What ever should I do with you Mr Blargh. We always come back to this place, you and I. To this moment. Together, fates betwixt in the vortex of love.
Schhhh, don’t spoil this moment. This is a beautiful reincarnation of a long forgotten shack in the ever expanding metropolisium of Internetia.
You’re a pretentious ass-hat and this is a sham, just like the last time.
Schhh, schhh, schhh, don’t say that; daddy’s got you. Schhh, schhh. That’s right. Daddy’s got you.
Damn. I creeped myself out there. Anyway. I should (for real-sis yo, brah) look into having some sort of activity in this blargh and not just fill it with posts about not posting any posts, before posting about not posting any posts about posting no posts becomes its livelihood. Did you catch that? I sure didn’t! Continue reading
It’s rare, I know, but sometimes I give this place attention. Such a day is upon us, dear scalywags and lollygaggers!
While I decided – after a few moments consulting my work schedule, the games coming out this month and my general underlying apathy against imaginary and pushy deadlines – not to participate in NaNoWriMo (Nannies Nocturnally Wringing Monkies) I’m still allowed to write stuff! And wrangle that monkey that keep staring at me.
You shut up, yes I can. And I decided my lovely Scavenger Kareza needed some more lovin’ , out there in the hot and sweaty desert waste!
Really trying to sell it as erotic fan fiction aren’t you?
Uh… uhm… I don’t- I don’t know what you’re saying ha ha ha that’s not, how very silly ha ha! Ehhhrum. Anyway.
Swoosh. You know the drill; pretty much a rough draft without any fancy formatting; I’m not going to go around polishing stuff I will probably redo later.
He’s too busy polishing his…
Be quiet you. Enjoy or not; care I if mind! CLICK MORE TO KNOW MORE!
Some dudes. Living in Ireland. It’s Irish Adventures! Pip pip!
*theme song goes here*
So we wanted to vacuum the apartment with the supplied vacuum cleaner. The previous apartment dwellers had obviously, at some time during their debauchedly lifetime, also had the same notion.
First impression, that led to the discovery of something that needs to be purged a’la lobotomy, was that there was no suction. Strange, says our naive minds, heedless of the terrors beyond the veil. Fuck Cthulhu; this shit is real.
So we opened the poor machine. It turns out the previous dwellers – now forever by the name of “Miss and Mr Bag-of-Dicks” – had not managed to process and act upon the simple act of not being great floating bags of dicks (see previously mentioned names) of the greatest calibre. In that they hadn’t used a bag for the cleaner. And never cleaned it. So the accumulated filth (underlined, bold and coloured for precision targeting) of an indescribable amount of time had collected inside the machine.
Dog ends in the hundreds, all the dirt on the moon, ash from six forest fires and a sort of a nightmarish… goo… mixed in. It actually got hard to breathe in the room when we emptied it. It felt like being stuck in a 1 square meter asbestos-walled discotheque where the DJ is called DJ AssBetos and play only the most popping of the asbestos songs (like “Knocking on Asbestos Wall” and “Good God That’s Filthy”).
And that’s that story told. I’m selling the scrip for the price one bundle of new vacuum bags.
Pi-pi-pi-ip-ip Irish Adventures pip pip!
Felt like – instead of trying to get a decent amount of sleep for once – writing a short piece about a Brand New Monster, or Make Some Shit Up, as ordained by Chuck the Wingading. Thousand words or less, monster story. Took about two hours. Blah.
Enjoy, or ignore;
So, I finally got a job. In Ireland, for HP. It might only be a temporary position; but still. Freaking work!
In ten days I’ll be flying – a rather short flight, Sweden and Ireland isn’t that far apart – over to the land of the Harp and Guinness and start supporting customer like a boss over the phone. I’m not that nervous yet for some reason; I might have got most of the nervousness out off my system when I had the phone interview.
The first interview he had ever done. Bastard.
I’m sure my aloofness will pass. I will most likely get as nervous as a elderly bear flying out from a lazerspaceship wearing makeup and holding a stick of butter in front of an army of hostile Intergalactic Space Cows when I’m standing by the door to the airport. Oh well.
Another day, another five hundred words, another rejected job search.
Did you know that if you have spent, basically, your whole (short) life studying and achieving only mediocre stats, as it were, then you aren’t high on the list for hot prospects in the general vicinity of the job market? I had. No. Freaking. Idea. Really.
Wait. Does sarcasm count as a disability? The more important question, I guess, is: Can I get money for it? Please? It’s very severe.
I’m sounding so bitter for some reason. I’m going to sit down with Dwarf Fortress while Miracle of Sound, and a sprinkle of The World Is Saved, is playing in the background. Dr. Doctor did recommend a remedy of tantrum-raging, booze driven dwarves this evening.
When you haven’t got the inclination, or even the funds, to purchase some sort of design freedom from WordPress you are confined within the available and free themes.
I changed theme again because it was annoying for the eyes to read long text in the last one. Maybe this one will feel better. If not then I will throw this one in the pile I hereby like to call Thematical Dung Heap Of The Youthful Generation But Not Really Youthful Because I’m Sure It’s Being Used By People Or Personages Of An Statistical Higher Age And Health. Or T.D.H.O.T.Y.G.B.N.Y.B.I.S.I.B.U.B.P.O.P.O.A.S.H.A.A.H for short.
Yes, sometimes I even groan at myself.
Take a picture of a pink and square bird with one wing and chicken feet for your pain.