Hello, folks! This is not the entity known as Patrick D Ryall, oh no. This is his roommate, Marq, stepping in to wreak some havoc while he is away. I can tell you right now that this is not going to end well. All bets can be placed at our betting booth.
I realize that I may have even less to say than our lovely travelling-nation-man, but I’m trying to remedy that. Of course, I’m doing stupid stuff with my website(s) at the moment, not something that allows me to write or anything. I haven’t done the weblog thing for a good couple of years now (as long as I’ve lived with Pat now; is that a coincidence or what?). Maybe someday his constant nattering about C2! will get me to do something with that, even. But bringing it up here will only give him more fodder to shoot at me when he gets home, so I will mention it no more.
I totally thought of something even more banal to bring up when I took over, something that happened or something I looked at when I was out at Shoppers earlier, something on the current level of Pat’s “blogging”, but now I can’t remember what it was. At all. That was pretty banal. It’s so staying.
It occurs to me that once upon a time when I did the weblog thing for real, years and years ago, and I went away for the weekend, I let Pat loose on it and he just wouldn’t shut up. Seriously. Now the tables have turned! Mwah! Hah! Hah!
Love and Peaches,
–me.
I’m using “bloody” in the “Oh, bloody ‘ell another week is over” sense, but I am confident that something, somewhere in this world is happening that makes today worthy of the other sense of “bloody” as well.
So, why the chunks do so many spam robots attack my humble Book of PDR? It isn’t as though I get millions of readers that they could spread their advertising too. Robots are an idiot.
In other news, I am in the process of getting my passport (a Canadian one, since the nation of PDR has yet to be recognized by other nations). With it, I will be able to travel the world and all that. It’s gonna be sweet.
Haiku!
Deathrace 2000.
It deserves much more respect.
A classic movie.
Speaking of film, there’s this movie coming out sometime called Across the Universe, which is this romantic musical that at first I would think I would be entirely against, but the music is all Beatles stuff and the trailer makes it look like such a visual festival of craziness that I admit I am intrigued. Times like this I wish I knew women.
On the plus side, I now know that I can knock open a door if I have to. The downside consists of our door now being broken. But it was broken when I broke it, so it’s all good. The little metal bit that goes into the hole to keep the whole thing shut isn’t there any more, so I guess we’ll have to use the lock as a means of holding the door shut. How sad. I really don’t care for locks.
In other news, yesterday I was questioned by someone about my accent again. A little old lady in my building wondered if I was English and then someone who I know slightly better admitted that they thought I was English for a while too. So add that to the times people thought I was French or from the American South or a generic “American” sounding. I honestly don’t know how I talk, but I kinda enjoy that it confuses everyone. I’m sticking with the theory that since I declared my independance I’ve developed my own accent.
Moving from the style I speak to the content of what I say I must recall a conversation with Marq from a few days back. I was all “Don’t you listen when I talk?” and he replied “Well, two thirds of what you say is about gay sex, so no…” and I could not fault him for it.
On the cab ride home last night, the driver asked me about my accent. He said I sound “almost Southern”, which I assume means Southern American. Now, combine this with the times I mentioned a few days ago and I have to assume one of three things:
- I talks damn funny and everyone hears it and thinks I’m some foreign freak.
- I, as an independant nation, am developing an accent all my own.
- This cab driver religiously reads this website, saw my previous post and wanted to mess with me.
Of those, #2 is my favorite option. Heck, even #3 would be cool because it implies that someone actually reads this website. But most likely #1 is at fauly. I curse the Aztec god of vocalization for this. I think his name was Talkzectotl.
In other news, there was an article about police using tasers against people and a couple people have died or whatever. The most important part came when a professor from the University of Miami was asked her opinion. She said “The issue of police brutality is simply wrong. That’s not to say it can’t occur, but when police are confronted by someone exhibiting superhuman strength like a Hulk Hogan… what can they do?”
It pleases me greatly to see that scholars recognize Hulk Hogan’s superhuman strength. And they say there’s no good news.
My next post will be another offering from the defunct Ape Slave Training Manual. A prose piece starring a character who would have turned up in prose pieces every few issues, if the thing had not been cancelled before half of it was completed.
I have been recieving an abnormally high number of static electrical shocks lately. Way more than is typical. When I mention this to other people, almost all of them state that this has been happening to them too. What can this mean? Global Warming is a hoax. The real crisis is Global Static Increase. This will surely kill us all, even me, unless we do something about it. I don’t know what that something should be, but I hope it involves rubbing balloons on my head and sticking them to walls. Balloons are awesome. They’re thin plastic filled with air!
Some pizza delivey guy was on the elevator today and he said “It sounds like you have an American accent, are you American?” I’m not. But about a year ago, when I took over new staff at work one of them said something along the lines of “We were trying to figure out your accent, is it French?” and I can remember something years ago about someone somewhere also asking about my accent. What is it about my way of speaking that sounds so foreign? At the very least I am hoping that the pizza guy hated Americans and would have slain me had I been one, because that would mean I avoided that fate.
Finally, last time I showed you a page from the Fun And Games section of my now abortioned magazine. The second page of the Fun And Games section was not made up, but it was written. It would have been a full page of text. Here is what it would have said:
WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?
You helped a necrophile escape justice?
Think of the families of his victims!
You sicken me!
