so cute this tattoo on girl's breast
Recent Posts
can you believe this? that party ended at my house, not the white house. i mean, i heard this guy was having a nervous breakdown with the skateboarding and stuff but some fact checking would be nice. i really want to keep linking him because i need the coverage on my senate run but this is too far.
WRONG AGAIN WANKETTE!
this song is awesome, bros! a lil pick-me-up for yr weekend takedowns ;) this song is by noted internet celebrities ned raggett and tombot, i'm big fans of what they're doing right now especially the cell phones in the mouth.
ENGLANDE WAS A MEDEVING PLACE THAT ROBIN HOOD AND FRYERE TUCK WERE BORN TO. IN ENGLANDE MEN AND BOYS WEARED TUNICS. TUNICS IS A EXTRA LARGE TSHIRT AND COVERS THERES PENISE BECOS THEY DIDNT INVENT UNDERPANTS YET IN ENGLANDE.THEY INVETED OTHER THINGS THOUGH. THEY MADE THOSED TALL ROCKS ALL GO IN A CIRCLE. AND WHEN THEY HAVED TO GO THE BATHROOM. THEY LIFT UPPED THERE TUNICS AND GOTO THE BATHROOM IN THE MIDDLE OF THE CIRCLE OF TALL ROCKS.
IT SMELLED BAD THERRE. BUT IT MADE ALOT OF SENSE. BECOS THEY DIDNT INVENT ANY TOILETS YET TOO. AND IF YOU CANT GOTO THE TOILET AND FLUSH. THEN ITS BETTER TO GOTO ONE SAME PLACE FOR THE BATHROOM INSTEAD OF ALOT OF DIFFERENT PLACE. FAR AWAY PEOPLE COULD SEE THOSED TALL ROCKS. AND THEY JUST KNOWED RIGHT OFF THE BATS THATS WHERE EVERYBODY WENT THE BATHROOM. JUST LIKE NORMAL PEOPLE IN THE FUTURE SEE A RESTROOM SIGN AND KNOW RIGHT OFF THE BAT THATS WHERE THEY DO THERRE DUTY.IN MEDEVING ENGLAND. EVERYBODY WORE WOODEN SHOES THAT LOOKED LIKE BOATS.
THEY WERE MADE OF WOOD. WHENEVER THEY WENT TO THE TALL ROCKS. THEYD STEP
OVER ALL THE BATHROOM WASTES WEARING THERE BOATLIKE SHOES OF WOODE. MAYBE EVEN FRYERE TUCK AND ROBIN HOOD GOTO THE BATHROOM THERE WEARING
THERE WOODBOAT SHOES AND OLD BATHROOM TUNICS RIGHT THERE IN THE MIDDLE OF ALL THAT TALL ROCKS IN THERE SPECIAL SPOTS.
SOMETIMES. WHEN IM GOTO THE BATHROOM WITH CONSTOPATION IN ME. I CLOSE MY EYES AND THINKE ME IM ROBIN HOOD OR FRYERE TUCK BACK THERE IN OLD TIME ENGLANDE. IN THE MIDDLE OF ALL THAT TALL ROCKS. WITH MY WOODEN BOAT SHOES AND BATHROOM TUNIC ON. AND SOMEONES BLOWING A MEDEVING FLUTE SOMEWHERE AND WAITING THERE TURN GOTO THE BATHROOM. BUT THEN I REMEMBNER ITS JUST FRED AND HIS KAZOO.
ENGLANDE WAS A MEDEVING PLACE THAT ROBIN HOOD AND FRYERE TUCK WERE BORN TO. IN ENGLANDE MEN AND BOYS WEARED TUNICS. TUNICS IS A EXTRA LARGE TSHIRT AND COVERS THERES PENISE BECOS THEY DIDNT INVENT UNDERPANTS YET IN ENGLANDE.THEY INVETED OTHER THINGS THOUGH. THEY MADE THOSED TALL ROCKS ALL GO IN A CIRCLE. AND WHEN THEY HAVED TO GO THE BATHROOM. THEY LIFT UPPED THERE TUNICS AND GOTO THE BATHROOM IN THE MIDDLE OF THE CIRCLE OF TALL ROCKS.
IT SMELLED BAD THERRE. BUT IT MADE ALOT OF SENSE. BECOS THEY DIDNT INVENT ANY TOILETS YET TOO. AND IF YOU CANT GOTO THE TOILET AND FLUSH. THEN ITS BETTER TO GOTO ONE SAME PLACE FOR THE BATHROOM INSTEAD OF ALOT OF DIFFERENT PLACE. FAR AWAY PEOPLE COULD SEE THOSED TALL ROCKS. AND THEY JUST KNOWED RIGHT OFF THE BATS THATS WHERE EVERYBODY WENT THE BATHROOM. JUST LIKE NORMAL PEOPLE IN THE FUTURE SEE A RESTROOM SIGN AND KNOW RIGHT OFF THE BAT THATS WHERE THEY DO THERRE DUTY.IN MEDEVING ENGLAND. EVERYBODY WORE WOODEN SHOES THAT LOOKED LIKE BOATS.
THEY WERE MADE OF WOOD. WHENEVER THEY WENT TO THE TALL ROCKS. THEYD STEP
OVER ALL THE BATHROOM WASTES WEARING THERE BOATLIKE SHOES OF WOODE. MAYBE EVEN FRYERE TUCK AND ROBIN HOOD GOTO THE BATHROOM THERE WEARING
THERE WOODBOAT SHOES AND OLD BATHROOM TUNICS RIGHT THERE IN THE MIDDLE OF ALL THAT TALL ROCKS IN THERE SPECIAL SPOTS.
SOMETIMES. WHEN IM GOTO THE BATHROOM WITH CONSTOPATION IN ME. I CLOSE MY EYES AND THINKE ME IM ROBIN HOOD OR FRYERE TUCK BACK THERE IN OLD TIME ENGLANDE. IN THE MIDDLE OF ALL THAT TALL ROCKS. WITH MY WOODEN BOAT SHOES AND BATHROOM TUNIC ON. AND SOMEONES BLOWING A MEDEVING FLUTE SOMEWHERE AND WAITING THERE TURN GOTO THE BATHROOM. BUT THEN I REMEMBNER ITS JUST FRED AND HIS KAZOO.
ENGLANDE
...but he left the shit box over flowing with Chocolate Pup treats. Here is how the move went. I wake up at 9am to banging on my door and an 18 wheeler parked in my street. I don't even remember how I got home so I'm already confused. I wake up Rich to tell him the movers are here and go back to bed. Rich did not pack mind you. Anyways I wake up like 8 hours later and the movers are gone and Rich is passed out on the floor. He doesn't really remember them coming or going. Turns out they loaded down the semi with a bed, TV and computer desk. At this point I see that I am royally fucked so i start telling him to separate everything he wants and doesn't want into 2 piles and I'll handle it. So he goes back to sleep and wakes up at midnight and puts the cat and dog in the car along with his computer and drives 9 hours in the storm of the century. No separating. Now I'm sitting here with all his clothes, dishes, books, old CPU's, his 1975 furniture that took up the whole attic, A FUCKING SAFE, Tiki he DOES have one of your guitars be the way which if I had known I'd be Eddie Van Halen by now with all the free time I had. He even left the washer full of wet clothes. There is mud everywhere from the movers and rain. This place is ravaged. Where his bed used to be the light fixture from the ceiling is smashed on the floor in a thousand pieces. The only good thing that happened is the junk people came by and took away the couches. But under those the hardwood floor is ruined. It's also ruined under his computer desk and bed. So far I have 9 black outdoor trash bags filled with his junk which I just had to bring back in because they are blowing down the street. Supposedly he is coming back next weekend for his clothes.
shit's been crazy, my roomie FINALLY moved out...
Larry Byrne (keys, guitar, baritone sax);
Ryan LaHam (bass);
Marty Bouchard (drums);
Matt Dalton (tenor & alto sax);
Mark Hopkins (vocals, guitar, keys):
Jay Crawdads (vocals, percussion)
pock•et pro•tec•tor - - [pok-it] [pruh-tek-ter]
–noun, band
1.) A creative unit developed to carry writing instruments and other implements, while reinforcing the strength of the pocket in a sound manner.
2.) A band derived from various earlier musical endeavors (see Written Prisms, hip:jazz:funk & Mark Hopkins Band, renegade pop-rock) brought together by a shared passion for musical exploration and improvisation, and a reverence for the power of the groove [see pocket].
3.) Something for the true lover of music.
4.) A must for any and all nerds, music and otherwise.
Apr 21 2007 10:00P
@ the Green Door Park Hall, Maryland
Apr 27 2007 10:00P
@ Armadillos Annapolis, Maryland
Apr 28 2007 9:00P
@ Laurrapin Grille Havre De Grace, Maryland
May 5 2007 9:00P
@ Castaway's Ocean City, Maryland
May 6 2007 1:00P
@ the Towson Town Festival Towson, Maryland
Jun 2 2007 10:00P
@ Rams Head Tavern - Savage Savage, Maryland
Jun 22 2007 10:00P
@ Breaktime Salisbury, Maryland
Jun 29 2007 9:00P
@ Armadillos Annapolis, Maryland
Aug 10 2007 8:00P
@ Rams Head Live! w/ Guru's Jazzmatazz Baltimore
takin the train down to maryland pretty soon, guys
Jesus was way cool
Everybody liked Jesus
Everybody wanted to hang out with him
Anything he wanted to do, he did
He turned water into wine
And if he wanted to
He could have turned wheat into marijuana
Or sugar into cocaine
Or vitamin pills into amphetamines
He walked on the water
And swam on the land
He would tell these stories
And people would listen
He was really cool
If you were blind or lame
You just went to Jesus
And he would put his hands on you
And you would be healed
That's so cool
He could've played guitar better than Hendrix
He could've told the future
He could've baked the most delicious cake in the world
He could've scored more goals than Wayne Gretzky
He could've danced better than Barishnikov
Jesus could have been funnier than any comedian you can think of
Jesus was way cool
He told people to eat his body and drink his blood
That's so cool
Jesus was so cool
But then some people got jealous of how cool he was
So they killed him
But then he rose from the dead
He rose from the dead, danced around
Then went up to heaven
I mean, that's so cool
Jesus was way cool
happy easter, jesus fans!
The Dog
9:30 am - A car ride! My favorite thing!
9:40 am - A walk in the park! My favorite thing!
10:30 am - Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing!
12:00 pm - Milk bones! My favorite thing!
1:00 pm - Played in the yard! My favorite thing!
3:00 pm - Wagged my tail! My favorite thing!
5:00 pm - Dinner! My favorite thing!
7:00 pm - Got to play ball! My favorite thing!
8:00 pm - Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favorite thing!
11:00 pm - Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing!
The Cat-
Day 983 of my captivity. My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre
little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the
other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although
I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must
eat something in order to keep up my strength.
The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape.
In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet.
Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their
feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it
clearly demonstrates my capabilities. However, they merely made
condescending comments about what a "good little hunter" I am.
There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was
placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However,
I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my
confinement was due to the power of "allergies." I must learn what this
means, and how to use it to my advantage.
Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my
tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try
this again tomorrow, but at the top of the stairs.
I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches.
The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released, and
seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded.
The bird must be an informant. I observe him communicate with the
guards regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. My
captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell,
so he is safe. For now...
9:30 am - A car ride! My favorite thing!
9:40 am - A walk in the park! My favorite thing!
10:30 am - Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing!
12:00 pm - Milk bones! My favorite thing!
1:00 pm - Played in the yard! My favorite thing!
3:00 pm - Wagged my tail! My favorite thing!
5:00 pm - Dinner! My favorite thing!
7:00 pm - Got to play ball! My favorite thing!
8:00 pm - Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favorite thing!
11:00 pm - Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing!
The Cat-
Day 983 of my captivity. My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre
little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the
other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although
I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must
eat something in order to keep up my strength.
The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape.
In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet.
Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their
feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it
clearly demonstrates my capabilities. However, they merely made
condescending comments about what a "good little hunter" I am.
There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was
placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However,
I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my
confinement was due to the power of "allergies." I must learn what this
means, and how to use it to my advantage.
Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my
tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try
this again tomorrow, but at the top of the stairs.
I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches.
The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released, and
seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded.
The bird must be an informant. I observe him communicate with the
guards regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. My
captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell,
so he is safe. For now...
Fw: [SoftCoatedWheatens] OT: DOGS and CATS FUNNY
People are afraid to merge on freeways in Los Angeles. This is the first thing I hear when I come back to the city. Blair picks me up from LAX and mutters this under her breath as her car drives up the onramp. She says, "People are afraid to merge on freeways in Los Angeles." Though that sentence shouldn't bother me, it stays in my mind for an uncomfortably long time. Nothing else seems to matter. Not the fact that I'm eighteen and it's December and the ride on the plane had been rough and the couple from Santa Barbara, who were sitting across from me in first class, had gotten pretty drunk. Not the mud that had splattered the 1egs of my jeans, which felt kind of cold and loose, earlier that day at an airport in New Hampshire. Not the stain on the arm of the wrinkled, damp shirt I wear, a shirt which had looked fresh and clean this morning. Not the tear on the neck of my gray argyle vest, which seems vaguely more eastern than before, especially next to Blair's clean tight jeans and her pale-blue T-shirt. All of this seems irrelevant next to that one sentence. It seems easier to hear that people are afraid to merge rather than "I'm pretty sure Muriel is anorexic" or the singer on the radio crying out about magnetic waves. Nothing else seems to matter to me but those ten words. Not the warm winds, which seem to propel the car down the empty asphalt freeway, or the faded smell of marijuana which still faintly permeates Blair's car. All it comes down to is that I'm a boy coming home for a month and meeting someone whom I haven't seen for four months and people are afraid to merge.
Blair drives off the freeway and comes to a red light. A heavy gust of wind rocks the car for a moment and Blair smiles and says something about maybe putting the top up and turns to a different radio station. Coming to my house, Blair has to stop the car since there are these five workmen lifting the remains of palm trees that have fallen during the winds and placing the leaves and pieces of dead bark in a big red truck, and Blair smiles again. She stops at my house and the gate's open and I get out of the car, surprised to feel how dry and hot it is. I stand there for a pretty long time and Blair, after helping me lift the suitcases out of the trunk, grins at me and asks, "What's wrong?" and I say, "Nothing," and Blair says, "You look pale," and I shrug and we say goodbye and she gets into her car and drives away.
Nobody's home. The air conditioner is on and the house smells like pine. There's a note on the kitchen table that tells me that my mother and sisters are out, Christmas shopping. From where I'm standing I can see the dog lying by the pool, breathing heavily, asleep, its fur ruffled by the wind. I walk upstairs, past the new maid, who smiles at me and seems to understand who I am, and past my sisters' rooms, which still both look the same, only with different GQ cutouts pasted on the wall, and enter my room and see that it hasn't changed. The walls are still white; the records are still in place; the television hasn't been moved; the venetian blinds are still open, just as I had left them. It looks like my mother and the new maid, or maybe the old maid, cleaned out my closet while I was gone. There's a pile of comic books on my desk with a note on top of them that reads, "Do you still want these?"; also a message that Julian called and a card that says "Fuck Christmas" on it. I open it and it says "Let's Fuck Christmas Together" on the inside, an invitation to Blair's Christmas party. I put the card down and notice that it's beginning to get really cold in my room.
I take my shoes off and lie on the bed and feel my brow to see if I have a fever. I think I do. And with my hand on my forehead I look up with caution at the poster encased in glass that hangs on the wall above my bed, but it hasn't changed either. It's the promotional poster for an old Elvis Costello record. Elvis looks past me, with this wry, ironic smile on his lips, staring out the window. The word "Trust" hovering over his head, and his sunglasses, one lens red, the other blue, pushed down past the ridge of his nose so that you can see his eyes, which are slightly off center. The eyes don't look at me, though. They only look at whoever's standing by the window, but I'm too tired to get up and stand by the window.
I pick up the phone and call Julian, amazed that I actually can remember his number, but there's no answer. I sit up, and through the venetian blinds I can see the palm trees shaking wildly, actually bending, in the hot winds, and then I stare back at the poster and then turn away and then look back again at the smile and the mocking eyes, the red and blue glasses, and I can still hear people are afraid to merge and I try to get over the sentence, blank it out. I turn on MTV and tell myself I could get over it and go to sleep if I had some Valium and then I think about Muriel and feel a little sick as the videos begin to flash by.
postcard from china!
Okay not quite gremlins. More like spiders. In my computer tower. Like, eew!!!
No wonder I was having so many computer woes!!
As my sister in law said it puts a whole new spin on the term web site!
Hopefully I'll soon be sorted again, as currently I'm working on two different computers, backing up all over the place (which is not a bad thing, but with my memory is very stressful as I try to remember where my most recent version now is!) and my emails are landing everywhere.
On the writing front, I've been very bad and put Angel to one side to work on my YA. Hopefully I'll have that one finished within the next couple of weeks and then it will be back to Angel. At least that's the plan, and a girl has to have a plan doesn't she?
No wonder I was having so many computer woes!!
As my sister in law said it puts a whole new spin on the term web site!
Hopefully I'll soon be sorted again, as currently I'm working on two different computers, backing up all over the place (which is not a bad thing, but with my memory is very stressful as I try to remember where my most recent version now is!) and my emails are landing everywhere.
On the writing front, I've been very bad and put Angel to one side to work on my YA. Hopefully I'll have that one finished within the next couple of weeks and then it will be back to Angel. At least that's the plan, and a girl has to have a plan doesn't she?
Gremlins in the Works
Blythe (ブライス, bu-ra-i-su?) (pronounced "blahyth" or like the 'bli' sound in "blind") is a doll created in 1972 by designer Allison Katzman with the now-defunct American toy company Kenner. Reportedly, she was modeled after drawings by Margaret Keane, similarly to many other dolls of the '60s and '70s. Her most unique and notable feature were blinkable eyes that changed color with the pull of a string attached to the back of her head. Blythe dolls were only sold for one year in the U.S. (produced in Hong Kong), during 1972. She was not very popular and faded from store shelves quickly.
Thirty years after her first release date, Blythe regained popularity. In 1997, New York TV and video producer Gina Garan was given a 1972 Kenner Blythe by a friend and began using it to practice her photographic skills. She began taking her Blythe everywhere with her and took hundreds of photos. Then, in 1999, a chance encounter with CWC's Junko Wong brought Blythe to the attention of Parco and toy executives. In 2002, Gina published her first book of Blythe photography with Chronicle Books, This is Blythe. Later that year, Hasbro (Kenner's successor) gave the rights to make Blythe dolls to Takara of Japan. Blythe was used in a television advertising campaign by the Parco department store in Japan and was an instant hit. Success in Japan led Blythe back to the U.S., where she become a niche product in a marginal market, selling largely to adults. In 2003 she was the subject in a segment on the popular VH1 special, I Love the 70s, where she was said to look like either "Barbie with elephantiasis" or "Christina Ricci" among other things. One panelist asked if she could take a doll home! In 2004, the Ashton-Drake Galleries began to produce their own Blythe replica dolls in the United States.
A vibrant Blythe subculture flourishes on the Internet, predominantly in forums and usergroups. There is a market network of hobbyist Blythe clothiers, designers, and customizers.
There are two types of Blythe dolls: the 28 cm version and the 11.2 cm "Petit Blythe." Only large dolls have color-changing eyes, which include the colors blue, green, orange, and pink (except for cases with limited-edition dolls). Newer releases of the Petit Blythe dolls have moveable eyelids and bendable bodies.
There are also, smaller Kubrick versions of Blythe.
The measurements of Blythe: 4.17-2.76-3.89 (in inch) or 106-70-99 (in mm). The measurements of Petit Blythe: 1.77-1.18-16.5 (in inch) or 45-30-42 (in mm).
Unlike Barbie, Blythe does not have a boyfriend. She also does not advertise her professional life. Kenner is now owned by Hasbro.
