Technical Difficulties - Apologies for Inconveniences

Damacus' election coverage has hit a snag what with the current predicament... while he's in the middle of an anxiety attack from having all faith in political procedure challenged... (It'll get better soon man, you've just got to tough it out... and go loot yourself a Nick Cave box set or something else you can tell us all about for a month) you're dealing with someone with a more harmful negligence than casual nonchalance concerning government.

That and the fact that in spending the last few weeks working on a 6300 damage, full meter combo for a fighting game in a country that didn't even have arcades in the 80's and other pursuits to secure my chastity forevermore, I noticed my post count was being steadily scaled by a certain usurper, who could only be punished by an elaborate scheme involving the slow, seemingly natural, dissolution of their government and the associated 95% of their stolen material, before their very eyes...

Anyway, I have facebook again... I caved like the liberal voting population (too hot in the kitchen for you?). Basically the last two days have been spent contemplating a now marketable blog post and the repopulation of a friend list so meagre the buddhists could get off to it. By the way if you're reading this and I've left you out or something, not my fault, it's hard work... and it's PROBABLY not intentional.

So why'd I come back? Because this is the 21st century! Without junk I don't need, use or particularly want, I'd collapse into a bawling mess of alliterative self explanation and lose all touch with reality to the point where intravenous caffeine is keeping my preserved, ageless body alive, who'd read that guy's book?

Well in keeping with the modern theme of marketting the first crap I see when I walk into the boardroom whacked up with the heroin that eighteen seasons of Survivor can still manage to put on my family's table every night, I bring you, Crucible Tongs' Hoarding Habits!

#3 MY TEASTAIN OUROBORAS

I'm not remotely hardcore enough or even in possession of enough of a masculine torso to even think of body art... as a matter of fact, my body mass would just lead to lethal concentrations of food dye by the time they'd finished 'God is dead'. I could do bling though, it makes me look like a shrinking trophy wife well on the way to recycling, but that's a better demographic than 'Decorated Member of the 9th Squadron of Steampunk Geekdom'... unfortunately only two people make snakes into rings... Lucifer and Loki... and they have a show for their sexual depravity on well after midnight... So my only avenue is to explain to any hapless victim that's looking unimpressed at the desk where this crap comes from, that that the circular stain beneath the mug in the eleventh stage of ceramic decay, symbolises my capacity for self sufficiency and alchemic perfection while looking more badass than equations in the Greek alphabet...


Actually... the amount of times I'd have to explain that 'It's not JUST a snake!!!'... maybe not worth it...

#2 MY BOX OF VIDEOGAMES FROM ALL CORNERS OF THE GLOBE... I'VE NEVER PLAYED

I wasn't tried for crimes against a fully functioning system of social norms at highschool for my repetitive, obnoxious wit oft patronised from pity... It was because the real world didn't allow me time to invest nine hours a day into calculating the perfect combination of Light Magic wielders and Sword users with tolerable two dimensional personalities to overthrow the empire's regime for the eleventh time... Well... when I could afford to... Nowadays I just buy what I reaaaaaaaaaaally want to play... or want to end up gathering dust in a pile on my desk for not being a postmodern attack on the guy treating the controller like his umbilical cord... I have a growing pile of Jungian whodunnits, Cyberpunk prior to The Matrix and playable David Lynch movies (complete with jumbled backwards talking about why ghost terrorists have to laugh and explode and be invisible)... I only do the craziest shit... I just don't get around to actually playing it... like some kind of indie prick with a cracking voice and a sense of humour birthed by the need to feed on any form of acknowledgement... uh... MOVING ON!


I paid $110 for this... and you know what, I don't give a fuck about having no idea what's happening half the time...

#1 AWESOME CLOTHES OF AWESOME GLORY THAT ARE TOO EPIC FOR MY LAME *insert current insecurity*

I have a penchant for ridiculously awesome attire that will one day be invaluable when hell beasts walk the earth in swarms for the sole purpose of meeting divine and bloody retribution at the hands of some cocky wanker in a red leather trench coat... which unfortunately will be what all the insecure vampire hunting adolescents will have agressively marketted at them... I'm not ashamed to admit that my wardrobe contains a leather monkey vest (for when I grow up and have to fight lions in the desert for training and need the extra agility afforded by revealing clothing), assorted headbands, cowboy boots and won't be considered complete without steel gauntlets, a full black and white checked suit, punk boots up to my chest, a driving cap complete with goggles, a diving helmet, full victorian finery, MAN-tiaras and a cape that a coachman of the Carpathians could be proud of... Admit it, I'm THE most maddeningly cool person you'll ever meet.


It says 'women' in the item description, but that's just to stop pussies buying it

Soooo... why haven't I sold all this junk so I have room to practice my fly kicks? I really don't know... there's not much in the way of sentimental value, none of it's actually useful (... yet... but when you fools inadvertently elect the Vampire Chieftain when he catches you off guard in your vulnerable state of political uncertainty...) and every instinctual urge to procreate howls with misinterpretted frustration every time I even look at this stuff. It's a little bit weird that everyone has this sort of junk they can't let go of... but the second someone important isn't in a position where they can be passively acknowledged every day we just mope a bit about our own social impotence and then move on.

Yeah, cool... but one day they'll stop signing in to MSN, they change phone numbers, move away. You can complain all you want, the lines were always open... for the record this isn't bitterness over my facebook departure or anything, I needed some time off for a while, you all knew I'd be back. This is something I'm starting to notice people doing to other people who DON'T take 200 pictures of themselves posing in a trenchcoat every week and it's sort of starting to bug me. People aren't static, we drift apart if we do nothing. I could list so many people I've let this happen to before and I can guarantee you can too...

So here's the deal, you little human punks, don't fuck this whole thing up okay? Don't procrastinate with people, text them if they haven't been around, send them something stupid you just noticed, ORGANISE A NO HOLDS BARRED PSYCHEDELIC TEA PARTY *COUGH*... fuck, go all out and spend 50c on a stamp and mail them ransom notes... Value people enough so you can at least look at yourself atop your castle of materialism. Because if a message tone can stop a suicide attempt, consider everything else it could fix.

Thanks for reading... and Damacus, I covered your lack of election posts... so I guess now we're even for all those times I snuck into your house and took photos of me wearing your clothes...


My bad!

TONGS AWAY!!!