Ramblin' gamblin' bitch

So, I've been a total asshole lately about things like answering my comments, visiting other blogs, posting on a daily basis, responding to email...for these and other atrocities I'm statistically likely to commit, I apologize.

But seriously, I'm not sorry at all about the labia. That was just my artistic vision, in a blurry, drunken, glasses-smeared-with-the-jizz-of-strangers way. There's even some footage I forgot to put in, so you might see a director's cut someday. See? I've given you all something to anticipate, the way one anticipates a fiery anus after eating three dozen whole jalapenos. Sa-MO-kin'!

I picked up a nice JBL speaker set for my computer this week, as I don't see myself rebuilding a traditional stereo system for myself any time in the near future. The sounds kicks more than I could have hoped from a system of its size. Downsizing is important to me right now; in fact, I'm in the process of taking a bunch of music equipment I'll likely never use again and having an ebay store sell it for me. Think I could get anything on ebay for some of my old paintings? I even found some of the huge displays I did for Meijer when we had shoe brand promotions. Maybe I could hawk the stuff as "the opium-fueled hallucinatory creations of a disturbed young hermaphrodite with a taste for mayhem and Sugar Babies."

There's been a lot of blood sprayed and splattered on my TV screen in the last few days. Um, on the inside, not the outside. I've watched a number of graphically violent movies this week, including Scarface and Kill Bill Vol I. So far, I have not been struck with the urge to twirl with a big-ass samurai sword or blow people away with a hand cannon. I'll keep you posted, though. My biggest criminal urges right now deal with the crimes I'm committing against my waistline with every bite of junk food I consume.

A few days ago, I heard the very end of a news story, and it made such an impression on me that I had to go look it up on the web. There is an operation called Randall's High Diving Racers where, among other forms of entertainment, they arrange for high-diving pigs, who jump off a (not that tall) platform into a pool of water. Someone must have been questioning the humane treatement of the pigs in all this, and whether or not the pigs went willingly to the big splash, and the quote I heard that intrigued me was the owner Virgil Randall's defense of the act: "The divers make their own decisions. If I ever pushed them off, they wouldn't be diving pigs, they'd be pushed-off pigs."

I so want to start a band called The Pushed-Off Pigs.

And why does it sound vaguely smutty when I say it?