Oh Joy!
2003-04-29 || PARTYCNALEED topnigtht
Soundtrack � RL Burnside � An Ass Pocket of Whiskey

It�s getting hot in here�so take off all your clothes. That would be my favorite song in the world�for Nelly songs anyway.

Last night, we cleaned the rehearsal space out, swept, cleaned, rearranged, and by the time I got home I was blowing black snot into tissues. We saw the little mouse that visits and leaves shit, and I made Aarne block the hole up where it comes in. If there�s anything I hate, it�s rodents! I would never kill one or set traps or anything, but I just don�t like them. So the little tiny mouse was in the corner where the drum set is now. We even cleaned all of the equipment off. Sparkling clean.

I wrote a new song in the key of heavy metalness.

So Breaux was telling me someone signed his guestbook all upset about his diary. This to me is so stupid. Granted you�re writing things in public, but it should be nobodies business to judge what you write on here. If you want to write about how much you hate this person or that person and then you�re accused of using the computer to hide behind, whatever. Breaux is the type of guy who would tell anyone in person anyway. But that�s beside the point. If I wanted to start a diary and talk about how much I loved molesting children, and how I thought the war on Iraq was the best thing the United States has ever been involved in, I should be able to without someone anonymously telling me I am wrong. Nothing I write in here is �wrong�. If I write �George Bush has a 19 inch cock, and he loves putting coke on the end of it and inserting it into a rabid raccoons ass while watching an episode of Charles in Charge with German voiceovers and Japanese subtitles� that is probably wrong. If I want to write, �I hate faggots�I hate black people�, I�m not wrong, just stupid.

Anyway, enough of that serious shit, it�s getting hot in here, take off all your clothes!

I brought my camera to work today, I don�t know why, but I realized I need to have it out because I miss things in the day.

Yesterday, I started my guitar lessons again. At one point, I showed my guitar teacher how to play a King Crimson song. Heh.

The rooms and kitchen must be immaculate; upon the arrival of the party guests. They should arrive around 8:30 or so. I have light jazz playing. Something with a piano. A piano trio�a saxophone may be too harsh this early in the evening. I have things arranged, and I know where everything is. I counted everything in the house last night. I could tell you how many fucking toothpicks. I weighed all of the bags of food and drinks. I even weighed my medicine cabinet contents. I wrote it all down. I don�t trust anyone. I don�t want them to steal anything. I know how many matchbooks are in the bowl in the den. I know how many matches are in each book. I know how much dust is on everything. I don�t want anyone leaving any dust or dirt or hair or skin flakes anywhere. This is my first party, and I know that my friends are thieves and they leave things around. My motto, �leave only footprints� is lived day to day. These fucking pigs leave things around. The other day, one of them left an unused napkin in the backseat of my car. I don�t want an unused perfectly shaped napkin in my backseat. I have my own napkins. You get things, you take them home with you, or throw them out, or do something. Please do not take me for a maid though. Do I look like a fucking janitor? These cocksuckers have absolutely not a shred of fucking respect for me or the small things I ask for. These useless pieces of shit, my friends, they don�t think about anything but themselves. Sure they�ll come by and leave dust all over my place and take things like toothpicks and water out of the faucet. I tried making phone calls to cancel this whole event but people close to me told me not to cancel it, it would work out in the end. I hate having people over. Notice I never show up at their places. Houses are where you live, you don�t hang out there. I am cleaning and worried about these fucks. I hate going to the apartments of people, and houses. They wonder why I never show up. They wonder why I feel this way. This is where one sleeps and fucking eats WHY THE FUCK DO I WANT TO COME THERE?? WHY DO YOU WANT TO COME TO MY HOUSE. I DON�T WANT YOU IN MY BATHROOM AND LOOKING AT MY UCKIND STUFF IN THEER I DON�T WANT COMPLETE STAGRANERS IN MY FIUCKING HOUS IAND I DON�T WANT THEES FUICKIN G FRIENDS COMING TO THE HUSOE TOO! THIS AIS MY FPRIOVATE SHIT IN HERE FUC I CANCEL IT AND THIS FUCKIND THGIN I NEVEER WANT SOT SEEE ANY OF YOU AGAIN FDON�T TREAD THIS AND DOANT� COME TO THI PARTYY BECASUSE WYOU �LL BE TURNSED AWAY MOETSHERFUCKSERS!

before & after