plasticbag.org

Ridiculous quote of the day:

“Hello! You might be eligible to be featured in amiHOTorNOT’s newsletter of the hottest men and women! If you are interested in being featured, please do the following…”

Of course this might have something to do with my personal rating suddenly becoming 9.9 (after a considerable period at a respectable 5), which is so ridiculously improbable (unless there’s some HEAVY weighting going on behind the scenes) that I can only assume that they’ve buggered up their whole site to an absurd degree. Nevertheless, I now know the vague sense of embarrassment that people who really are godly in the sex appeal department must deal with every day…

All I can say is thank god for payday. Mwah. I love you money. Filthy (small) piles of lucre. Mmmmmmm.

In direct refutation of my standard taste in trashy guitar crap, I have decided that I am interested in getting the Dido album (this is the woman who is responsible for the opening credits music to Roswell and for the singy bit in Eminem’s Stan. So I think, “Well this is a bit of a departure – maybe I should check out epinions first.” So I go and find a review and I’m reading it, and it’s actually a pretty good review and then this amazingly huge, spiralling, mixed metaphor appears and I sit their gobsmacked – in awe of the twisted evil genius who could come up with:

“Looking up Dido in Roman mythology, one finds that she was the founder and queen of Carthage. There are several versions of her story but the most famous is the one from the Aeneid in which she falls in love with Aeneas. When he leaves her to continue his journey to Italy, Dido destroys herself on a burning pyre. Well, if that Dido is resurrected from the ashes in the form of this songbird, this is one phoenix whose voice soars on angel’s wings.”

The future used to be all about flying cars, food pills, humanoid robots and faster-than-light travel. Now, it seems, the future is fart-free sheep.

This is a call to arms. Let’s show the world that webloggers are the sexiest bunch of bitches on the planet. Get yourself a picture on amiHOTorNOT.com and then stick the link semi-permanently on your site. Mine’s over on the left. DO YA THINK I’M SEXY!?

I have kept meaning to link to the Mayfly Project over at notosoft.com, but keep getting distracted. The idea is a bloody good one – describe the last year of your life in twenty words. Unfortunately, everyone seems really grumpy about the last year of their lives. My particular entry was no different.

I’m in a bit of a mood at the moment, as one of the sexiest, dirtiest and most savage films that I have ever seen (Head on) has had its release on video delayed even further. This is particularly gutting as I have had a pretty shit couple of days and the thought of the film arriving had cheered me up at a couple of particularly unpleasant moments.

Does anyone remember this message from Text Message Theatre?

“Jen has such a hard life. I really feel for her. I so relate to her bruised sluttiness – jack is a fucking girl loser poof as well. Spit. Vomit. Barf. Ick.”

Well people out there have theories about our Ms Linley:

[In the final episode of the last series of Dawson’s Creek…] Jen wraps up with:

“….I’m pretty sure of it. We’re not in Capeside anymore, Toto. This is some alternate reality where our intellects are sharper, our quips are wittier, and our hearts are repeatedly broken while faintly in the background some soon-to-be-dated contemporary pop music plays.”

Told you Jen was the bright one. She’s twigged. She knows that she, and Dawson, and immaculate, emasculate gay boy Jack McPhee, are all fictional characters. Not just that, but they’re fictional characters designed for nothing other than to suffer. To split up, split off, pair up and tap out over and over and over again, to spend their entire, limited lives expressing their agony, describing a Bucky Ballet of failure. They fall in love, but they don’t really fall in love; they’re just setting up the next heartbreak, because that’s what hearts are for.

I’m bloody exhausted.

Weblogs are navel-gazing bollocks produced by self-important/obsessed neurotics with too much time on their hands. Discuss