Monday, December 14, 2009

Dining On Ashes -14/12/2009

(Another status update gone awry, enjoy... )

"Dining on Ashes" ... been cooking for yourself?

...No, just surreptitiously making fun of all the bozos who (for reasons that escape me -completely) want to tell the world what they are eating right now, but since prodded I might as well just say: I DON'T FUCKING CARE WHAT YOU ARE COOKING FOR DINNER YOU FACILE ANT get a life! Get off the computer, or tell me something cool that happened today. grrr roar rawr spit hiss argh!

..And don't give me that"' ne-ne-ne -you're on the computer too..." shit -because no, I'm here working right now, or otherwise stuck at work or even if I wasn't... ah fuckit Lilliputians all!

So yeah, I'm fucking dining on fucking ashes and I need more fucking panadol and my hands still smell like chain lubricant and it won't come off and I also beat one of my rings back into shape today and I used two sets of pliers to do it I bent one of the little Sanskrit letters, or is it Nepalese, and who could tell me anyway but then I fixed it and I watched a few episodes of animated Star Trek and I really like it and who fucking cares anyway and if you really want to know I'm going home to cook pasta on my little camping stove and I'm going to listen to the Rolling Stones really really loud and sing along to them really really badly and I really need more panadol and I can't take aspirin cause it's fucks my haemoglobin coagulant factor VIII and XI levels right-up and its the type that looks like shells I forget what the name is I'm going to make a sauce out of tomatoes, olives a few mushrooms I have left and that last onion I have that feel behind the cupboard the other day, but it's till there and still good and I hope I have made my point and this should be read as if I'm shouting it at you like some deranged George C Scott from the Hustler crossed with Bill Hicks and not needing to take a breath and I hate this banal facile homogeneous little kingdom we've built because the most powerful tools of any human civilization ever used by the richest most well educated and and privileged members of our species sit in front of boxes telling each other about buying a new kettle or spinach leaves and balsamic or hangovers and that is not enough and don't tell me its okay you were meant for more than that and this is an inexcusable intellectual and physical and metaphysical sloth and don't tell me to calm down and chill out this is not a sitcom or a soapbox because I hope you've stopped laughing by now and that's why I live by myself don't tell you my real name don't cut my hair don't shower and love telling people that and watching their appalled reactions and I sit here smelly and belligerent as just about anyone who you would never ever want to meet always glaring imagining this evil look is being shot over at the judge and I'm permanently in contempt of this court and only smile when I get to tell you and I love so much to tell you that I am a free man and therefore... I DO NOT FUCKING CARE WHAT YOU EAT FOR DINNER, or had, or are going to, unless it was something cool like babies on spikes with a side of salad. And guess what while I've been ranting my podcasts have finished uploading and I am going back to my cave.

If you ever come to my front door I'll shoot you. I mean it.

...enjoy your food.




Deadly Longlegs said...

I would love to see you perform this, but only taking breaths where there's punctuation...

Randall Stephens said...

I -almost- have the lungs for it, yeah I'll give it a try.