Hey, did you know?

That Malthus' 1798 predictions regarding the sustainability of an exponentially increasing population combined with an arithmetically increasing amount of food is applicable to living conditions in Africa?

Well, now that you do, it is required of you to take my Geography A Level exam for me. Ahahaha. Ha. I wish I was dead.

I'm Not Even Going to Try to Explain This.

I heard there was a secret call
To Dominoes, and it pleased us all
But you don't really care for pizza, do you?
Well it goes like this: Some salami
Extra cheese, no anchovy
The baffled call composing pepperoni.

Pepperoni, pepperoni, pepperoni, pepperoni...

Well the taste was good, but needed spice
We'd hoped double jalapenos would suffice
The heat of this new pizza overthrew you
We tied you to the kitchen chair
Force-fed you spice and it wasn't fair
But from your burnt lips we made some pepperoni

Pepperoni, pepperoni, pepperoni, pepperoni...

Baby I've been here before
I've ordered double cheese and I've wanted more
I used eat alone before I knew you
I've seen your diet plan for March
You say pizza's just a source of starch
But I think there's protein in pepperoni

Pepperoni, pepperoni, pepperoni, pepperoni...

Well there was a time when you let me know
Which topping's calorie count was low
But now you never share that with me do you?
But remember: we're too fat to move
And our family doctor disapproves
There's some heart problems involved with pepperoni

Well, maybe we have pizza breath
And pizza love will cause our death
But we can't escape an urge for more anchovy
It's not a food to eat all the time
Unless you steal from the fridge at night
If you don't mind cold, leftover pepperoni

Pepperoni, pepperoni, pepperoni, pepperoni...


*single tear*

Graffle.

Imagine the horror of having to write a sex scene. In a book, a play, anything. Even a poem.

(I've been reading some of the "Women's Literature" belonging to my mother and sister lying around the house, as yet another method of procrastination to prevent revision. Needless to say, I am more than a little cross. And confused. Why call anything a "mighty sword"? It doesn't sound erotic as much as it does painful.)

Apparently, you're not allowed to be truthful. Of the entire spectrum of things that can go horribly wrong, miraculously, NOTHING EVER DOES. No one gets their hair caught in a jeans zipper, or accidentally tears a condom with their nails.

And yet it's entirely common and expected for at least one character to go insane, get amnesia, disappear, die in a car/drugs/shark related accident, commit suicide, marry their brother, be abducted by aliens, betrayed by their lover/husband/brother/son, flayed alive, tortured, marry the love of their life, or kill about 5 other characters before finally getting to the lead character and then failing to kill them because of some bizarre coincidence involving a fear of water or the utterly implausible convenience of a police officer (and probable love interest) turning up "just in time".

Mm, I do so love a late night insane ramble.

I'm a silly girl who deserves to be punished. Here's almost all my favourite people:

Enough said.

I Like You

A little bit more than I'm willing to admit. Not even to myself.

Last night I obsessively crammed my mind with enough anime to squeeze everything else out through my ears, and made cookies at midnight. My dad crept into my room squeaking madly and wearing a mouse mask at some point, but fled after I informed him there was a cat in the room. I'm not entirely sure whether that was a hallucination brought on by lack of sleep or not. I'm hoping not. I have so much to do, and I'm doing none of it. YAY.

My mobile has no credit. I refuse to feel guilty about this, because I'm too busy feeling guilty about everything else.



Here is a story I told to someone else some time ago, in pretty much the same words:

Once upon a time there was a hedgehog whose name I have forgotten. He lived in a dark, dark forest (whose name I have forgotten) but that is okay, because I'm pretty sure it was called The Dark, Dark, Forest. So.

He had a pretty nice time of it there because there were no roads, so he never got flattened, and there were no old ladies putting out milk, so he never had to explain to them that he was lactose intolerant. In those days, this was a serious problem, because as we all know old women can be unbelievably sly and malicious, and would inevitably try and trick him by calling it soy milk when in fact it was really dairy. Old women cannot be blamed for this because of the "Change Of Life" my mother is always referring to mysteriously. You might have thought it was about the menopause but actually it has everything to do with lactose intolerant hedgehogs. But I digress.

The only problem with this was that he had to go to the supermarket every day to pick up soy milk, and being a very lazy hedgehog he tired of this trip. So he began to daydream about the forest across the river.

Now, this forest was called the Yum Yummy Gumdrop Forest, and you can imagine what a forest like THAT was like. All the animals from the Yum Yummy Gumdrop Forest were fatter than badgers (except the badgers, who were much fatter than that), and they all wore expensive watches and drove flash cars. Our hero seethed with chronologically deprived jealousy.

So, one day, he decided to travel across the river to the Yum Yummy Gumdrop Forest. This may seem like something simple he should have thought of long before now, but in fact it was VERY HARD. Very hard indeed. Because hedgehogs have short legs and stuff. Anyway.

TO BE CONTINUED... Except it doesn't matter: No one reads this.

Ahahaha, hahaha, haha.

I've finished my geography coursework. It's so late I've developed cataracts. Or I can see ghosts.

I'm going to die in my sleep and the last day of my life will have been spent in the most boring way physically possible. I think I might have to kill God as some form of retribution for putting me through this. God invented geography, malaria, H.I.V. and geographers who live to study such things and write long and dull publications about it. I hate you, God. Even the fact that you have a beard does not make up for this.

GOD: But it IS a rather marvellous and luxuriant beard.
ME: Oh, alright then. But you have to let me caress it.
GOD: But I just washed it and your hands are all sticky.
ME: If you don't let me stroke it I'll beat you to death with a crucifix.

No one likes to be beaten to death with a small plastic effigy of their son nailed to a post.

Hmm.

I've not been feeling particularly wordy lately. Either I'm too tired, busy, lazy, miserable, happy or not miserable or happy enough to be interesting about it. Having just returned from le Yann Tiersen gig at the Junction, I'm sufficiently reanimated enough to say the following things:

There is always time for Nandos.

Must remember to make a parody folk singer character who screams and can whistle through his ears (not based on Yann Tiersen).

Yann Tiersen has the loveliest eyes.

Joanna is always right.



Night, my luffs. Kisskisskiss.

Bof the Tadpole

I have tingles all over my arms and legs. Would you like a picture?


Of course you would.

An Almost Face

When I came back from Lincoln today I

Ate some tasty leftover spaghetti sat very small and quiet in the red room practicing becoming invisible watched completely still an ashen bee tumbled out of the fireplace and lazily swooped its way to my lap picked up the bee and set it free outside where it will die because we took away its queen thought about the bee man and his veil like a bride taking away the queen in a big box turned the T.V. on didn't watch read bits of paper or looked at them whilst thinking about other things like how I haven't been to college for a week watched Star Trek for no real reason came online talked to Chris, Max, Josh, Alice, Alfie then Phil still talking to Phil and Josh realised I have very few female friends realised I like about 3 of them only felt guilty OH GOD

I don't want to get involved in mess and create mess. But it's very tempting to ignore my inner Mrs Judge My Mother, and just go with it, because you're nice, and I like that.

I also like Audrey "Her almost face a garden, waiting" Niffeneger, Captain Picard, and velvet eels, so perhaps my judgment is skewed.

Oh, bugger.

My life runs in CIRCLES. I really hate that. This is going to get messy all over again. Maybe I should stop, BUT: good things are hard to find.

But in other news: I went to Alton Towers, with the ever-awesome Joanna, and Dan, and Chris. We skipped most of the scary rides and went on Duel about 10000000 times. Which was completely worth it because you got to shoot zombies, and Dan and Jo screamed occasionally in an amusing manner, or at least in a way which was amusing until one of the giant spiders inadvertently terrified me. Oh, and I have a beautiful camera which I will be having hot, steamy sex with until further notice.

Ohhh, Camera. Don't stop.

I am eternally in debt to the instant mood-improving powers of Ben Folds.

I Don't Know Where I Stand

On anything. Anything at all.

Me and my Dream Ribcage

I had a dream last night (and it fit me like a glove)* It was most likely precipitated by my realisation in the bath last night that I have a ribcage, and that I can SEE IT. I've never been so thin, and my ribcage is gog-magog gigantic.

Anyway, in the dream I was imprisoned inside my own ribcage. Luckily, I realised with time that it was huge, and that I could quite happily live there. So I built an indoor swimming pool, a miniature golf course, a bowling alley, and a home cinema on the ground floor and made buttery popcorn from the fatty deposits between my ribs. The second floor I rented out to large groups of migrant workers, whom I charged ridiculously extortionate amounts to live there. I was very happy, until I died, at which point living in my own ribcage became an inconvenience as I had to spend a large portion of my time coating the walls with formaldehyde so that bits of rotting corpse would stop glooping onto the cinema screen during movies. The end.

I think all the other things that are bothering me are pretty inconsequential. Fare thee well.

*Whatever (I had a dream)-Butthole Surfers.