Fumar Con El Diablo En El Inferno!!!

Hey Philmorgan3202! Yeah, YOU mother fucker! Don't you dare post a comment to this blog again, you bastard! ESPECIALLY about the evil timber sons a bitches!!! Heed this warning or I'll find you, come to where you live, and boil your fucking children!!!

There Isn't a Chance in Hell That I'll Take Another Quiz

..well...actually that's not true...I've still got 15 minutes to kill.


Cocktail


?? Which Alcoholic Drink Are You ??
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Why the Hell Not?

Doing my solemn duty as a die-hard and hopelessly obsessed My Chemical Romance fan, I have gone here and voted for them. You should too, by the way. MCR sent me a little banner with this link, but I've no idea how to make it work...I'm not a very good geek, you know.

Heavy Eyelids Losing Longitiute

You are an
assassin.
That means you are a proffessional and do your
job without mixing any emotions in it. In your
life you have probably been hurt many times and
have gotten some mental scars. This results in
you being distant from people. Though many
think that you are evil, you are not. What you
really are is a person, trying to forget your
pain and past. You are the person who never
seems to care and that is why being an assassin
fits you good. Atleast, that's what people
think. Even if you don't care that much for
your victims, you still have the ability to
care and to generally feel. It is not lost,
just a little forgotten. In crowds you tend to
not get to noticed, and dress in black or other
discrete colours. You don't being in the
spotlight and wish people would just leave you
alone. But once you do get close to someone you
have a hard time letting go and get real down
if you loose him/her.

Main weapon: Sniper
Quote: "The walls we build around
us to keep out the sadness also keep out the
joy" -Jim Rohn
Facial expression: Narrowed eyes

What Type of Killer Are You? [cool pictures]
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That's a Hell of a Lot More Like It!

80% Vegetarian (probably Vegan)


You're very dedicated to your cause. You could work
for PETA if you wanted to. You love animals,
and look forward to a peaceful future where
nothing has to die needlessly. You've done the
research, and can quote statistics at the drop
of a hat. You probably carry slaughterhouse
photos in your plastic or nylon wallet. Good
job, it wasn't easy to come this far, but
you're living proof that it can be done.


How Vegetarian Are You?
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Why In Hell Do I Keep Taking These Quizzes?

You are Kip Dynamite and you love technology.


Which Napoleon Dynamite character are you?
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That's One Hell of a Tune

My most recent obsession is undoubtably music. While I've always had eclectic taste and open ears, lately my taste for tunes has been "kicked up a notch". I think it started when I won tickets to New Orleans on the radio. Falling for Gerard had something to do with it too.

A couple of weeks ago, I went to see MCR (among others) on the Warped Tour. It was hell trying to get someone to absorb my extra ticket. I should just start buying them in singles, since finding a partner is like pulling teeth. You'd think that people would jump on a free concert ticket, but no. I did find someone, however, to accompany me to the Warped Tour. We saw Fallout Boy, Offspring, Billy Idol, Atreyu, and a band named "Thrice". I took a disposable camera with me, hoping to catch Gerard on film, but alas. I ended up with a picture of Billy Idol's shoulder and a couple of grainy shots of the stage lighting. Damn, damn and double damn! My hopes of throwing myself at Gerard were dashed as well, as the only entry to the tour bus parking was guarded.

When we went to see Fallout Boy, the crowd was crazy. I was kicked in the head by crowd surfers, almost lost my sandals (next time, I wear steel-toed boots!) and pummelled by empty water bottles. The bruises still haven't healed. So, my instinctive desire not to be crushed to death kicked in and I fought my way back to air. At that moment, I vowed that however nasty the crowd for MCR would be, I would stick it through to the end. Well, I made sure to shove my way close to the stage during the two preceeding acts. I was about 10 feet from stage when Gerard jumped on. The moment I spied him, chills surfed through my body. Here I was, just 10 feet from the man of my dreams! After the second song, the crowd went berzerk again. I tried to tough it out. People were crashing into me from the left and from the right. My toenails were torn off. People passed above and occasionally landed on top of me.

Well, I'm not a big girl. I weigh about 120 pounds. I couldn't even see the band anymore and the panic inside me was rising. So, I fought my way out again, stopping to help up an unfortunate girl who was almost trampled. Visions of European soccer games flashed in my mind and as I exited the throng, a tear came to my eye and a lump grew in my throat. Not because I was almost squished, not because it was at least a 100 degrees outside, and not because my toes were bleeding. It was because my heart was aching. My favorite MCR song swelled in the distance and Gerard shouted to the girls, "hey ladies - are these pants too tight?"

For the next couple of days, my emotions were raw. Every song that played on the radio seemed to sink right in and go straight to my heart. Good lord, there has to be some way to live in that atmosphere of rock and sweat. There has to be some way for me to be part of the music.

No Wonder I Feel Like Hell

Doctor Unheimlich has diagnosed me with Neko nioritis
Cause:	genetic mutation
Symptoms:	occasional horn growth on forehead, chi imbalance, hairy legs, extra legs
Cure:	wake up and realise it was all just a dream
Enter your name, for your own diagnosis:

Smoke This in Hell

That's it!
I quit!
Smoking, that is.
I decided on Tuesday morning that I would attempt to quit smoking yet again. This time my chosen method is "cold turkey". I tried the patch thing at the beginning of the year, but it made me swell up!

The sudden decision to cease the habit was born of two factors. Primarily, I was broke. It was either gas to get to work for the rest of the week or 1 pack of Camels. As it was, I barely made it to work today. Another contributing factor was that I was starting to feel sick. I realized how unhealthy I am, despite being vegetarian. I can't run very far, I drink excessively and smoke. So, I figured that I will work on one vice at a time.

Cold Turkey is going to be difficult, especially with everyone in my family smoking. I have learned how to lessen the maddening craving through various breathing exercises and yoga muscle control. Talking about it is making me jonze.

A Hell of a Lot Sooner

Well, speaking of nude photography, guess who just got herself a photographer! I met with someone on a professional level who wants to pay me for modelling. I also plan to apply here and, if things work out, I will have a regular photographer and a regular gig. We'll see what "develops". At the very least, I should be able to fund my next tattoo.

Hell if I Know

Now that I'm home with a cold brew and a fresh pack of smokes, I shall continue my thoughts from the previous post. Let me preface by offering the following disclaimer. I am not a man hater. Sure, there are plenty and plenty of dirtbags out there, worthy of stereotyping and swift kicks to the groin. But, I happen to know a couple of genuinely great guys who are not necessarily the scum that their gender typifies. With that said...

I've had it up to here with "the dating game". Tired of shallow "hook-ups". Sick of trolling at bars. Fed up with giving out my phone number to no avail. For the time being, I quit. It's dildos and porn from here on out.

For starters, the whole thing with Van was basically out of pity and desperation. He wasn't what I would normally think of as "hot". The primary reasons that I gave him play in the first place was that, A: I was flattered that someone showed interest. B: He was recommended by my crush. He was fun to hang out with, and semi-decent in bed. (Although his porn collection would have put Mother Teresa to sleep.) When it became apparent that he had a "side project", I realized that I never had much interest anyway. I thought the man had nowhere else to go.

I've always been the kind of girl to go after something once I've decided that I want it. I just close my eyes and barrell through. I've also always been the kind of girl to shun the demure behaviour that women traditionally are taught to ascribe to. (Is that even a word?) I have no problem at all with making the first move on a man and maybe that's my problem.

The day before I left on vacation, I met a guy working at the book store. He and I had flirted once before and by the second visit, I was sure I had a good candidate. So, I asked him out to dinner. He was working late that night and unable to accept. On top of that, by the time I arrived home, he had moved to England. While in New Orleans, I got a call from him, advising me that my order had come in. When I asked him if that was the sole reason for his call, he flattered me with compliments and I swooned. We've been corresponding via email, but I'm not getting anywhere.

Nothing makes you feel like hot shit more than a trip to New Orleans. Everyone's on vacation, everyone's drunk and everyone's lookin' to score. I had a movie producer and a rock star in the same night. All hail the lust goddess Neko! Did I mention I had a great time? Upon returning to my home town, I thought I could stretch my luck. Ha ha.

Last Saturday night drove home, more than anything, what a sick game the bar scene is. The whole scenario was pathetic and depressing. The four of us arrive in a group and huddle together while casting glances around the room. I'm turned down flat by one mildly attractive jerk, hit on by a fellow who was so wasted, he couldn't remember me five paces later and end up with a guy that, of course, never called me the next day. And it wasn't that this guy was the man of my dreams. He was just what was settled for that night. It's just not right.

Another example of my over-eager drive to succeed. There's a really, really hot guy that works at the porn store. Perhaps I've mentioned him before. He acted like he might have been genuinely interested. He looks like my favorite male porn star - Rob Rotten. So, the last time I was in, I pronounced, "I'd really like to go out with you some time. Here's my new cell." No call. Did I read the signals wrong? Did I jump the gun? Does he have a girlfriend? Was I too direct? What in the Hell is up? He doesn't seem like the kind of guy to be scared off.

Well, that's it. Any guy who wants my digits is going to have to have the balls to man up and ask. I'm tired of waiting by the phone. I was talking to my cousin last night, whom I love in every sense of the word (Have you ever seen The Royal Tanabaums?) and he said, "We're just props, dear." My brother thinks it's funny - me hovering by the phone and wondering why it doesn't ring.

The problem is, I'm not the most social person in the world. How will I ever find some entertainment? Sure, a dildo will give you an orgasm and porn will bring the urge, but a fake dick won't kiss you, spank you, pull your hair, or give off the male phermones that I love so much. So what's next? Social clubs? Personal ads?

Maybe I'll just go into porn. I've been looking for a new career...

Go To Hell

Everyone seems to want to piss me off lately. It's as if my list of associates has been gnawed on by a crack addicted beaver and there are very few people I'm still willing to speak with at this point.

"Van" is history. He took me out to see Land of the Dead weekend before last. When he called, I was eager to go because I'd just gotten back from New Orleans and was bored as Hell. Not only did he not tell me that he was bringing a friend, but the friend he chose to bring was someone that everyone knows I've had a crush on for about half my life! After the movie, the three of us went to a bar. The band sucked, the crowd sucked and the conversation was like a dead crack addicted beaver. The only good point was that I heard some great jokes from the bartender. I love jokes, especially dirty ones. Anyway, all Van talked about was how many cocktail waitresses he's gone out with and showed me a bite mark on his inner arm! He first said that he'd gotten the mark from another girl, and later changed his story....twice! Well, he can fuck off.

Next on my shit list is Bugs (who will heretofore be referred to as "the step"). This past Saturday night, I went out with her, her roommate, and another friend of theirs. It was like a weak-ass version of Sex in the City. Well, the step's roommate and friend (whom I'd never met prior) are both incredibly stuck up. We went to one bar and stood around like sheep. The three of them dressed identically, while I stuck out like a crack addicted beaver at a tuna convention. Not my kind of bar, not my kind of crowd. After last call, our group headed back to the step's posh new digs. On the way, I heard a guy say, "nice pants" to me and I responded with, "you wanna take them off me?" Consequently, each girl in the group now had a male escort back to the apartment.

The step always tells people that she is studying to be a lawyer. To my knowledge, she is actually studying to be a travel agent. Her roommate is apparently studying to be an anesthesiologist. So, the conversation was all about politics. One girl just sat in the corner and said nothing to anyone. One of the guys passed out on roommates bed. After he was kicked out, he left the apartment, and as far as I know, was picked up by the cops, because he was never found.

Let me get to the point of this little story. In the step's brand new, posh, downtown luxury apartment there exists one piece of furniture. This piece of furniture is a brand new beige couch, which I'm told cost in excess of $900. Roommate went on and on about how I was not to cause any damage to her precious couch. I assured both her and the step that they had my word no harm would come to the sole inhabitor of their living room. That should have been enough.

One of the fellows (not the one with the pants comment) and I were doing a little making out on said couch, but I had in mind that before anything messy went on, I would move us to the floor. Well, the roommate absolutely flipped out! I mean, really went gonzo. So, the step starts bitching me out! At one point, I said, "Yes mom." to her, as an attempt to hint that she was crossing the line. She responded, "Yes mom, nothing. This is my house!"

I've made up my mind not to speak to her again until the scabs on my elbows (where the skin rubbed off on her hardwood floor) heal. #1: Unless you can site specific examples of past indiscretion, my word should always be good enough. #2: I was incredibly humiliated and embarassed. #3: Never, ever pull rank with me!! Ever!!

So, the step can kiss my ass too. And her friends will never again have the pleasure of my company.

Let's see, who else pissed me off? Did I mention that my father took all my stuff, crammed it into plastic grocery bags and dumped it in the basement? That's another post unto itself.

Jihad (oh, um..Hell!)

My Unitarian Jihad Name is: Sister Claymore of Patience.

Get yours.

Hell and the 7 Joys

In response to a recent post by shenry, I thought I'd offer up a list of 7 simple pleasures in life that I, personally, enjoy. (in no particular order)

1. Eating Cheetos cheese off of my fingers.
2. Going out for Dim Sum or Sushi.
3. Crushing on rock stars.
4. Imagining suitable fates for people who piss me off.
5. Showers.
6. Opening envelopes with a letter knife.
7. Trying to guess foreign languages I overhear.

For those who have seen Amelie, I love the parts in that movie where the narrator lists each characters likes and dislikes. I like to bury my hands in buckets of dried beans too, just like Amelie

Hell-o Kitty

My cat is a bad one. When I first moved back in with Dad, after I got married, my cat didn't seem to have any trouble with the neighbors. Then I got an apartment, got attacked, and moved back in with Dad. Now, he is contantly fighting with the cross-eyed kitty next door. My dad discovered that the yard next door has a catnip bush, so we think that he's getting into trouble over the stash. Here's the dialogue as I imagine it.

Jiji (my kitty): Awwww yeah! This is the shiznit!

Elmo (next door kitty): Yo, G! Why you always up in here? Get-cho broke ass back over that fence before I got's ta pop your black ass! (yes, my kitty is black)

Jiji: What! What! You got a grip a this shit. Why you gots ta be all stingy an shit? Man, I'll take what I want and your cross-eyed ass ain't gonna do shit!

Elmo: Bitch! Just cuz yo mama was a chow dog don't mean you can chow on my shit, man. I'll snatch you up and put you over my knee, son!

Jiji: I hear you talkin' but I don't see ya walkin'.

Elmo: That's it, punk!

Then the two cats proceed to chase each other around the neighborhood, leaving unsightly clumps of fur everywhere.

The whole point of this post being that I had to take my cat to the vet last night, because Elmo bit a hole through his ear. Like most pets, I imagine, my cat doesn't appreciate my efforts to look after his welfare or the fact that I'm going to get reamed on the bill. He was so unruley, the doctor had to call in an orderly to help keep him still so he could have his ear cleaned.

Now, I've got this liquid antibiotic crap that I'm supposed to administer through a syringe twice daily. Ha! I tried in vain this morning and just about got shreded alive. As you all know, I'm not in the best of moods at any time that ends with "AM". As I'm trying to chase Jiji down for the third time, my dad pipes up with his little words of advice. "You just have to grab him and shove it in his mouth." No shit, Dad. Really? I told him that if he was such a freakin' genius, he could give it a go!

Long story short, kitty didn't get his meds this morning and I was late for work. We'll try again tonight.

Hell - O Potato

Hot one, commin' through!

http://www.passthepotato.com/potato-2.php?potatoid=050627134706-956297

Hell Hath No Chicken

When you think of hell, you might think of evil. When you think of evil, you may think of chickens. Well, here ya go....

http://www.savagechickens.com

Pay particular attention to the segment on evil. EVIL I SAY!!!!
(if this link doesn't work, I'm gonna look like a complete retard.)

Party Like Hell

There's only one thing wrong with winning an all-expense paid trip to New Orleans and having the most incredible, fantastic, unbelieveable time of your life. That problem is, when you get home, you realize what a smoldering, reeking, pile of shit your life really is and don't particularly want to live it anymore.

Hell's House of Reptiles

Ever drink Sobe? Flavors I once found refreshing, recently make me nauseas. The one flavor I currently still enjoy is Cranberry pomegranate. So, the other day, I pop open my customary bottle and flip the lid to see what quip the Sobe company has in store for me. Under the filmy plastic seal, the words, "Bathe the Stiffmeister" are emblazoned.

Bathe the Stiffmeister? I'm not a hundred percent certain of what "the Stiffmeister" is, but I have a pretty damn good idea. If I had a stiffmeister, I would hope that no reminder to bathe it would be necessary, especially from the lid of a juice bottle. In fact, I'd probably be spending a great deal of my time "bathing the stiffmeister".

Another word for "stiffmeister" might be "lizard". Is it a coincidence that a lizard happens to be the mascot of Sobe? Does the lizard need to wash his "stiffmeister"? If the Sobe lizard is the creature responsible for these liquid refreshments, he had better damn well wash something.

Then there's the fact that the juice bottle itself is gently reminiscent of what a "stiffmeister" might be shaped like. If I'm going to wrap my lips around and drink from the stiffmeister, it should be a clean stiffmeister. It sure tastes good for stiffmeister juice. Hmm.

What exactly is Sobe trying to suggest? Is this something appropriate? Should I be bathing my stiffmeister, or someone else's? And why does the lizard think that the stiffmeister needs it in the first place?

Hell Bear

This is my bear. I rock, but I don't really care.


Nihilist Bear


Which Dysfunctional Care Bear Are You?
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