Hair today...

I had my hair cut just the other day.It is the exact same hairdue that I have had for nearly 7 years now. Well, technically, it is not a hairdue. It is what happened by being bald for a brief time and then letting it grow long and then asking my haircuttingperson to cut of about yay much.

Anyway, when you start getting hair in your mouth when you eat, that is how you know that it is time to get a haircut. So, I called upon Delilah, of Delilahs Haircutting and Violinrestringing Boutique. I get my violin restringed and my hair cut at the same time. Brilliant. But, apparently she doesn't do housecalls anymore. There was an... Incident. Apparently, violinrestringing is some sort of euphemism over in New Ginsburgh. That is the next town over. Those people are weird. Her latest add reads "Delilahs haircutting and violinrestringing boutique: I do not have sex with people for money!". So, I had to call upon the new guy. Now, Delilah has cut my hair since I was about five years old, so finding a new haircutter is tough. When my uncle Sammy needs a haircut, he just sends a guy over with his hair, but that is not an option for me.

I accept no less than 10 years of experience with haircutting and a graduation with honors from the International Institute of Haircutting. Apparently, the first one is no problem, since I.I.H. shut down in 1985. The problem is actually finding one, since people, for some reason, tend to leave the Institute of their resumes. I guess that it being placed in the Soviet-Union tends to scare customers away. That pretty much left me with two options: Harold Saxe-Coburg-Gotha and Floyd, whose last name I didn't quite catch. So, I just call him Floyd, the Guy Who Cuts My Hair.

A secret sees the light of day.

Hi. Ashley here. You might remember me from the occasional part in the continued story of the laziest man on earth. Julia was typing up old tapes, as [Name Deleted as per subprogram A113] tends to have her do when he is watching TV and wants her out of the way. I swear, that guy has tapes for everything. I mean, I have seen transcripts of conversations where I had no idea that he was taping. I think that he might have recorded everything he said or did from the last decade. Even if he didn't bother to log out of blogspot. So, anyway, I heard portions of a tape, that I think should be shared with you. He already prepared todays post, so I have exchanged it with this one.

Apparently, he has written a program to prevent his real name from being known, for some reason, even if he has no problem using mine, Marks and Julias names. So, I am just gonna call him... Young. As to make the transcript readable.

Mark: 'Sup, man.
[Beat]
Young: I have no respons for that. Julia?
Julia: "'Sup."
Young: 'Sup.
Mark: Hey, do you remember that girl that sat in front of us in class, next to that other girl.
Young: Left or right?
Mark: Left.
Young: Can't say that I do.
Mark: No wait, right.
Young: Oh yeah, the cute one with the glasses.
Mark: Yeah, I ran into her in town. She asked about you.
Young: Me?
Mark: Yeah, what you are up to, these days.
Young: What did you say?
Mark: I told her that you were arrested for a crime so weird that the judge had to option but to give you permanent house-arrest.
Young: How did she react?
Mark: About how anyone would react to finding out that guy they might ask out is not legally allowed to leave his house.
[Beat]
Young: Julia?
Julia: She said "Oh... Tell him I said hi, or, don't, or... Nevermind" and left before Mark could ask if he should give you her number.
Mark: Word for word.
Young: Orw!
Julia: Who is she?
Mark: Gretchen? A cute girl from school. Wore glasses. He had a crush on her. And I think that he could have had her, if he had not been shy.
Julia: Hey, mind if I ask you something personal.
Young: Yeah, but you are gonna ask anyway.
Julia: You can't stand germs, right?
Young: Right?
Julia: You wash hands twice an hour.
Young: Correct.
Julia: You bath a minimum of once a day, more if you think you need it.
Young: Yep.
Julia: You hate sweat.
Young: Where are you going with this.
Julia: Still, you have had sex...
Mark: Hey, yeah. Something is wrong, here.
Young: I am not sure what you are implying.
Mark: How are you able to have sex when you are afraid of just about everything that it involves.
Young: ...
Mark: Hey, get away from that taperecorder! This should be saved for posterity.
Young: I'll save it for your posterity! Gimme that!
Mark: If you can reach it, short stuff.
Julia: Hey, if you haven't had sex, what does Denby think that you did with his daughter.
Mark: Why does he think that you had sex with her?
Young: ...
Mark: You told him that you did, didn't you?
Young: No I... Hey, The Daily Show is on.
Julia: Why would you do that?
Mark: Wait, so those conquest stories that you told me...
Julia: Oooooh...
Mark: Oh what?
Julia: Nothing...

Then Young starts blabbering about the Daily Show, which, basically, should have been todays post. Afterwards, Mark starts singing "Like a virgin", or, he sings the title again and again, apparently because he doesn't know more than that bit. And Julia keeps reassuring that Young that there is nothing wrong with it while Young is explaining the ickyness of sex ("too many fluids and germs and sweat and yuck"). And I decides to be here Monday at 11.59 AM, to see his reaction when this post goes up.

A Marked Man part 2

Some of you might have read about the explosion at the poster factory. Mark says "sorry" and that he didn't mean to. He is saying something about domino, but his head is currently deep inside my couch, so I can't hear it quite clearly.

However, he claims to have no knowledge of the fire in the self defence class.

A marked man

Ashley and Julia went to a selfdefence class, and, as it turns out, a poster of Mark is used as the image of sex offenders. He did some investigation, and it turns out that not only does a former girlfriend work at the posterfactory, another former girlfriend is the teacher in their class. It has really cut into his dating-life and various sorts of lady-pick-upping... Up picking of ladies... What ever the correct grammatic tense is, he aint gettin' any. Which somehow becomes my problem, because he gets stressed and when he gets stressed, he gets annoying. He gets all this pent-up energy, which manifests itself in being like he was when we were 16 years old. And if you spend any time around 16 year olds, you will know that they are jerks. So he has been spending much of his time at my place, playing gamecube and prankcalling people. And he is getting Julia to bring cookies and lemonade, and saying "Thank you, Mrs. S", which is odd as Julia is neither a Mrs. or has a surname beginning with S. So, tonight, Mark is gonna break into both the self defence class and the poster factory and destroy all images of himself.

Don't worry, I already called my lawyer, Ron, to go down and bail out Mark first thing in the morning.

From my taperecorder

Julia - No, you can't.
Me -  Yes I can.
Julia - But you are not from the american south.
Me -  Being a southern gentleman is a state of mind.
Julia - That is the most northern state.
Me -  Hm? No, I said "mind". State of Mind.
Julia - Can't you just be a gentleman.
Me - Haven't I always been a gentleman?
Julia - You spent all day yesterday shooting spitballs at Denby.
Me - He had it coming.
Julia - What about...
Me - He pitched a dang tent on the curb. Look at him, looking at me, the creep.
Julia - You are not from the south and you are no gentleman.
Me - Alright, tell you what. If I can be a southern gentleman, you can be a southern belle.
Julia - ...Really?
Me - Sure.
Julia - Like Vivian Leigh?
Me - Yeah, only, you know, not mentally ill.
Julia - Yeah. I'm going to dance and dance!
Me - You do that.
Julia - Tonight I wouldn't mind dancing with Abe Lincoln himself!
Me - Girl, I said, girl, dat boy is a yankee, and y'all best stay aways from him.

And we continued like that for a couple of hours.

So long, Newman

I had several pages written about this great man, but then this little redheaded spoilsport jumps in an informs me that Paul Newman did not, in fact, bring chocolate eggs on easter. She claims that it is done by some sort of lagomorph. I dunno, I am reasonably sure that I was always told that it was Paul Newman who hid eggs, out of some sort of charitable effort. And gave out little chocolate statues of himself for us to idolize, for some reason. But I digress. Goodbye, Mr. Newman, and thanks for all the chocolate.

I am not being told that he did, in fact, make saladdressing. Well, thanks for that too, I guess. Now, drive your very fast car into the afterlife, and say hi to Richard Nixon for me. I am number 721 on his enemies list. But that is another story.

On a lighter note, this is my 100th post. Yay. And it only took me... ten months? I gotta update this thing more often.

A new occupant of my humble home.

So, I recently learned that Julia has been living here for a while, now. To be frank, I was under the impression that she lived in an apartment in The City and commuted. But, apparently, she has been secretly living here for the last couple of months. I throught that she just came early and stayed late, but no. She has been sleeping on my couch. So, I assigned her a proper room and we got her stuff, which had been stored at her parents, in. Or, someone else got her stuff in. I just said "That is your room. You live there, now. Get of my couch. Gotta watch Gummi Bears". It is lucky that my house has several bedrooms. Anyway, It takes a bit of getting used to. I haven't had a roommate since that time when Mark was in hiding from an angry husband. Not his own, mind*. The husband of his then girlfriend. Or, since they were not actual "friends", in the strictest sense of the word, his girl. Or, since she wasn't actually "his", the female with whom Mark was having a physical relationship with, without the specific permission of her husband. He lived in my old apartment for several months, mooching of my stuff and sleeping on my couch. And watching Tour de France all the time.

I seem to have lost my train of throught. But, welcome Julia.


*That reminds me of another story, that I really ought to tell you, sometime.

This is not my week

Wednesday - The fosset broke and we had to turn of the main water supply. Now I am without water for toilet and handwashing. And my hands are filthy. Or, they feel that way. I better not touch something gross until tomorrow, when the plumber gets here. Like, anything. So, I wrapped my hands in plastic bags, since I haven't got any rubber gloves at the moment. But I really need a bath. So, I have been scrubbing myself with moist towelettes. I haven't figured out what to do if I need to go to the bathroom. I just pray to God, or since I am not a religious man, I just hope a lot, which is probably just as effective as praying, that it won't come to that. Julia, the snarky little thing, has been over at Ashleys all day "because of the superior restroom facilities". See if I give her the key to the toilet the next time she asks to borrow it.

My week is getting slightly worse by the day

Monday - The powersupply to my external harddisk breaks down and I need to send it back to get a new one from the place I got it from. That could take weeks.
Thursday - I learn that the guy who wrote Artemis Fowl is going to write a new book in the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy series.
Wednesday - I predict that a comet will hit my house, knocking off my bathroom wall.

From my notebook 2

The bible says to not worship Idols. Any religion that says no to Billy is no religion for me.

Status symbols in my world

I have noticed, whenever I imagine living like the rich does, it involves a german butler and a bucket of cocain. In my mind, the german is named Schültz. I don't know why a bucket of cocain. I don't even do drugs, and I am reasonably sure that cocaine is not a status-symbol in most groups. Though it would be cool to offer it to guests. "Can I get you anything? Coffee, cola, cocain? I don't even know where you could buy a bucket of the stuff? Do they give discounts if you buy in bulk? Do I have to buy a few grams at a time? What if the cops find my cocain? I have no intention of selling it, or doing whatever you do in order to take cocain. Sniff it, smoke it, inject it, throw it up in the air and yell "SNOW", whatever. So can they charge me just for possesion? If they do, I will just jump on my tiny pony and ride of. Yes, if I was that rich, I would have a tiny, tiny pony, just for emergencys. Then ride it into a limo. Then ask schültz to drive the limo into my helicopter. Then get him to fly the helicopter into my private airplane and fly to Monaco. Then gamble my fortune, until all I had left was a bucket of cocain, which I could sell to movieactors for more gambling money. Not good actors. Just former SNL stars who think that they are oh-so-pretty that they could laugh over sketches and almost ruin the genius that is more cowbell.

Throughts on South Park

From my notebook:

South Park has sucked a great deal since season 3. After that, it went really far up its own ass and got stuck there. And if you are real quiet, you can hear the muffled yells of "Quick, reference something current to give the impression of being relevant. And be sure to insult all sides of the issue, so that we actually don't say anything and offer no solutions. Ooooh, and jokes involving butts, sex and lots of poop, in order to give the illusion of being edgy, despite being adolescent nonsense".

Happy Birthday to me!

Yes, I survived yet another year. A year of ups and downs and starting a blog that is, on average, read by between 14 to 18 people a week, so it is mainly for my own amusement. But anywho, this is a day for celebration. Of me! I need presents and I need them to be forked over pretty soon. Perhaps some chocolate. Or some sort of entertainment. Gimme!

The most annoying phrase in the world

"All you had to do was follow the damn train, CJ".

Yes, and all you had to do was shoot the bloody Vargos, you fat git! How hard can it be. I am on a motorcycle, trying to keep up with a train. You just have to point the gun in a way as to hit the intended goal, in this case four latino criminals on top of a train, not hiding behind anything.

Actually, I am reasonably sure that Marks least favorite phrase is "I am a lesbian", but only after the sixth or so time he heard it. We decided that either he is some sort of magnet for lesbians, who will seek his friendship and lead him on for a few weeks, until they decide to come out, or, he is a magnet for women who are insecure in their sexuality, and he will lead them on their intended path, or, he actually creates lesbians, in some sort of weird way that makes women actually change their sexuality, AKA, the "There gotta be something better than this for me" theory, OR, finally, women lie to get a quick way out of the relationship. That is Ashleys theory. Mark leans to the magnet-theory, while I prefer the creation-theory. Julia has never met a lesbian, so she don't know if they exist.

Mark claims that it all began down at Club Sinnah, where a crazy girl with red hair, who wouldn't say her name, but just quoted Popeye (I yam what I yam an' dats all dat I yam), told him that he was destined to lead girls to their true destiny. He once attempted to form a threesome, and got a couple of girls, but had to leave them alone for a few minutes, while he was finishing some paperwork, and when he came back, they were dancing chin to chin, around a picture of Ellen Degeneres.

Julia just said that her least favorite phrase is "Call heaven, cuz they must be missin' an angel". Apparently, she has heard it every single time that she has every been out on the town. Yes, I live in a one-pick-up-line town. Mark says that he has a much easier time picking up lady-folks here, because they are facinated by his fancy big-city jib-cuttery and novel pick-up-lines, like "you must be a broom, cause you just swept me off my feet" and "Is it hot in here or is it just you?".

My new answeringmachine

"Hi, there. You have called my house and recieved the answeringmachine. Chances are, I am at home. I have not yet picked up the phone. That probably means that I am either doing something more important than picking up the phone or I have checked the caller-ID and found that I didn't want to speak to you. You can try to yell for a few minutes that I ought to pick up the phone, see what fat load of good that'll do you, but I will most likely stay here, right next to the phone, timing your call. The recordholder is still my mom, with 19 minutes and 26 seconds of yelling at me on the machine. Mr. Denby is currently last, with a single "Jerk" afterwhich he hung up. And Mark, it doesn't count as yelling at me to pick up if you are just reciting dirty limerics. Your call may be recorded for trainingpurposes. Now, how do I turn this thing off? Darn it. Julia, did you see the manual for the answeringmachine?" "Here you go." Thank you, but this is for the microwave." "Sorry. You got all this talk all over it. Are you going to rerecord it?" "That whole spell? Hecks no." "Here it is. It was still in the box". "Thank you, Jules. "Press the OK button when done". Well, ofcourse".