, could rise to this task? Iron man and Wolverine are forced to pair up- very reluctantly.

They clash, initially- the smooth, flirty millionaire genius playboy and the gruff, hairy, animalistic, violent hard case****- they argue and squabble and fight for territory. But when the chips are down, they realise that they're both similar in more ways than they thought. They're decent, honorable, and tenacious, true heroes, awesome fighters. Two men of metal, with steel in their spines and iron resolve. And Adamantium in there too, yes.

Kickin' Ass!!! Takin' Names!!!

Oh, it'd totally be the Lethal Weapon******of the millenium. I would pay to see this movie, twice! I'd buy the DVD! and the Playstation game would be... I think my mind just blew.

Okay, Poll time, how many of you are totally into seeing this movie?

poll by twiigs.com

*I just really know you so well by now. Yes, you, personally. Don't look at me like that, and put down that kitten, I can see what you're up to.
** Sicily, 1943...
*** if you really want to know what that means, ask Erin.
*****nutcase? whatever, ROWR!
*****the first one, not the one with the horrible south african accents or the sequels where they were both too old for this shit.

Anger of a Not-Unreasonable Nature.

kitteh via memebon.jp

I am incensed. Livid. Fuming. Enraged. Outraged. Infuriated. And quite cross. It’s been a tough couple of days*, I’m not feeling well, and I have a migraine; so the last thing I need is one of my “superiors” throwing a hissy fit because she’s standing out in the rain. Perhaps if she’d listened when I told her that David wasn’t going to get to her car for another five minutes, and had waited inside for a while, there wouldn’t have been a problem. But, no, Bytch gotta be a martyr, gotta wait in the rain and then call me on her cellphone to shrilly enquire why she was waiting in the rain. That was not a good conversation. It ended with me losing my temper** putting the phone down on her, and hastening to the ladies to scream for five minutes.

I came back, to find she had phoned me back to ream me out for putting the phone down on her. Apparently nobody does this to her. How dare I! The gall! The immaturity! The insult! So then I got a lecture, and had to apologise. My teeth quite ached from all the gritting.

With that in mind, a list of useful curses, for all occasions. Because you never know when you’re going to have to doom someone to eternal suffering through the use of dark forces and magick****.

Ye Olde Improv’d Liste of Quainte Curses.

1. May the gods steal your feet and replace them with radishes.
2. I hope your penis falls off in your oatmeal and you don’t notice and you eat it by mistake
3. From this moment, the songs of Celine Dion will occupy your every waking thought.
4. May you be infested with fleas in your anus hole, so that you must scratch there unendingly.
5. May your chicken always be undercooked, and toilets unavailable.
6. I hope you wake up with your head facing the wrong way so you can see how huge your arse is.
7. May life bring you nothing but Brut aftershave, sport socks and Bles Bridges CDs.
8. May you always vomit copiously upon your sexual partners.

*A bad time for electricity problems, I can tell you
** and I don’t lose my temper often, but when I do its ICBM*** time.
***Kaboom, beyotch.
**** I swear to god anyone who reads this and thinks I’m a Satanist: go away, you’re too stupid for this blog, you’re not wanted.

Unrealistic Birthday Expectations

Kitteh via memebon.jp

In the grand tradition of the Romans, the Vikings, and Pirate Bob, I like to celebrate my birthday in style, and also by being showered with gifts. I don't mind what sort of gifts as long as they aren't groceries- it's more the spirit of the thing. Although, I was given a pot of mini highlighters by someone for my 30th birthday, which left me a bit nonplussed. Once you hit 30 the implication is that you can buy your own highlighters, and I haven't really used them much since uni anyway...

In any case. with two weeks to go, people are starting to make enquiries of the "what do you want, you materialistic cow* sort. With that in mind, here is my by-now-sort-of-annual list of birthday desires, in order from most likely and realistic to most extreme example of my lack of perspective.

1. Large box of After Eight Mints** or Lindt Poivre Intense.
2. Pillsbury Brownie Mix, although if you can track down some Betty Crocker Choc fudge Brownie mix, that would be AWESOME!!!!
3. Selection of Cactus Pups from ToiToy at the waterfront.
4. Vouchers/ gift cards from Exclusive books, Readers' Den or Zoom (shoeeeeeees!!!).
5. Sandman 3- Dream Country by Neil Gaiman.
6. Preacher 2- Until the End of the World by Garth Ennis.
7. Fake Wayfarer sunglasses from YDE (black or cherry red frames).
8. An electric blanket for a 3/4 bed. It's cold!
9. Three-way foldable reflector (white silver and gold).
10. Nintendo DS plus Nintendogs or WarioWare.
11. Canon Eos 450d with wide-angle lens.
12. Chloe Inez Box Clutch or Lady Dior Avenue Bag in orange .
13. Tickets to Tokyo plus accomodation for ten days at the Keio Plaza (I like the Keio Plaza), so I can visit some people.

Oh, and, uh, world peace. And stuff.


*this is not rudeness, merely a statement of truth. although materialistoc ninja zombie pirate would be more accurate.
** Nom Nom Nom.

A Short Story to Break the Monotony.

At first, life was nothing but the peaceful warm embrace of her sisters. For thirty years, they were inseparable, so alike as to be indistinguishable, never apart, as close as close could be. They never argued or fought or squabbled, like other sisters might. She could not imagine life beyond this warm embrace, could not imagine a life apart from them.

But then, all too soon and without warning, the day of her leaving came. She had no choice, it seemed. Fate had chosen this path for her, and like her sisters before her, she felt herself drawn out into the big, wide spaces of the world. Everything seemed bigger, vaster, echoing caverns, darkness, the vast unknown. She journeyed for what seemed an eternity before she found a place to rest, a place she hoped could be her home.

And for a time, it was peaceful there. Lonely, without her sisters, but the solitude had its own charms; the silence its own sweet music. She wrapped herself in thoughts of her sisters, and of the vast world around her, and of the future, and what it might hold.

She could not have imagined; not in her most vivid nightmares; what was to come. Suddenly, they were there; seemingly millions of them, their blind lust threatening to overwhelm her, invading her with their thrusting, prodding, biting. Never before had she felt such an agony, felt such uncaring maleness, such unending assault.

Abruptly, it ended. As swiftly as they had appeared, they were gone, leaving but one of their member; he the victor, she the prize. Forever joined, forever changed, they two had become something…other. She grew used to the idea, after a fashion, and consoled herself that the worst had happened, and perhaps her peace would return. Time passed, and she began to feel a certain sense of peace and wholeness. It was not to last.

A rending, a tearing, a ripping, an unholy fission of her very being. Torn in two, suffering an agony of confusion, she cried out at he unholy affliction, and wondered how much more torture she would have to endure. She turned, gasped, saw a mirror image of her very being. Warmth flooded through her, a quickening, recognition of some elusive truth. Around her were new sisters; but, no, not sisters, they were clones of herself. At first one, then three, then dozens, hundreds, millions, bound together.

A change was coming. Soon they would be born, as something new and strange and wonderful. But no matter what happened, she knew this- she would never be alone again.

I Definitely Wouldn't Wear Some Lameass Cape.

Image via memebon.jp

I think about things. All sorts of things. All the time. I have one major obsession which pleases me no end, which is time travel- namely, what would happen if Iwas plunked, say, in the 17th century. Or if someone from the 17th century was droppped of in modern-day Cape Town. I think that would be pretty mindblowing. For them, at least. And it would (you have to agree) be so totally awesome to be some sort of kick-ass, ass-kicking time-travelling operative, policing temporal rifts. Or something.

In anycase, that's a topic for another day. yesterday I was walking through the gardens, and I realised something...a little disconcerting. Something that rocked me to my very foundations, challenged everything I ever thought I knew or understood about myself, and the kind of person I am. It was epiphanic*.

I realised that if I had the power of invisibility**, I would be a criminal. Sorry mom, but I would totally bash that girl about the head and run away with her cute coat. I would raid shoe stores under the noses of the staff and pillage and plunder the Apple store. I would embark on a life of criminal fashionista-ing, and be the best dressed, most black-hearted villainess in the history of invisible ladies with a penchant for frippery and accessorisation.

Also, there would be many amusing pranks played upon the unsuspecting peoples of the lands. Childish japes involving floating hats and jellies. Things of that sort.

I am a bad, bad person.

*finally I get to use my extended vocabulary! Perspicacious! Onomatopaeic! Corpulent Ovarian Tittivation! Yar!
** or to stop time. or BOTH! THAT WOULD BE SO SWEEEEEEEEET!

40-year-Old Socialite and Dog...

... Actually, no. It's a 15-year-old Lohan sister. And Dog. Lately every photo of Ali Lohan I see is mildly disturbing, as she seems not just to be older than her crazy eating-disorderly, drunken slightly-unwashed-looking Courtney-Lovesque sister; but older than her white-trash stage mom.

Partly it's the heavy makeup. It's certainly skillful, no smudged eyeliner and badly-applied foundation. No crazy eyeshadow colours. Nothing an actual teenager would apply. It's not even that heavy- although it must be, for all those freckles to just magically vanish. Basically, they've taken a cute, freckled, fresh-faced teen and turned her into someone considerably older. With boring hair. And pasty skin. I'd undersand if they did this to sexify her- you know, add a little strumpetification, make her look more legal and less lolita... But she's someone's waspy Mom now. You just know she drives out to wine farms on the weekends, drives a Volvo and thins Bree is the most realistic of the Desperate girls.

I suppose this must be some sort of reaction to her mom and sister. She's certainly veered wildly towards the opposite end of the spectrum. Nobody in their right minds could apply the words trashy, slutty or "badly manicured" here. and her sister could learn a lot about eyebrow grooming from her*.

And her dog is certainly cute.

*badly groomed eyebrows indiate a generally laissez-faire attitude towards life, don't you agree?