Monday, January 15, 2007
my fish
i really need everybody who may or may not stumble upon this humble blog to vote in the poll down... there... yeah a little to the left... uh huh. that's the one. see, i really can't decide on the fish naming thing. help would be quite appreciated, ok toots? thanks, you're really really great. really. great.
Saturday, January 6, 2007
new year's eve 150 miles away
holy smack. (phavorate frase, had to be my first words on my first post of the year.) happy new year y'all! because this blog has not yet become a "must-read" (i'm still holding on to that dream), i'm sure that nobody is actually reading this, and therefore my next comment is likely to be falling on deaf... eyes... but oh, i'm gonna make it anyway.
i hope that your personal new year's celebration was exceptional.
let me tell you about mine. *cue thundercrash... and... BLACKOUT*
fade in on the front of a solitary single-story building with a large sign on the roof reading "Tim Horton's." no lights are on, excepting the small spotlight over the door; the building is deserted. Tim Horton's, that haven which, once, could always be relied upon to satisfy that 3am donut craving, that beacon of hope to many dark strangers with an inability to stay awake in the morning without their daily double-double, is closed. closed. closed. (you know, i've always felt that three's were more dramatic than... not three's.) dark, heavy stormclouds roll in above, accompanied by a loud rumbling that echoes all around (surround sound baby) and the occasional flash of light.
let me just pause for a second and a half to explain to you why the beacon of hope is closed. it's new year's eve. now, back to the story...
*sound fx guy plays that recording of a car with a crappy muffler in the distance.* eventually, carlos (as in "los car," it's spanish), the three-and-a-half-foot-long honda, pulls into the deserted lot in all his rusted glory, carrying with him a couple of passengers. he sits there for a while.
michelle: where the f#!$ is elise? she was supposed to f#!$ing be here thirty-five f#!&ing minutes ago. for f#*$'s sake, we can't just wait here all f###ing night! the f#*$ing place isn't even open!
christy: wow. you said "f#^&" more times than "the" just now. i didn't even know you could do that.
brad: (to himself) she's right, man. elise is way late. dude!
michelle: f*%^.
charlotte. po-tty-mouth.
brad: (to himself) whoa. oh man, dude! i shoulda brought some more drug, i'm like waaay almost empty here... hey, where did all my drug go? whoa! that place is all... dark! wicked.
charlotte: my name is charlotte.
christy: oh look. it is that elise character, pulling into this dark, deserted lot, in a vehicle not her own! oh, that must be that guy she's with!
brad: righteous.
charlotte: hey sweet!
christy: hello elise and strange male character who may or may not have been introduced yet! are you prepared to lead us out to the stranger's house?
elise: yes. please follow.
michelle: f&%$ing rights.
brad: let's go to that booze place, man, i'm totally dry. whoa, dude, look at my hand! *holds hand in front of his face, slowly crossing his eyes* sweet. hey dude, can i drive?
christy: ok!
after a brief stop at the liquor store, the two vehicles begin their long journey to a strange and isolated house 150 miles away.
christy: are we there yet?
michelle: five more f#$%ing minutes.
carlos: we're there!
charlotte: i think we're there.
brad: (to himself) dude, did the car just like, say words... uh? whoa.
charlotte: my name is charlotte.
michelle: you already said that. and we f%^&ing know.
christy: let us proceed into this strange abode together and find out what kind of evening awaits us. michelle, hold my hand please.
michelle: *ad-libs random curse words*
as the unsuspecting victims... uh... people, enter the house, they are greeted by a crowd of people dressed in strange sea-people-related outfits.
captain bob: ahoy, matey's!
hostess: welcome, strangers. my name is hostess, like the cake.
linda: i did not have sexual relations with that woman.
brad: whoa, qualm down dude, nobody said nothing... i think.
travis: i did.
christy: you did say something or you did that woman?
michelle: yeah. be more f$#&ing specific.
travis: (emphatically) yeah!
charlotte: my name is charlotte.
michelle: f&*^ yeah!
hostess: let us eat food and then i shall give you these little books. you can read them one page at a time, and at the end, we can find out who killed what's his face.
fast-forward to much later, after every person is stuffed like a crab... the group sits in the living room and reads the first page of their little books.
captain bob: OOH! i killed what's-his-face!
hostess: alright. now would anybody like to accuse anybody of murdering what's-his-face?
frida: i saw charlotte leaving a store. i think she did it!
linda: i think it was my fiance, travis. he smells fishy.
michelle: f&*%. that's because you live by the f%^#ing sea, you f^$#ing moron.
christy: i think it was captain bob, cuz he was drunk. then again, it could have been me. i do have multiple personalities, and the medication doesn't always work. i'm not mentally stable. maybe it was jane, my other me, although i have no idea who jane is.
brad: dudes, i would like to call carlos to the stand.
hostess: no vehicles in the living room!
brad: whoa. sorry dude, chill.
michelle: whats-his-face f$##ing did it. i f*&^ing saw him!
*beat.*
captain bob: ahoy. i stabbed what's-his-face. i admit it.
hostess: whats-his-face wasn't stabbed. he was shot. remember?
captain bob: oh yeah. *beat.* ahoy. i shot what's-his-face. i admit it.
christy: you're really quite strange.
brad: whoa dudes, something smells fishy here.
michelle: that's because we're right by the f*&$ing sea you f$%#ing moron.
brad: (to himself) righteous.
charlotte: my name is charlotte.
elise: i have a chocolate fountain. yay! let's play in it!
hostess: alright. but first, we must reveal the real killer! it was...
suddenly, the power cuts out.
hostess: AHHH!
christy: AHHH!
charlotte: AHHH!
brad: AHHH dude!
michelle: F%$#!
travis: AHHH!
captain bob: AHHH!
frida: AHHH!
linda: AHHH!
carlos: oy.
suddenly, the power is back on.
hostess: the real killer is... that guy with elise!
that guy with elise: yes, that's right. i did it. and nobody even thought it was me because i am so smooth and greasy. metaphorically speaking, of course. (laughs maniacally.)
elise: alright! sneaky. sneaky. sneaky. (elise, too, believes that three's are more dramatic than... not, three's.) hey, let's go play in my chocolate fountain!
everybody: YAY!
suddenly, it's quarter to midnight! everybody gathers in the other living room to watch the count-down on tv. hostess hands out aluminum pie plates and spoons. the next fifteen minutes are spent watching captain bob, linda, travis, christy, and some new guy try to stick their spoons on their noses. soon...
everybody: TEN, NINE, EIGHT, SIX, SEVEN, FIVE, THREE, TWO, ONE... HAPPY NEW YEAR! BANG BANG BANG!
fade out. the end.
happy new year! make good choices!
i hope that your personal new year's celebration was exceptional.
let me tell you about mine. *cue thundercrash... and... BLACKOUT*
fade in on the front of a solitary single-story building with a large sign on the roof reading "Tim Horton's." no lights are on, excepting the small spotlight over the door; the building is deserted. Tim Horton's, that haven which, once, could always be relied upon to satisfy that 3am donut craving, that beacon of hope to many dark strangers with an inability to stay awake in the morning without their daily double-double, is closed. closed. closed. (you know, i've always felt that three's were more dramatic than... not three's.) dark, heavy stormclouds roll in above, accompanied by a loud rumbling that echoes all around (surround sound baby) and the occasional flash of light.
let me just pause for a second and a half to explain to you why the beacon of hope is closed. it's new year's eve. now, back to the story...
*sound fx guy plays that recording of a car with a crappy muffler in the distance.* eventually, carlos (as in "los car," it's spanish), the three-and-a-half-foot-long honda, pulls into the deserted lot in all his rusted glory, carrying with him a couple of passengers. he sits there for a while.
michelle: where the f#!$ is elise? she was supposed to f#!$ing be here thirty-five f#!&ing minutes ago. for f#*$'s sake, we can't just wait here all f###ing night! the f#*$ing place isn't even open!
christy: wow. you said "f#^&" more times than "the" just now. i didn't even know you could do that.
brad: (to himself) she's right, man. elise is way late. dude!
michelle: f*%^.
charlotte. po-tty-mouth.
brad: (to himself) whoa. oh man, dude! i shoulda brought some more drug, i'm like waaay almost empty here... hey, where did all my drug go? whoa! that place is all... dark! wicked.
charlotte: my name is charlotte.
christy: oh look. it is that elise character, pulling into this dark, deserted lot, in a vehicle not her own! oh, that must be that guy she's with!
brad: righteous.
charlotte: hey sweet!
christy: hello elise and strange male character who may or may not have been introduced yet! are you prepared to lead us out to the stranger's house?
elise: yes. please follow.
michelle: f&%$ing rights.
brad: let's go to that booze place, man, i'm totally dry. whoa, dude, look at my hand! *holds hand in front of his face, slowly crossing his eyes* sweet. hey dude, can i drive?
christy: ok!
after a brief stop at the liquor store, the two vehicles begin their long journey to a strange and isolated house 150 miles away.
christy: are we there yet?
michelle: five more f#$%ing minutes.
carlos: we're there!
charlotte: i think we're there.
brad: (to himself) dude, did the car just like, say words... uh? whoa.
charlotte: my name is charlotte.
michelle: you already said that. and we f%^&ing know.
christy: let us proceed into this strange abode together and find out what kind of evening awaits us. michelle, hold my hand please.
michelle: *ad-libs random curse words*
as the unsuspecting victims... uh... people, enter the house, they are greeted by a crowd of people dressed in strange sea-people-related outfits.
captain bob: ahoy, matey's!
hostess: welcome, strangers. my name is hostess, like the cake.
linda: i did not have sexual relations with that woman.
brad: whoa, qualm down dude, nobody said nothing... i think.
travis: i did.
christy: you did say something or you did that woman?
michelle: yeah. be more f$#&ing specific.
travis: (emphatically) yeah!
charlotte: my name is charlotte.
michelle: f&*^ yeah!
hostess: let us eat food and then i shall give you these little books. you can read them one page at a time, and at the end, we can find out who killed what's his face.
fast-forward to much later, after every person is stuffed like a crab... the group sits in the living room and reads the first page of their little books.
captain bob: OOH! i killed what's-his-face!
hostess: alright. now would anybody like to accuse anybody of murdering what's-his-face?
frida: i saw charlotte leaving a store. i think she did it!
linda: i think it was my fiance, travis. he smells fishy.
michelle: f&*%. that's because you live by the f%^#ing sea, you f^$#ing moron.
christy: i think it was captain bob, cuz he was drunk. then again, it could have been me. i do have multiple personalities, and the medication doesn't always work. i'm not mentally stable. maybe it was jane, my other me, although i have no idea who jane is.
brad: dudes, i would like to call carlos to the stand.
hostess: no vehicles in the living room!
brad: whoa. sorry dude, chill.
michelle: whats-his-face f$##ing did it. i f*&^ing saw him!
*beat.*
captain bob: ahoy. i stabbed what's-his-face. i admit it.
hostess: whats-his-face wasn't stabbed. he was shot. remember?
captain bob: oh yeah. *beat.* ahoy. i shot what's-his-face. i admit it.
christy: you're really quite strange.
brad: whoa dudes, something smells fishy here.
michelle: that's because we're right by the f*&$ing sea you f$%#ing moron.
brad: (to himself) righteous.
charlotte: my name is charlotte.
elise: i have a chocolate fountain. yay! let's play in it!
hostess: alright. but first, we must reveal the real killer! it was...
suddenly, the power cuts out.
hostess: AHHH!
christy: AHHH!
charlotte: AHHH!
brad: AHHH dude!
michelle: F%$#!
travis: AHHH!
captain bob: AHHH!
frida: AHHH!
linda: AHHH!
carlos: oy.
suddenly, the power is back on.
hostess: the real killer is... that guy with elise!
that guy with elise: yes, that's right. i did it. and nobody even thought it was me because i am so smooth and greasy. metaphorically speaking, of course. (laughs maniacally.)
elise: alright! sneaky. sneaky. sneaky. (elise, too, believes that three's are more dramatic than... not, three's.) hey, let's go play in my chocolate fountain!
everybody: YAY!
suddenly, it's quarter to midnight! everybody gathers in the other living room to watch the count-down on tv. hostess hands out aluminum pie plates and spoons. the next fifteen minutes are spent watching captain bob, linda, travis, christy, and some new guy try to stick their spoons on their noses. soon...
everybody: TEN, NINE, EIGHT, SIX, SEVEN, FIVE, THREE, TWO, ONE... HAPPY NEW YEAR! BANG BANG BANG!
fade out. the end.
happy new year! make good choices!
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