Seriously but, I just caught a glimpse of SYTYCD, and everything was normal: stupid, over-confident Americans, my urge to punch Mary, and shattered dreams. However, one auditioning couple made me screw up my face in deep confusion. Their body language and interactions with one another would allow one to safely assume their romantic status. However, it was revealed they were, in fact, siblings. Their dance was the most confusing of all. I was left wondering if it is possible to be so loving and trusting of your sibling that you would engage in something so close to blatant gropage, pressing up against the other, humping the floor simultaneously and so on.
Also, did you notice in the background of news reports how fucking quickly "RIP Michael Jackson" t-shirts have been manufactured? I was impressed, then I got images of some assface pulling up outside the hospital with a cart full of death shirts, ready to sell to vulnerable fans.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Tattoo Face Gets Her Come-Uppance, Part I: The Birth.
Incidentally, I wanted to get giselle.blogspot.com for a URL, because that would be the shit. It was taken. After navigating to said page, I was not amused to find some fuckass had stolen my name in early 2001, and left two entries: "iiiie wat is dit?" and "llll". Yeah, mad.
I mean, at least if I got that, I'd use it for inspirational, intellectually stimulating blogs. Like, say, Tattoo Face Gets Her Come-Uppance. I feel safe to assume anyone reading this has indeed witnessed the progression of the tale, which can basically be summed up as so:
I mean, at least if I got that, I'd use it for inspirational, intellectually stimulating blogs. Like, say, Tattoo Face Gets Her Come-Uppance. I feel safe to assume anyone reading this has indeed witnessed the progression of the tale, which can basically be summed up as so:
Tattoo Face: 3 stars on mah face plz
Tattoo Artist: k
TF: actualy 56 stars plz
TA: k
TF's Father: OMG WTFFFF!1!!
TF: lol woops, i fell sleep nd shit
TA: lol wut no u didnt
Tattoo Artist: k
TF: actualy 56 stars plz
TA: k
TF's Father: OMG WTFFFF!1!!
TF: lol woops, i fell sleep nd shit
TA: lol wut no u didnt
Indeed, it spilled out into drawn-out, sorry affair, with the denoument being Kimberley "Starface McGee" Vlaeminck admitting to having lied upon seeing her furious father and henceforth figuratively shitting her pants.
My thoughts on the matter? The silly girl nearly ruined the reputation of who I'm sure is a very dedicated, professional tattoo artist (and went on, as part of her facade, to demand thousands of dollars for laser removal surgery), because she was too chickenshit to admit she made a mistake. Are her 56 facial badges of shame enough punishment? Fuck off.
This is where The Sims 3 comes into play. I have viewed the transcription of many sick, sadistic Sims experiments on the net, from psycho clowns with babies, to homeless children who have never experienced human love. Yet I have never seen a household created with the sole intent to punish and shame gratituously, rather than to satisfy our Godly curiousities.
And so is birthed Kimberley Vlaeminck, a teenage sim, with a natural, knowingly sad facial expression. Perhaps she knows it is time to receive punishment for her fuck-ups, or perhaps she's just sad that I discovered a way to adorn half her face with permanent, black stars. That's right, even in a digital world of endless visual and cosmetic possibilities, you cannot escape your choice, bitch.
Why is she bald, I hear you ask. Well, I figured if I shaved her head, there is no way she can even attempt to partially conceal her freakish disfigurement. Lying cowards do not deserve hair. In fact, I made "coward" one of her personality traits, among others I selected to reflect what we know of her. She is "childish", for instance, and "absent-minded". To spite her, and rub in her poorly thought out lie, I also made her a "heavy sleeper".
You'd think her physical appearance and horrid personality would be punishment enough for the remainder of her life, but no. Upon discovering that teenagers cannot exist on their own within a household, I realized she needed adult supervision (presumably incase, say, she got a sideways vulva tattooed on her face with her mouth as the hole).
The clear adult figure consistently referenced in articles I've read would be her father. Unfortunately, I could not find a photograph of him to reference from! All I know is that he likes icecream, and he doesn't like obtrusive facial tattoos. This is not much to work from, and I found myself forced to get a little creative. From what I know about middle Europe, if there's a hostile father prototype to be had, it would be this guy:
And so became sim Josef Fritzl Vlaeminck, an elderly gentleman who is "evil", "inappropriate", "insane", and "". But hey ladies, he's also "family-orientated"! His favourite food is sushi and he likes indie music. He actually sounds a bit like me!
And so, with Josef Fritzl standing in his little old man cardigan, I decided to modify Kimberley's attire. Previously, I was thinking that being cursed with everything aforementioned, plus having to live in her father's dingy basement as he lives comfortably upstairs would be enough. I then visualised the poor, sullen face of the tattoo artist who she heartlessly attempted to destroy emotionally and financially. No, this would not be enough. It was time to purchase a double bed.
Coming soon: Tattoo Face Gets Her Come-Uppance, Part 2: House of Doom.
My thoughts on the matter? The silly girl nearly ruined the reputation of who I'm sure is a very dedicated, professional tattoo artist (and went on, as part of her facade, to demand thousands of dollars for laser removal surgery), because she was too chickenshit to admit she made a mistake. Are her 56 facial badges of shame enough punishment? Fuck off.
This is where The Sims 3 comes into play. I have viewed the transcription of many sick, sadistic Sims experiments on the net, from psycho clowns with babies, to homeless children who have never experienced human love. Yet I have never seen a household created with the sole intent to punish and shame gratituously, rather than to satisfy our Godly curiousities.
And so is birthed Kimberley Vlaeminck, a teenage sim, with a natural, knowingly sad facial expression. Perhaps she knows it is time to receive punishment for her fuck-ups, or perhaps she's just sad that I discovered a way to adorn half her face with permanent, black stars. That's right, even in a digital world of endless visual and cosmetic possibilities, you cannot escape your choice, bitch.
Why is she bald, I hear you ask. Well, I figured if I shaved her head, there is no way she can even attempt to partially conceal her freakish disfigurement. Lying cowards do not deserve hair. In fact, I made "coward" one of her personality traits, among others I selected to reflect what we know of her. She is "childish", for instance, and "absent-minded". To spite her, and rub in her poorly thought out lie, I also made her a "heavy sleeper".
You'd think her physical appearance and horrid personality would be punishment enough for the remainder of her life, but no. Upon discovering that teenagers cannot exist on their own within a household, I realized she needed adult supervision (presumably incase, say, she got a sideways vulva tattooed on her face with her mouth as the hole).
The clear adult figure consistently referenced in articles I've read would be her father. Unfortunately, I could not find a photograph of him to reference from! All I know is that he likes icecream, and he doesn't like obtrusive facial tattoos. This is not much to work from, and I found myself forced to get a little creative. From what I know about middle Europe, if there's a hostile father prototype to be had, it would be this guy:
And so became sim Josef Fritzl Vlaeminck, an elderly gentleman who is "evil", "inappropriate", "insane", and "". But hey ladies, he's also "family-orientated"! His favourite food is sushi and he likes indie music. He actually sounds a bit like me!
And so, with Josef Fritzl standing in his little old man cardigan, I decided to modify Kimberley's attire. Previously, I was thinking that being cursed with everything aforementioned, plus having to live in her father's dingy basement as he lives comfortably upstairs would be enough. I then visualised the poor, sullen face of the tattoo artist who she heartlessly attempted to destroy emotionally and financially. No, this would not be enough. It was time to purchase a double bed.
Coming soon: Tattoo Face Gets Her Come-Uppance, Part 2: House of Doom.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Are you society-whipped?
I am wondering if you, perhaps, identify with any of the following situations.
"Uh, that's not my car."
But, basically, last semester we took a very excellent class at university. One theorist studied was Michel Foucault, and his ideas about a self-surveilling society: an efficient society in which we no longer need Big Brother because we scrutinize ourselves for concern of what others might think of us. Even if conforming to cultural norms conflicts with our interest in manifesting our individuality. And so, we behave ourselves, we watch our grooming, our sexuality, what we talk about, how clean our homes are, whom we form relationships with - virtually each aspect of our lives. Remember back to kindergarten, when the mad cunts pressured you to cross the line and join them in the out-of-bounds area? You wanted to be cool and accepted, didn't you? Well, think of society's normalizing gaze like that. Think of it as an omnipresent, pounding, constant yet invisible version of the peer pressure chant.
Peerpressurepeerpressurepeerpressurepeerpressurepeerpressurepeerpressurepeerpressurepeerpressurepeerpressurepeerpressurepeerpressurepeerpressurepeerpressure.
And we want to be normal, yeah? I dunno.
It is only after this had been articulated to me that I became conciously aware of it and desired to betray, and see others betray it. I found myself perplexed and angry, because I think it's plain shit. I mean, where's the beauty and wonder in humanity if we are all perfect, clean, and restrained? If we keep going like this, no one wins but the companies who roll around in mammoth piles of our normalizing money, smoking their cigars with their white-gloved hands, their fat eyelids dripping over their monocles. I bet they love how we've been manipulated.
Fuck it! Let's eat icecream for breakfast, sleep with tampons in, and admit to all the poppy garbage in the Top 40 we actually like. I mean, shit, we might not smell as nice, but dammit, we'd be a shitload happier.
I feel smug allowing the hair on my inner thighs to grow back, because I like it like that. I am also pleased to see evidence of people I know giving mass-media the big Fuck You. Adam wears glasses that make him look like a total nerd, because he likes them. Sam wears whatever the hell she wants. She likes it. Cowie is raring to grow facial hair that will make him look like a 70's porn star, because he likes it. (Also, I have absolutely no problem with that last one.)
It would give me the deepest pleasure to see makeup companies and cosmetic surgeons go broke. And Gillette. I don't believe society will ever celebrate our imperfect selves. But still, we can rebel in a happy orgy of oversized ears, dirty old chucks, and beards down to our normal tits.
- Someone's coming round to yours and Mum's running around like a frightened cockroach to get everything unnaturally clean and tidy before they arrive. She then goes apeshit due to the state of your bedroom.
- You've had a delightful day on the town, sporting a relatively low-cut dress, but zip up your hoodie up to your eyeballs five minutes before it's time for interaction with your boyfriend's parents.
- Your parents force you to take your far younger sibling to see 17 Again or some shit. You actually enjoy it. You lie to your friends and tell them it was shit. For the purpose of verisimilitude, you throw in a homosexual slur about Zac Efron.
- You're just a douche and lie about how far your pity-date went with you to make it seem like you actually get some.
"Your car, sir."
"Uh, that's not my car."But, basically, last semester we took a very excellent class at university. One theorist studied was Michel Foucault, and his ideas about a self-surveilling society: an efficient society in which we no longer need Big Brother because we scrutinize ourselves for concern of what others might think of us. Even if conforming to cultural norms conflicts with our interest in manifesting our individuality. And so, we behave ourselves, we watch our grooming, our sexuality, what we talk about, how clean our homes are, whom we form relationships with - virtually each aspect of our lives. Remember back to kindergarten, when the mad cunts pressured you to cross the line and join them in the out-of-bounds area? You wanted to be cool and accepted, didn't you? Well, think of society's normalizing gaze like that. Think of it as an omnipresent, pounding, constant yet invisible version of the peer pressure chant.
Peerpressurepeerpressurepeerpressurepeerpressurepeerpressurepeerpressurepeerpressurepeerpressurepeerpressurepeerpressurepeerpressurepeerpressurepeerpressure.
And we want to be normal, yeah? I dunno.
It is only after this had been articulated to me that I became conciously aware of it and desired to betray, and see others betray it. I found myself perplexed and angry, because I think it's plain shit. I mean, where's the beauty and wonder in humanity if we are all perfect, clean, and restrained? If we keep going like this, no one wins but the companies who roll around in mammoth piles of our normalizing money, smoking their cigars with their white-gloved hands, their fat eyelids dripping over their monocles. I bet they love how we've been manipulated.
Fuck it! Let's eat icecream for breakfast, sleep with tampons in, and admit to all the poppy garbage in the Top 40 we actually like. I mean, shit, we might not smell as nice, but dammit, we'd be a shitload happier.
I feel smug allowing the hair on my inner thighs to grow back, because I like it like that. I am also pleased to see evidence of people I know giving mass-media the big Fuck You. Adam wears glasses that make him look like a total nerd, because he likes them. Sam wears whatever the hell she wants. She likes it. Cowie is raring to grow facial hair that will make him look like a 70's porn star, because he likes it. (Also, I have absolutely no problem with that last one.)
It would give me the deepest pleasure to see makeup companies and cosmetic surgeons go broke. And Gillette. I don't believe society will ever celebrate our imperfect selves. But still, we can rebel in a happy orgy of oversized ears, dirty old chucks, and beards down to our normal tits.
I wanna see it untame itself and break it's owner.
Car, Built to Spill
Car, Built to Spill
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