Friday, December 23, 2011

In a world where Santa is Scarface

Nothing exceeds like excess You should know that Rudolph

Thursday, December 22, 2011

Because he's evil

Wherein Ronnie Van Zant's "The Needle and the Spoon"

Alternate quote, almost went with this from Trainspotting
People think it's all about misery and desperation and death and all that shite, which is not to be ignored. But what they forget is the pleasure of it. Otherwise we wouldn't do it. After all, we're not fucking stupid. At least, we're not that fucking stupid. Take the best orgasm you ever had, multiply it by a thousand and you're still nowhere near it. When you're on junk you have only one worry: scoring. When you're off it you are suddenly obliged to worry about all sorts of other shite. Got no money: can't get pissed. Got money: drinking too much. Can't get a bird: no chance of a ride. Got a bird: too much hassle. You have to worry about bills, about food, about some football team that never fucking wins, about human relationships and all the things that really don't matter when you've got a sincere and truthful junk habit.

Thursday, December 08, 2011

'Twas the night before a midnight dreary

Wherein while the idea was interesting the ten minute execution fell short

A slightly inelegant literary mashup

'Twas the night before a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds, While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. `'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door –

While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads; Only this, and nothing more.'

And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

Had just settled down for a long winter's nap, Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

Trilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash, here I opened wide the door; - Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer, With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be Lenore!

Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky, Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore –

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; - 'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney the Raven came with a bound

Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door - Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry! And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!' Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.

And laying his finger aside of his nose, And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;

`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, `Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle. Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, "Happy Christmas to all, and to all Nevermore."

Edgard Clement Clarke Poe