Went out shopping in Camden yesterday. God, that place gets on my pecs more and more. It's always heaving and everything's so wildly overpriced. I was looking to buy one of those hooded sweat shirts with an "evil inside" logo, but I'd have to remortgage my kidneys to afford one. Thirty quid for a sweatshirt. (Oh, well, seeing as how I can't get one off the market for a fiver and write something on it myself, you've got me over a barrel... hey, wait...)
Went up the TG last night, spur of the moment. Chocka. Took it pretty easy but had a good time anyhow, chatting, hanging around the lounge and watching the show. Didn't stay till the end, just till 3-ish.
(Ah, shit. This is going to turn into one of those teejus shopping-and-clubbing blogs if I'm not careful. Must... get... brain...)
"But he can't be a man 'cause he doesn't smoke..."
I'm getting increasingly dissatisfied and cheesed off at things at the moment, my own lack of mental activity being the main source of cheesedoffness. Ever wake up and realise that someone's had all your best ideas first and that there is nothing left for you except to become another style-over-content muttonhead, spewing cheap, pseudo-intellectual guff from every orifice, hiding your vacuousity behind a screen of convoluted post-modernist "irony", examining the sociopolitical ramifications of What H Off Of Steps Said Last Wednesday, marooned on your little island of self-absorbed pontificating where everything that's important to you is political and yet nothing political is important, where taupe is the new ecru, where your personality is something you slip on with your new shoes and pop-culture is king?
Or is that just me?
"You great big beautiful doll..."
I really worry about things like this site. [work warning + completely unsuitable for minors], It was posted on my fave message board (ie, the one where I actually do more than lurk like a pervert) and mucho learned discussion is ensuing. It's heckofa creepy for sure, but there's something about it that tickles my sense of humour- especially the FAQs. Check this out:
"Q: What sort of people buy REALDOLL?
A: REALDOLL customers include futurists, artists, art collectors, film-makers, scientists, health professionals, housewives -- you name it. There simply isn't just one type of REALDOLL customer! We provide REALDOLLs to single men, couples seeking to enhance their s*x lives, people looking for exotic decorative art, adult retailers who want the ultimate display mannequin..."
So, not sad sacks who can't maintain a relationship with a real person, then.
"Q: Does the silicone flesh have a foul odor?
A: No. REALDOLL's silicone flesh is very nearly odorless. You can detect a very mild odor: a pleasant and fruit-like fragrance."
At this juncture I sprayed vodka'n'coke all over my keyboard.
"Q: What if I don't fit with RealDoll's... parts?"
Oh, wow! Oooh, you stud, you. So that's how come you need to bump the lala with a big pile of silicone in a bad wig- no mortal woman can handle your mighty, God-like proportions!
"Q: Can I use my REALDOLL as a pool toy?"
Bwahahahahahaaaaaaaa!
"Q: Do you have any rejects or used models I can buy for cheap?
A: No."
Damn, these guys are restrained. A more honest answer would be: "UUURGH! You rank swine! What the hell is WRONG with you? No wonder you're spending several thou. on a silicone toy- women won't come within ten miles of your house! Maybe if you scraped the grimy crust from your repellant carcass you might stand a chance. Yee-uch!"
Don't get me wrong: I'm into the whole "re-cycle by re-use" ethos. It's just that there's some things you don't buy second-hand....
I really hate you.
Today's mood:
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