Speaking of Crying
27 January 2000
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
|
Speaking of Crying
27 January 2000
|
|
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
7:23 PM: Why does Brazilian - or French or Russian or whatever this gabble is - pop music sound so cheesy all the time? Either it's some guy bellowing and whining like he's had a vital organ removed, or a woman moaning in these awful funereal tones, or it all sounds like music from some bad children's TV show from the 1970s. I just don't get that. They have access to the same music we do, the same instruments. What weird relativistic timewarp is holding them back?
Some VP of Boohoohooing was here earlier today. I don't know what he said, particularly. As he was lying anyway it hardly matters. But they did buy donuts to mark his visitation, so probably worth it on the whole. And our wonderful lady of the facilities got some non-dairy creamer to go with the coffee, which means I can drink it without that peculiar folding-in-half sensation. Yay. My day, it is made of small things.
French. It's French. I guess that's something of an explanation in itself.
The State of the Union speech is running right now. I kinda wish I could watch it. Bit nostalgic, after all, last time for Bill and all. For all that he was an asshole, he could have been worse. Now that the ink-stained pack dogs have fallen on the still-fresh corpse of Bill Bradley, we're pretty much stuck with Call Me Al. Great. What's that I smell? Is that ... "Loser" you're wearing?
George Whitemalerichhypocritefucker Bush or John "Go Directly To Jail" McCain. McCain might be a nice guy and all, but only as a person. Not as the appointer of the Supreme Court votes that Scalia and Rehnquist need to finish rewriting the Constitution. Not as the guy who'll send a working team over to China to get some tips on keeping filth out of the Internet. Not as the guy who might just give "drug war" a whole new sense of realism, hello Columbia.
And Bush, well I think we all know what that'd be about. Ka-ching. Fuck you. Not complex.
Damn Australia and their impertinent immigration policy, anyway.
Now it's the Spanish guy. Somethingsomething par AQUIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII in a voice coated with Drano, like someone is flamenco dancing on his corns. That must be what the clapping's about.
Willfully blind self-indulgent nebbish or amusingly quirky old coot? And how bout that local sports team? Discuss among yourselves.
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| yestoday | today | tomorrowday | ||
| archive | semi-bio | |||
| listen! | random | privit | ||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
|
| ||||
| ||||
|
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
All names are fake, most places are real, the
author is definitely
unreliable but it's all in good fun. Yep.
© 1998-1999 Lighthouse for the Deaf. All rights reserved and stuff. The motto at the top of the page is a graffito I saw on Brunswick Street in Melbourne. | ||||
| ||||