plasticbag.org

Lack of imagination or taken down? Went to see Antitrust (more on this later – nyah ha ha ha ha) and in it is a company called skullbocks. They are often mentioned as having their own website, skullbocks.com, but when you try to visit the URL there’s nothing there.

We start today on a sombre note. Childhood hero to many and author of the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams, has died of a heart-attack aged 49. Discuss this horrible turn of events at Metafilter.

Oh the shame. Oh the embarrassment. To have my sordid lifestyle captured by camera. And I thought I’d managed to cover it up. But no, my dread secret is finally out. And what will Katy do, I wonder? How will she tell her boyfriend? Oh the shame. And the most terrible thing of all is that we were looking at naked pictures of Corny himself on her digicam at the time. [What the hell is he talking about? (click) GAH I’M BLIND!”]

Suddenly convinced that my flatmates are furious with me, I hide in my room all evening making grumpy faces and feeling weird. I emerge and while lingering at the sitting room door watch my flatmate giggle at Eurotrash. Offhand I ask, “can I just check whether you’re angry at me or not”. At which point she stares at me like I’ve just fallen from the sky in a duck costume and slowly says, “No, but I am mildly perturbed by you…” I leave the room.

Here’s a new game for you: The Interpretation of webcams through body language. The insight I have into mood here is astonishing.

Barbelith: In which Tom lets rip with his feelings on Oxford and Cambridge elitism in a very very long and ultimately unfulfilling post that doesn’t live up to its initial promise and needs fundamental rewriting: “On sabbatical from Oxbridge Academy, London“

All this stuff is a hell of a lot more complicated than you’d think. Does God play dice with the universe? No, but he made such an absurdly ridiculous place to live in that it’s impossible to tell the difference.

Text messages don’t really seem to be weighty enough to end a friendship. But what else can I do? It seems any other level of contact would be unwanted. It’s kind of gutting, the way these things play out – the way you know you’d have done things differently if you knew then what you know now. I suppose the next stage is to excise any presence from my life. Delete the phone numbers stored in the phone, delete the e-mail addresses stored on the computer. Close the door. Cut the cord.

David Bowie belts out the Velvet Underground‘s White Light/White Heat and at some deep spiritual part within me, I feel satisfied. White Light Make Me Feel Like … Lou Reed

In honour of brow-beating Matt into agreeing to come around and look at my computer, I hereby declare this to be Oz Prison Bitch Name Generator Day, and give my thanks not only to Wish Bone, but also to my other friends, Aryan Fuck Toy, Ass Executioner and Cock Gobler. And a special yo! to our main man, Juicy Ass!