Wednesday, June 18, 2003
well, for one thing, i can't get over the idea of sonya punching a stuffed weasel:
www.noematic.org/implode
and i think making any inanimate thing spit out hamburgers is sheer genius.
frankly, i'm glad someone else is cranky. because i'm feeling that the force of my inner crank is going to wear heavy on anyone who chooses to hang out long enough for my flammable annoyance to catch a spark.
i'm reading this j.p. donleavy story, and he describes someone not wanting to succumb in older age to a certain "au blet" corpulence (please to imagine italics). i'm tickled that "blet" is really a word, and i looked it up this morning in my french dictionary. the formal word? "over-ripe." yum.
the monkey just found a photograph of the president in which he (president, not beloved monkey) does not look like a doofus. he posits it's because you can't see how close together the presichump's eyes are. hey, says me. those of us with close set eyes (yep, i've got 'em. also, lots of recessive genes and a grandmother with webbed toes) are not necessarily doofuses. monkey looks again and says, yes, but on you it's okay because you have a NARROW HEAD.
hrm.
last night playing scrabble, i balked at making the word "raping," even though i knew it was just scrabble and just a word and all that. still, it's hard to look at, isn't it? and then i had a dream about trying to save this young boy from a gigantic pro sports player who was going to abuse him.
this i saw in the paper this morning. it makes me think nothing bad has ever happened to me:
http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/localnews/135019124_crash18m.html
and, glibly, let me say there is a man in the coffeeshop whose voice is louder than a car and whose laugh sounds like it was made on a synthesizer or by frank oz, and i'm wondering whose hand is up his shirt and how he made it all the way here from the children's television workshop.
www.noematic.org/implode
and i think making any inanimate thing spit out hamburgers is sheer genius.
frankly, i'm glad someone else is cranky. because i'm feeling that the force of my inner crank is going to wear heavy on anyone who chooses to hang out long enough for my flammable annoyance to catch a spark.
i'm reading this j.p. donleavy story, and he describes someone not wanting to succumb in older age to a certain "au blet" corpulence (please to imagine italics). i'm tickled that "blet" is really a word, and i looked it up this morning in my french dictionary. the formal word? "over-ripe." yum.
the monkey just found a photograph of the president in which he (president, not beloved monkey) does not look like a doofus. he posits it's because you can't see how close together the presichump's eyes are. hey, says me. those of us with close set eyes (yep, i've got 'em. also, lots of recessive genes and a grandmother with webbed toes) are not necessarily doofuses. monkey looks again and says, yes, but on you it's okay because you have a NARROW HEAD.
hrm.
last night playing scrabble, i balked at making the word "raping," even though i knew it was just scrabble and just a word and all that. still, it's hard to look at, isn't it? and then i had a dream about trying to save this young boy from a gigantic pro sports player who was going to abuse him.
this i saw in the paper this morning. it makes me think nothing bad has ever happened to me:
http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/localnews/135019124_crash18m.html
and, glibly, let me say there is a man in the coffeeshop whose voice is louder than a car and whose laugh sounds like it was made on a synthesizer or by frank oz, and i'm wondering whose hand is up his shirt and how he made it all the way here from the children's television workshop.
