Potluck

My Mexican Folklore class is having a potluck on Wednesday. I’m thinking cochinita pibil, or some sort of mole — perhaps one of the seven from Oaxaca. You know you want my meat.

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Oh, are you?

“I’m six kinds of trouble,” she said. I raised an eyebrow.

“I’m in the middle of a bad breakup,” she continued. Internally I guffawed. I laughed until I wept and then slept it off, all within a single beat of the dance music.

“Just give me your fucking number so I can never call you!” I shouted. Enough with the fucking around. Let’s get down to it! The world, with its tap dancing incestuous band lineups who are ex girlfriends of bass players of bands on whose singers I have crushes, just will not grow past my own udder.

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At This Rate We’ll Be Here All Night

It could take a WEEK to transfer 30g+ of gallery images to the new server.

A WEEK.

Oh man.

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Everything Wrong Ever

This was a conversation that someone and I had a while ago.

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Reborn!

Wow. I don’t know what I will do with my livejournal now.

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A gato viejo, ratón tierno

Man Man played the Seventh Street Entry the other night. I haven’t been to a show where I have screamed so much since the 2005 Pizza Luce Block Party. I lost my voice screaming for Har Mar to take off his pants. I’m not proud of that, but — okay, yes I am.

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Frequently Asked Questions

Q: Why do you hate the Doodlebops so much?
A: I don’t hate them at all.

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Mushta Krackeesh

Dethklok has written my THEMESONG.

Everything will be METAL.

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German Moonshine

I went to Vegas for a Gallery thing. Jens from Germany was there, and he supplied some German moonshine, pictured in my hands here:
P1010321

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Gran Turismo Crack

So Cake Woman bought me a PS2 for my birthday, and the Keathlys bought me Gran Turismo 4 to go with it. It took me a few days to get in to it, but last night when I saw that the next to the last stage of the International A License was the famed Nordschleife of the Nürburgring. I went to bed last night all atwitter after running through 3 minutes of the track. I understand that the average reader of my blog doesn’t care about the crisp graphics, the exacting physics, the graffiti on the 170 turns in the racetrack, but holy crap I did.

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