talkin’ girly inna mall or 1201ThirdCourtoffice

We back in the mall, kiddozers.  More Girl Talk, more finger bangies for my x.

The name of this daze bLAWg is the wifi signal I must google and request permission to use their password while workin’ in da mawl.  Word spell-check just corrected “da maul” to “dam awl.”  Damn. Awl yeah.  Wtf. Heh.  My old man would call me up and scream about word’s auto-correct “feature”, not letting me get a word in edgewise.  Eventually, I got across to him that you could simply turn that feature off if it was bugging you.  It works for yourself, too.  But in order to know what aspects of the selfish ego are annoying, one must find a larger audience.

Dude, this is perfect.  All I can make is fart noises after Girl Talk.  Wait’ll I start a Girl Talk tribute/cover band.  Then we’ll see.

I’m on “down for the count right now” and I am so happy that someone other than me hears the epic grandeur of poor brown kids who catch their voice from heaven.  Hey, don’t get me wrong, some only get it for a few minutes, ever, in their entire lives.  Some are lucky enough to have recorded the audio when it happened, though.  Shit, and those of you who can spit consistently, constantly, fuck, man, your voice so pretty I want you on my alarm clock tellin’ me to get up in the morning.  Oh, you want to say something that makes sense, too?  Something that moves the conversation forward rather than wallowing under the glass ceilings of yesteryear.  Fucking flying elevator smashed that shit years ago.  ‘cept we’ll actually use all of the rooms and acres of graceland this time around.  Split that shit evenly.  Responsibility equal to capability.  For therein shall we all find peace.

So, I took a detour to obtain food (raw) this morning.  I’ve been living on venison and potato stew that I salvaged when my housemate left it to freeze on the porch.  Ice crystals break up plant cell walls, especially after they’re weakened by cooking.  Well, cooking kills ‘em.  Surprisingly, it kinda tenderized the meat.  I ate it at room temperature, or colder, most of it.  One of the times I tried to use the stove to heat up a bowl was when my housemate started screaming at me.  I told you I was staying out of that kitchen for a reason.  That shit rattles me.  Bad.

Working together means you have to be able to live together.

So, I am in the market for a new home.  In all senses of the words.  I am looking for a group of people who live to assist one another, and who share the responsibilities, tasks, information, and spoils of the sustainable activities that they do.  Vague, I know.  Common shop/workspace areas.  Welders, steel cutting, and tractor repair equipment down to the poster that shows how to make a solar oven out of cardboard boxes, empty 2-litre bottles, and a roll of foil (heat-resistant duct) tape.  No, we give them away.  It’s all on the websites, and the daily paths of y’all are as clear to me as the pixels on this screen.  So, having said what I needed to say, I kinda just want a place to live.  I’m free for “gigs” or whatever, but nobody asks.  Clearly, that’s not my course in life.  I’m a garden slave.  Fine.  I just want to do that with people who do it systematically and cooperatively.  I can pretty much do anything except pull real estate out of my ass.  It’s very tiny, you know.  My ass.  Now.  Whatever.  Don’t you have work you should be doing?  No, don’t go!

So, I thought of a funny/mean tweet.  Wanna read it?  (brought to you by the department of redundancy department, redundancy branch. Ugh)

Pro parenting tip: next time your kid proves it’s smarter than you, punch it in the face, then immediately go, “OH MY GOD!, are you ooohhhh kaaaaayyyyy?  Have you been FIGHTING AGAIN??!? GO TO YOUR ROOM!”  I’m sure they’ll get the irony.

237.  Fuck.

That just started a word list item.  Fucking auto-correct.  IT’S CALLED THE UNDO FUNCTION, YELLY FUCKERS, CONTROL-Z!!!! Easy. Done.


It’s 3:02 pm.  If I had a job washing dishes, it would be warm, too.  Kitchens are warm.  I like kitchens.  Well, I like kitchens where people move with purpose and quickness and can anticipate one another’s movements to facilitate meal/process completion quickly and neatly.  Shit.  I don’t wanna be cleaning the kitchen all day!  There’s fucking to do!  Priorities, people.  Don’t rush the fuckin’ (“Every Day” is on.)

So, I feel like pigpen.  Was pigpen a stoner?

This mall is being used.  I wish I had some say in how.  There’s a huge model railroad set-up going in.  I should do a video in here, huh.  Girl talk?  I can’t

Just started the video. I like the way you work it.

Bag it up.

I know this album too well.  I don’t usually do videos like this.  Did I ever tell you I wanted to do an “album series” filmed at places I like to dance?  No?  Well, I look like shit, and I can’t braid my own beard.  I’m so fucking helpless.  Hang on, I’m gonna dance to busta fo a bit.

If twitter is for people for multiple personalities, so is Girl Talk.  Mothafuckka, you’d be better off if you developed a few more personalities.  The ones you got now mostly suck.

I think the camera’s done recording, but I don’t want to check it.  heh.  34 seconds left.  Musta worked.  K. ViralizingBrb. (UD is blocked here as “tasteless”. Heh.)

It’s copying.  How you doin’?

You realize my relative immunity, right?  I know you do.  That’s why you m’ignore.  Uh oh.  Pooper’s gonna decide when we leave the mall.  I have yet to trust this town with all my stuff left out in the mall.  No, I’m afraid they’ll call the bomb squad about my backpack, even though everyone sees me carry it everywhere every fucking day.  Small towns offer a lot of protection from insanity that you wouldn’t quite think of, unless you weren’t interested in healing the contrapositive of that very insanity.  Fuckin’ meta.

Fuck.  This video’s gonna be tough.  I have to stretch every video because my camera changes the timing.  It really makes this whole process a lot more difficult than you would think it should be.  Whatever.  Leave me alone.

“…instinctively, like this….”

See ya at the library!

(3:52 pm.  Hey from the library. I got a New Yorker (and I would totally see “Fran Lebowitz in Public speaking, A Martin Scorsese Picture”).  I can smell my stank.  Yuck.

Holy crap Norah Jones is fucking gorgeous, even in a tiny black and white ad for a fascist-supporting corporation.  No, kid.  The US has no “right” to “exist” as a “state” either.  It’s just another name for slavery.  Who gives a flying fuck what they call it anyway.  You’re really just gonna kill off everyone what wants to grow their own food?  Bad marketing, man.  Capitalism was doomed from its inception.

This delta ad on p. 31 is pretty cool. Washing the blue oxford shirt off.  I like it. It’s the Nov. 22, 2010 issue, and no, that doesn’t mean I’d take a shower with any black guy I see.  The one in the ad, though, I’d probably take his call. Heh. Whatever, he must know a ton of hot girls.  Leave me alone.

One of my exes dated a blue-man grouper after me. Yuh huh.

K. It’s rendered and uploading (5 pm). I’m gonna post this and tweet.


So, I’ve been working on my website lately.  Some of you have noticed.  Ok, one of your has noticed.  That’s all I needed to know.  I’m even considering posting some old stuff just for missing a day or two.  Shit, when was my last post anyway?  Fuckin’ weekends.  Library closes early so I have to spend money to stay away from home during daylight hours.  I blame the meanies.  They’ve infected all of us, but we’re in control.  It’s a matter of networking.  Introduce them to the ones you think they’d get along with.  Then let them be.  You don’t have to give advice constantly about why and how and statistics and all that shit.  Once the connection has been made, let them be.

I have no fucking clue what I’m ranting about.  I’m just trying to meet people who are gonna let me be.  I’m sensitive, and most of the words that come out of your mouth are full of hate.  You change my name into what sounds like a whine, “ty” is not me.  One year of non-contact for every time you call me that.  Useful, eh?  Use at your own risk.  I dare you to test me.  I can see through hate that’s staring me right in the face, and the beauty of that external face doesn’t change the hate that’s behind it.  Let it out, baby girl.  All of it.  Pull it up by the roots.  Trace the lineage back to its beginnings and plant some healthy seeds.  There, I just gave you a time machine.  What the fuck have you done for me lately?

20 min left on this upload (and I wait), and I suspect that it will work.  Call it a hunch.

K. Uploaded. Let’s make some MAGIC!

See you on the twitters!

~ by LazyAssWasteoid on 2011-01-10 (Monday).

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