Saturday, October 27, 2007

This Shit Ain't the Best, But the Best Ain't Okay

Read it where you write it
Right, to read-between-the-lines
Razor valley rivets
Imaginary sins and snippets
Beats between the bruises
Fingers to the rest
Nonchalant, narcissistic, neverending-nervendings

Does it matter-what?
Break a beat or beat til breaks
Peak confines a current cough
Read the righteous
Right the reach
Render in your rehab
to tiny little parts
Eat the dust within
Mark the spot and take the sin

Fuck it all alone
Free the able feeble
Damn the rest to darkness
Eat them when they're evil
Freeze this in the moment
ease the major stress
dying host is humble
Free to function
welcome guest
Without a place the pleas-the pairs, they park and pack their chests

Nasty little bug
without a pair of tweezers
Fumble til you get it...but never can you pet it
put it in the row
hang it on the wall
Watch it as it falls
Leave it on the gravel gears

Listen if you're here
hear the righteous rock
You're nothing on the wall
and nothing if you talk
The fiends will find the fox
and damper down the play
It's true it ain't the best
but best ain't okay

Spacious, Choir Infested, One Bedroom, One Bath

Have I mentioned my apartment is a pile of shit? Know anyone who needs a place near SFU that comes with nice underground parking, a spacious living area and a ton of taking it in the ass because my apartment is the perfect place for some poor fuck to sign over on so I can get out of my lease without kicking my Apartment Manager in the nuts until he burns my contract, not that I'm opposed to that...

So apart from the every day craziness of some fucking weirdo who enjoys playing choral music for nearly seven hours a day, at least five days a week, I have dealt with assholes telling me to move everything out of the living, and dining areas right after I just got settled so they could do the job they were supposed to have finished before I moved in. They were totally awesome about it though, they barged in without calling or warning when I was more or less asleep, I told them to get out of my house and don't come back and they did...after an hour of chit chat...They did totally sneak in two hours later when I wasn't home and left two rolls of carpet on my living room floor...but wait they said they'd deal with it...but that was over three months ago. Oh shit.

So yeah, that was, irritating because when I awoke in my mid morning slumber, I walked into my hallway wearing underwear and a clear tank top and found two dipshits in my doorway telling me they've "come to lay carpet" I decided that my sex dreams were getting way too low budget and walked back in for my robe then I gave them a choice of going away or facing the wrath, but they seemingly enjoyed the view so they stuck around to harass me with amazingly brilliant problem solving suggestions for example: Taking 100% of my furniture and carrying into 30% of my house all by myself before they got back to install it two days later OR calling the never present Marvin Chu to help.

As usual, Marvin assured me that he'd deal with it and that I wouldn't have anymore walk-ins so true to his word....for almost 13 hours...No one came...Nice work Marv...the next day when I came back from school I walked in on some moron who didn't get the memo, unhooking my dryer and washer. "I didn't think you'd be home" were his exact words and that somehow said "I'm stealing a very inconvenient appliance from your house" rather than "Don't worry mam, we'll have you fixed up in a jiffy, and I'm sorry to bother you for the third time" but maybe that's just me. Either way, I told him I didn't want the washer and dryer slowly stolen or unhooked or otherwise bothered and that he needed to be in 219 AKA the place where the crazy choir practices seemed to be held.

So he left and I saw him walk down the hall to the crazies place but I'm sure the lunatic was probably to busy beating off to pictures of landscapes in Europe or Crying while dressing as his Auntie Lenore and repeating "My mother loved me, MY MOTHAH LOVED ME *sob*!" To be harassed by annoying washer/dryer chumps...Lucky bastard probably murders anyone who walks in the door while listening to his favorites from "Songs of the Rapture" by The Vienna Boys Choir.

I Hate Clear Liquids

K, I donno if anyone has ever been that type of thirsty you only get while being hungover and too warm, but I am very familiar with it this thirsty. The kind of thirsty that makes you stare at someone's Gatorade like it's the nicest set trampoline hopping titties that you've ever shoved your face into, tell me that shouldn't be a commercial. Or maybe, you can't even resist the ever a not-so-tasty drink so you do that "I can't help it I'm too thirsty" grab for something like old milk that's been sitting over night because you can't will yourself up or resist the terrible urge to drink? Do you ever just want a Dr. Pepper so bad it hurts? Well I know that feeling well.

Tell me my friends, have you ever gulped down something that you knew immediately was not what you were looking for? Something...Evil?

Okay so the worst period of time for drinking evil, tainted, surprising, or fucking disgusting drinks was when Colin and I were drinking ourselves to death together. On one specific morning when I woke up to a itchy face because of the cat and found the refridgerator litterly blocked because the floor was coated in unconcious Pearson and Demons. I noticed four different drinks sitting beside the bed table chose the one that looked the least like booze. I chose wrong the first time with vodka water, the second one WAS NOT coffee, but instead was dark rum and Coke, the third had ashes and papers and the fourth well...I was glad to discover that the white crusty shit was just milk residue. Still gross.

So I'm working under hot lamps, all hungover and I look over at the table and I see a water as crystal clear as melting glass so I drink it down and put it back. Two minutes later, Dale begins questioning everyone to see who drank it. At this point I start wondering what is wrong with the water. So he sensing my fear begins to laugh, and laugh, and laugh, and laugh while saying "OH MY GOD TESS, YOU DIDN'T DRINK THAT WATER....HOLY FUCK YOU DIDN'G DO IT DID YOU, OH MAN YOU DIDN'T, YOU DIDN'T" and this excruciating moment lasts like five minutes until I'm almost in tears thinking that I just drank, piss, or lube or vagina water or fucking nut sack dip water or like jism water...I really don't know what exactly I thought was wrong with it, but it was not good. So he's like "Tess okay... you deserve to know what's wrong with it...and I'm sorry you drank it, but it' three days old and that's like really gross."

So I am joyous that I didn't drink nut water so I tell everyone that and they look at me like I'm crazy for thinking like that. As if men keep a nut dipping glass beside their bed every night...I guess it doesn't really make sense for a glass of nut water to be kickin' it beside the bed, but I just assumed that a certain layer of hell would be designated to being the warm and hungover-ish layer that has nothing to drink but various versions of nutwater, penisdrink, and nut-penis flavored Sprite.

I drank very little water today but the stuff I did totally raped my mother and killed my father. I hate fucking water.

Another time god damn water or something like him was playing volleyball with me and the fucking bastard spiked it so hard it hit me in the face and broke my nose. Fucking bastard clear liquid.

I think if I hated one clear liquid the most though, it would have to be that sinister lemony ass water Sprite because I used to mix it with vodka so often that I can't even smell it. Honestly, I consumed more Sprite and vodka per week than Katrina Ellis going through her Sprite and vodka faze. Actually, she never really stopped the whole vodka faze...I don't know if she ever will.


I have a fairly even temper when it comes to arguments and discussions as long as no one's yelling, but when it comes to annoying situations that involve inanimate objects, too much sunlight, losing things, being hungry, or being annoyed I completely lose my shit. I guess it's alot funnier to watch in live action, but here are a few (stress is on 'a few') recent incidents of Tess Rage that are worth their weight in the stress ulcers than they give me.

- Mitch Doll punches me and chases me continually after I tell him that just because because he looks like teenaged Harry Potter with better glasses and less muscle tone doesn't mean he has a magic wand that allows him to cast a spell and transform into something intimidating. So when he kept bringing the fists of fury to my arm like I was one of the guys who wants to prove he has the larger balls by way of pseudo-gay-male wrestling matches, I decided to skip all the "Mitch quit it you little bastard in training"' warnings and attack him with a coffee cup wrapped around my knuckles. I've discovered from many play fights that the best place to hit someone with this is the elbow, shin or if you're a bitch, the face, so I let it fly and pound him in the elbow hard enough to break the handle and dent the mug, that, by the way, was Mike's and not mine.

-Shortly after this incident, we were shooting a skit that involved Mike grabbing my ass so he of course did alot of trial runs that got to be annoying so I clocked him in the arm with full power. I think I pushed him into a bush too, but maybe that was Dale. Either way I ended up calling Juan "a fucking bastard Mexican " with no language skills (or something like that) because I suspected he was zoomed in on my boobs again. Then I punched Dale in the spine while we were jumping around a hedge and told him it was Mike. I then hit Mike in the face and blamed it on Dale. Wow, this is sort of like confession.

-Don't tell me he took my burrito (A.K.A. chimichanga) I honestly do not mind if people want to try my food if they wanna check it out, but I hate when people are too cheap or diet ridden to get their own meal and instead feed off of mine. It was terrible in school when the vending machines were gone and I starved on a daily basis, so I was stoked to see that the new machines coming in stocked with burritos and other microwavables, BUT...theres always the cooking time that allows people a window of time to steal your shit. I can't stand watching the fucking timer go for more than ten seconds, so that leaves me with no choice but to take the chance and step outside while it cooks.

One day, I decided to be extra careful because Dale was lurking around my microwave and he's totally capable of stealing something of mine, but I wanted to go smoke so I told Juan in as plain English as I could, to watch my microwave like a Mexican bird of prey, and to make very certain that Dale does not open the microwave.

So he says "Ci, senorita...burrito, burrito" or some Mexican bullshit like that, I go for my smoke. When I finally come inside, I find that everyone is laughing about God-knows-what and I get nervous. As usual, I assume they're laughing at me because they tend to do that to themselves feel less terrible about their mediocre asses being always second to my glorious success in our chosen field, and I go towards the microwave. It's then that Dale tells me some guy has snatched my burrito and is about to get away. Instant panic.

So being the hungry moron that I am I look at Dale for a few seconds and after he repeats himself like three times and gestures down the hallway, I somehow assume his statement has gained credibility. So being the apparently "abnormal" person that I am I run down the hallway screaming "Give me back my burrito, GIVE IT BACK NOW" while simultaneously realizing that Eric, the equipment guy who is walking down the hall
A.) Doesn't notoriously steal things....especially microwaved snacks....
B.) Is carrying a pretty nice coffee cup, but nothing that even resembles a burrito, and
C.) Obviously thinks I'm as hilarious as most of the assholes who watched this event unfold in the hallway as well as the people in the classrooms, and most of the teachers...

Yeah so, I guess in retrospect screaming "Give me back my burrito" was stupid on many levels....especially because it wasn't even a burrito, it was a chimichanga, but I guess it's not the most distruptive and obnoxious thing I've done in school because I do tend to blast "Umbrella" by Rhianna or "Gimme More" by Britney Spears while singing horribly with my head phones on at least once a week...

So just this minutes, I had a fit over my mouse pad that wasn't rolling, a battle with my webcam because they always make me feel like someone's staring at me, I knocked over some beer bottles and jumped on them until they were broken about two hours ago because the noise pissed me off. Yesterday, I tried moving the heavy tv and put it on my toe so I pretended to curb stomp it until I fell over it in a fit of rage. I told my alarm clock to "Fuck off" until I woke up to the sound of my own voice four days ago. I yelled at the knotted cell charger cord and flailed it around while jumping up and down and telling it to "Eat shit" And, while exiting my car today, I dropped everything I was holding because I wouldn't put my cigarette down and got so mad at it that I kicked it and danced on it yelling that it's a "dirty son of a whore" in front of one of my apartments security cameras that is available to a watch in every home in the building only to realize that a nice couple was watching me from their parking spot with their little son who was laughing at me just like he thought it was stupidest thing he'd ever seen. He's like five.

I guess that's most of my recent rage, but I think maybe the worst is driving behind anyone going under 80....In a school zone. I got so mad about traffic one day that I closed my eyes and parked my car for five minutes after throwing my box of styrofoam at a slow moving vehicle in front of me while of course telling them they deserved to burn in the firey inferno of eternal damnation....

Fly, Umbrella Crack-Head Fly!

I have been going through a period of time that has been generally dark and rainy with a good chance of thunderstorms...So I tend to carry an umbrella, (yes both metaphorically and physically) until it’s wrenched from my hands by the cracked out fists of fate.
The other day I was walking downtown in the place I fondly call, "the crowded, annoying, windy, people-walk-into-me area" of downtown Van, and I came across a man selling a rainbow bright umbrella for five bucks. I only have three dollars and this worries me but this doesn't seem to be a problem as the man hands over my (recently-taken-from-a-five-year-old) umbrella.
"Thank god for desperate men selling bizarre stolen merchandise on the street!" I think as I walk into the beginnings of storm.

So the bastard wind picks up and I'm, of course, smoking my cigarette as the rain attempts to put out my precious fire by craftily navigating around my tiny umbrella. I rapidly decide that momentary satisfaction and eventual tumor development means more to me than beauty so I sacrifice my face to the Gods of the weather and cover my nicotine. At this point I should probably explain that minor issues that are dealt with in a calm and anger-less fashion like this make me feel like I'm learning to prioritize and problem solve like most young adults. The bad thing about these circumstances though, is that somewhere out in the vastness of space there sits a giant amorphous blob called destiny that considers me the comedic relief in his evening ritual, and so I'm cursed with behaving like a jackass in strange situations on a biweekly basis.

So the wind picks up and suddenly the umbrella blasts toward me with a large amount of dislodged flaming cigarette bits inside. I narrowly miss getting my corneas gouged by the edge of the umbrella and instead somehow simultaneously turn it inside out and attach it to my flailing rat’s nest of curls. So to cope with this annoying situations I did what I normally do in any situation that displeases me, I screamed a barrage of swear words at the umbrella and literally punched it out of my own hair (and yes, this is how I battle every enemy…be it man or be it tiny multicolored umbrella) This all wouldn't be so bad but while I was walking I collected a following of Japanese children who were loving the Rainbow Bright action until I scared them off of rainbows forever. Their parents will thank me one day, after their kids get over their fear of reading rainbow, The Wizard of Oz, and looking up after it rains.

Anways, it's at this point in my adventure that I dislodge the umbrella from my matted wet coils and begin to run full tilt to save my umbrella from the approaching fast moving traffic until my real opponent, anonymous-crazy-Tyrone-esque-umbrella-fan runs past me and snatches it like someone’s giving away two for one crack rocks at the local Crack n’ Smack and proceeds to run down the street screaming like he won the jackpot for the incredibly fast, crack-headed umbrella snatching contest.

Just to put it in perspective, the last time I ran as fast as that mother fucker was when I was chased by a crazy unchained Rottweiler that wanted to slaughter me and my younger sister when I was in fifth grade. This guy was way, WAY faster than me and to make matters worse I was still puffing on my smoke. I thought to myself you should take him down Tess and I was nearly about to follow suit when the sheer ridiculousness of the situation struck me and my "I have to sit down and cry for awhile" shrieking laughter destroyed my chance of running after the bastard, but I didn't care. I guess what it came down to was that he wanted it way more than me, and that's always something to consider when deciding whether or not to chase a strange inside-out umbrella stealing man down the nasty streets of Vancouver.

I picture this man serenading his new friend, my umbrella, to this song with a pile full of crack in his pipe.

Wednesday, August 08, 2007

Give Me an Aspirin Mcgernicle, I Can't Feel My Legs...

Ladies and gents, it's been a long time and I've missed you dearly. I'm sorry for leaving you, but like a sobered up Irish husband taking the morning train into Dublin to apologize to his potatoe eating wife for drinking the wee ones milk money, I have crawled back to my moderately dry and warm hole with nothing but a hangover and a few blurry stories to explain months of absence. "Mcgernicle fetch yer father a pint, he itches for the gold of the leprechauns this fine hazy morrow"

But I digress....

Before telling you anything new and interesting going on in my life, let me begin by saying that I honestly thought I hated small towns before I moved here, but I'm beginning to think I may genuinely hate cities more. I've discovered that even though Prince is best summarized as a drunken smokey hole where the old curl up and die of scerosis and the young lose any aspirations that don't involve becoming a falsly enlightened hippie or a violent redneck, from what I've learned from Van, cities, although holding a virtual plethora of diversity, are still personality void holes of humanity where people only want attention-I use humanity in quite possibly the loosest terms possible because really many of the people here take on the attributes of animals or plastic lawn furniture. I once saw a girl that resembled a combination of an albatross and a skyblue fold-up lawn chair .

*If the government records every image I search, they are in for the ride of their life.

In Vancouver, the club scene is the worst for albatross lawn chairs. Now, I don't go out much. (I prefer to have a lonely drink by myself while honing my skills at duck hunt and resident evil...Jesus only knows that when the long foretold, zombie/mallard apocalypse comes I will be ready. I won't be off wasting precious time going bat-shit over "Umbrella" on the dimly dance floor and prancing around in half a chopped up unitard and strategically placed gold sticker ensemble after a day of soaking up rays on the beach like the hordes of super amazing actress/model/singer triple threats that so commonly frequents the club scene...please cut up a line of rat poison and get me to do it if you see me joining those masses. It shouldn't be hard to get me to do it, just tell me it's black tar heroine I'll be on it like white on rice.

Anyways, despite what this post has deteriorated to my intention was only to say that I miss my family, my friends, and even the personality of the retarded population of Prince George. Take this lesson from my words of wisdom: Just because a place sucks does not mean that anywhere else does it better. Vancouver is the whore who puts her makeup on with a shotgun, inevitably she'll stain your pillow case if you let her stay over.

Sunday, April 01, 2007

Someone Please Write the Paper there's only a few days left...dAAAmnit

I give...and I give...and I give...You people just take.

Sunday, March 25, 2007

Wednesday, March 21, 2007

Terrorism at Its Best and Worst

So I heard on the radio this morning that tainted pet food has been found responsible for most of the recent unexplainable deaths of dogs and cats, and I've developed a working theory to explain who would be capable of doing such a thing.

Actually, that's not true. I don't really have much in the way of proof for this theory, just a sweet picture that I've been stoked about showing off for on here for while, and no way to tie it to anything I felt like posting. Just because Osama killed Steve Irwin-OSAMA USES STRINGRAY'S CHEST PIERCING BARB ATTACK, doesn't mean I can pin every senseless and unpredictable death on him. I'm sorry I lied Osama, but you kinda had this coming after you couldn't even wait the extra week to murder Steve on the anniversary of your worst terrorist attack on American soil: LaToya Jackson's 1991 released autiobiography "La Toya: Growing Up in the Jackson Family".

So guys and gals, even if Osama isn't at fault this time we can still take this tragedy as a learning experience. Feeding your animals soft pet food isn't just hard on your animal's teeth and digestive system, it has now been proven to harbor fatal amounts of an unknown toxin that will undoubtedly leave your furry family member dead or dying after four days of severe unrelenting pain.

Goodbye for now, I'm off to download Pokemon's most beautiful and seizure-inducing episode "Dennou Senshi Porygon" and feed my dog a can of soft dog food.

-Computer Warrior Porygon

Tuesday, March 20, 2007

My Wrist Hurts...

Okay! So I'm over the week of soul crushing scholastic hell and I can now relax. I am now in a state of exhausted relief. That said, nothing that would interest any of the four loyal minions I've accumulated has happened recently, except for a few unmentionable things that could get me beaten or arrested and some things that would be funnier if you were there, like the time I stubbed my toe then punched my chair while wearing flood pants and a beer stained wife beater. Yeah...

Well anways, due the astounding amount of putrified shit I had to bathe in last week, I am now looking for someone willing to write my ten page poetry analysis for me. Yes I know, nobody likes a dishonest amoral pile of shit who doesn't deserve to be in university and I shouldn't lower myself to the level of an retard who can't write papers, but seriously I'm fucking tired. I don't want any more work and I will pay you fifty bucks.

Oh yeah speaking of retards, my friend Devon, or Dee as the masses of unimportants call her, entered a dance competition. She not only had to walk in unprepared and dance her ass off for over two songs, but she also got cock slapped in the face when to her dismay an adorably handicapped girl swooped in (okay that's not exactly true, she was actually wearing a cape and pretending she was a helicopter, but swooping sounds better) and used her spastically choreographed rendition of The Pussy* Cunt Doll's Song "Dontcha" to jiggle her way into first place.

Devon was a little disappointed with the XXL shirt that she recieved for second place, but I think this experience in the competitive world of dance is worth well over the cost of the 150 dollar pair of jeans that are were first prize.

Anyways to anyone that thinks they can successfully write my paper comment on here and I will talk to them about it. No idiots please.

-Velociraptor Cookie-Time

*Pussy: pronounced puh-see