recepticle=Saturday, February 28, 2004
lawrie's spring break
you'd be correct if you were thinking that, as an englishman, from england, and never living in any place other than england for my entire life, i'd have no concept of what, or indeed who spring break is. or when. or if. and you'd be right. because i don't.
so, for spring break, i was thinking about waxing my ass, slipping into a bikini and hanging out by the pool, until some buff guy who listens to alternative rock like linkin park, but with a buff six-pack and a cool drug habit, like, totally 4:20, would offer me a toke on his pork man-bong.
but then i realised that, as a plan, that sucks. even more than Plan 9 From Outer Space. so instead, i plan to build a giant army of semi-aquatic amphibian robots that will carry me and my girlfriend across the ocean to japan, where i will be crowned emperor robot-san. the entire jewish nation of japan will rise up in joyous ecstacy as me and my girl have the largest wedding ceremony ever seen by man! and the bridesmaids will all be robots! robots that sing 'joy to the world' as we walk out of the mosque, in a beautiful mechanical chorus, kind of like the cylons, but more gritty. cylon bridesmaids full of grit.
and that is what i intend to do during my spring break.
- posted by lawrie at 3:09 AM ~ comments
Wednesday, February 25, 2004
omeg! i just found this hilarious site!
goatse.cx gets shut down. who knew it was hosted on the christmas islands?
- posted by lawrie at 12:18 PM ~ comments
that's not very nice
king of america george clinton says "gay marriage? i think you mean lol marriage! go back to fagland, homogays!"
- posted by lawrie at 10:55 AM ~ comments
Sunday, February 22, 2004
emo shmemo
emily is in paris, and i really miss her. i've just had an excellent night out with yen, kate, jon and annabel. did some dancin', had some laughs... but i kept finding myself wallowing in these little emo moments, all melancholy and such.
now, honest-swear-to-god-cross-my-heart-and-vote-republican (this is a joke, by the way), i haven't had a true-blue mopey moment for a very long time. many seasons have passed in the sun, and my emotions have been a pretty gosh-darn good pie, lightly seasoned with various spices of elation and anger, but never the blue icing of wistful ennui. i feel like i want to sit in a room alone with my back to the radiator and a guitar in my hand and write something that captures the melancholy moment, but will probably not sound very good in a few days time.
i really fucking miss my girlfriend, and i very badly need a hug.
- posted by lawrie at 3:24 AM ~ comments
Friday, February 20, 2004
daddy would you like some sausage?
- posted by lawrie at 1:38 AM ~ comments
Tuesday, February 17, 2004
want insurance? we got it! but only if it's ker-aayzeee!
for those of you who are fucking stupid enough to be using aol to connect to the internet, you will be familiar with aol's 'friendly' front-end system, which it would rather you use than a normal browser. scattered around this abomination are all kinds of sweet treats to click on, ranging from the "where are they now?" popup of previous big brother contestants, to the "where are they now?" popup of survivor contestants.
today, one of the brain-numbing magneto-links was labelled thus: "alien abuction?! odd insurance policies" and, like a fool, i clicked on it. probably because it used the word 'alien'. other words that have this effect on me are 'robot', 'chunk' and 'explodo-motion'.
so i click on the link, and it has the usual aol primer: "some people insure against ker-ayzee things! from alien abduction to the garden gnome, it shows just how zany people can be! so click next to see what kind of wackjob things people have insured against!"
bingo! number one, j-lo's ass. j-lo insured her ass for a trillion dollars, just in case she ever got aids and it fell off. well done. i never heard that one over two years ago.
number two: alien abduction. some zany americans insure themselves against being abducted by aliens. so... we're already at the headline that made me click on this in the first place. surely things can only go downhill form here?
number three: garden insurance. that's right! some freaky nutcases like to insure the stuff in their garden that isn't already covered by houseold contents insurance! wait for it... this includes gnomes. wacky!
number four: dangerous sports. some people like to go absailing, and that's not covered by regular holiday insurance! some companies offer competitive rates!
aol fuck off forever
- posted by lawrie at 8:41 PM ~ comments
Sunday, February 15, 2004
once upon a time in mexico
so, in keeping with my "blogging for friends" trend, i would like to tell you the greatest story i have ever heard, as related to me by my good friend angel.
chapter one: the suit, the party that never existed, the car.
over the christmas holidays, angel moved from living at home to living on campus, thus saving himself a 50 minute drive to college every day. last weekend, however, he was at home, and was invited to a friend's birthday, or some such nighttime activity probably involving beer. realising that all of his clothes are on campus, he take a look in his closet to if he has anything at home, and finds only a brand new suit that he wore once to a wedding. "fuck it, angel's looking sharp-as, tonight." he thought. probably. so, he steps outside, only to find his automobile has been taken by another member of his family.
then he sees his grandma's cadillac. bingo! and off he flies onto the interstate, on his way to meet up with friends for partying and such. but, three hours later, still on the interstate, and almost certain that he a) has missed his exit and b) has no idea where he is, suddenly see's this sign:
TIJUANA: LAST EXIT
chapter two: angel in mexico, getting drunk, japanese businessmen
this is not where the party is located. this is mexico. and the party was in the united states of america. pulling up to the warzone that is the mexican border, angel is immediately approached by mexican guards carrying rifles. looking through his window, they see a young japanese man in a crisp suit and a shiny cadillac. after a minute, angel is permitted through, and is led straight into la central. after angel's description, the only way i can imagine it is like walking through the centre of camden, but with more ponchos and dust. if you're american and have never been to camden, then this means nothing to you. sorry.
he parks his grandma's caddy in the mst well-lit street he could find, and gets out. the first place he sees across the street is called gomez's discoteka (unsure about both the name and the spelling, but 'gomez' works for me). assuming that the place would be full of gringos who would stop drinking whatever gutrot they were pouring down their gullets and stare at the impeccably-dressed japanese-looking fellow who had just infringed upon their den.
unfortunately, there was no such desperado-style scene; the bar was full of fucking college students and sweaty, ugly mexican bitches with no unda-wears on. a severely drunk young man called jared hooked one sweat arm around angel's neck and hollered "hey man! howya doin?". it was at this juncture that angel decided to get extremely drunk. an assumption was made that he was a japanese businessman and, you know, angel's seen 'lost in translation', he knows how to roll his 'r's, so he went with it.
chapter three: leaving mexico, race with a honda civic, hello officer
by five o'clock in the morning, angel was extremely drunk, dancing in a discoteka that was, bar him, completely empty. looking around, angel realises that this is perhaps a good time to leave. pushing the doors open and stepping outside, he's immediately hit by a stunning mexican sunrise, the dusty street awash with tequila-tinged sunshine. walking over to his gramma's caddy, he finds a mexican man sleeping against it, propped against the side. after angel kicks him lightly, the sleeper stands up and shuffles off, never saying a word.
after getting into the car and leaving mexico without incident, angel starts to feel pretty good as he cruises at 70mph back towards california. even a little bit sober. suddenly, a jet-black honda crx slams past angel, almost clipping angel's driverside. after getting over the initial offended shock, angel's features set, glowering at the ever-accelerating honda. "it is on" he whispers, pushing his foot down and feeling the cadillac take off like a solid chrome rocket.
pulling alongside the honda, angel shouts obscenities through the window before pulling ahead, blocking the way for the other driver. honda goes left, angel swerves left; honda goes right, angel swerves right. this continues for a short while before "WOOwooWOOwooWOOO!" not one, not two, but count 'em! three state patrol cars box both the honda and angel in, forcing them to pull over.
"hands on the wheel! HANDS ON THE WHEEL! SHOW ME YOUR HANDS!" angel, as you can probably guess, has begun to shit in his pants. dragged from his vehicle and zip-tied, he is unceremoniously shoved into the back of one of the patrol cars as his grandma's cadillac is towed away. arriving at the station, he informed that his bail will be set at $1000. nobody on earth knows where he is. his life is pretty much over.
chapter four: jim, redemption, home
as he's carted through the station, waiting at the desk, he happens to look across the office.
there, seated not ten feet away, is his roommate's daddoo, jim.
jim takes a cursory glance upward before returning to his paperwork. a second passes. jim's left ear twitches. he looks up.
j: "...angel?"
a: "jim!"
j: "what happened?"
a: "well, i was on my way back from mexico..."
j: "ah."
and that was all it took. "ah." jim pulled angel aside into an office, taking over the collar from his colleagues. no charges will be made, angel will not be detained, his grandma's car will be returned to him, nothing will appear on his record. and that was that. by midday, angel was back home, collapsed and sleeping, still wearing his suit, in his own bed.
and that, my friends, is a story.
- posted by lawrie at 11:07 PM ~ comments
Wednesday, February 11, 2004
return of the mack
for lack of more interesting things that are going on in my life (everything peachy, thanks for asking), i've decided to blog for those who are unable to. begin!
wanted: good-looking, emotionally stable, non-retarded male in the california area for serious macking. must like like cute asian guys called barry, who are a little short on mack this week. apply here.
later, i will tell you the greatest story i ever heard.
- posted by lawrie at 6:16 PM ~ comments
Friday, February 06, 2004
so this is how it goes
my girlfriend is the best girlfriend in the whole fucking world, and today can just go take a flying fuck at a rolling donut, y'all.
the windscreen wipers on our mini don't work. ordinarily, this wouldn't be a big deal, except that the weather is shit, and every weekend i drive a 240 mile round trip to see my girl. doing 85mph on the m11 ain't no fun when you're blind.
so, i find out there's a specialist mini garage right near me. the old guy is never fucking in, and doesn't return his phone calls. no other garages can take it in today, so i'm a happy rail traveller again. i try and dig out my special uber railcard which gets me a first class weekend return to london for £19, but i can't find it. i ring up the rail company and ask if there's anything i can do. "no, but we'll send you a new one. should take about a month."
my young person's railcard has expired. without it, the journey costs £50. to get a new one, and book the journey at a discount would cost me £51. i'd really rather spend that money on getting the car repaired. oh, wait... fuck.
top all that with less than five hours sleep and an hour and a half of my morning poking around inside the mini's crampled little engine thinking over and over, "i don't have the first fucking clue what i'm doing." and that's been my day.
it's just before 1pm. i'd like it to be over now, please.
- posted by lawrie at 12:48 PM ~ comments
Tuesday, February 03, 2004
true story
okay, so, one time, me and a bunch of friends were at some shitty local lap-dancing joint drinking absinthe with tequila chasers... you know how that goes. things started to get a little crazy, and we were taking money on who could drink the most yards of vodka before dying, and the next thing i know, i've told some dude that his girlfriend looked like a bulldog chewing a wasp who had her face set on fire and then put out with a screwdriver, and he's asking me how i'd like a knuckle supper.
i woke up four days later, having apparently hitched a ride across the atlantic and as far south as tlalnepantla in mexico, and married a handsome mustachioed man by the name of miguel. my wedding band had apparently come from a christmas cracker, but miguel was promising that our new and destitute life together would not remain so forever; he had a plan.
i was introduced to four of miguel's friends; juan, miguel's cousin and an expert with explosives; rodriguez, a childhood friend of miguel's who owned a crop-dusting business and a couple of light aircraft; antoni, widely believed to be one of the smallest men in all of mexico at just seventeen inches tall; and alfredo, a huge, burly mexican with skin the color of a chocolate malted horlick's drink and arms as wide as antoni was tall.
to try and cut a very long story short, we all piled into one of rodriguez's planes dressed in all black and to set off on what miguel promised to be the adventure of a lifetime and a wonderful honeymoon to boot. most of my black gear was borrowed from miguel's old militia days, and his grandmother's funeral vail. we flew as low as we could and as hard as we could until we reached a midway beacon in the stretch of water between cuba and the florida keys. we disembarked from the plane and piled onto a small-engine raft that took us around the coast of florida to orlando, and from there we trekked on foot to the gates of cape canaveral.
cutting our way through the fence, we tiptoed past the frankly lax security and piled onto the shuttle enterprise, which had been sitting on the tarmac for the tourists to gawp at. rodriguez, with his knowledge of small aircraft, was easily able to start the shuttle, and after juan placed a dozen small, highly focused and precision-cut slices of c-4 plastique near the rockets, we were able to take off! we were airborne in the finest shuttle ever built!
our final objective was close, and with the incredible speeds available to us on the shuttle, we were flying over brazil within minutes. it all came down to this single, solitary moment, and a prophecy that had been told to miguel by a one-legged prostitute as she lay dying beneath him many years before:
"las cucarachas entran, pero no pueden salir."
which, my husband explained to me, meant "in the days of the great festival, an enormous panda-bird shall give birth to it's tiny young over brazil, and that baby panda-bird will be a man, and he and his friends would be brazil's saviours, and will be worshipped as brazil's first royal family without hesitation."
and so, as three dozen chefs attempted to cook the world's largest paella in brazil's capital below us, alfredo gathered antoni up in one huge fist and flung him with all his might from the belly of the shuttle. alfredo opened his arms, the wind racing about him, his jet-black hair fluttering as the brazillians gathered around the paella looked up in awe and wonder, many falling to their knees as they witnessed the prophecy come true.
after a safe landing, and the warmest greeting any englishman could expect, we were carried high on the shoulders of our new subjects to the mighty brazillian palace, built entirely from diomands and snowflakes in preparation for this day, and miguel and i became king and queen of brazil.
- posted by lawrie at 7:27 PM ~ comments