Saturday, 30th December 2000
12.30.00 to 12.24.00 (Really Old Rants!)
I am in Love with Ice-T. I just watched VH1’s Behind the Music about him and have decided that he is my new hero. I Love him I really do. The interesting thing I have never noticed before, is that The Major looks EXACTLY like him. I don’t understand why I never saw this before, but now I see so very clearly how they must be related somehow. I wonder if The Major is hiding things from me… Hmm, maybe they *are* related…
So the plan of action is that I am going to buy Ice-T’s book and also the books by his mentor, Iceburg Slim, so I can gain a greater understanding into the life and mind of the new Love of my Life.
Dear Ice-T, I Love You, I really do…
TankAndIce-TUpATree, Pimptastic PM
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Imagine this…
It is eternally late Spring. The weather is beautiful, hot but not too, the sky is a beautiful shade of blue with the occasional cloud. The Earth is awakening, everything feels ripe. Birds are flirting with each other and providing a musical landscape of which Marilyn Manson would do good to listen to. Flowers are unfurled, laughing at life and knowing they have many good times ahead. Pretty soon their twiddly bits are gonna be fiddled with by some obliging insect or other. Trees are getting rubbed up the right way by some loping animal. The river knows she is clean and pure and can’t wait to get her bobbly atom bits around some naked someone.
Amidst all this is purity is something even purer. The Ritualistic Orgiastic Fornicating Reverie of the Lovers of the Great Cunticus. The Great Cunticus just so happens to be wearing a blue tutu, a white basque, some purple kickass boots, have green wings, a halo and a magic wand. The Great Cunticus is laughing herself into the most peaceful frenzy she can invent.
There is a plethora of people in this Norwegian Field doing all kinds of things. Some people are knowing, (in the biblical sense), banana’s, each other, cucumbers, melons, peaches and cream. Some people are talking with their invisible friends. Some people are licking their own breastusis and some people think they are oranges. Somewhere a snake burps and a rock pool filled with Earl Grey tea is borne. A myriad of hormones, pheromones and imaginations are copulating to create the biggest Peace Bang since the EuroHeteroPatriarchy got his forceful fists upon this fair maiden Earth.
Everyone “looks cute together” and no-one cares about being alone because everyone married themself and so they are always alone and consequentially have time for someone else.
Fear sits in a corner under a willow tree playing solitaire and crying tears into the roots of the world. Fear exists only as a point of reference for the Ritualistic Orgiastic Fornicating Reverie of the Lovers of the Great Cunticus to know who they are not.
This Cunty Fresh place is a site of social anarchy. It really works too, because everyone is evolved enough to understand the Cuntness of Life.
Do you catch my drift..? That’s where I have been since that dude on Wednesday night asked me if my hair shaving is Ritualistic. I can’t thank him enough…
IfYouChangeYourMind
YouAreWelcomeToStepToMe,
I’mInLoveWithTheGreatCunticus PM
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Rob Paine is truly the shizwit. Last night was truly the shiznit… I feel the luckiest Cunty Fresh Wizwoman there is… Not only did I get to hear Mr Britt spin luvolee mizusic, but the ever gracious Mr. Paine blessed me with some CD’s of DJ Harvey. I am currently slacking off at me Okaysweatshop desk and faking like I am in a London club… Oh the joys of having the Geegy one out somewhere at a meeting…
Someone asked me if my head shaving was ritualistic which is absolutely fucking hilarious to me. When I think of the world ritualistic I see people rolling about in pools of blood in glens and glades sucking on the recently decapitated necks of lambs. Fornicating on lampshades with leaves and bananas and stone age versions of vibrators… Hmm, sounds like fun, I’m off to Norway…
IAmARitualisticHairMurderer, NeedFood PM
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I am feeling all cunty like a little girl as people are pissing in the trees of these here cyber pages. There’s nothing like hearing someone talk to you…
I am very excited because I bought myself an electric screwdriver today. I have always wanted one and now I have one for the bargain price of $19.97. Smashing, super, lovely I tell you. I really want to get to screwing things but I have to wait 12 hours until it is charged. So I am gonna wake up at 6am tomorrow morning and start screwing heating vents and blinds…
I have a confession to make too. I took the Cunt’s name in vain today. I am very, very sorry for using the word Cunt in a derogotory manner. Please forgive me, the patriarchy sometimes infiltrates even this Cuntabulous mind…
HappyKwanukahMassadan, CordonbleurghTonight PM
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I had this weird dream that I was was just outside of Paris and that we visited the memorial stone of Sophia Loren. It was like her grave or something. There was this huge stone and in it housed lots of her private and personal momento’s. I knew that it had been her desk in her lifetime and I knew all the special hidden compartments about it. I opened this secret drawer and in it was $185 and a noted saying she bequeathed it to The Roots. In the dream she had been dead for hundreds of years. Very bizarre because the Woman is still very much alive and I don’t see how I could possibly know all the secret compartments to her desk / tomb… Maybe this means The Roots are about to come accross some hidden, unsuspected old luck. I very much hope so…
Well, thanks everyone for participating in my philosophy moment. The results are in for Bananaman’s question and I think it reveals a lot about you sinners… I am also asking more. Crikey, will I ever be satiated in my quest for Very Important Things?
This is a very important general statement to the Universe: Whomever has Mostreen’s bag, please return it as she is losing her mind…
And you, yeah you, please go and sign my guest book and make me feel special. Thanking you most cordially in advance.
She’sMadITellYouMad, IWishIHadMoreThanJustBiscuits PM
Wednesday, 27th December 2000
DIY Tank
Today I have been DIY, (Do It Yourself), Tank. I have put up four blinds and painted the living room. I am even bleeding, which I feel to be a particularly important part of DIYing.
I now understand a lot more about the DIY Mannie phenomenon. To successfully perform DIY feats is to experience high levels of potency. When the DIY activity goes wrong, low levels of potency are experienced. If the DIY ting and ting fails, one feels impotent.
This, my dear sweet friends, is why DIY mannies scream, roar and curse when the activity goes wrong. They feel impotent. Less than men. Succesfull DIY activities is like having a hard on for hours and pleasing your Women and yourself. If you can’t bang the nails into the hole right, you can’t perform right in bed.
Think about it, you bang in nails, you screw things and top it all off you get hammered. It’s a man’s dream and if it goes wrong, he feels he has failed as a ‘real’ man…
Today I have experienced impotency and potency. Luckily for Mostreen I have ended the day on extreme levels of potency and only screamed and cursed a few times. Quite frankly, today I shot my load all over our lovely South Philly house…
I feel that perhaps I am the best kind of man there is, for when I couldn’t do something, I had no qualms in asking my Woman, (who for today was the very reluctant Mostreen), for help. I did not find her help to be a devaluing exprience to my manhood. Her ability to perform high levels of potency where I experienced agonising impotency did not detract from my experience as a provider, breadwinner and fixerupper of our abode.
Yes, today has been a very valuable psychological look into the world of DIY men. I now sympathise, and would even venture to say empathise, with their impotency and pray that every DIY man hits the nail on the head and it doesn’t break…
TheGoodWifeMadeCookiesToday, PeanutButterIsGross PM