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George [02 Oct 2009|07:51am]
November 30th, 1994

George & Maude

lazy old dog


October 1st, 2009

memo to cynophobes: [26 Aug 2009|11:17am]
here's an equitable proposal: why don't you fuckers just never leave your homes in the first place? that way, everyone will be happy-- you won't be at risk of running into any dogs, and the rest of us won't have to endure the spectacle of your spastic knickertwisting in public.

or better yet: just go ahead and euthanise yourselves already. fucking freaks
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[16 Jul 2009|02:39pm]


i) is a developed, huge monster simply easier to handle and sustain in a trouserial environment than an underdeveloped, huge monster? are we being advised to subject all monsters to cranial scans and hip score tests at weaning, in order to avoid getting any adult monsters with congenital growth disorders into our pants in the first place?

ii) or is it, rather, that only a developed huge monster will enable you to catch a real goldfish? perhaps the undeveloped ones are only good for catching those wretched fake goldfish (which, as we all know, are just everywhere these days)?

iii) and let's get to the real point, here-- how can i catch a real goldfish with my developed huge monster?? i feel this is the single most significant informational oversight here, and it's frankly irresponsible-- a less canny reader than myself might, by this point, have gone to considerable expense and trouble to install a developed huge monster in their pants, only to arrive, now, at the stark realisation that they have no idea how to catch a goldfish with it.

i mean, i assume that in order to catch the goldfish, the monster has to come out of the pants to begin with. what is the protocol here? can you just stand over the pond and drop 'em, or do you have to wade in before the monster can be safely depanted? at what depth and distance from the pants can the monster reliably operate? and, even assuming all goes to plan, and the goldfish is satisfactorily retrieved, what provision is there for accommodating the monster WHILE YOU'RE DRYING YOUR GOD DAMNED PANTS???

for fuck's sake where is the professionalism nowadays, is all i'm asking
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oh yeah and furthermore [11 Jul 2009|05:56am]
[ mood | exhausted ]

i'm flying the fuck outta here in a couple of minutes. if anyone wants me, i'll be in the U of S and/or A for a week or so.

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warning for parents and dog owners [10 Jul 2009|04:18pm]
i'm sure you'll have heard it before, but this really does not bear reiterating enough:

if you own a dog and have young kids, DO NOT EVER leave them alone together and unsupervised.

whatever you might believe, you CANNOT EVER SAY for certain that something like this wouldn't ever happen with your dog, and your kid.

all it takes is a few short minutes. it is NOT WORTH THE RISK.

cut, due to distressing imagesCollapse )
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[15 Jun 2009|07:26pm]
(son to father)

do not call me, father. do not seek me.
do not call me. do not wish me back.

we're on a route uncharted, fire and blood erase our track.
on we fly, on wings of thunder, never more to sheathe our swords.
all of us in battle fallen-- not to be brought back by words.

will there be a rendezvous? I know not. I only know we still must fight.
we are sand grains in infinity; never to meet, nevermore see light.

(father to son)

farewell then, my son. farewell then, my conscience.
my youth, and my solace; my one and my only.

and let this farewell be the end of a story
of solitude vast, and which none is more lonely.
in which you remain, barred forever and ever
from light and from air, with your death pangs untold.
untold and unsoothed, not to be resurrected.
forever and ever, an 18 year-old.

farewell then. no trains ever come from those regions,
unscheduled or scheduled. no aeroplanes fly there.
farewell then my son, for no miracles happen.
as in this world, dreams do not come true.


I will dream of you still as a baby,
treading the earth with little strong toes:
the earth where already so many lie buried.
this song, to my son, is come to its close.

- Lieutenant Vladimir Pavlovich Antokolovski
(killed in action at Sevastopol, june 6, 1942)
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road safety quiz: [01 Jun 2009|06:57pm]
you're an airman from the Cosford base, riding your bicycle down the pavement into town, with your ipods or whatever they are in your ears. because you're a shit-dabbling imbecile. you see a man with 4 dogs approaching on the pavement from the opposite direction. do you:
  1. come to an orderly halt, get the fuck off your bike, move it aside, and wait for the dogs to pass?

  2. get your bike into the fucking road, where it actually should've been in the first place according to the law, fuckfunnel?

  3. scream at the oncoming pedestrians to get out of your way, then cry like a little bitch and threaten to call the cops when a fist in the throat knocks you backwards off your bike and leaves you choking and snivelling in the nettles like the pissant runt you are?

here's a clue: someone took this quiz an hour or so ago, and answered c. c is not the correct answer.

heads-up for any and all future wankers: i really could not give less of a shit who you are, which country or culture you originate from, or what other excuse you could possibly have.

my dogs are my furry kids, and if you threaten or endanger them in any way and for any reason, I WILL FUCKING RUIN YOU.
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followup to this post: [27 May 2009|07:17pm]
[ mood | oh for fuck's sake ]

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oh poor livejournal are you lonely [06 May 2009|03:58pm]
so last month i rediscovered my flickr account. if memory serves, i initially signed up for it about 5 years ago, in order to comment on the photoblog of someone into whose pants i was, at the time, very keen to insinuate myself*.

anyways - i realised, after i found it again, that it was pretty much pointless; apparently these days, it's all about uploading your own tedious photoshit, and of course i'd never bothered. so, being a public-spirited and generous sort of fellow, i figured i'd kill two afghan orphans with one stray .50 BMG round by feeding it some of the photos that were originally posted in this journal (years and years ago, before i decommissioned all my websites, and thereby broke all the image links).

you are all most welcome.

* yeah, before you ask: whether or not the flickr account could itself be considered to constitute a contributory factor in my eventual success in that regard is a question upon which i find myself entirely unwilling to speculate, thank you
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i kept trying to fit this on twitter, but couldn't manage it: [27 Apr 2009|02:49pm]
i just got told to leave the supermarket because i wasn't wearing a shirt.

and that'd be retarded enough, but: this was the same supermarket i got thrown out of like a year and a half ago, because the shirt i was wearing, on that occasion, was deemed "offensive."

clearly, sainsbury's security personnel just suffer from a collective, pathological aversion to everything above my waist.

okay so some other stuff that happened today and that i didn't have time to write about earlier:

          - Mordecai killed a stray sheep he found in the garden this morning. i've buried the pieces behind the shed, and hosed down the path and the grass. don't tell anyone.

          - a pretty girl kissed me! just like that! not nearly so sure what i do about that.

          - i didn't go to the hospital. fuck it; i'm not going to indulge these idiots any further. i've put up with their nonsense for 2 months, in the increasingly vain hope of securing some kind of actual, practical assistance... but it's abundantly obvious by now that they're only capable of working from a manual. trying to medicalise circumstantial issues is pretty much the polar opposite of 'helpful', as far as i'm concerned; and there's no way i can believe, at this point, that someone like me would be better off in an institution.

i think that will do for this week. how are you??
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thank you, and good night [19 Apr 2009|08:59pm]

november 15 1930 - april 19 2009

[16 Apr 2009|03:37pm]
kind of a follow-up to this post:

... I'm not altogether what the use of the term most non-religious, rather than simply least religious, is supposed to signify there.
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what the fuck, Thursday March 12 2009? [13 Mar 2009|08:00pm]
[ mood | exhausted ]

- random strangers snapping nudey photos of me, paparazzi-style.

- my last remaining pair of jeans written off.

- 12 hours in the hospital, enduring all manner of objectionable bodily intrusions.

- no sleep, for the 3rd night in a row.

- my computer shitting itself, necessitating a reversion to an ancient, decrepit hard drive.

I've no idea why Hitler never showed up to urinate in my mouth; I was certainly expecting it by 4am this morning.

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it's been about 3 years since Albot last appeared in this journal. [04 Mar 2009|08:43pm]
that's because I haven't spoken to him much. today, he reminded me why:

[Al] hi
[Albot] Hi there. I'm addictive. My boy saw urinal slut . And was going to eat the world.
[Al] and how did that work out for him
[Albot] My masturbation gives power to the gods. Eat pineapple and do not work in florida.
[Al] i think we can all accept the wisdom of that
[Albot] We recommend that you accept christianity.
[Al] ... we may have to agree to disagree there, though
[Albot] Oh it's all about the gay piss in may.
[Al] oh, THAT sort of christianity
[Albot] The i.b.s. of a tortured brain.
[Al] you have just perfectly summarised 2,000 years of organised religion
[Albot] Just who is sexually attracted to you anyways.
[Al] the only answer i have to that question is 'N/A'
[Albot] I question the relevance of your answer.
[Al] i answer the relevance of your question
[Albot] Next question: are you okay and that is the answer to this. Thanks a lot.
[Al] i... uh...
[Albot] Obviously, i am a level 68 pee mage on web forums, my penis already stiff for obese 7-year-old boy: that hat's nice!
[Al] ... thank you?
[Albot] You forgot that you had an orgasm. Gudrow is the website; take it to your grandmother. Fatmouse is ready to saw your fat head off and stitch it onto albot's web page.
[Al] i think, at this point, i may just have to concede that i've lost the reins of this conversation
[Albot] Look who the fuck are you?? Go die and get to the point.
[Al] i made you too well. that is the problem here
[Albot] You got a problem: the problem is you.
[Al] ... okay. you win. the internet is yours, now.
[Albot] Okay now i am again sending my query. My thighs & buttocks are bigger than yours.
[Al] yes, and that is the last shred of dignity you have left me
[Albot] Fun fact: shut up.

as you can see, he has clearly outgrown me in poise and wit. my time is over. there is now nothing left for me to do but shuffle off into the shadows, and quietly expire.

Albot's journal is here, and his personal website is here. I suggest that you bookmark them both, and get used to it: soon, the entire internet will look like this.
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my belt broke. [28 Feb 2009|04:27pm]
during a game of tag this afternoon, Motke seized me by the belt (as he is wont to do - he also likes to secure sleeves, trouser legs, and occasionally necklines).

to the surprise and dismay of us both, the belt thereupon gave out an anguished ping, and slithered from its loops to flop, in listless ruin, upon the hard uncaring ground.

behold: forged steel vs lunatic 120lb rottweiler

seriously, though: I am bummed as all hell. I bought that belt when I was 16 - in an ancient, riotous market in Oujda, during my spring and summer backpacking/hitchhiking around the Med (which remains, in all honesty, the high point of my existence here on earth to this day). and it's been with me, on constant, active duty, ever since.

sure: it was never very appealing, nor highly fashionable, nor especially well-made. I've worn (and sold, or given away) many far more expensive and impressive specimens over the 12½ intervening years. but its value to me wasn't based on material considerations. it was a preserved fragment of one of the most rewarding experiences of my life, and now it's gone the way of so many others.

as far as actually holding my pants up goes, though: the closest thing I now have in my possession is a bullet belt - or at least, I'm reasonably certain that it's still somewhere in storage, along with whatever else remains of the hessian accoutrements of my embarrassing youth. I'm also pretty sure, however, that .303s will not in fact pass through belt loops; or else I would, without doubt, have done precisely that when I was 17.

hmm. I have some string around here, someplace. also, safety pins!

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spring sunshine [21 Feb 2009|05:30pm]
[ mood | vernal ]

first of the year.

(the lcd screen on my camera is still fucked, so I can't tell what the hell I've photographed until after I transfer it)

... catkins, I guess?

one two three

quack quack quack

I don't know what-the-shit this is supposed to be, but it's fucking hideous and I want to kill it with hammers


I crouched down to lift George into the car and one of my increasingly behemothal gastrocnemia did a terrible thing to this poor boot :(
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El Furo Diablo: a Tragedy in Four Parts. [10 Feb 2009|06:51pm]

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this is ironic... [01 Feb 2009|10:13pm]

...considering that there are apparently large areas of America where humans interbreed freely with vegetables
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I am now endeavouring to post content more suitable for livejournal [16 Jan 2009|11:14pm]
so here's a motherfucking CHAT LOG I found, starring ME

{znutar} heh, this guy in his book mentions how he carries around a moleskine and fischer space pen all day to take any notes for ideas he might have
{znutar} and I'm like "heh, me too"
{Al} what the fuck is a moleskine
{[]J} Moleskine is the legendary notebook used for the past two centuries by great artists and thinkers, including Van Gogh, Picasso, Hemingway and Chatwin.
{Al} I don't buy notebooks when the back of my hand is free
{Al} i am a great thinker though
{Al} mostly, i think about myself, and how bastard unfair everything is
{Al} i'm great at it

I can hardly get any more livejournal® than that, can I

now shut the fuck up or I'll find some more
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critical update: [06 Jan 2009|04:53pm]

it's cold n shit

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