I promised some people, off blog, some pictures of Whitney Houston to give a better idea of what thefuck has happened to her.

dead link i will not bother to repair

dead link i will not bother to repair

And, everybody’s favourite:

dead link i will not bother to repair

Don’t do drugs you dumb fucks.

In case you’ve forgotten Whitney before the coke:

Don’t do drugs you dumb fucking dumb fucks.

UPDATE: Sorry about the dead links. just google it. shit’s disgusting.

Pro testing on animals
I wish this article was more hateful. A call for war.
I wish that at protests like the one’s discussed in this article, protests against animal testing for medical purposes, that some sort of Defence Force would come down hard on the protestors. That more than a few of the protesters would find themselves alongside us, in the ranks of the disabled, by the end of the protest.
People are essentially arguing for our (often slow, painful) extermination. That leaves me wanting something quicker for them.

Today when I saw Natalie Portman, I guess I did.
Anyway, then I got on the bus. “Then fiddlesticks to the fucking busdriver” was the first thing I heard getting on. I decided to sit in the back. If you got on the bus after me and went to the back, you would see there were six seats, all forcing you to sit beside one of three different people. First there was the dirty man who wiped his nose on stuff, drank from bottles laying around on the bus, and leered at everyone in a menacing/sexual way. Then there was the guy with his hand down his pants, seeming to masturbate by rubbing his crotch with his other hand from the outside, then stopping occaissionally to shove more and more rubber hose down his pants. And then there was me, wearing a winter coat in the hot weather, wearing oversized women’s leopard print sunglasses, and trying to not puke on myself. People made the right choice time and again after coming to the back and looking us over: go back to the front.
The I came home and was sick while listening to ace of base’s “deja vu” on repeat. then i danced and puked some more.

I was going to order this poster of Dr. Sun Yat-sen off of ebay.ca, but the thing is fucking 6 feet tall I think. I like Sun and all, but I can’t have a poster of him that’s bigger than me. That would be insane. Fucking ebay is the worst place to buy posters or paintings. The painting of Bismarck that I was going to buy turned out to be a stamp. Jerks. If anyone knows a better place to get portraits of Sun and Bismarck and Ataturk, let me know. Manny the Red Baron would be ok too.

College student lives in Wal-Mart for 41 hours
I didn’t actually seek out the article. It was just the first thing on the cnn rss (I was using the cnn rss because i needed a feed that I hadn’t already subscribed to to test something). But I read the first three paragraphs because it seemed stupid enough.
The third paragraph was brilliant:

“I just intuitively thought, ‘This is brilliant!“‘ said Carol Spaulding-Kruse, an associate professor of English. “I wasn’t quite sure why, but it just sounded like a really good idea.”

I hope she dies. I hate english departments a lot. They’re the source of the postmodernist plague. No wonder: the profs seem to be dipshits.

Whitney Huston’s sister-in-law took some nice photos of her bathroom.

I’ve realized today why I like Blonde Redhead. They sing slow enough that I can carry on conversations with the singer through out the song, and I can’t reall tell what they’r saying a lot of the time.

When I’m really bored, or at a concert, I tend to talk back to the music/band. It entertains me to no end. I had the longest conversation where I informed some cop who claimed that his job was the law that his job was “following orders “today. And I also dictated a large section ofa afuture book I plan to write called “Children I killed for France” which is just a list of children, with sarcastic comments about each, that a french man claims to have killed for France, with little occaisional digressions about wine and such. I don’t knwo why I thought this was a good idea, it jsu tseemed to fit with the song.
By not understanding what Blonde redhead is saying I start to forget that they’re playing, since I’ll hear something like “will i ever be young again/ he anticipates whatever you eat” and don’t really notice it, since it sounds like the sort of thing that goes on in my head all the time.
So thank you Blonde redhead! I usually hate music, but I like you. And thanks to my friend Caitlin for burning me a cd of them and introducing me to them.

Today I came home to a single, young/small adult coclroach laying upside down in my washroom. I figured they were dead, since they were as full of energy as I was, and jsut about as concerned by me presence as I was of their’s.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I was bothered to find a new cockroach, even if it was already dead. For every one you see, there are exactly 8,000,007,193 that you don’t. Since I hadn’t seen one for months, I’d been reasonably assured that during that time there were no cockroaches, since I might as well believe that if I don’t see them, they aren’t there. That, and because I’d earlier witnessed a cockroach Holocaust and figured any that survived that had probably fallen prey to despair shortly afterwards.

I started to worry about how I’d just ignored the cockroach and went back to check it out. I started to fear that the cockroach might be my equivelant of the first Iraqi insurgent in the eyes of the US. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just dead-enders.” Taking the “insurgent” metaphor a little too much to heart, I decided to treat the cockroach corpse the way I’d treated the executed mice prisoners: in such a horrific way as to discourage further rebellion (for a mouse, the mere act of being alive is rebellion. treachery! treason!!!)

While I was planning though, the cockroach started kicking it’s legs and trying to move. So I figured I should focus on getting it dead, and was a little excited because it opened up the option of using boric acid to kill it, something that doesn’t disturb corpses since they need to eat it. Corpses aren’t easy to effectively feed acid. So, I covered it in boric acid. (Boric acid is available as a roach killer in a white powder. Occasionally if you are a coke user, you’ll be snorting some boric acid! Coke dealers, I think only to make me happy, sometimes like to cut the coke with things that will make the coke even more deadly instead of safer things like flour or whatever the normal shit is. Thank you coke dealers!!)

It was so covered in boric acid that I couldn’t even see it, until it moved one of it’s legs a bit. “Eat it,” didn’t seem to encourage it much. So then I decided to put water on it, since in Fight Club, lye plus water is a chemical burn, so theoretically, an acid (lye I think is a base) plus water would be exactly the same. I kinda realized that that wouldn’t work though, so I figured I’d just spray it with windex.
If cockroaches could scream, but only once in the whole existence of the species, this would have been the time they did it. That little fucker went nuts. It looked like it might have been painful or something, so I got some grapes and ate them while watching. I wasn’t sure about the grapes though, since I hadn’t rinsed them, which everyone says is important, and they had stickyish white powdery stuff on them (that wasn’t the boric acid — it had been there yesterday when I ate them too.) But I remembered that rinsing fruits and vegetables requires at least 2-3 minutes to do anything, and I certainly wasn’t going to fucking rinse grapes my whole life, so I ate them.
After a while the cockroach seemed to look more comfortable than in pain, so I left and tried to envision how I was going to switch around my hard drives once I get my new hard drive. And then I started writing this bullshit.
Final Update :: The cockroach isn’t dead, but the acid and the windex have formed a hard shell and the cockroach seems stuck. And I’m wondering why this post was written.