it does not wear me
Last week’s company BBQ left me with a container full of processed cheese in my fridge. This will likely be the only time I EVER have processed cheese in the house, so I had to take advantage of the situation.
Processed cheese stinks.
I must have had a good weekend, because I am itchy all over.
Two parties (one make out, one birthday), too many samosas, and several long, long scooter rides: good times.
I’m not intentionally being quiet – actually, I feel really guilty about it – but I don’t seem to have much to say at the moment. I enjoyed my long weekend thoroughly, but there wasn’t any one moment that stood out as “must recap” (with the exception of the bukkake, which is below). My August and September are crammed full of Fun Things, but right now I am sleepwalking without motivation to be entertaining. Sorry about that.
I need to get myself into some ridiculous situations ASAP so I’ve got something to be incredulous about.
Also, more lego. I don’t care if I’m the only one who likes them, I love making lego scenes.
I wish our pop machine was not empty of Diet Coke.
mail from thailand is the happiest mail
In honour of Vancouver’s Pride Week, I give you:
:D
It was very difficult to create the trademark ToF bulges, but I did what I could! Happy Pride Week, everyone! <3
This post is likely going to be both inappropriate AND unapologetic (and icky, if you’re at all squeamish about buckets of semen) .. so, you know, act accordingly. If it helps, here is a picture of my cat being bad:
bad, bad cat
OKAY. I am VERY ANGRY ABOUT BUKKAKE. I tweeted this last night to a confused captive audience, who (quite rightly) pointed out that I am officially On Record saying that bukkake is hilarious (it totally is) – so why the 180? I promised I would explain, so here I am.
Last night at the Make Out Party, the topic of Super Gonorrhea came up (as an aside, how proud am I of my granddad – he was the Ultimate Hipster; having contracted Super Gonorrhea way before anyone else had ever heard of it), which naturally led to a conversation about chlamydia. It turns out that there is a shocking spike in chlamydia cases amongst teens – and even worse, a startling number of young girls showing up with chlamydia in the EYE, due to these bukkake parties all teens everywhere are supposedly having.
I am angry for two reasons:
One: I don’t care how many men are depositing their seed on your face in a group setting, Rule Three still applies – jizz does not belong in the eye. Yes, it takes a little more planning to avoid an eyeful of man-juice when you’re getting it from all angles, but there is always a way. Goggles. A blindfold. A helmet. Shutting your damn eyes*. Enacting a “not above the neck” clause. Realizing that penetrative sex is not an evil thing. Becoming aware of the hypocrisy of thinking that sex is bad and unnatural, but letting 5 or more guys jerk off over your body at the same time is a-ok. Stuff like that.
Two, and this is where 98% of the fury lies: There is an entire generation of young, virile men being conditioned to be not only comfortable with close proximity to other erections, but potentially aroused by it – and THIS IS SO UNFAIR.
Unbelievably unfair. STAGGERINGLY unfair. There’s potentially millions of guys out there who are okay (or better) with being near other penises, whether the swords cross or just exist in the same airspace – and I get stuck with the straightest guy on the planet who won’t indulge me this one little (but not too little) thing. NOT. FUCKING. FAIR. No extra cocks AND no pug? Something’s gotta give, and it’s gotta give soon. To me. Repeatedly. In every room of the house.
Laugh all you want, but I am seriously annoyed about this.
i don't even need this many - just two or three. i'm not greedy.
*: see? closed eyes AND protective wear. it's easy.
New rule – I don’t drive anything that requires a ladder to get into. I realize this means I will likely never realize my dream of monster truck ownership, but I just feel so stupid in a large vehicle. I rented a cargo van for our company picnic today, and it’s HUGE. I almost caused several accidents on my way to the office because I am not used to driving anything with such magnitude – I have a medium-sized hatchback (that I’m trying to convince Ed we should sell in exchange for an even smaller car), and a scooter. I could put both my usual rides in this thing and STILL have room for sexy rental sex times in the back. Which I hope to have. I’ve never done it in a U-Haul van before.
My favourite non-nerd-themed indie rapper has a new album coming out in September, and just released the first single for free downloading goodness – check it out here. I love me some Astronautalis, yes I do. He makes for tingling in the ear holes.
open us up and put things in us
I figured if I whined, I’d get my way – but I didn’t whine hard enough, and as such I got only one of my whore coins in the mail today. I can’t quite open my brothel yet, but here’s a sneak peek of how it’ll go:
whore and coins not to scale
I plan to have a FULL SERVICE brothel – as you can see, my customers (whom I imagine will all be dapper pilots from WWI) can choose from an assortment of lovely concubines to relieve their filthy carnal urges: tennis players, hula girls, winking sailors, cyborgs, figure skaters, small men with large beards, cross-dressing musketeers, and a pantless Justin Bieber wearing lipstick and a lei. There are Frankensteins too, but those are security guards. Please do not attempt to have sex with the Frankensteins.
My brothel is gonna be SO AWESOME.
Earlier this month I ordered the missing piece for my latest project, and I am endlessly frustrated that it hasn’t arrived yet. My missing shipment is causing a lot of little problems, all of which can be boiled down into one great big problem: my brothel can’t open.
I have decided that I have always longed for my very own Old West-style brothel, so clearly I should go about setting one up already. It shouldn’t be too difficult; all I really need is a player piano, some whiskey, and a lot of crinoline. I have these things – really, who doesn’t – so all I needed was a way to accept money for sexual favours. Reinventing the wheel is such a hassle and I have many better things to do (all of which involve learning how to shoot a dainty pearl-handled six shooter that I keep in my garter), so I thought that I would just fall back on the old standard: the cat house token system. Ladies and gentlemen of all sorts can sidle up to the bar, pay the coyly-named fee for services, and receive a token that they can then give to the girl of their choosing in exchange for carnal delights. This is an excellent plan that can only be wildly successful, but until my damn shipment arrives, I HAVE NO SEX TOKENS. Without sex tokens, there can be no SEX. You see my problem here – what’s a poor fledgling madame to do?
looking for a good time? well, you can't have one yet.
Where are my whore house coins?!
Three people work in the Culturedome, and two of them are on vacation. I’m the only one here until at least Tuesday, so clearly I needed to seize control of the territory:
welcome to the kimlidome
With the help of router egg cartons, our shipper and an idea I borrowed from Ser Elliott of House Davie, I have declared this workspace my kingdom to rule with a tiny iron fist. My banner is flying, and all who enter the Kimlidome are subject to my whims and fancy. Beware! I am a fickle but hilarious ruler!
my kingdom is kind of messy but we don't want for office supplies
It is fun inside my head.
it's ed, in lego form!
Jack could not shake the feeling that someone was watching him:
look out, jack!
The PNE starts next month, and I am fully planning on playing hooky from work one day to make myself sick on mini donuts, corn dogs, candy apples, fair fudge and rides. I really, really want to try the new ride – it looks like the swing ride, only waaaaaaaaaaaaay up in the sky – and I have to ride the Scrambler and the Tilt a Whirl. I’m not much of a ride fanatic, but I have my favourites and I try to make my way to the fair at least once a year to make myself dizzy on purpose. I can’t wait, actually. It’s such a silly thing, but I am all about the silly (you may have noticed this) – and hey, mini donuts. Can’t go wrong with mini donuts.
It’s no Calgary Stampede, but I may just have to equip myself with a pink sequined cowboy hat just the same. Luckily, I know where I can get these for cheap AND it gives me an excuse to go to the Richmond Night Market again. It’s win win (except for the people who have to be seen with my pink sequined cowboy hat).
August is going to be a busy month, but I am okay with this.
These are my demands:
It was one of those weekends that had *everything* – new experiences, good times, a party, mosquito bites, serious sausage, too much hot sauce, too many tacos to count, BBQ’d meats, pigeon poop .. and a bunch of other stuff that was significantly less awesome. A flash migraine hit me on Saturday around noon as I was legoing up some John Hughes; it incapacitated me for most of the afternoon and I rather thought I was going to die. I recovered enough to go to a birthday/engagement party BBQ in Kits, which was lovely and featured two pounds of mousse in a cake. I ran errands all day Sunday in between fits of teary outrage, got pooped on by a pigeon on Granville Island, and had a delightful dinner of samosas and salad. A regular summer weekend in Vancouver; one that was long overdue and much needed (except for the bad parts).
I am in for a fairly crazy week with a long weekend to look forward to. I also just realized that I am officially booked for every weekend between now and mid-September, but I’m okay with this. Being busy keeps me out of trouble, or something.
duck butt.
But still angry. So very, very hurt and angry.
delicious juice dot com 