Putting Out Fire With Gasoline

Hey lovable scamps, Damacus here, it's been so long. I trust you're well. Minus the probable vitamin D deficiency and usual underexercised frailty I'm excellent, because I'm now officially On Leave Of Absence from university. I like saying On Leave Of Absence because it sounds so much more dramatic and impressive than it is, like I've finally taken a holiday after decades of High Court judging or have been mysteriously disappeared by the KGB. Underwhelmingly it just means that I'm not going to uni until I resume next year, either in the first or second semester, because I decided I needed a break. I feel like I've actually made a semi-important decision, which is pretty unusual for me, and I'm all ready to walk to Broome or become a Pokemon Master or something. Well not now, now my eyelids feel all saggy and melting like Rupert Murdoch's face. It's rather morningy and someone's awake considerately turning on the kettle, so I should probably make this brief.

By now I assume you're all Freaking Out At Our New Look. I decided that this humble abode was in need of a little change, as I was starting to get tired of the unfathomable ghost seagulls in the background, my own awful banner and the fact that MF spelled "tossed" as "tosed" on that little side description. Now we have an unfathomable city-bank-thing in the background, an exciting tan & black colour scheme and a supremely unfunny new description. But AT LEAST now we have a font with serifs, because we're not fucking philistines people. Kudos to Van Gough for the banner, ruining his colourscheme on PS made me feel like the hardcore #thuglife vandal anarchist that I am. Take that, establishment. I also decided to add the splendid countenances of our highest post-count bloggers. Unsure of what to put for Anna Hyde and remembering her catladyness, I chose one the amazing paintings of Louis Wain, the crazy cat painter. He was an English artist who lived from 1860-1939 who was manically obsessed with painting kittehs for his entire life. You can see the paintings getting increasingly trippy as his mental state gradually deteriorated. They manage to be really kitsch and sinister at the same time, like old episodes of The Collectors. Here's a collection:

...I assume shortly after this Wain sacrificed himself to his feline gods.

Well I'm off. Dream of cats forever more.