Sunday, February 29, 2004

williamsburg: sex offender mecca.

so i was farking on fark.com today and some farker posted a story about a sex offender website being inundated with so many hits, it's bandwidth gave up and committed seppuku. so naturally i had to click on the link and make the problem that much worse.

and what should i find, but a link to a sex offender site in the state of virginia. so i went there and typed in my little area code, and was whisked away from delirious ignorance to the land of 'oh-my-fucking-god, like, eighty sketch una-bomber looking molesters live in my town'.

so i put in a northern virginia/d.c. area code next, expecting there to be infinitely more molesters located in a large population than a little tiny one. but no. there were like, 5 people listed. as opposed to the eighty that apparently reside in my backyard. and by backyard i mean one of the addresses i chanced upon is in my fucking back yard.

i fear for the kitchen maggots that pass out on my front lawn. i shant allow them to do that anymore.

Friday, February 27, 2004

ex-communication

if a theoretical situation developed wherein i was trapped on a deserted island and could only choose one very important message to be sent to the mainland and that one message had to be sent to my ex who just happened to be the only viable male in lieu of the devastating pandemic that ripped across the planet and this message would be the last contact my dying parched throat would ever have with the soon-to-be defunct human race, i would say to him~

'dude. quit being such a fucking pussy.'

fucking murder

i try not to mention names or any obvious distinguishing characteristics, but i'm sure it would be fairly easy to decipher who i am, where i live, and all that other techno-stalker bullshit. so here's another goddamn clue. i ran in college. but you would never know. because my fuck-ass coach doesn't seem to remember any of the, (admittedly somewhat inconsequential), contributions my teammates and i made.

for serious, how fucking hard is it to remember a record that was broken by, three fucking seconds. yeah. it was a relay. yeah. i never got within an ass's hair of the record in my actual event. but all the goddamn races and all the goddamn years and all the GOD DAMN things i gave up to run for that butt-pirate, were totally worth it, just for that one sick race.

We qualified, for the first time in the history of the school, for the east coast conference meet. which is a huge fucking meet. not as big as say, NCAAs, but it runs a close second. or third. whatever. it is the big momma dick measuring contest of east coast track and field. no one ever. EVER. has come even close to doing that shit again.

and that motherfucker, (coach), develops amnesia about it.

because apparently, the 4X400 record was broken again. last week. by a time two seconds suckier than ours. and they didn't qualify for shit.

so i think that nothing we did mattered. we couldve run backwards on our hands, butt-ass nekkid and i dont think it would have made any difference.

its not that i want a cookie or my name in lights or a butler monkey as compensation. my college running experience was not the best ever, and im sure not the worst ever. it was what it was. most of the time i try to forget the fuckery and the buggery bestowed on myself and my colleagues. but we're talking about a day when everything came together like fucking poetry. if there is beauty and elegance in running, we so achieved it. the mechanics the fluidity the consumption the drumbeat rhythm.

and he forgets.

Monday, February 23, 2004

gonasyphaherpiclap

me-ow. im24im24im24im24. for those of you who like punctuation, i'm 24.

so i went snow-boarding deep in the mountains of west virginia where they hate vegetarians with a passion rivaled only by their hate for russian-jewish communist immigrants. thankfully, we had an ex-russian commie with us, so i wasn't the most hated un-american on the mountain.

yes, i will take the burger without the burger in it. thank you. please dont tell McCarthy.

then god spake unto me and said, "thou must beget drunkenness and debauchery, for it is thy birthday, and with your lack of inebriation, i am not well pleased." and then he smited me repeatedly with goldschlager. which then facilitated a trip to the local dive bar in some long underwear and not much else. which in turn caused me to run at speeds one should not attempt to achieve while being smited by God, because he will then smite you all the more vigorously for being cheeky.

so then i sprained my ankle. and boarded on it for the next 2 days, cause i was like, fuck it. it is now a plethora of interesting colors and i shall take a picture and post it someday.

so then when i was boarding i hit some ice and smited my own head with a concussion. where-upon God laughed at me and his belly shook like a bowl full of jelly. where-upon he stopped bothering to smite me, since i was doing such a bang-up job of it myself. i'm reasonably certain he put gonasyphaherpiclap in the hot tub though. it burns when God pees on me.

truly, all the bases were covered this weekend. alcohol, imbibing nutella, running around like a jackass screaming, "MY MILKSHAKE, IT'S BETTER THAN YOUR'S, YOU FUCKING SLUT!", falling on one's ass whether drunk or no, using your birth certificate to gain access to bars because you have no fucking idea where your i.d. ran off too, trying to get into a fight with some dude and then making out with said dude 2 seconds later, and finally, calling the ex-boyfriend at 3:30 in the morning to notify him of how much ass he sucks and being fucking relieved when you realize your phone doesn't have service the next morning.

oy. and the little 8 year-old nazi bastards on skis that kept cutting my knees off. i could've really used some sharp pointy things sprouting from my board like that chariot in spartacus. that would totally show those little fuckers.

Tuesday, February 17, 2004

roach of the year

rapists should die a horrific fucking death, with their nether-regions ripped off and honey poured on the remnants, with ants involved. i dont understand how one human can fuck-wit another human so thoroughly, and then go on about their suck-ass business.

but i guess i dont understand a lot of things.

* right. i'm going to need to keep the 4am rants to a minimum. and the watching of CNN. and the paying of attention to anything that comes out of gary barnett's (http://www.cnn.com/TRANSCRIPTS/0402/18/lol.01.html) ignant head-hole. whether dude's comments were taken out of context or not, they were unconscionably moronic. maybe she was an awful player. and duh, she is a girl. the fact is, gary, you are/were the head coach. you let her on the team. disparaging her abilities just makes you look like more of a dipshit, considering you trained her and she apparently never got any better. dumbass.

Monday, February 16, 2004

Hyper Text Monkey Latin

i am forced to learn rudimentary html all over again. cause it would be nice to have links and such things that a normal not-crappy blog has. and my template is boring my brain off.

hopefully i can just get a nerd to do it.

Friday, February 13, 2004

my precious

friday the 13th and valentine's day. together in an unholy union.

clearly, this is an omen.

the only sane option is to stay at home for the next 48 hours huddled in a cocoon-like mass of blankets, and to never leave the bed unless refilling the hip flask becomes necessary. which it surely will. to conduct oneself in any other manner seems reckless and irresponsible, as well as a direct challenge to the gods to cut you off at the knees.

then you will be forced to walk around on nubbins for the rest of your life, as a constant reminder of your willful disregard concerning the god's mandate that you spend the next 48 hours piss-drunk and in the fetal position.

Tuesday, February 10, 2004

hold me closer, tony danza.

elton john is a fucking genius. if one can overlook the coke-addled years, the whore-dom, the egregious louis XIV costumes and listen, really listen to what elton has to say, thou shalt be inundated with wisdom.

"laughing like children,
living like lovers,
rolling like thunder,
under the covers..."


this is truly the way to conduct a life. for serious, if there is no rolling like thunder under the covers, why bother? and the way he emotes about that tiny dancer in his hand makes me want to have a tiny dancer in my hand. though, i really hope it isn't a metaphor for smoking more drugs. that would totally suck.

Sunday, February 08, 2004

bizzare yet entertaining

my dreams have reached epic proportions and startling clarity. like, 'gone with the wind' and shit. i was totally convinced...

FUCKING A. i'm using someone else's computer right now. and that little punk-ass AOL messenger man keeps bleeping every five seconds with some tool being like, 'dude, katie, i know you're there. you're fucking totally active right now.'

for those of you who are not well versed in the various techniques of stalking, through instant messenger, you can actually tell if someone has been away from their computer recently. AOL will even give you a fucking time frame to work with. it also notifies every douche-bag on your buddy list that your back and totally ready to chat if you so much as nudge your mouse. technology = fucking beautiful.

and this is a triumph for pigment impaired, socially retarded stalkers from all walks of life.

unfortunately, it sucks a huge cock when you're trying to write something profound and fabulastic on your personal website that no one reads anyway. because right now there are like, 50 blinking hot pink lights at the bottom of my screen. and i would love to tell all these people to go murder themselves, but i guess that would be kind of rude. seeing as this isn't my computer and all.

but the urge to kill is, in fact, rising. sadly, katie has apparently made friends with quite a few DUMB MOTHERFUCKERS. they won't stop leaving a barrage of comments and causing the offensive pink lights to burn out my retinas. 'why won't you talk to me?', 'I know you're there...cause i'm like, a total fucking stalker' or 'are you mad at me or something?'. it's pretty fucking obvious that these people have never considered the phenomenon of not-katie using the computer.

it is going to be really cool when katie has some explaining to do about shit she doesn't know she did. quite a few of these people are pissed off, for serious. there shall be misunderstandings galore, the likes of which i have not seen since i stopped reading sweet valley high books, and wondering what the fuck a pair of 'chinos' is.

jesus h. tap-dancing christ.

Saturday, February 07, 2004

nature's way of saying 'don't touch'

i'm not sure i want to have chillerens when i grow up. it's not that i wouldn't love to have a slobbering poop machine in my life, (dogs rule), i just don't know if i'm a particularly good candidate for motherhood. more to the point, i don't know if i want to pass on my fractured genes to an unsuspecting little human.

watching my child go through the misery of a broken psyche would guilt me to my grave.

obviously i wouldn't be stupid enough to say some of the dumb shit my elders did. 'lara, have you ever tried, just, like, being happy?', or 'dude, quit crying, there's teepee under the sink'. i like to think i would be sensitive and aware should my child become the depressed, miserable shit-maggot i was for many years.

but i know that's horse ka-ka.

i'm the girl who walks around in a gorilla suit trying to make everyone else laugh and have a good time. i'm the girl who successfully duped everyone into believing all was well and utopia-tastic for 21 years of her life. any tiny monkey of mine would surely be as tricksy. the kid would also burst from the womb with a fully developed set of mad 187 skillz, so i can't say it would be all negativity. does all the fun and good i could pass on outweigh the big bad?

Thursday, February 05, 2004

the winter of my discontent

hello february. everything not cool happens this month. valentine's day for instance. i'll save the requisite bitching and moaning for a rainy day. oh yeah, my birthday's coming up too.

i am going to be 24.

i can't believe i am going to be 24.

i need a dog. i think it would validate my existence. i wouldn't go out because i have a dog. if i'm lonely i have a dog. if i want to see i movie i rent it and spoon the dog. and really, there's nothing better than ambushing a dog with a large blanket and watching it try to fight it's way out. yeah. that's always fun. eat a dick, PETA.

i am seriously going to the pound right now.