So I take my lovely love Miss Macbook to the library so that I can 1. Say that I have gotten out of the house 2. Revel in the joy of moving with my computer and 3. Get some work done in a place with windows 'cause my room doesn't have any.
What do I end up doing? Using up the faboo wireless the Brooklyn Public Library has. I need a work ethic or something. :)
On a related note the BPL is trying to get by in these hard depression days and so they are asking for donations during their three month long Support Our Shelves campaign. Every little bit helps and really the BPL is an absolutely amazing entity and an important part of Brooklyn.
Maaaaaaaaaan, that Marley voice... it's like a caress. And the guitar is sweet, too. Not the obvious acoustic one. That one's nice, but the other one you have to listen for. Fine and right.
Remember how people thought that the Daily Show wouldn't have anything to talk about once bush left? Well they were wrong. Because anywhere fucknuttery exists John Stewart will be there, pointing out the funny.
Note: May is going to be flipping fantabulous! But should I see them all when they immediately come out or should I leave something to look forward to throughout the summer? Oh bugger it. I'll see them all multiple times.
I saw Watchmen last night and I am still really pissed about it. That movie was awful. I had a better time watching Wanted than I did that superhero crapfest last night. Why was Wanted better than Watchmen? Because Wanted eventually ended, whereas Watchmen just went on and on and on and on... It was three hours long. Three hours of pure agony. When I was sixteen I was partially paralyzed for two months. Those two months went by faster than the three hours I spent trapped in that movie theatre last night.
I could be angry at Clamato, who was soooooo excited to see this movie, but I don't have it in me. It would be like kicking a kid whose balloon just flew away. Just cruel. Much like the experience of having that crap on celluloid beamed into my brain.
Yes I am still angry. And I am sure that there are many upset and broken-hearted nerds walking the streets today. So watch out. If you see a sad nerd, give them a hug. If they look angry, just walk away, they're having a Watchmen flashback. Much like an acid trip, Watchmen flashbacks can overcome you for decades after the fact. A whole generation of geekdom may have been lost to that waste of lights and makeup.
How bad was Watchmen? A few delectable examples of its crapitude: 1. Oh my God! The soundtrack of Doom! It was like a superhero Forrest Gump, but bad. What the fuck was Simon and Garfunkel doing in an action movie? Why? The entire theatre laughed their asses off during the main love scene because of the song playing during it. What song? This song.
2. How do you faithfully reproduce all of the most useless scenes from the original material and leave out the most important? It was three hours of minutia and fifteen minutes of WTF plot. An editor, you needz one! 3. The chick who played the main female part should never be allowed to act again. Ever. That is not hyperbole. The only thing worse than her horrible acting was the terrible weave she was wearing. (BTW tie your long ass hair back when you are fighting demented hordes!) 4. The gore. I missed large swathes of this crap hiding behind my hands from all of the appendages that were being sawed off. There was viscera! Hanging from the ceiling! 5. It was so bad that at a certain point I wondered if the director had set out to make a satire of superhero movies. Like maybe we were being punked?
There was more but I am trying to have less anger in my life in the '09. I'm just gonna chalk this one up to the game and move on. But the scars remain my friend. My condolences to Alan Moore.
Did I mention that I write? Well, I do. Here is a little snippet I wrote for a contest on the incomparable Ms. Alison Tyler's blog. I am thinking of expanding it to a longer short story. And to preface 1. If you can't handle a little dirty, do not read the following story. Go look at the lolcat below. 2. This story is unedited and rough. 3. Commentary is welcome. :)
I fucking hate facial hair. That shit ruins a man’s face. I likes ‘em clean. Stubble’s good, too. Rough against your thighs, clit. A little burn ain’t never hurt nobody.
But Professor Northman’s got this moustache. It’s cornsilk blond. Man looks like a motherfucking Viking. Makes me wanna be a Norman village. Pillage this.
Damn, he’s touching the ‘stache. Smoothing it down. I squirm, pressing my bare ass against the wooden seat of my chair. My cunt touches the cold wood and I moan. He smiles. Shit, did he hear me? Nah. But I open my brown legs a little wider, my plaid skirt rides up, and I grind a little into the chair. I hope he can smell me. All the way across his fucking desk, smell my wet pussy.
All college profs have office hours and no one ever goes. But I need help. He comes to stand in front of his desk, and I’m at cock level.
“Miss Hill.” That voice. My fucking nipples could cut glass. “I’m surprised to see you. Students usually come to me when they’re failing. But you’re doing well.” Another smile. “How can I help you?”
I stand up. Lick my lips. Want to lick his cock.
I tell him. Everything. His mouth on my cunny, his dick up my ass. Fuck me. Please come on my face. “Would you, sir?”
He leans over ‘til his moustache tickles my ear. Licks it. Pinches a hard nipple. Shit. “Lock the door.”
I have quite a few pictures up here, and not all of them belong to me. If your picture is posted on the blog, and you would like me to remove it, please leave me a comment and it will be taken down immediately. :)
Miss B
Disclaimer
The opinions expressed herein belong solely to the author, and are not reflective of the author's employer(s).