Ich bin sehr schlimm. Schittenwurst!
Song, by Toad is not the messiah. He is a very naughty boy.
Oh the shame of it all, my dear readers. I have been told off by the hopping mad and eminently justified Mrs. Toad for ‘treating this house like a hotel’ and not doing enough cleaning. Head duly hung in contrition – that poor girl puts up with an awful lot for the very dubious privilege of my companionship, she really does.
The first one comes about from too many gigs and far too much carousing. I had a conversation with two girls at The Aliens’ gig on Thursday who I asked questions I apparently have already asked them and they have already answered. Nothing crucial, mind, just the usual small talk questions you ask someone the first time you meet them, but I just have no recollection of this conversation whatsoever. Maybe I should try actually listening to people when they talk to me. Maybe I should try getting less shit-faced at other people’s parties too.
The cleaning thing is just a laziness problem. I hate cleaning. I keep the house pretty tidy, but I can’t stand the scrubbing the bath part of cleaning and can put these things off forever. And yes it is my turn. And yes I am procrastinating yet again and writing blog posts instead of just getting on with it. It’s just so dismally, depressingly, awfully FUCKING BORING! Please can we get a cleaning lady, darling, pleeeease?
Wasn’t that a thought-provoking and worthwhile post then, eh? Well for crying out loud don’t you whinge at me, people. It’s a huge internets, and there must be something out there interesting for you to read instead of this.
Actually, let’s get intellectual after all – how about some insightful movie criticism? Well, I know Helen Mirren got Oscars this year for some film there is no way I can be arsed seeing. And I know she’s a bit old. What I didn’t know was this: what absolutely fabulous boobs she used to have. Goodness gracious, what perfect orbs of squishy delight those two little puppies are – who’d a thought it? I know she had a reputation for sartorially minimalist art house snooze-fests in her reckless youth, but I’d never been keen enough to see her sans-vetements to actually bother sitting through anything quite so drearily worthy. As I said, there’s a whole internets out there…
The Futureheads – Worry About it Later
The Jam – Mr Clean
Scissor Sisters – Tits on the Radio
Tom Waits – A Good Man is Hard to Find
Tom Waits – I Don’t Wanna Grow Up
Nice Titties!
Oh dear, I really have let things slip haven’t I.
I shall do my best to crank out something a bit less tawdry this week. Honest.
please let mrs. toad know that i’m saying a prayer and lighting a candle for her . . . and that i can’t recommend a hiring a cleaning service highly enough.
Can any blogger not emphasise with dereliction of domestic duties? I know I too prefer blogging to cleaning/tidying up but can I do anything about it? Tough.
And I can identify with the ‘we’ve already had this conversation’ scenario too, although not for a while. Shit-faced and emotionally shell-shocked covered that theme once a very long time ago.
i bet dario franchitti doesn’t have to clean the toilets!!!
Marcy, is it insolent to ask why on earth you brought a racing car driver on this blog? Indy car (yes, I had to Google him) is one of the most imbecilic redneck sports the world has ever produced. Are you admitting a guilty pleasure here?
Ah, my Midget Companion informs me he is Scottish. I see a sliver of relevance. But honestly, Indy car? That’s almost as bad as my link to Helen Mirren’s breasts.
[...] Ich bin sehr schlimm. Schittenwurst! [image] Song, by Toad is not the messiah. He is a very naughty boy. Oh the shame of it all, my dear readers. I […] [...]
ahem. well, as it happens, i am not what you might call a redneck; however, my son was at the race today with his school band, so i had a vested interest in watching. AND–this being very important–dario franchitti has just about the cutest accent evah, so i thought he might be worth watching just for that reason alone. and, duh, he’s scottish!
Never mind, Marcy, I have a sneaking liking for cricket I tend to keep quiet about, so if we’re trading stereotypes here…
And you’re right, Mrs. Toad’s Scottish inflections never fail to stir, erm, equivalent ‘inflections’ of their own in, ah, certain regions, so to speak.
And how did the laziest and most intellectually vacant post I have ever written get a pingback from Wordpress’ top posts? That is an insult to all the other ones that have actually had any thought put into them whatsoever.
must’ve been the boobies. no other explanation.
Just for fun, you may be interested to know that Eric Idle is turning Life of Brian into an Oratoro, staging in Toronto next week. He has an article about its genesis here: http://www.thestar.com/article/218048
oh, and yes, Jane Tennison does have nice ones.
Matthew! Respect for attempting to cite TWO Tom Waits songs in your own defence. I’ve been doing this for years but it never fucking works.
Bad liver: unbroken heart.
D.
Bad Liver & a Broken Heart is one of the all time classics. Absolute genius!
I’d probably post Tom Waits every other day around here if I thought I could, but the readers would get very bored and I’d start to look like a stalker!