I hung out with Claudette this afternoon. She’s putting together the programme for this weekend’s burlesque show. I helped her out by scanning in the 8×10 glossies of all the performers, so they could be printed out at a more manageable size.
“Thank you, Philip,” said Claudette after I finished. She gave me a hug and said, “You are nice.”
“Well, it’s a good thing all these photos are on my hard drive now,” I said.
I set about photoshopping myself into a black-and-white photo of one of the burlesque models, so it looked like I had my tongue out on her.
“——- will kill you if you post that on the Internet,” said Claudette.
“Hey check this out,” I said. “Burlesque stars, making out with me… on the moon.”
Claudette took over the computer so she could check her email. She read a few blogs.
“What the fuck is wrong with everybody? Let’s see if I can find someone else who’s having a shitty day,” she said. She clicked around and swordfight.org popped up on the screen. “You haven’t written anything in a while.”
“How about, ‘life sucks the world is coming to an end, blah blah burlesque show blah blah blah.'”
“‘Me, me, me, me, me, me, me.'”
Q. Is it too late?
A. It is now.
~ There was a takedown on Agricola Street yesterday, just around the corner from our house. I was walking home and this team of black-clad cops was charging up someone’s front steps. There were cops with guns drawn everywhere, and all these crazy science-fiction-looking rifles. Cool!
I ran home to get my camera. Mark Black headed up the block with the mini-DV but by then it was all over. I guess with that much firepower you expect to get results pretty quick.
Then everyone quit milling around and went back inside the bingo hall on the corner of Agricola and Bloomfield, where they were probably setting up for their stupid flea market when all the excitement broke out.
~ Faith got rooked at that crummy flea market. She bought a jigsawrr puzzle and there wasn’t a single edge piece in the whole box. Not one. Bingo players are all a bunch of smelly cancer-laden bastards.
And yes, that includes your Aunt Hilda. I know you love her but sorry it’s the truth.
Faith is our roommate from New Zealand. She was living in Williamsburg before she moved here, so she’s got some of that Brooklyn sass in her too.
Then the Americans got all American on her, and she wound up here in Halifax, in laid-back, friendly Canaduhrr.
Anyways, it’s awesome to have a roommate who drinks 100-proof vodkuhrr and who says “Fucking hell” all the time.
We’re going to glue all these puzzles pieces on a piece of cardboard and make a little collage, and then take it into the bingo hall and set it on fire with a Bic lighter.
Claudette: “Larue smells really good. Faith smells good. I smell like shit.”
Me: “That’s cuz you don’t wipe your butt.”
Claudette: “Shut up! I do so wipe my butt.”
Faith: “Yeah… on your panties.”
Me: “Ha, ha, ha. You got owned.”
Claudette: “Shut Up!!!”
Me: “Hey… What’s the difference between toilet paper and a shower curtain?”
Claudette: “I don’t know, what?”
Me: “Oh my god. IT WAS YOU!”
It’s my birthday. I’m going out to Robie Foods tonight with a few friends, feel free to drop by. Corner of Young and Robie, 8PM.
Afterwards we’ll adjourn to Bloomfield House and plan our next move, which may or may not involve booze and may or may not involve leaving the house at all. We’ll see.
now playing Jesus & Mary Chain — Tumbledown
Don’t expect to
Get inside me
Give you all I got to give
Hit me again and again
Slip right to me
And slide right through me
So I got compared to Hitler on my blog yesterday. It’s caused a bit of excitement around the house.
I called up my Mom and told her. She was quite proud of me; as you might expect, since she was the one who paid for my first swastika tattoo.
Mark has taken to calling me ‘Hitler’ now, as in, “See ya later Hitler, don’t let the [mumble mumble something about Russian hordes].”
And I came up with a little Hitler dance yesterday afternoon. It involves making funny faces and goosestepping around the lebensraum shouting “Raus raus, fila fila!” with my finger under my nose like a moustache.
We’ve had to figure out everyone’s role in the new Swordfight axis of evil. If I’m Hitler, then Mark decided he’s Finland (didn’t want to be evil but got invaded and had no choice). And Gerry is Italy (he wants everybody to vote for George Bush so he must be a fascist).
That means Claudette must be Japan… only, instead of bombing Pearl Harbor… she got bombed in Hell’s Kitchen.
I’d been on this Satan kick, calling the blog “the new face of evil” and thinking that Satan is the epitome of all things evil. But yesterday I realized something.
Hitler too is pretty damn evil. In fact, it is quite possible that Hitler might be more evil than Satan.
So I decided to set up a little competition. Who’s more evil… Hitler or Satan? Here we go–
SATAN: Van Dyke beard.
HITLER: Charlie Chaplin moustache.
SATAN: Unleashed a plague of locusts.
HITLER: Unleashed the Volkswagen Beetle.
SATAN: Was on a mission to test Job.
HITLER: Was missing a testicle. Never got a blowjob.
SATAN: Was given powerful dialogue by John Milton.
HITLER: Wrote his own material.
HITLER: Was responsible for the deaths of millions of people during his brutal reign.
SATAN: Never actually existed.
Final score: By a 3-2 margin, Satan is more evil than Hitler.
Mark Black‘s snooze alarm started going off at 11 o’clock this morning. It’s currently 2:30PM and counting. Regular intervals of some horrid country station. On/off. On/off. Jeeeezus.
You’d almost think he was the one who got drunk last night.
UPDATE: It’s now 4PM. Wonder if he’s all right in there?
Here we have a couple people posing with “Bubbles” from the hit local TV series Trailer Park Boys.
Notice how the guy with the weird mouth is totally poking Bubbles in the stomach, like “Bubbles! You da MAN!”
Actually all three of those people sort of have weird mouths.
In the following photo, judging purely by appearances, I would guess that at least one and possibly nine of these people are currently attending classes at Dalhousie University:
Halifax is a small town, and chances are someone who reads this blog knows someone in this picture. If that’s the case, you should tell them that some guy found their disposable camera at the Marquee and got the photos developed.
Please invite them to email me to get their photos back, before I post them all on the web for my friends to make fun of or else start photoshopping people’s heads onto gay porn stars.
According to the banner hanging over Bell Road, this is “Poison Awareness Week.” Too fucking perfect.
Welcome to the Swordfight Online Empire.
As of today there is a new baby in the Swordfight family. Last summer when the cops impounded the website, I went out and bought a new domain, brokenglass.ca. Then I got swordfight.org back, and brokenglass has been sitting there unused ever since.
At one point I got some goofy-assed idea to start a webzine, but I’m not always too stoked about creative projects that rely on input from other people, as you may have guessed from the fact that I’m in three one-man bands.
So I have donated brokenglass to a friend of mine who shall be known only as “Blackfire.”
He emailed me on Friday and said, “Don’t tell anybody who it is just yet. Some of the writing’s going to be pretty dark, and I don’t want people coming up and asking me if I’ve been feeling all right.” Sounds good to me.
From time to time I get requests from people asking how to get their blog hosted on Swordfight. I started to make an FAQ that I could point these people to. I never bothered finishing it. I’m not opposed to adding new blogs to the roster, but we’re such a tight group right now and I think we’re all really enjoying it.
Anyway, what do you need Swordfight for, it’s easy to set up your own blogspot.
When you get a blog do these things:
– Update a lot unless your life is too fucking exciting, like mine
– Ease up on those surveys and quizillas
– Tell stories
– Make sure it looks good on a Mac because that’s what the cool people use
– Be funny, if you can
– Computer screens are hard to look at. Lots of short paragraphs give our eyes a chance to rest.
– Use black text on a white background unless Satan tells you otherwise
– Concrete details.
– “Grrr, I wrote a big long post and Blogger ate it,” oh gee thanks for telling me.
– Good stuff to write about: booze, sex, drugs, violence, rioting, stealing, lying, cheating, partying, puking, death, murder, suicide, abortion, insanity, arson, satanism, nudity, nearly drowning, rock’n’roll, hot people, dumb people, dumb cops, dumb security guards, bloodstains, speed kills, fast cars, cheap thrills.
– Don’t write lots of abstract stuff about your “feelings” unless you have an EmoJournal.
Sunday afternoon I was having a nap. I dreamt I was making out with [a certain redhead] when suddenly the action froze and Satan himself appeared before me, wearing a suit and tie with cherry Doc Martens and chewing on an unlit cigar.
“You like this dream?” he said. “I can fix you up with more like this. Sure, no problem. Plenty more where this came from. But in return, you have to do something for me.”
Satan told me that I would need to make my blog more evil by putting it on Movable Type and changing the look so it was all red and black. And that’s how I wound up spending my Sunday evening.
Word up, Lucifer, how ya like me now.
My work is done. I’m going to bed.
Am I evil? Yes I f##king am.