oh hey neat-o

google finally fuckin realized i speak english and loads all my account shit in english instead of spanish now! woot! i wonder if maybe me setting my account up that way in the settings 400 times tipped them off!

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Prison Blog - genpop.org


one of those fuckin nights

so after watching an episode of house, which seemed to go on for like 9 hours which is noteworthy because i love this show, it never seems dull and i must have been more tired than death to have it feel like it was anything longer than an hour, i crawled into bed, read a couple of sentences of twisted confessions and passed out. a few minutes later, i was awake again. little joe has suddenly sprung to life and needs a feed. this hasn't happened in weeks and on the odd occasion it does, i just give him a feed and a few minutes later we're snoozin' again. but, and i say this but over a massive, disapproving sigh, as i was heating up itty bitty joey's bottle in the dark, i knocked over a wine glass left on the edge of the counter. admittedly an hilariously poetic moment as i couldn't see a fucking thing, i'm holding a wobbly baby looking at me with big doe eyes and a pacifier in his mouth and i turn to grab the bottle and i just hear slip... and then a moment of absolute, ear-shattering silence, and then a massive pop as microscopic shards of glass embed themselves in my bare calves. the pacifier falls out, doe eyes turn moist, the tiny lower lip sticks out and then "waaaaaa". so there i am standing in the middle of mine field of shattered glass, in bare feet, with bleeding legs, a crying baby and i still can't see a fucking thing. i have no choice, i have to walk through the glass in my bare feet. surprisingly, i managed to not cut myself on the soles of my feet at all. by now, however, joey is wide awake, my legs are stinging and my house needs a massive sweep. after feeding joey, sweeping up all the glass and picking out the little bits in my legs, joey remains as awake as if it were 8am and i, still, am so very, very tired.

Prison Blog - genpop.org


seven pounds

holy fuck.

this movie is heartbreakingly morose. i feel like i've been hit by a truck. seriously. i'm all for a good drama but this took drama to another level, one of those fucking sob-while-the-popcorn-falls-out-of-your-mouth type dillys. like you just wanna grab will smith and say "SMILE for FUCKS sake!" and it's just way too long and way too sad and they take too long to give you the answers to the questions. you could piece it together if you weren't too busy imagining what chewing on glass would feel like, just to take some of the pain away from this horribly gloomy movie.

will smith was good. rosario dawson was good, and woody harrelson's whole look in the flick is just off-putting. the actors were good, but really, i probably would have had more fun at a catholic funeral. this movie is cause for creating a new oscar category: the award for the actor who survived a role that would make just about anyone jump off a bridge.

fucking jellyfish. christ.

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american idol. fuck.

you know, this show wouldn't be half bad if it werent for the judges. seriously, who's garbage can did they scrape these fuckers out of? honestly. we've got that asshole randy jackson, who talks like he did 20 years at san quentin, dawg this, dawg that. his reaction to a good performance "aight. yo. yo. so check this out. check this out. yo. aight. yo. yo. check this out. yo. dawg, you really nailed this one. that beat was bumpin'. idol in the hooowwwwwwse! good lookin' out, dawg!" does he even know what good lookin out means? and this is what he says when it's a bad performance, "aight. yo. yo. ok. aight so check this out. check this out. yo. yo. check this out. aight. yo. so, i gotta be honest with you dawg. it was really just aight for me man. it really wasn't that good. dawg. dawg. yo..... yo." i guess a stint with journey is like a bit in folsom. fuck.

then we have little miss mouse face who thinks she knows everything about everything and talks the same way normal people try to get to the center of a tootsie pop, all pucker-faced and sucky. and beside her? fuckin' pisstank abdul, who's in a rush, rush to get to the bottom of a twixer of bacardi. has she ever enunciated a word, ever? SPEAK, paula, pull your teeth apart, let the words OUT.

the only person with half a brain is simon the flaming canker sore. but seriously, this guy is out to lunch too. "why are you booing me when they said the same thing?" well, what boozer, wanna-be-con and mouseface all said was "the performance wasn't the best we've seen from you" and what you, little simy-poo, said was "go slit your wrists, there's no point to living, you suck so hard not even jesus loves you anymore... ahem. die." and then he follows it up with his trademark shoulder shrug, palms to the sky and a "WHOT??"


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the boy

my son is so beautiful. i just can't express it in words. every morning i wake up to him cooing in his crib. i look over and i see little legs kicking up. i get up and walk over to his crib and look down at him and he squeals with delight and flashes me the most stunning two-toothed smile. he punches his fists and kicks his legs in excitement from seeing me. then i bring him back to bed with me and he talks to me. he grabs my face and says "ahhh, ahhh, ahhh" or razzes with his tiny little tongue. then rocky, the bestest fur brother a kid could have, jumps into bed with us and joey just smiles from ear to ear. he loves his bro bro. we all cuddle and play and make faces and laugh until it's time to get up.

it sure as hell beats waking up to an alarm, alone every morning. my son has made me a morning person. i never thought i'd see the day. he's a magical little boy.

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bangkok wtf?

you know what? why the fuck do people make awful movies? and you know what else? why do they cast nick cage? the guy is so ugly i can't stand it. i don't know what the fuck inspired me, but i just watched bangkok dangerous and i felt like i was being mugged over and over again, except the muggers weren't stealing money or jewelry or anything like that, they were sucking my soul out of my eyeballs. and they weren't muggers. they were nick cage. god. fuck.

the one part when the kid asks cage to teach him assassins 101 and nicky poo, instead of answering, holds a knife up to him to teach him to block someone coming at you with a knife, and he's saying "again, again" in his raspy-ass, wanna-come-see-the-puppy-in-my-van voice. oh my god. it was like restless leg syndrome, like your legs have so much energy at 3am when the rest of your body just wants to sleep and there's nothing you can do to make them feel better except take a hot bath? yeah it was like that, it was like an itch you can't scratch, like a blistering burn on your finger tip. i wanted to reach through the screen and grab him by his greasy chester hair and tell him that just because unky frankie cast him in the godfather a billion years ago doesn't give him the right to go around acosting us all with vile shit like bangkok dangerous and maybe he should think about getting a new fucking character because even in leaving las vegas he was still the creepy pedophiliac-esque raper man with a backwoods 'do, pock-marked face and fucking bug eyes. he's gross and the only job he should have is gravedigger or catholic priest.

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leftover stir-fry for lunch. hot damn.

http://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/4851/images/4851_MEDIUM.jpgdid you ever make something so yummy for dinner that when you packed up leftovers for lunch the next day, you could barely wait for lunch to come? just wishing you could press the fast forward button and throw that damned stir-fry in the microwave and sprinkle sesame seeds and grab some chopsticks and gobble. yeah.

i wish it was socially acceptable to eat dinner entrees for breakfast. how come it only works the other way around, except in the case of steak. you can eat steak for breakfast. which is retarded. stir-fry is a much better way to start the day than steak, nes pas?

the whole thing is bullshit. maybe i'll just defy all social norms and eat the damned stuff right now. fight the fucking power.

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