Insert graphic Anglo-Saxon language here. SONOFABITCH.
GODAMMIT ALL TO HELL.
Let's count how many times kali921 swears in this entry!
In no particular order:
1. Fuck you, Diorshow Blackout Waterproof Mascara. I pay $27.00 for your ass so that my lashes can become lush Stygian avatars, absorbing all color, negating light, gravity, and attracting males of the species for miles around whilst ALSO repelling hydrating assaults, only to discover that five minutes after careful application, YOU SMUDGE HARDER THAN GEORGES BRAQUE WITH A PIECE OF CHARCOAL AND A BLANK CANVAS. I am not pleased.
2. My awesome manager at work very abruptly quit this week. When I say "abrupt," I mean "sent in his resignation and told them he'd be happy to walk out the door right NOW." He was the best manager that I've ever had, he was my champion at work, and on top of losing my job, I don't get to spend my last six weeks at my job with him around. I don't blame him for quitting, though; the Ziggeraut is pulling major shenanigans and is very busy shooting themselves in the foot as well as trashing their own reputation with major groups of people all over the globe - yes, a feat of GLOBE-SPANNING STUPIDITY - so I don't blame him for finally throwing up his hands and walking. Of course he already has another job, because he's famous and gets job offers all the time. I'd go with him except that he's going to be working in the UK for the next year. WOE. My only small consolation is that for my final days, I'll be reporting to a German VP who really likes me* and keeps telling senior management how idiotic they are to keep alienating the talent pool.
3. If you're going to have a major Italo freakout with awesome old school synths, growling vocals dripping with sex, and a driving beat spawned by the depths of Glasgow's Optimo, you could do a lot worse than Den Haan's "Release the Beast." <-- Actual officially sanctioned free and legal download gleaned from a music blog that I'm not linking you to because I can't organize my Firefox bookmarks!
Den Haan are, by the way, Andy Gardiner and Matt Aldworth, aka that dude that used to record all those awesome tracks under the name Crème de Menthe. And? Their shit is SO freakalicious and joyously ghey ("ghey" and "freakalicious" are only in the same semantic vicinity by sheer serendipity) and delectable. Someone else already beat me to the punch by stating that listening to Den Haan is like looking at a Tom of Finland pinup, but BETTER.
4. I keep listening to Instra:mental and DBridge's new(ish) track "No Future" and hearing the robot woman saying: "Lies, confusion, government control, crime, plumbing, panic, terror."
...Clearly, something in my sonic array is amiss. Is she saying "mummy" or "plumbing"?
5. You know what? After Friday night, my physical therapist now needs his own code name in a similar vein to HOT DR. BALE.
Let's call my physical therapist the MARQUIS DE DOULEUR.
Because on Friday night, MARQUIS DE DOULEUR decided that I was going to take a level in badass. Do you have ANY IDEA how hard it is to do full squats WITH WEIGHTS WHILE STANDING ON ONLY ONE FOOT? TEN, TWENTY, THIRTY IN A ROW?
Then he showed me my new ab exercise - he's working the lower core abs - and after watching me do one rep to make sure that I got it, he told me the following: "Good. Now do between ten and half a million of these every day." This shit is hard, okay? He ain't playing.
Then he whipped off his shirt, jumped up on the sports massage table, and started to show me the proprioceptive things that he wants me to do for my back. It was simultaneously mesmerizing and terrifying.
I can kiss my free time goodbye.
6. Then on Saturday HOT DR. BALE actually said the following to me:
ME: How are the chickens?
HOT DR. BALE: Oh, we have major chicken drama.
ME: Chicken drama? How so?
HOT DR. BALE: We have new baby chickens. We need to introduce them to the older chickens, but we're afraid that they're going to get their asses majorly kicked.
Yeah. I didn't sign up for this insanity and dose of dendrite-imploding motherfucking surrealism every time I enter a house of healing. He's hot, okay, but I have my BOUNDARIES, and my boundaries involve gratuitous references to POULTRY.
7. Someone at work anonymously sent me a fifty dollar gift card for Peet's Coffee. Worse? They sent it with a handwritten note thanking me for all my help! But they failed to specify what assistance they are grateful for and they also failed to sign their declaration of undying fealty! IS SOMEONE SCREWING WITH ME? SWORD OF DAMOCLES.
8. You've all seen RevoLucian's housetastic remix of Christian Bale's flipout.
But have you seen the action figure remix??
Thank you, water_of_fire.
9. Since I posted Thundercats fan art in my last post, here, have something else that was lurking on my hard drive - here's Targete's version of Cheetara:
Full-size detail-enhanced face-wrecking awesome right here.
I lament the absence of her canonical facial markings, but I love the hair, the eyes, and the orangey under-armour. I have a deep and abiding fondness for Cheetara; she had such a desiccating wit and aplomb.
In conclusion: Monday, you can fucking bite me.
* More about this later.
Let's count how many times kali921 swears in this entry!
In no particular order:
1. Fuck you, Diorshow Blackout Waterproof Mascara. I pay $27.00 for your ass so that my lashes can become lush Stygian avatars, absorbing all color, negating light, gravity, and attracting males of the species for miles around whilst ALSO repelling hydrating assaults, only to discover that five minutes after careful application, YOU SMUDGE HARDER THAN GEORGES BRAQUE WITH A PIECE OF CHARCOAL AND A BLANK CANVAS. I am not pleased.
2. My awesome manager at work very abruptly quit this week. When I say "abrupt," I mean "sent in his resignation and told them he'd be happy to walk out the door right NOW." He was the best manager that I've ever had, he was my champion at work, and on top of losing my job, I don't get to spend my last six weeks at my job with him around. I don't blame him for quitting, though; the Ziggeraut is pulling major shenanigans and is very busy shooting themselves in the foot as well as trashing their own reputation with major groups of people all over the globe - yes, a feat of GLOBE-SPANNING STUPIDITY - so I don't blame him for finally throwing up his hands and walking. Of course he already has another job, because he's famous and gets job offers all the time. I'd go with him except that he's going to be working in the UK for the next year. WOE. My only small consolation is that for my final days, I'll be reporting to a German VP who really likes me* and keeps telling senior management how idiotic they are to keep alienating the talent pool.
3. If you're going to have a major Italo freakout with awesome old school synths, growling vocals dripping with sex, and a driving beat spawned by the depths of Glasgow's Optimo, you could do a lot worse than Den Haan's "Release the Beast." <-- Actual officially sanctioned free and legal download gleaned from a music blog that I'm not linking you to because I can't organize my Firefox bookmarks!
Den Haan are, by the way, Andy Gardiner and Matt Aldworth, aka that dude that used to record all those awesome tracks under the name Crème de Menthe. And? Their shit is SO freakalicious and joyously ghey ("ghey" and "freakalicious" are only in the same semantic vicinity by sheer serendipity) and delectable. Someone else already beat me to the punch by stating that listening to Den Haan is like looking at a Tom of Finland pinup, but BETTER.
4. I keep listening to Instra:mental and DBridge's new(ish) track "No Future" and hearing the robot woman saying: "Lies, confusion, government control, crime, plumbing, panic, terror."
...Clearly, something in my sonic array is amiss. Is she saying "mummy" or "plumbing"?
5. You know what? After Friday night, my physical therapist now needs his own code name in a similar vein to HOT DR. BALE.
Let's call my physical therapist the MARQUIS DE DOULEUR.
Because on Friday night, MARQUIS DE DOULEUR decided that I was going to take a level in badass. Do you have ANY IDEA how hard it is to do full squats WITH WEIGHTS WHILE STANDING ON ONLY ONE FOOT? TEN, TWENTY, THIRTY IN A ROW?
Then he showed me my new ab exercise - he's working the lower core abs - and after watching me do one rep to make sure that I got it, he told me the following: "Good. Now do between ten and half a million of these every day." This shit is hard, okay? He ain't playing.
Then he whipped off his shirt, jumped up on the sports massage table, and started to show me the proprioceptive things that he wants me to do for my back. It was simultaneously mesmerizing and terrifying.
I can kiss my free time goodbye.
6. Then on Saturday HOT DR. BALE actually said the following to me:
ME: How are the chickens?
HOT DR. BALE: Oh, we have major chicken drama.
ME: Chicken drama? How so?
HOT DR. BALE: We have new baby chickens. We need to introduce them to the older chickens, but we're afraid that they're going to get their asses majorly kicked.
Yeah. I didn't sign up for this insanity and dose of dendrite-imploding motherfucking surrealism every time I enter a house of healing. He's hot, okay, but I have my BOUNDARIES, and my boundaries involve gratuitous references to POULTRY.
7. Someone at work anonymously sent me a fifty dollar gift card for Peet's Coffee. Worse? They sent it with a handwritten note thanking me for all my help! But they failed to specify what assistance they are grateful for and they also failed to sign their declaration of undying fealty! IS SOMEONE SCREWING WITH ME? SWORD OF DAMOCLES.
8. You've all seen RevoLucian's housetastic remix of Christian Bale's flipout.
But have you seen the action figure remix??
Click to viewThank you, water_of_fire.
9. Since I posted Thundercats fan art in my last post, here, have something else that was lurking on my hard drive - here's Targete's version of Cheetara:
Full-size detail-enhanced face-wrecking awesome right here.
I lament the absence of her canonical facial markings, but I love the hair, the eyes, and the orangey under-armour. I have a deep and abiding fondness for Cheetara; she had such a desiccating wit and aplomb.
In conclusion: Monday, you can fucking bite me.
* More about this later.