A Cloud of Hell

Shenry had a good idea (dur). Or maybe it was Snapshirts. I almost feel bad for not paying for this.

Can't Get Enough of Hell

How do you define addiction? Is it a physical dependence on narcotics? Is it detrimental habitual behavior? Or, is addiction the inability to stop yourself from doing anything in excess to the point that it becomes bad for you, drugs or exercise or sky diving or World of Warcraft?

One of my favorite quotes (and I don't know who said it) is "We are the sum of our vices." Another one of my favorite quotes is, "Some people treat their bodies like a temple. I treat mine like an amusement park." However, that last one is a little beside the point.

I have been addicted to several substances in my lifetime. Most of them were short-lived, thankfully. Nicotine has been the hardest to kick. Seriously, I've done Cocaine and Heroin, and they don't hold a freakin' candle to nicotine. They will deteriorate your body and your mind much faster, but I kicked them both in the ass without going into a program. There's the likelihood that I'm a bit of an alcoholic as well. Maybe I'm in denial, but I don't see a problem with it. I just need to watch it. If it starts interfering with my job, then I need to stop.

Something I never thought I'd be addicted to is shopping. Not clothes shopping and not shopping like those crazy Black Friday people. I just can't quit spending money. It's really having a bad effect on my life and I need to get it under control. But, I don't know how to stop. I hate it! There's got to be some type of support group or advisor or something that can help me out. So, this is my cry for help, people.

Something Good Comes Out of Hell

I did a good deed on my lunch hour today. There's a place called Overland that's just down the mall from here. They prominently display fur coats and fur lined coats in their shop windows. So, I took the cards I got from the Human Society:



And lined all 50 of them up against the windows of their shop. Nobody stopped me and nobody commented. I left one on the train this morning too. Maybe someone will see them and think twice about supporting that store. I had also ordered door hangers from the same site and I'll go around this weekend and put them on the houses in my neighborhood. Don't worry, they're inoffensive.

Fur Wearing Bitch From Hell

Ooohhh! You'll never guess what happened yesterday. I was on the train, headed home after work. I'm sitting there, listening to my iPod, trying to rememeber which station I parked my car at, when guess what sits down right next to me. It was a woman in a full-length mink coat! I'm the very last person on the train to sit down next to if you're wearing fur, especially so much of it. My eyes bulged, my nostrils flared and my lips pressed themselves into a thin line of disgust. I didn't truly start fuming until I'd examined the coat to make sure it was real. Then, I stared at the woman, with the dirtiest look I could muster.

However, I couldn't bring myself to say anything. If it were just the two of us on that train, maybe it would have been different. But, it was crowded with people standing in the isles. I really dislike drawing attention to myself. I hate public embarassment. So, as angry as I was at this woman, I didn't open my mouth. But, I was upset with myself for not saying anything. "How could I," I wondered, "claim to be so anti-fur if I can't even speak up for this thing I believe in?" I started to hate myself for being such a chicken. So, I followed this woman off the train.

I walked up beside her, in the dark, and I told her that, if she had children, I hoped that they would die the same way that the animals used to make her coat did. She was visibly shocked. She didn't respond. I left. I hope that saying something to her will make her think twice about her choice of cruel fashion. I'm glad that I got over my fear and spoke out. But, I don't really feel any sense of relief or satisfaction from it. It's true that I hate fur and I really think it is a horrible crime to wear it, buy it, make it, etc. I honestly believe that it is wrong and I want to do what I can to stop it from happening. But, I didn't feel that yelling at this woman satisfied whatever I thought it was supposed to satisfy within me.

Maybe it takes practice. What I need is an anti-fur guru, who can guide me along the ways of the adamant.

How Do I Know That Hell Is Real?

Over the weekend, Shenry posed a very good question. He asked, "How can you tell real fur from faux?" Well, Shen, here's a link that should answer some questions for you:

Filly

How Many Licks Does It Take To Get To The Center of Hell?

Try out this new link! It's cuter than f**x, and just plain wrong at times.

Hell-a Cute

This little guy is a mink. Kinda looks like a ferret, donit? Well, it takes about 65 of them to make a coat. 65 adorable little lives, just to make a hedious jacket for some stuck-up bitch to prance around in. I think you know where I'm headed with this.

A Hell of A Thing

This is a Chinchilla. Cute, huh? I think he's friggin' adorable. People like to make coats out of these creatures. Sick bastards. Do you know how many of these furry little lives it takes to make ONE coat?! Oh, only about a hundred. So, if you like to wear fur, or you like to torture and slaughter these little guys, just to make a buck off of some vein socialite, I hope your innards boil. I hate you and if I see you, I will make my hatred apparent.

In case you can't tell, I'm on an anti-fur rampage. With the weather being cold and all, I see more and more people wearing fur coats and fur-trim. Fur trim is still fur people! I hate them and I want to hurt them and scream at them and ask them what gives them the right. I keep plenty warm without having some poor fuzzy things' blood on my hands. How can people be so callous and cruel and idiotic? For too long, the anti-fur campaign has tried to play to people and their heartstrings. But, it doesn't seem to be working. Not saying it should stop. No, keep going with that route, but we need something stronger to make people end the madness.

Skinned In Hell

If you're out there,
and you're wearing a fur coat.
I hope you fucking die, bitch!

Old As Hell

I know I haven't been around for a bit. Well, actually only about a week. I've been busy catching up with things at work that hadn't gotten done due to the weather. I've got a side project that's taking up my time at nights as well. And, well, you know what they say, "If you can't say something nice..."

However, this is my blog and I do like to complain. Apparently, some people are interested in reading my rants, so I thought I'd pop in for a little-bitty bitchfest. Today's topic is: old people.

I am sick and tired of old people using their age as an excuse to be rude. Apparently, wisdom does not always come with age. My grandmother's got to be, what...80-something? She's not a bitch at all. In fact, she totally rocks and she's the nicest lady ever (without being irritating). She might say, "I'm too far along to put up with ___," but she's not crotchety and cranky in her oldness. Following are two cases of the old-n-crankies I have come across in the recent past.

There's a woman who works here who seems to think that it's okay to be a cranky bitch. I've heard people describe her as that cartoon...whats-it-called...the one about the cranky old lady? Well, it's irritating anyway. I think the cartoon is amusing to an extent, but when people compare the real life woman to the cartoon version, it's almost as if they're giving her an excuse to act the way she does. Yesterday, I was at the copy machine, making copies (duh) of something that needed to be duplicated exactly the way it was. That means staples, clips, sticky notes, tags, all need to be replaced in exactly the same place on the original and duplicated exactly on the copy. So, it's delicate work. Along comes Hag-woman to wait her turn to run photocopies. She's sitting there, trying to carry on a conversation with me, when I say, "I might be a while, I have to sort and staple everything in this stack." She gets up from the chair by the machine, reluctantly and slowly, and she mumbles as she walks off, "You should have done that at your desk." Maybe she's cranky because for someone who's been around for so long, she doesn't have a better position than I do. She's just an admin like myself. Therefore, she's got no authority over me - as if authority would be an excuse to mouth off to me anyway. Secondly, she has no idea what I'm doing or copying or how delicate and precise I need to be with everything. If I'd have prepared this at my desk, I never would have remembered where all of the tags and stickies were. It just pisses me off that she thinks she can get away with being a cunt just because she's old and she imagines that people will excuse her because of it. Not me though.

This morning, I encountered another stupid old woman who thought that it was okay to be rude to me. I was downstairs in the cafeteria, purchasing a bottle of Mountain Dew in hopes of waking myself up. An old lady I hadn't seen there before rang up my drink at the register.

"$1.19" she tells me. So, I dig a dollar twenty out of my pocket.
"Can I have 10 more cents please?" says the woman in a snotty, sarcastic tone.
"Oh, I thought you said one nineteen" I shot back, nearly as snotty and sarcastic.
"Well, it's $1.29 with tax."

Since when do you give someone the total for something pre-tax?! How retarded is that? And then to act like I'm the one being stupid. Sheesh!

Yeah...so old people can just go ahead and drop off already (for the most part). They certainly shouldn't be allowed to drive..but that's another rant.

What the Hell Happened?

I just returned from picking up my lunch and I'm all bitchy. So, if you want to know about my New Year's, you're going to have to wait until I've finished with the following round of bullshit.

Dear Idiots With Cameras,

I understand that maybe you're from out of town. I understand that you'd like to take home a picture of the new art museum. However, I don't think you understand that there are several feet of snow on the ground, and I don't think you really understand the best place to stand while focusing your lens. So, let me enlighten you, you peabrained gawking fucktard. I feel it safe to assume that you come from a place that is no stranger to sidewalks and foot traffic, considering that the camera you're holding is probably worth several hundreds of dollars. While trying to snap a photo of the awesome architecture so often derided by native Denver-ites, the ideal place to stand is NOT, I repeat, NOT in the exact center of the narrow footpath that leads through the mounds of dirty ice up to the crosswalk. And the time, my cerebrally bankrupt friend, is NOT, I repeat, NOT when the little glowing dude on the electric sign lights up. You see, the only place, unless your fellow pedestrians want to walk a block out of their way, to cross the street is right, exactly, WHERE YOU'RE FUCKING STANDING ASSHOLE!!

And right over here, it looks like you've got some buddies. They seem to think that it's a good idea to stare vacantly at the huge stone "sculptures" in front of the museum entrance. Of course, the large artificial rocks were meant to be stared at. However, in the middle of the intersection of footpaths is really NOT THE IDEAL FUCKING PLACE!!!

Therefore, in retaliation for your incredible lack of tact and consideration, I call upon the cursed blood of my Gypsy ancestors and I call upon the goddess Nemesis of my Greek foremothers to reign the following retribution down upon you:

May you suddenly find yourself standing in the African wilderness, between a freshly slain wildabeast and a pack of ravenous hyena. And after your entrails have been released from your midsection, and you lay there, still concious, while the beasts chew on your intestines, may a herd of elephants trample your lower half. And while you remain, still somehow acutely aware of your pain, may a colony of army ants chew their way through your face before you lose consiousness.

Yours Always,

Neko