Contary to popular belief, there are a number of things one can learn from a formidable extended errrm.. vacation.. in Lismore.
I)Denim on denim is making a comeback. in a big way
II)Nothing screams class like a combination of low-rider jeans and leapard print.
III) You have not reached Nirvana unless your car is not only big, black and Holden, but noisy, explicitely bumper-stickered, and plates personalised with 'topdog'. Bonus points for Kid Rock blasting from the stereo, a dirty blonde bimbo residing in the passanger seat, and a pair of white sunnies that could scare the chastity belt off the most loyal virginal maiden.
One can only smirk and blush at the various creatures born of this swampy town. Where did they come from? More importantly, where are they going? (no-where..)
It's as if the town possesses a sub-human force, barrackading in the masses and masses of scum that never venture beyond the town limits (well maybe only to go the the Wyrallah Rd Dump to scrounge for xmas treats..) and holiday far away from their south lismore home in the classy hell-resort of Lismore Caravan park. "ga on ya little ankle-biters, off to tha lake pool... nah nah dont wanna hear nuffin bout the blue-green algae..it's good for ya, will put hairs on ya chest son..."
Gut and facial hair is the lismore standard for appearance, male or woman. Not only is Lismore the lowest socio-economic town in NSW, but it also would have the highest number of likely contestants for Extreme makeover, Backyard Blitz, Room for Improvement, or any surgical or landscape-like reality show that aims to overhaul and improve.
A solution to this mediocrity? Well let's just say if I were mayor (and how i would wear that title with such honour...) i would fund construction for a fence encircling the entire town (electrified and unpassable of course) , throw in a few good tonnes of beef-mince, a kilolitre of Coke, an assortment of metal vats, hops malt and barley, a Flo Ryder (sp?) CD and mix it all up. Advertise excessively, and suddenly this enclosure of filth becomes one of the greatest tourist hotspots in the country- Live feral bogan freak show, doing what they do best- Drinking eating belching and reproducing relentlessly without any consideration for the gene pool or the state of generation Z.
Now it pains me to reduce all the population of lismore down to this disgraceful sub-average stereotype, but those who arent bogans are old and senile, occupying our roads exessively and driving too fast and too slowly respectively. It takes a cruise through town and surrounding suburbs to genuinly realise how fucked up this place is.
It's as if there is no escape- Here at mum's i am drenched in the ho-hum whinge bitch nag nag nag of the elderly (well, over 55's). Escaping leads me to the dredges of lismore lacklustre looney lame losers. My only escape is in the smokey sanctity of Colin, windows up thanks and triple J blaring, or dragging the stupid family dog up and down the ridges mounds and hills of our farm (thank fuck we have a fair bit of property).
Speaking of smokey sanctity, i must admit my regression to rollies. With a wallet loaded with membership cards, overlimit credit cards and not much else, i realised that i would need to revert to rollies if i wished to have some shmokes for at least 4 days. Else i would be back to the greatly-feared nicotineless beast i have been known to become from time to time. And so (on a fearful dash from my car to the servo. And cant believe i wasnt raped or mugged in the long painful 7 seconds i was outside and vulnerable) i purchased White Ox tabacco. "Dark" tabacco FYI. reow.
Now nothing entices me as much as reference to a large wirey animal and the adjectives "fine" and "rich".. And as much as i'd like to say i regret my decision to take a step back into poorsville, i insist that well, i'm in lismore, i may as well fit in with all the smelly fuckers eh?
Let's take it from the top.
Attractiveness of Pack- Actually quit sexy, a rustic lofty fat and eager bulky bag rather than a slinky pack, these appear as a REAL man's tabacco, rather than the slightly prissy, overly feminine Drum packs. Now last time i checked i was a woman (oh and oh so woman oh so soon..) therefore what obviously attracts me to the masculinity of White Ox is their suggestive grunty nature and their big black and sturdy frame. reow. 4 out of 5 malignant tummmmmours.
Smoothness and Flavour- Their contents is nothing soft either. Dark, strongly aromatic, rich and tastyyyyyyy. If only i could transfer the qualities of this tabacco into a human male, i would then have found not only my Mr Right, but my Mr RIGHT NOW AAOOOOOO!!! .. 4.5 out of 5 sexy malignant throbbbbbing tumours. ;)
Burning Time- The dense dark threads of tabacco lend themselves to a slow combustion, long burning time and very steady smoulder. Just as it should be, they only burn when i drag. However, i've found that White Ox is more vulnerable to extinguishing after an oh-little-too-long-time without a drag.. and relighting is required. balls. All in all though they push 4 out of 5 of my buttons.
Lingering Taste- Really overwhelmingly rich aroma and flavour clings determinedly to the roof of my mouth and in various dank locations in my respiratory tract. But after a while of hanging around, this white ox begins to fester and ferment, and the flavour becomes a little unpleasant. hm... 3 out of fiiiiiiiiiive.
Average Score for White Ox- 4? Well, strap me down, they weren't all that bad. HOWEVER i expect 6 out of 5 before marriage babies mortgage and divorce ensues.
SO where were you on the last day of the decade? this will be the overused catch call of many a b-grade news readers for the coming days. Talk of new years' resolutions, new decade, impending 2012 apocalypse, improving financial state of the world will smash our senses. Have you sorted out your prorities? Have you planned day for day your every action word and thought for 2010? I'd hope not. I, surprisingly, have adopted a so-close-to-positive-optimistic-approach that i feel a little foreign. I say welcome benvenuto 2010. May you fuck me from every angle in the most pleasurable way, satisfy my cravings, and rub my back when i'm falling asleep.
See you next decade, you delicious bastards.
X.M.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
I AM A FAG XXVII
You know there's something seriously wrong with you when, at 2:09 am, you angrily throw back the covers, make a bee line for the fridge, grab a beer, twist-off and take a deep long satisfied sip. Maybe it's the million percent humidity that is preventing sleep from ensuing? Or maybe the fact that my body is still in tune with QLD 'normal' time, rather than NSW's shitty excuse for daylight retention. Either way, there is only so much tossing and turning one can take before insanity comes knocking hornily on your bedroom door. Try as you may, you cant turn it away. Cleverly i have taken to my brother's laptop and in doing so not only shunned insanity (maybe not..) but also i am digitally vomiting some of the thoughts swimming irritatingly haphazardly in my mind. Nice.
Reclined unattractively relaxed on mum's plush gold-embellished red velvet couch (yes, wanker indeed..) i am reminded of why i left this place. I feel bad for speaking too loudly as i fear the decibles of my voice may injure the paint work. Walking too heavily on the carpet leaves me feeling i'm weakening the very foundations of the house. Dare i not breathe too hastily for i may displace one of the many crystalline figurines pointlessly decorating the furnishings of this house. Fark. Modernity is all but lost with my mother. She believes in the old-world charm of mahogany and the power of Royal Doulton.
"Hey mum, why the fuck don't you sell all this crystal shit and go on a holiday??"
"Because i worked a long time to save to buy it all and it means a lot to me and it looks nice and it's beautiful and and and ...." ..There lies the difference (one of the many differences) between my mother and I. I prefer the adventurous life of bankrupcy. She believes nothing says happiness like a cupboardfull of bling. Fair enough.
SO, continuing on the topic of fishsticks Vs Lobster, i now readily admit that while trying a rather dodgy poor-folks cigarette diet for a few weeks, i have unremorsefully returned to my old ways. a leapord never changes his spots. I blew a fair bit of smoke up rollies' ass. Put them high on a pedestal that, in retrospect, they possibly did not deserve.
And while i continue to insist that the praise given to them was not only well deserved but also truly meant, i did find myself very unsatisfied one evening, ducked up to my local 7/11 (i should probably set up permanent camp outside their damn store, i practically live there. My name should be blazened on the lease, a set of shop keys belong on my keychain. My daily attire should be that of a 7/11 employee...) to buy me a good ole pack of tailored cigarettes.
Why? WHY? something hit me as i sat daintily on the step of the back door (i had just cleaned and organised the patio setting, didnt want to muck it up you see) .. i realised that my love for DIY fags dwindled away as our 3 week anniversary came rolling around. I've never been one for monogamy. My cigarette-polygamy isn't all that sinful really.. Point being, i longed for a flawless long hard and ready being. I had had truly enough of imperfect. Unsatisfactory. The inconsistancies in rollies, though blameable purely on me, sure, left a lot to be desired.
I've reached a stage in my life (oh and how i'm getting wiser with age.... hm..) where all i want is the knowledge that i can have what i want, when i want it. And fuck me, tailored cigarettes, though many and varied in their strengths (and weaknesses...) will always look the bloody same, feel the same, just be the same.
I have no doubt in my mind that my choice to revert to an ole gooden' tailored pack was based mainly on the following facts-
a)i had had some freaky moments of oh so close avoidance of incidents while rolling whilst driving
b)if the air is too humind/my hands are damp/the wind is a-gusting it's all too difficult to get the roll right. and
c) i'm a lazy C U Next Tuesday and i cant be waiting around for cigarette-foreplay all the darn time.
Though upon inspecting my finances (wait, that big minus symbol, angry red font and threatening letters in the mail is BAD?) i have no doubt that any day now my need for nicotine at the cheapest going rate will completely squash any desire i have for a ready-made cigarette. Hold your horses for an ungraceful return to rollies.
Well, the pack to re-take my tailored virginity? Holiday Purple. WHY? Because in my nicotine-deprived ranting at the cigarette counter of the Chinderah Service Centre, it must have sounded like i said holidays... "cani avva packa thodr holfhad may zing puluease".. incomprihensible ramble? yes. Was i still delivered a pack of cigarettes? Yes. Needless to say i was eagerly salivating over the anticipation of the salvation that a good long tailored shmoke would bring. Hungrily stripping the pack of its preserving outer layer, i dove eagerly for a single cigarette, drew it quickasaflash to my lips and, igniting it at full speed, and felt my world turn from dark drizzle grey to rose pink.
It's as if i had relocated from living under a south lismore bridge, to the swankiest of Hiltons. Now we're really talking lobster on a fishfinger budget, champagne on a beer budget, but there is a level of absolute pleasure and satisfaction that results from tailored cigarettes that i had forecfully forgotten during my stint with rollies. Needless to say, the good memories came flowing back.
i dont have to spend a good 90 sleepy seconds rolling one when i get out of bed in the morning, bleary-eyed and nicotine defficient.
i dont have to endanger not only my own pointless life, but also the lives of possibly successful, probably equally as unhappy motorists on the road by rolling as i drive.
and i can maintain my image of pure class, rather than stoop down to the level of oh so many other graduates of Lismore (HA HA jerry seinfeld move over, there's some comedy for you... )
Let's get this shit compressed into numbers, or we will be here until the rooster crows (and yes, i am actually within a 300m radius of a rooster in this part of the country, and yes the cunt does crow early in the morning. and all i want to do is approach him with a family-feed style bucket of KFC and eat it in front of him, threatening him with a sharp knife and an oven-roasting tray, some ultimate chicken seasoning herbs such as sage and rosmary, and rub his face deep within the pile of chicken bones i shall leave in a heap at his feet)..
Attractiveness of Pack- As boring as an NBN news reporter. As plain as arrowroot bikkies. as lame as a scratched horse. BUT, i appreciate the consistancy in their range. All (or most) packs based around a blue colour scheme, only differentiated by a strip of various colours below the lid. Still, man up. Give me something to make my jaw drop, rather than just my forearm getting a work out. 2 out of 5 big fat bad mutated fuckers.
Smoothness and Flavour- No where near as smooth as rollies, that i will readily admit. But much more flavour is gained from a suck on these babies. I mean is it too much to ask for one hard satisfying hit? My level of patience with cigarettes in general has dwindled from nothing to sub-zero. I dont mind the smoothness or flavour of these, but i want a fag to just blow me (away) already! 2 out of 5.
Burning Time- "oh, it's okay... umm.. don't worry.." it's all over ridiculously quickly. Just because we're female doesnt mean we dont deserve just as much mmmmm ah as you. 2 out of 5. no actually, 1. fuckit.
Lingering Taste- A few lost points regained here. 3 out of 5. It does hang around. But we're talking hang around like that hmm-last-resort-its-better-than-being-alone-i-spose being. Stop texting me type shit. I close my eyes and when i open them i wish you to disappear. 2 out of 5. And i'm being generous.
Average Score for Holiday Purple- 2. now there's a lot of room for improvement there, and as this is my first sampling of the Holiday range, i am approaching the rest of the range with great trepedation and a head full of fear. eek. why must life depreciate faster than a european car? Currently i crave the value-for-money of a Mc Donald's menu item, melded with the satisfaction and pleasure of a bottle of shiraz. Is it really that much to ask? For a source to stem my happiness from? Oh dear, i would give more than the Salvos do if only i was given the chance.
Well now i am quite aware that the mix of late night sleeplessness and cider has murdered my sensible side and brought my rambling junkie side out to play.
I apologise for repeatedly cursing, using sexually explicit inuendo, and as usual, boring you stiff (oh if only. )
An hour later, i will now attempt to apologise to my bed for leaving it so hastily, and collapse back into it, wishing only to fall immediately and deeply into a state of restorative and reviving sleep.
I hope to see a fair few of you at NYE, by golly i am ever so excited. Bring your earplugs (or better, a shotgun), we all know how alcohol and good times gets my mouth a-yapping.
Love Lover Lovers Loving Loved Loveless. ... ..
M.
Reclined unattractively relaxed on mum's plush gold-embellished red velvet couch (yes, wanker indeed..) i am reminded of why i left this place. I feel bad for speaking too loudly as i fear the decibles of my voice may injure the paint work. Walking too heavily on the carpet leaves me feeling i'm weakening the very foundations of the house. Dare i not breathe too hastily for i may displace one of the many crystalline figurines pointlessly decorating the furnishings of this house. Fark. Modernity is all but lost with my mother. She believes in the old-world charm of mahogany and the power of Royal Doulton.
"Hey mum, why the fuck don't you sell all this crystal shit and go on a holiday??"
"Because i worked a long time to save to buy it all and it means a lot to me and it looks nice and it's beautiful and and and ...." ..There lies the difference (one of the many differences) between my mother and I. I prefer the adventurous life of bankrupcy. She believes nothing says happiness like a cupboardfull of bling. Fair enough.
SO, continuing on the topic of fishsticks Vs Lobster, i now readily admit that while trying a rather dodgy poor-folks cigarette diet for a few weeks, i have unremorsefully returned to my old ways. a leapord never changes his spots. I blew a fair bit of smoke up rollies' ass. Put them high on a pedestal that, in retrospect, they possibly did not deserve.
And while i continue to insist that the praise given to them was not only well deserved but also truly meant, i did find myself very unsatisfied one evening, ducked up to my local 7/11 (i should probably set up permanent camp outside their damn store, i practically live there. My name should be blazened on the lease, a set of shop keys belong on my keychain. My daily attire should be that of a 7/11 employee...) to buy me a good ole pack of tailored cigarettes.
Why? WHY? something hit me as i sat daintily on the step of the back door (i had just cleaned and organised the patio setting, didnt want to muck it up you see) .. i realised that my love for DIY fags dwindled away as our 3 week anniversary came rolling around. I've never been one for monogamy. My cigarette-polygamy isn't all that sinful really.. Point being, i longed for a flawless long hard and ready being. I had had truly enough of imperfect. Unsatisfactory. The inconsistancies in rollies, though blameable purely on me, sure, left a lot to be desired.
I've reached a stage in my life (oh and how i'm getting wiser with age.... hm..) where all i want is the knowledge that i can have what i want, when i want it. And fuck me, tailored cigarettes, though many and varied in their strengths (and weaknesses...) will always look the bloody same, feel the same, just be the same.
I have no doubt in my mind that my choice to revert to an ole gooden' tailored pack was based mainly on the following facts-
a)i had had some freaky moments of oh so close avoidance of incidents while rolling whilst driving
b)if the air is too humind/my hands are damp/the wind is a-gusting it's all too difficult to get the roll right. and
c) i'm a lazy C U Next Tuesday and i cant be waiting around for cigarette-foreplay all the darn time.
Though upon inspecting my finances (wait, that big minus symbol, angry red font and threatening letters in the mail is BAD?) i have no doubt that any day now my need for nicotine at the cheapest going rate will completely squash any desire i have for a ready-made cigarette. Hold your horses for an ungraceful return to rollies.
Well, the pack to re-take my tailored virginity? Holiday Purple. WHY? Because in my nicotine-deprived ranting at the cigarette counter of the Chinderah Service Centre, it must have sounded like i said holidays... "cani avva packa thodr holfhad may zing puluease".. incomprihensible ramble? yes. Was i still delivered a pack of cigarettes? Yes. Needless to say i was eagerly salivating over the anticipation of the salvation that a good long tailored shmoke would bring. Hungrily stripping the pack of its preserving outer layer, i dove eagerly for a single cigarette, drew it quickasaflash to my lips and, igniting it at full speed, and felt my world turn from dark drizzle grey to rose pink.
It's as if i had relocated from living under a south lismore bridge, to the swankiest of Hiltons. Now we're really talking lobster on a fishfinger budget, champagne on a beer budget, but there is a level of absolute pleasure and satisfaction that results from tailored cigarettes that i had forecfully forgotten during my stint with rollies. Needless to say, the good memories came flowing back.
i dont have to spend a good 90 sleepy seconds rolling one when i get out of bed in the morning, bleary-eyed and nicotine defficient.
i dont have to endanger not only my own pointless life, but also the lives of possibly successful, probably equally as unhappy motorists on the road by rolling as i drive.
and i can maintain my image of pure class, rather than stoop down to the level of oh so many other graduates of Lismore (HA HA jerry seinfeld move over, there's some comedy for you... )
Let's get this shit compressed into numbers, or we will be here until the rooster crows (and yes, i am actually within a 300m radius of a rooster in this part of the country, and yes the cunt does crow early in the morning. and all i want to do is approach him with a family-feed style bucket of KFC and eat it in front of him, threatening him with a sharp knife and an oven-roasting tray, some ultimate chicken seasoning herbs such as sage and rosmary, and rub his face deep within the pile of chicken bones i shall leave in a heap at his feet)..
Attractiveness of Pack- As boring as an NBN news reporter. As plain as arrowroot bikkies. as lame as a scratched horse. BUT, i appreciate the consistancy in their range. All (or most) packs based around a blue colour scheme, only differentiated by a strip of various colours below the lid. Still, man up. Give me something to make my jaw drop, rather than just my forearm getting a work out. 2 out of 5 big fat bad mutated fuckers.
Smoothness and Flavour- No where near as smooth as rollies, that i will readily admit. But much more flavour is gained from a suck on these babies. I mean is it too much to ask for one hard satisfying hit? My level of patience with cigarettes in general has dwindled from nothing to sub-zero. I dont mind the smoothness or flavour of these, but i want a fag to just blow me (away) already! 2 out of 5.
Burning Time- "oh, it's okay... umm.. don't worry.." it's all over ridiculously quickly. Just because we're female doesnt mean we dont deserve just as much mmmmm ah as you. 2 out of 5. no actually, 1. fuckit.
Lingering Taste- A few lost points regained here. 3 out of 5. It does hang around. But we're talking hang around like that hmm-last-resort-its-better-than-being-alone-i-spose being. Stop texting me type shit. I close my eyes and when i open them i wish you to disappear. 2 out of 5. And i'm being generous.
Average Score for Holiday Purple- 2. now there's a lot of room for improvement there, and as this is my first sampling of the Holiday range, i am approaching the rest of the range with great trepedation and a head full of fear. eek. why must life depreciate faster than a european car? Currently i crave the value-for-money of a Mc Donald's menu item, melded with the satisfaction and pleasure of a bottle of shiraz. Is it really that much to ask? For a source to stem my happiness from? Oh dear, i would give more than the Salvos do if only i was given the chance.
Well now i am quite aware that the mix of late night sleeplessness and cider has murdered my sensible side and brought my rambling junkie side out to play.
I apologise for repeatedly cursing, using sexually explicit inuendo, and as usual, boring you stiff (oh if only. )
An hour later, i will now attempt to apologise to my bed for leaving it so hastily, and collapse back into it, wishing only to fall immediately and deeply into a state of restorative and reviving sleep.
I hope to see a fair few of you at NYE, by golly i am ever so excited. Bring your earplugs (or better, a shotgun), we all know how alcohol and good times gets my mouth a-yapping.
Love Lover Lovers Loving Loved Loveless. ... ..
M.
Friday, December 25, 2009
I AM A FAG XXVI
There's nothing like a good walk on the farm (accompanied by a sneaky fag) with Spotty, the fatty boomba foxy dog, to help you get your beer-and-food-baby slowly making it's move to exit the body. Suprisingly, i only ate til i was 157% full, a fair call short of the usual twice-the-recommended-weekly-intake-of-food binge that usually entails xmas day. Upon pulling into my family home driveway this morning, i switched my mood from 'fuck xmas' to 'think happy thoughts, dont burp, dont yell, smile smile smile SMILE' and succeeded not only in getting a warm reception and welcome upon entry, but also only minimal sly bitchy remarks about the state of my face/hair/toenails/lower back/instep/earlobes or any other tiny judgeable facet of my being. Entering Wogsville without a barrage of insults and comments felt strangely foreign. Maybe my fam had bitched themselves down to zero pre to my arrival, and simply ran out of things to attack me about?
Sweet by me.
The second shock came when i gazed upon the christmas tree, and was stunned by the pitifully understocked present pile beneath. Gone are the days when bowed-boxes and pleasantly-packaged-parcels littered several square metres of the lounge room. No longer is the process of handing out presents as time consuming and tedious as colour-coordinating my neatly folded underwear (yeah i get it, i'm a sick freak, sorry.) receiving a grand total of 4 xmas cards, and one present (being a block of chocolate. oh how lovely) i have a feeling that our family is in serious need of a bit more xmas cheer. Well, considering my lack of contribution to the already miniscule pile of gifts (did someone say slack?) i really haven't the right to speak. Well, here's to next xmas, may i bathe in an ocean of gifts, knoose myself in wire-rimmed bows and adhere myself to countless strips of sticky tape.
Speaking of packs and parcels, my self-gifted xmas gift was by far the icing on this heavy, fruit-filled christmas cake (ew.) Drum Original (Dark Blue, YES still rollies..reow.) Opting for a darker hue of blue, and thus richer? heavier? stronger? flavour, Drum Original delivers as well if not better as their younger brother, Light Blue. With just as much smoothness, and an additional kick, Original caresses me from tit to toe in one gentle sweep, with me moaning all the way. hm. Ho Ho Ho.. ...
Attractiveness of Pack- These have a leg up on light blues, as i prefer a darker navy blue colour to the pissyish light carribean sky clear ocean minty gel toothpaste blue of the light babies. Design-wise they are identical, let me award 4 out of 5 malignant tumours, bonus points for the seductive allure of the midnight blue colouring.
Smoothness and Flavour- More flavourful than their buddy Light blues, though equally as smooth, with a delectably gentle buzz. Their almost therapeutic quality gives me a chance to sigh and relax, knowing full well that i am sucking on the best. hm. 4.5 out of 5.
Burning Time- As i have already made crystal clear, the DIY nature of these gems means that the choice is ultimately and entirely in your own hands. Pissy pussy skinny bitch or a big phat one, you determine the fate of your next fag. The choice gives you a sense of freedom previously only exprerienced on the last day of School, or the time you decided it would be fun to go skinny dipping. yarm. 5 out of 5. Flawless and free.
Lingering Taste- Hangs on and on like the smell of last nights' "what the HELL was i drinking?" on your favourite dress. Still, has the same bitter aftertaste of sour shit after a considerable amount of time. Of course nothing another fag or, heaven forbid, a piece of gum couldnt heal, but still becomes a little frusterating- No one likes feeling like they've just sucked on a turd. Still, 4 out of 5, as the bitterness does little to shadow the fact that these babies rock my world. I'd really like to take them lying down.
AVERAGE SCORE FOR DRUM DARK BLUE-4.5 ish? yeah. a smashing result from a cigarette i like smashing.
Well, with a sombre start to the morning (cleaning out my handbag. and holy shit i have never seen such filth in one place (except for at the One on any given saturday night, of course), i actually cant comprehend how 3 pairs of undies, 2 bras and 1 swimmer bottom can float undetected in the void-like depths of my bag for so long!?) and the prospect of driving up to Vegas, continuing my attack on my room and all my possessions, attempting to cram them orderedly into Colin, driving his fat ass somewhere and unloading, boom, i sort of wish i had 17 arms and a pretty powerful cyborg-like half brother to help me with the lifting. Ah well, you cant have everything you want eh...
Putting a spin on the term Boxing Day, i shall be filling boxes and boxes with utter and pure crap, because my hoarding nature does not allow me to part with anything.. the phrase 'oh, i might need it one day' is disgracefully overthought in my mind. Yes, i need help. And i'm talking $100/hr seriously intense psychotherapy. Oh Oh. OH.
I will leave you here, the promise of battling the boxing day crowds on the roads, becoming yet another xmas holiday fatality, or even possibly finally being nabbed for my relentless and careless speeding really has me rushing for my car keys, dashing for Colin, hand out the window farwell to the fam, and onwards, ever onwards, rolling a faggy with tender fingers as i teeter on the edge of death whilst steering with my knees.
Till death do us part,
M.
XX
Sweet by me.
The second shock came when i gazed upon the christmas tree, and was stunned by the pitifully understocked present pile beneath. Gone are the days when bowed-boxes and pleasantly-packaged-parcels littered several square metres of the lounge room. No longer is the process of handing out presents as time consuming and tedious as colour-coordinating my neatly folded underwear (yeah i get it, i'm a sick freak, sorry.) receiving a grand total of 4 xmas cards, and one present (being a block of chocolate. oh how lovely) i have a feeling that our family is in serious need of a bit more xmas cheer. Well, considering my lack of contribution to the already miniscule pile of gifts (did someone say slack?) i really haven't the right to speak. Well, here's to next xmas, may i bathe in an ocean of gifts, knoose myself in wire-rimmed bows and adhere myself to countless strips of sticky tape.
Speaking of packs and parcels, my self-gifted xmas gift was by far the icing on this heavy, fruit-filled christmas cake (ew.) Drum Original (Dark Blue, YES still rollies..reow.) Opting for a darker hue of blue, and thus richer? heavier? stronger? flavour, Drum Original delivers as well if not better as their younger brother, Light Blue. With just as much smoothness, and an additional kick, Original caresses me from tit to toe in one gentle sweep, with me moaning all the way. hm. Ho Ho Ho.. ...
Attractiveness of Pack- These have a leg up on light blues, as i prefer a darker navy blue colour to the pissyish light carribean sky clear ocean minty gel toothpaste blue of the light babies. Design-wise they are identical, let me award 4 out of 5 malignant tumours, bonus points for the seductive allure of the midnight blue colouring.
Smoothness and Flavour- More flavourful than their buddy Light blues, though equally as smooth, with a delectably gentle buzz. Their almost therapeutic quality gives me a chance to sigh and relax, knowing full well that i am sucking on the best. hm. 4.5 out of 5.
Burning Time- As i have already made crystal clear, the DIY nature of these gems means that the choice is ultimately and entirely in your own hands. Pissy pussy skinny bitch or a big phat one, you determine the fate of your next fag. The choice gives you a sense of freedom previously only exprerienced on the last day of School, or the time you decided it would be fun to go skinny dipping. yarm. 5 out of 5. Flawless and free.
Lingering Taste- Hangs on and on like the smell of last nights' "what the HELL was i drinking?" on your favourite dress. Still, has the same bitter aftertaste of sour shit after a considerable amount of time. Of course nothing another fag or, heaven forbid, a piece of gum couldnt heal, but still becomes a little frusterating- No one likes feeling like they've just sucked on a turd. Still, 4 out of 5, as the bitterness does little to shadow the fact that these babies rock my world. I'd really like to take them lying down.
AVERAGE SCORE FOR DRUM DARK BLUE-4.5 ish? yeah. a smashing result from a cigarette i like smashing.
Well, with a sombre start to the morning (cleaning out my handbag. and holy shit i have never seen such filth in one place (except for at the One on any given saturday night, of course), i actually cant comprehend how 3 pairs of undies, 2 bras and 1 swimmer bottom can float undetected in the void-like depths of my bag for so long!?) and the prospect of driving up to Vegas, continuing my attack on my room and all my possessions, attempting to cram them orderedly into Colin, driving his fat ass somewhere and unloading, boom, i sort of wish i had 17 arms and a pretty powerful cyborg-like half brother to help me with the lifting. Ah well, you cant have everything you want eh...
Putting a spin on the term Boxing Day, i shall be filling boxes and boxes with utter and pure crap, because my hoarding nature does not allow me to part with anything.. the phrase 'oh, i might need it one day' is disgracefully overthought in my mind. Yes, i need help. And i'm talking $100/hr seriously intense psychotherapy. Oh Oh. OH.
I will leave you here, the promise of battling the boxing day crowds on the roads, becoming yet another xmas holiday fatality, or even possibly finally being nabbed for my relentless and careless speeding really has me rushing for my car keys, dashing for Colin, hand out the window farwell to the fam, and onwards, ever onwards, rolling a faggy with tender fingers as i teeter on the edge of death whilst steering with my knees.
Till death do us part,
M.
XX
Monday, December 21, 2009
I AM A FAG XXIV
Well they say Ho Ho Ho, but i insist no no NO. For fuck sake, i am old enough to know the true meaning of christmas (wasting money we dont have on back-scratches, heated slippers, novelty stubby holders, large sticky shiny-glazed pieces of animal cooked through and devoured by many accompanying a beer and anecdotal tales of "last year's xmas when Uncle Jo got maggot and tried to fuck the dog"...) yet young enough to still be able to easily recall the times when, awaking on xmas morning, i would bound gleefully toward the lounge room and inspect my stocking to see what the fat man in red had gifted me. As the years went by, Santa's gifts turned from enjoyable to practical to truly pitiful. Now not to sound rude (i mean tis the thought that counts eh?) but a 24 pack of weetbix really took the cake for shittiest present. ever.
(holy shit i just rested my cigarette on my ashtray, and it must have made contact with my shitty shitty lighter, and well a fag can be a rocket with enough lighter fuel propelling it skywards. Shit. Lighter=dead.. But cigarette was recovered. Shit. could have been my face that got blown sky-high. and there is little room for pejoration in that department anyway... Note to self-it's all fun and games til the cigarette flies..)
Now back where i was.. yes, ripping santa to shreds. Although a sly word to mum "WOW, 'santa' really left the xmas shopping til late this year, now didn't he?" And an equally righteous response "Well maybe he thinks that at 15 you're getting a little too old to hang out your stocking??!!" ... Snap.
And even though i have been informed many times over that "nup nup we're not having christmas this year... too many fights. so much hurt.." blah blah i am bravely returning to my family home (armed with nothing but good cheer and a fluffy santa hat) to swim in the Yuletide and hopefully drown in a vat of Vino. yaaaaaarm.
SO the point i am attempting to make is that returning home implies a cut-down of smoking and the resulting jittery mess that i will become. Bah. But really, i had intended to quit on the 17th.. and although i attempt to plead ignorance, i DO realise that date has passed and i continue to smoke, but meh.
A quick one-day-down-next-day-back drive to sydney last week proved a little difficult... Our stops were limited to every 3 hrs or so...and when we DID stop dad refused to 'wait around while you have a fag!' ...going so far as reversing out of the Service Centre carpark and almost tearing off down south when i refused to get back in the car because i was still sucking my P.J ( okay... nice family. ) And although my smoking has not ceased, it has definitely dwindled down to half of what it was. Kudos to me right.. ? That said, with my blogging at zero and my smoking still steady, i am so so fucking behind it's ridiculous. Like super silly. But oh, i cant resist skippin about 20 packs and jumping to my latest conquest. Rollies. YEP.
Drum Light Blues to Be precise. And i cant believe how willing i am to admit that yep, they rock. Hands down the most practical way to smoke tabacco.
Attractiveness of Pack- Well, it's another totally different ballpark now, isn't it? (speaking of which, www.myspace.com/musicfromtheballpark.com ) It's like trying to compare a Kia to an Aston Martin. Laughable. HOWEVER i will say that the block blue print on the outside of the soft-pack pouch is a delightful shade. The ingenious push-button cross velcro? closure makes sealing it a breeze. The adhesive spot holds papers firmly in place and always at hand. All in all, and with no previous experience to compare it to, i'll award a fairly generic 3 just to play it safe..
Smoothness and Flavour- NEVER EVER have i experienced tabacco as smooth as this. It is so fucking obvious now that taliored cigarettes are convenient yes, but sacrafice so much smoothness and flavour in being so ready made...A tailored cigarette is like a succession of speedbumps in a car park compared to rollies. Shit. My dad was really onto something back in the day (it's funny, hypocricy must run in the family. Dad was once a pouch-a-day smoker, and yet now that he sucks balls and has quit, i am not permitted to smoke within a 10m radius of him. Nice eh.) SO smooth so flavourful, positive enough adjectives do not exist within the english language to express their awesome presence. Yet again, to allow for (possible but incomprehensible!) room for improvemement in other brands, i'll alot 4 out of 5
Burning Time- That's the brilliant thing about rollies! YOU decide. My control-freakish self is so relieved to finally have control over the one item most influential in my life-cigarettes. A cigarette for a long drive south? Pack that shit in fat and tight. A quick zing pow hit pre-bed? Lightly packed and thin. Whether i'm in a 'give me a big fatty' mood or delicate and gentle, I decide precisely how i want it. (hm. And that's the sort of control i seek in every other aspect of my life...) 5 out of 5! Total control!!
Lingering Taste- Penetrates every facet of my mouth. My tongue. My teeth. My my my everything. Remember the scene from Mission Impossible where (twitty twat fuck face) Cruise hangs on by one hand to a cliff overhang? yeah. Well, just as he did, the taste hangs on tight. fouroutta5maltumours.
Average Score for Drum Light Blue- 4 out of 5. Well, there is room for improvement. But i honestly feel as though i have a new lease on life with the discovery (and not a day too soon!) of rollies. So take that, life. I'm here to stay.
And i'm even getting better at rolling! there's nothing like successfully rolling a fag whilst driving down the freeway with your knees to make you feel like a decent person.
And furthermore, smiling cheekily at the Beach Patrol cop as he passes, eyeing off your suspiciously home-made cigarette and the wafts of smoke billowing from your gaping mouth. No sir, not high. Just so fucking happy to be at the beach.
Now bed calls me softly, i shall succumb to it (um after Seinfeld finishes maybeeeeee?)
Luf ffff fffff Miss.
(holy shit i just rested my cigarette on my ashtray, and it must have made contact with my shitty shitty lighter, and well a fag can be a rocket with enough lighter fuel propelling it skywards. Shit. Lighter=dead.. But cigarette was recovered. Shit. could have been my face that got blown sky-high. and there is little room for pejoration in that department anyway... Note to self-it's all fun and games til the cigarette flies..)
Now back where i was.. yes, ripping santa to shreds. Although a sly word to mum "WOW, 'santa' really left the xmas shopping til late this year, now didn't he?" And an equally righteous response "Well maybe he thinks that at 15 you're getting a little too old to hang out your stocking??!!" ... Snap.
And even though i have been informed many times over that "nup nup we're not having christmas this year... too many fights. so much hurt.." blah blah i am bravely returning to my family home (armed with nothing but good cheer and a fluffy santa hat) to swim in the Yuletide and hopefully drown in a vat of Vino. yaaaaaarm.
SO the point i am attempting to make is that returning home implies a cut-down of smoking and the resulting jittery mess that i will become. Bah. But really, i had intended to quit on the 17th.. and although i attempt to plead ignorance, i DO realise that date has passed and i continue to smoke, but meh.
A quick one-day-down-next-day-back drive to sydney last week proved a little difficult... Our stops were limited to every 3 hrs or so...and when we DID stop dad refused to 'wait around while you have a fag!' ...going so far as reversing out of the Service Centre carpark and almost tearing off down south when i refused to get back in the car because i was still sucking my P.J ( okay... nice family. ) And although my smoking has not ceased, it has definitely dwindled down to half of what it was. Kudos to me right.. ? That said, with my blogging at zero and my smoking still steady, i am so so fucking behind it's ridiculous. Like super silly. But oh, i cant resist skippin about 20 packs and jumping to my latest conquest. Rollies. YEP.
Drum Light Blues to Be precise. And i cant believe how willing i am to admit that yep, they rock. Hands down the most practical way to smoke tabacco.
Attractiveness of Pack- Well, it's another totally different ballpark now, isn't it? (speaking of which, www.myspace.com/musicfromtheballpark.com ) It's like trying to compare a Kia to an Aston Martin. Laughable. HOWEVER i will say that the block blue print on the outside of the soft-pack pouch is a delightful shade. The ingenious push-button cross velcro? closure makes sealing it a breeze. The adhesive spot holds papers firmly in place and always at hand. All in all, and with no previous experience to compare it to, i'll award a fairly generic 3 just to play it safe..
Smoothness and Flavour- NEVER EVER have i experienced tabacco as smooth as this. It is so fucking obvious now that taliored cigarettes are convenient yes, but sacrafice so much smoothness and flavour in being so ready made...A tailored cigarette is like a succession of speedbumps in a car park compared to rollies. Shit. My dad was really onto something back in the day (it's funny, hypocricy must run in the family. Dad was once a pouch-a-day smoker, and yet now that he sucks balls and has quit, i am not permitted to smoke within a 10m radius of him. Nice eh.) SO smooth so flavourful, positive enough adjectives do not exist within the english language to express their awesome presence. Yet again, to allow for (possible but incomprehensible!) room for improvemement in other brands, i'll alot 4 out of 5
Burning Time- That's the brilliant thing about rollies! YOU decide. My control-freakish self is so relieved to finally have control over the one item most influential in my life-cigarettes. A cigarette for a long drive south? Pack that shit in fat and tight. A quick zing pow hit pre-bed? Lightly packed and thin. Whether i'm in a 'give me a big fatty' mood or delicate and gentle, I decide precisely how i want it. (hm. And that's the sort of control i seek in every other aspect of my life...) 5 out of 5! Total control!!
Lingering Taste- Penetrates every facet of my mouth. My tongue. My teeth. My my my everything. Remember the scene from Mission Impossible where (twitty twat fuck face) Cruise hangs on by one hand to a cliff overhang? yeah. Well, just as he did, the taste hangs on tight. fouroutta5maltumours.
Average Score for Drum Light Blue- 4 out of 5. Well, there is room for improvement. But i honestly feel as though i have a new lease on life with the discovery (and not a day too soon!) of rollies. So take that, life. I'm here to stay.
And i'm even getting better at rolling! there's nothing like successfully rolling a fag whilst driving down the freeway with your knees to make you feel like a decent person.
And furthermore, smiling cheekily at the Beach Patrol cop as he passes, eyeing off your suspiciously home-made cigarette and the wafts of smoke billowing from your gaping mouth. No sir, not high. Just so fucking happy to be at the beach.
Now bed calls me softly, i shall succumb to it (um after Seinfeld finishes maybeeeeee?)
Luf ffff fffff Miss.
Monday, December 14, 2009
I AM A FAG XXV
I sit here watching David assemble and erect the christmas tree. "can you help me untangle the beads?".... "Nup, F.O ". Ah it's a family affair. and in doing so, i really am pondering why on earth a)i havent even a slight hint of excitement in me about the impending joy of christmas day and b)why i cant manage to make noise when i fart, rather a silent "poof" of air. Dang. Now of course i'm not a child anymore. (some may beg to differ...) So it is fair to say that i'm not expected to be rosie-cheeked and flustered about the arrival of santa. Yet with the countdown currently sitting on 2 days to go, and (finally) the christmas tree up, i am feeling a little empty.
Surely the thought of all that home-made vino and roast pumpkies galour gets my heart a-pounding? The anticipation of tearing through shrouds and shrouds of wrapping paper to unveil my many gifts should wet my apetite, right? Well maybe the part of my brain locked in realism mode understands that presents will actually be few and far between. Oh well, that's what you get for being a bad daughter/granddaughter/sister....
There is only one rectangular, wrapped and shiny thing i need this christmas time-Yes, even without a gleaming ribbon or delicately patterned paper, a pack of Escort Gold shall do me juuuusst fine.
Now it may seem a little 'farking typical missy' that i gravitate from Easy to Escort, but hey, there's enough sexual inuendo in my mind to power an entire nasa spacecraft. yeah. a lot.
Just like a perfect callgirl/escort, these polished babies have just enough flair to get my funny parts tingling, my mouth (and a certain other orifice) watering, and my throat a-humming 'mmm hmmm'. Giving Billie Piper a run for her money, they exude a sensual aura comparible to an icey-cold schooner of Blonde and a deep plum lipstick. oh. hm. ah. ooooh.
Let's Begin with Attractiveness of Pack- The metallic outer says "mm gurrl you know you wannn ittt" and well yes, you are rather correct to presume i do indeed want it.
Not breathtaking, but as gold, it glitters (mollesting the shit out of an old proverb i see). 3 out of 5 little black fellows in your blood stream (yes we've all seen the ad. it makes you shudder,it makes me smile, i think it's rather cute)
Smoothness and Flavour- Smooth as (i think) i am with a pair of killer platforms and a nice 5 beers under my belt, as flavourful as The Black Keys take on 'She Says' (i actually accept this cover, thought most covers can be likened to taking a giant dump in the original composer's mouth..) A delicious meld of zing, delivering a subtle hint of caramel undertones in a tabacco blend. 4.5 out of 5 sruomut tnangilam
Burning Time- Here we really have time to fool around a bit before the big event. It's comparable to the process of putting on a movie, dimming the lights, rearanging the cushions, caressing foot against foot, holding hands, snuggling, gazing into eachothers eyes, tucking hair behind ear, nuzzling neck, whispering in ear, grazing open palm over semi-erect bump in jeans, kissing bottom lip, introducing the tongue, examaning the oral geography of eachother, strip tease, and on and on and bang... very slow, sensual and satisfying burning time to say the least. And with and Escort this good, you'd want her to hang around. really. 4.5 ouuuta 5. And that's just the foreplay. reow.
Lingering Taste- Like trying to scrub her lipstick off your collar before your wifey gets home, the taste lingers almost unwantedly. See the taste goes through a degradation process that leaves an unpleasant almost bitter flavour in the mouth. The flavour lingers yes, (#do you have to, do you have to, do you have to let it lingerrrrr? You know i'm such a foooool forr youuuuuuu, you've got me wrapped around your fingggggeeeeeeerrrrr...# ah the Cranny's....sigh) but it's not at all desirable. umm 3. yes.
AVERAGE SCORE FOR ESCORT GOLDS- 3.75? ..question mark displays my lack of mathematical bother..
Honestly thought we were gearing up for a bigger score than that. oh. Well honestly, fuck numbers off to the kerb, just take my word that if you're ever looking for a late night pick-me-up, Escorts hit ze spot. Hm.
Well, what is there left to say? Merry fucking xmas. Please send all xmas money by registered post to 2/78 Brookfield Rd. In return, you shall get first peak and squeeze (squeeze? squeeze of what? what i'm so confused?)..
yeah you know you want toooo.
You shant hear from me probably until the new year. Oh bless your ashen hearts. You lucky devils.
Christmas love and yuletide cheer to all. (is seven eleven open tomorrow?)
XXXXXXXXXXXXXMASXXXXXX
Surely the thought of all that home-made vino and roast pumpkies galour gets my heart a-pounding? The anticipation of tearing through shrouds and shrouds of wrapping paper to unveil my many gifts should wet my apetite, right? Well maybe the part of my brain locked in realism mode understands that presents will actually be few and far between. Oh well, that's what you get for being a bad daughter/granddaughter/sister....
There is only one rectangular, wrapped and shiny thing i need this christmas time-Yes, even without a gleaming ribbon or delicately patterned paper, a pack of Escort Gold shall do me juuuusst fine.
Now it may seem a little 'farking typical missy' that i gravitate from Easy to Escort, but hey, there's enough sexual inuendo in my mind to power an entire nasa spacecraft. yeah. a lot.
Just like a perfect callgirl/escort, these polished babies have just enough flair to get my funny parts tingling, my mouth (and a certain other orifice) watering, and my throat a-humming 'mmm hmmm'. Giving Billie Piper a run for her money, they exude a sensual aura comparible to an icey-cold schooner of Blonde and a deep plum lipstick. oh. hm. ah. ooooh.
Let's Begin with Attractiveness of Pack- The metallic outer says "mm gurrl you know you wannn ittt" and well yes, you are rather correct to presume i do indeed want it.
Not breathtaking, but as gold, it glitters (mollesting the shit out of an old proverb i see). 3 out of 5 little black fellows in your blood stream (yes we've all seen the ad. it makes you shudder,it makes me smile, i think it's rather cute)
Smoothness and Flavour- Smooth as (i think) i am with a pair of killer platforms and a nice 5 beers under my belt, as flavourful as The Black Keys take on 'She Says' (i actually accept this cover, thought most covers can be likened to taking a giant dump in the original composer's mouth..) A delicious meld of zing, delivering a subtle hint of caramel undertones in a tabacco blend. 4.5 out of 5 sruomut tnangilam
Burning Time- Here we really have time to fool around a bit before the big event. It's comparable to the process of putting on a movie, dimming the lights, rearanging the cushions, caressing foot against foot, holding hands, snuggling, gazing into eachothers eyes, tucking hair behind ear, nuzzling neck, whispering in ear, grazing open palm over semi-erect bump in jeans, kissing bottom lip, introducing the tongue, examaning the oral geography of eachother, strip tease, and on and on and bang... very slow, sensual and satisfying burning time to say the least. And with and Escort this good, you'd want her to hang around. really. 4.5 ouuuta 5. And that's just the foreplay. reow.
Lingering Taste- Like trying to scrub her lipstick off your collar before your wifey gets home, the taste lingers almost unwantedly. See the taste goes through a degradation process that leaves an unpleasant almost bitter flavour in the mouth. The flavour lingers yes, (#do you have to, do you have to, do you have to let it lingerrrrr? You know i'm such a foooool forr youuuuuuu, you've got me wrapped around your fingggggeeeeeeerrrrr...# ah the Cranny's....sigh) but it's not at all desirable. umm 3. yes.
AVERAGE SCORE FOR ESCORT GOLDS- 3.75? ..question mark displays my lack of mathematical bother..
Honestly thought we were gearing up for a bigger score than that. oh. Well honestly, fuck numbers off to the kerb, just take my word that if you're ever looking for a late night pick-me-up, Escorts hit ze spot. Hm.
Well, what is there left to say? Merry fucking xmas. Please send all xmas money by registered post to 2/78 Brookfield Rd. In return, you shall get first peak and squeeze (squeeze? squeeze of what? what i'm so confused?)..
yeah you know you want toooo.
You shant hear from me probably until the new year. Oh bless your ashen hearts. You lucky devils.
Christmas love and yuletide cheer to all. (is seven eleven open tomorrow?)
XXXXXXXXXXXXXMASXXXXXX
Saturday, December 12, 2009
I AM A FAG XXIII
evenin' y'all.
Firstly i must proudly report the most productive activity i have completed in quite a long time-finally putting sheets on my bed. Now let me start by confirming that yes i am a pig and no i don't wish to change it. From time to time i find dwelling in my own filth to not only be sickly satisfying but also reminiscent of my days sleeping on the couch at mum's so i could silently sneak out at any given time throughout the night to have a sexy cigarette. for approximately 5 weeks (though probably more) i collapsed nightly onto the my bare matteress (even the matteress protector was long-crumpled and forgotten somewhere in the void between the edge of my bed and the bedhead..) and swore that 'tomorrow i will put dress this bitchy bed'.
As the matteress slowly darkened, scummed up, and showed evidence of nights and nights of tossing and turning residue, i finally accepted that this state of being was primative and probably unsanitary. With the nights growing ever-warmer, i concluded that perhaps, maybe, just maybe, a layer of 1000 thread count egyptian cotton sheets would probably provide more comfort than a flecked and speckled bare mattaress. I must admit, it felt rather fresh slipping my naked-by-night body onto clean cotton.
Therefore the invite is open to come and witness my newly-dressed bed (nah you wish).. hm..
Speaking of freshness, Winfield Menthols. I acquired them at a Sherwood servo (sacraficing $12 worth of petrol in doing so) in the mid-morning hours of this day. Now i have definitely already tortured you with my rantings of my appreciation of menthol cigarettes. And as is tradition every so often while munching through various packs, i test menthols, not only because they rock, but because my throat may may may may need a break from purely tabacco. (well aren't i just such a responsible person? ) I vaguely remember a rather charming young lass talking these babies up once at the Gats. Now if i wasnt so busy staring remoreslessly down her cleavage, i may have been able to remember her name and possibly face so i could give her a personal cheers ta thanks for the recommendation, as overall i have been more than impressed with their quality.. and a-one and a-two and a..
Attractiveness of Pack- Opting for the more minimalistic traditional Winfield design, i am thankful that they haven't blemished this pack with a 'SPECIAL EDITION!!!!' design that really is just dreadful. The green of course alludes to the menthol state of it's contents (not that it means much, but the green colour is slightly more mint coloured and a lighter shade of green than any other menthol pack i have acquired. Nice touch. ) Sticking to tradition, and sticking it to the man, the pack is exciting enough to please yet not overly stimulating. oh good. 3.5 out of 5 m.t
Smoothness and Flavour- Not quite at the level of Alpines for flavour or smoothness, but still, i painfully admit, better than Marlb Menths. Tear. An icey fresh sensation occupies every flavour receptor and the soft billowing cloud caresses the resp. tract. Elegantly seasoned with just a hint of tabacco, these duzzas satisfy the around-the-clock need for a shmoke while offering a splash of refreshing zing. 4 out 5 mally tums,
Burning Time- Unfortunately here i must report an epic failing in these cigarettes. By the time i check myself out in my rear-vision mirror and pout longingly at the oh-so-yum business man halted patiently beside me at an irritatingly long red light, the cigarette is gone gone gone. (that should teach me not to go around scaring innocent drivers..). With a burning time comparable to n.b's duration in bed and the time it took me to spend my KRudd $950, i dissappointedly award a mere 1, as they truly really really bail far too prematurely. Like, i mean it's a shame to say, but almost like a B&H (eeeeeeek!)
Lingering Taste- Yep, 10minutes on it's still there. I am confused, have i recently brushed my teeth or is it purely the minty boom of the menths?? As with all the other menthols i have raped, any taste of tabacco is quickly engulfed and overriden by the icey mint of menthols, however this provides a long duration of coolness and a sensation of shiverrrrrring sex. 4 out of 5 mmaaaaaaa t.
Average Score for Winfield Menthols- Just over 3. See it's a shame these dickheads run away so quickly, otherwise the av score would have been as high as Lennon in the sgt. Pepper days. Though allowing for this slight fail in consistency, i think they've done darn well. I would urge you to agree.
#another saturday night and i ain't got nobody..# ah cat stevens ma baby i know how you feel. Yet i am oddly content with the knowledge that a) it's sat night and i'm umm not drunk? and b)all the money that may have been spent if i were out is sitting dormantly in my wallet (yes all $2.35 of it.. wow i could have had a huge night..)
Tomorrow will no doubt be another brilliant day, and the siren call of the beach will overtake all my senses and try as i might i will not be able to resist diving into her sweet sweet wet vagina (and by wet vagina i mean crashing ocean waves, of course..)
Let me know if you wannnna tag alone on my trip? But just remember a)i sing in the car. loudly. and very badly. and b)Colin doesn't like you. And again my social retardation is in full swing.
Good night and good luck (to those who are out, on the prowl, and have higher standards than oh, say, me. )
luff missss.
Firstly i must proudly report the most productive activity i have completed in quite a long time-finally putting sheets on my bed. Now let me start by confirming that yes i am a pig and no i don't wish to change it. From time to time i find dwelling in my own filth to not only be sickly satisfying but also reminiscent of my days sleeping on the couch at mum's so i could silently sneak out at any given time throughout the night to have a sexy cigarette. for approximately 5 weeks (though probably more) i collapsed nightly onto the my bare matteress (even the matteress protector was long-crumpled and forgotten somewhere in the void between the edge of my bed and the bedhead..) and swore that 'tomorrow i will put dress this bitchy bed'.
As the matteress slowly darkened, scummed up, and showed evidence of nights and nights of tossing and turning residue, i finally accepted that this state of being was primative and probably unsanitary. With the nights growing ever-warmer, i concluded that perhaps, maybe, just maybe, a layer of 1000 thread count egyptian cotton sheets would probably provide more comfort than a flecked and speckled bare mattaress. I must admit, it felt rather fresh slipping my naked-by-night body onto clean cotton.
Therefore the invite is open to come and witness my newly-dressed bed (nah you wish).. hm..
Speaking of freshness, Winfield Menthols. I acquired them at a Sherwood servo (sacraficing $12 worth of petrol in doing so) in the mid-morning hours of this day. Now i have definitely already tortured you with my rantings of my appreciation of menthol cigarettes. And as is tradition every so often while munching through various packs, i test menthols, not only because they rock, but because my throat may may may may need a break from purely tabacco. (well aren't i just such a responsible person? ) I vaguely remember a rather charming young lass talking these babies up once at the Gats. Now if i wasnt so busy staring remoreslessly down her cleavage, i may have been able to remember her name and possibly face so i could give her a personal cheers ta thanks for the recommendation, as overall i have been more than impressed with their quality.. and a-one and a-two and a..
Attractiveness of Pack- Opting for the more minimalistic traditional Winfield design, i am thankful that they haven't blemished this pack with a 'SPECIAL EDITION!!!!' design that really is just dreadful. The green of course alludes to the menthol state of it's contents (not that it means much, but the green colour is slightly more mint coloured and a lighter shade of green than any other menthol pack i have acquired. Nice touch. ) Sticking to tradition, and sticking it to the man, the pack is exciting enough to please yet not overly stimulating. oh good. 3.5 out of 5 m.t
Smoothness and Flavour- Not quite at the level of Alpines for flavour or smoothness, but still, i painfully admit, better than Marlb Menths. Tear. An icey fresh sensation occupies every flavour receptor and the soft billowing cloud caresses the resp. tract. Elegantly seasoned with just a hint of tabacco, these duzzas satisfy the around-the-clock need for a shmoke while offering a splash of refreshing zing. 4 out 5 mally tums,
Burning Time- Unfortunately here i must report an epic failing in these cigarettes. By the time i check myself out in my rear-vision mirror and pout longingly at the oh-so-yum business man halted patiently beside me at an irritatingly long red light, the cigarette is gone gone gone. (that should teach me not to go around scaring innocent drivers..). With a burning time comparable to n.b's duration in bed and the time it took me to spend my KRudd $950, i dissappointedly award a mere 1, as they truly really really bail far too prematurely. Like, i mean it's a shame to say, but almost like a B&H (eeeeeeek!)
Lingering Taste- Yep, 10minutes on it's still there. I am confused, have i recently brushed my teeth or is it purely the minty boom of the menths?? As with all the other menthols i have raped, any taste of tabacco is quickly engulfed and overriden by the icey mint of menthols, however this provides a long duration of coolness and a sensation of shiverrrrrring sex. 4 out of 5 mmaaaaaaa t.
Average Score for Winfield Menthols- Just over 3. See it's a shame these dickheads run away so quickly, otherwise the av score would have been as high as Lennon in the sgt. Pepper days. Though allowing for this slight fail in consistency, i think they've done darn well. I would urge you to agree.
#another saturday night and i ain't got nobody..# ah cat stevens ma baby i know how you feel. Yet i am oddly content with the knowledge that a) it's sat night and i'm umm not drunk? and b)all the money that may have been spent if i were out is sitting dormantly in my wallet (yes all $2.35 of it.. wow i could have had a huge night..)
Tomorrow will no doubt be another brilliant day, and the siren call of the beach will overtake all my senses and try as i might i will not be able to resist diving into her sweet sweet wet vagina (and by wet vagina i mean crashing ocean waves, of course..)
Let me know if you wannnna tag alone on my trip? But just remember a)i sing in the car. loudly. and very badly. and b)Colin doesn't like you. And again my social retardation is in full swing.
Good night and good luck (to those who are out, on the prowl, and have higher standards than oh, say, me. )
luff missss.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
I AM A FAG XXII
Well, easy by name, easy by nature they say (who says?) .. and yet rather than rudely stereotyping that tall-lank-busty-blonde next door, i am talking of none other than my newest investment (funny that, an investment without dividends just doesnt quite make sense... hmm.) Easy Original cigarettes. As per usual, they were acquired on a lateish nigh seven eleven trip (or an icecream trip if you must be so politically correc..). With Brock soothing us from the disgracefully glorious heat with his newly-gassed and ever so icey aircon, the ride was comfortable and exhillirating (probably because i knew it was all stations to seven eleven from Baskin Robbins on..)
Now, bravely, if i MUST toot my own horn, i allowed Brock to undertake the all-important task of cigarette selection. It's a sure fire sign of relentless trust and faith when i hand this usually self-completed role over to another being. And what did he choose? Easy. Nice (a little bit of self-reflection there perhaps??)..
Now i was expecting nothing short of dreadful for a mere $8... even at seveneleven this price seems awfully low and dangerously unpromising... 40c a cigarette screams "shit-rolled-in-gummed-paper", yet i kept an open mind and blind faith that i may be satisfied with brock's selection..
Easy is an adjective which can be used to describe the very best things in life. Year 5 Basic skills test (dominated that shit paaoooo). A jog downhill. Or a blind selection of any of the dressed down and open-legged girls towards closing time at various locations around the city. (of course serious beer goggles and an uncaringly throbbing erect penis usually adds to the unfussiness of the selection and disregard for flaws.. So what if she has a beard/BO/testicles....?)
Yet while these cigarettes easily satisfied my cravings, they left me with a feeling of dirtiness and remorse (again, much like many settle-for-less situations in life..) Initially i thought mmm not bad. Followed by umm what am i doing. Finally filthy filthy thoughts of Oh Em Gee flooded my head, when that sobering sense of realisation came around and i had realised the error of my ways.
We all know (well maybe we dont..) the lengths we go to for cigarette-satisfaction when cravings are at their peak. "Oh look there's still a good 2 drags left in that mashed and moist cigarette wedged carelessly in the crack in the footpath.." And so it's very expected that the first few drags of ANY cigarette, regardless of their quality, satisfies my cells. However it is beyond these initial drags that i can accurately guage the actual attributes and flaws of the fag. So although i am always always always left feeling the same carefree fulfilled and orgasmic way after initial draw, it is definitely after i remove my nictotine/tabacco-goggles that i can really come to realise what's going onnnnn.
So, let's get it rolling along nicely with a few numerals and a little bit more ranting.
Attractiveness of Pack- Meh. The design team could have done with a few more beers and/or hallucinogens in their system when brainstorming ideas. It's as if mr tabacco man rocked up to a preschool, picked the most downy-looking child, gave him a blue crayon and barked 'DRAW!!' . The pack lacks any flair, fun or fwaoh. Nothing unique or stirring about their appearance. I am so unmoved and indifferent to them that i cant even justify a score greater than zero. But, for the sake of being nice (ick) i will give them 1 out of 5 malignant tumours, and after all it IS nearly christmas, and as much as i take take take receive steal scab and scam, i should also give.
Smoothness and Flavour- Marks pathetically lost in the pack design are almost recouped in this category, at least for flavour. Subtle yet satisfying, the taste drifts mellowly on a gentle smoke wave through the mouth and into the lungs. The exhale provides a repeat taste sensation, all is not lost in the absorbent cells of lung tissue. Tha said, no matter how hard you drag, the taste is the same. It's as if the flavour reaches equilibrium and there's little you can do to up the ante even slightly. Smoothness=average. Not pleasant enough to sooth you, not harsh enough to shake you to the core. Easy should be renamed average and then we'd have an accurate description. really. Although flavour was there, overall a 2.5 will suffice. unremarkable. hmf.
Burning time- once again the words 'average' 'unremarkable' and even 'mediocre' spring to mind. The cigarette surrenders all too quickly to the power of ze fire. Giving up the fight far too easily. These faggies have a testicle missing and a low sperm count. Underdeveloped biceps and an octave-higher-than-usual voice. Lower than normal levels of testosterone and just a little too much oestrogen. Oh you. faaaabulous. STOP iiit. hey baaabe.... That said i can imagine they would be handy for a quick cigarette break from work (ha what's work?) or, more applicable in my case, a quick dash from train to bus to car, where who can afford the time to hang around waiting for a Marl Red/Gudang Garam/Longbeach to slowly combust? 2.5 out of 5 maligamento tumeros. (NB not actually a language in existence i believe..)
Lingering Taste- well they peak in mediocrity in his category. As quickly forgotten as Scandalus (who!!?) and Casey Donovan, these cigarettes leave only a minor forgettable hint of what was.. and a bitter taste of 'fuck what was i thinking?!'. 2 out of 5.
Average Score for Easy Original- meh something like 2. or 1.75. either way, add that to the pile with Foord's reign as PM and Aaron Carter- shortlived and happily forgotten.
Well with yet another chem+beach day up my sleeve, another friday night penny-pinching by entertaining myself at home passing, and my impending death growing 7minutes closer per fag (apparently..) , i shall leave you in relative peace to make the most of your life while i waste mine. Watching the action from the sideline is serrrrriously underrated, right?
Be seeing your around sonny, keep those pants and chin up and your smile a-blazing.
X
Misery. i mean mushy. Missy. definitely missy.
Now, bravely, if i MUST toot my own horn, i allowed Brock to undertake the all-important task of cigarette selection. It's a sure fire sign of relentless trust and faith when i hand this usually self-completed role over to another being. And what did he choose? Easy. Nice (a little bit of self-reflection there perhaps??)..
Now i was expecting nothing short of dreadful for a mere $8... even at seveneleven this price seems awfully low and dangerously unpromising... 40c a cigarette screams "shit-rolled-in-gummed-paper", yet i kept an open mind and blind faith that i may be satisfied with brock's selection..
Easy is an adjective which can be used to describe the very best things in life. Year 5 Basic skills test (dominated that shit paaoooo). A jog downhill. Or a blind selection of any of the dressed down and open-legged girls towards closing time at various locations around the city. (of course serious beer goggles and an uncaringly throbbing erect penis usually adds to the unfussiness of the selection and disregard for flaws.. So what if she has a beard/BO/testicles....?)
Yet while these cigarettes easily satisfied my cravings, they left me with a feeling of dirtiness and remorse (again, much like many settle-for-less situations in life..) Initially i thought mmm not bad. Followed by umm what am i doing. Finally filthy filthy thoughts of Oh Em Gee flooded my head, when that sobering sense of realisation came around and i had realised the error of my ways.
We all know (well maybe we dont..) the lengths we go to for cigarette-satisfaction when cravings are at their peak. "Oh look there's still a good 2 drags left in that mashed and moist cigarette wedged carelessly in the crack in the footpath.." And so it's very expected that the first few drags of ANY cigarette, regardless of their quality, satisfies my cells. However it is beyond these initial drags that i can accurately guage the actual attributes and flaws of the fag. So although i am always always always left feeling the same carefree fulfilled and orgasmic way after initial draw, it is definitely after i remove my nictotine/tabacco-goggles that i can really come to realise what's going onnnnn.
So, let's get it rolling along nicely with a few numerals and a little bit more ranting.
Attractiveness of Pack- Meh. The design team could have done with a few more beers and/or hallucinogens in their system when brainstorming ideas. It's as if mr tabacco man rocked up to a preschool, picked the most downy-looking child, gave him a blue crayon and barked 'DRAW!!' . The pack lacks any flair, fun or fwaoh. Nothing unique or stirring about their appearance. I am so unmoved and indifferent to them that i cant even justify a score greater than zero. But, for the sake of being nice (ick) i will give them 1 out of 5 malignant tumours, and after all it IS nearly christmas, and as much as i take take take receive steal scab and scam, i should also give.
Smoothness and Flavour- Marks pathetically lost in the pack design are almost recouped in this category, at least for flavour. Subtle yet satisfying, the taste drifts mellowly on a gentle smoke wave through the mouth and into the lungs. The exhale provides a repeat taste sensation, all is not lost in the absorbent cells of lung tissue. Tha said, no matter how hard you drag, the taste is the same. It's as if the flavour reaches equilibrium and there's little you can do to up the ante even slightly. Smoothness=average. Not pleasant enough to sooth you, not harsh enough to shake you to the core. Easy should be renamed average and then we'd have an accurate description. really. Although flavour was there, overall a 2.5 will suffice. unremarkable. hmf.
Burning time- once again the words 'average' 'unremarkable' and even 'mediocre' spring to mind. The cigarette surrenders all too quickly to the power of ze fire. Giving up the fight far too easily. These faggies have a testicle missing and a low sperm count. Underdeveloped biceps and an octave-higher-than-usual voice. Lower than normal levels of testosterone and just a little too much oestrogen. Oh you. faaaabulous. STOP iiit. hey baaabe.... That said i can imagine they would be handy for a quick cigarette break from work (ha what's work?) or, more applicable in my case, a quick dash from train to bus to car, where who can afford the time to hang around waiting for a Marl Red/Gudang Garam/Longbeach to slowly combust? 2.5 out of 5 maligamento tumeros. (NB not actually a language in existence i believe..)
Lingering Taste- well they peak in mediocrity in his category. As quickly forgotten as Scandalus (who!!?) and Casey Donovan, these cigarettes leave only a minor forgettable hint of what was.. and a bitter taste of 'fuck what was i thinking?!'. 2 out of 5.
Average Score for Easy Original- meh something like 2. or 1.75. either way, add that to the pile with Foord's reign as PM and Aaron Carter- shortlived and happily forgotten.
Well with yet another chem+beach day up my sleeve, another friday night penny-pinching by entertaining myself at home passing, and my impending death growing 7minutes closer per fag (apparently..) , i shall leave you in relative peace to make the most of your life while i waste mine. Watching the action from the sideline is serrrrriously underrated, right?
Be seeing your around sonny, keep those pants and chin up and your smile a-blazing.
X
Misery. i mean mushy. Missy. definitely missy.
Monday, December 7, 2009
I AM A FAG XXI
well i am now convinced that in a former life i must have been a seriously nasty piece of work (former life...?) I mean pond scum. I mean a robber-from-the-poor-giver-to-the-rich type character. And this negatively tainted karma has come back to bite me in my sloppy and lofty butt. Such is the only explanation i can give for some of the events which have plagued my daily life over the past few weeks. (oh my opptimism never seases to amaze..) First and foremost, i have been shocked rocked and rolled by a death in the family. No not a family member (i have few to spare really...) No, not even my long-abandoned guinea pig Sausage.
I'm talking technological tragedy. Cyber-homocide. By reasons unknown to me, my dear laptop Harry has taken his last breath. Now he left me at such an un-expected (and OF COURSE inconvenient) time that i have not been able to thoroughly grip the situation, and have only had the chance to mourne with a whinge/whine/complain and a few profanities thrown in for good measure. Because my computer-resucitaton abilities are limited and have miserably failed, i have been left with a stone-cold casualty. Thus i have found myself computerless.
Blessedly, ma phone allows for googling and facebook, therefore not causing a complete isolation from the cyber world (the real world?). However bloggin', which tops my list of "stuff that's coooool and fun to do" has nearly ceased over the past weeks. Oh and how many tears have been shed over this fact :|
So i am forced to slut it up big time with housemate's computers and mope away each day that my Harry lies reduntently in a lifeless heap on the floor. Sob. What a beautiful corpse.
The second and most disappointing tragedy occuring of late is my continued inability to source a cigarette that pushes my g-spo... i mean my buttons. Although many have been tried and tormented, given a good hard violent rape (at a rape-a-day rate, definitely contributing to my falling behind with blogging) there have been only a handful that make me go mm-mm and even fewer that make me ooh ooooh. Because i am in an oh-so-scarily good positive optimistic mood, i will start by thanking the bearer of my "Gudang Garam" cigarettes. They were gracefulyl gifted to me by my dearest Simmy, who brought back (as well as 2 strains of Malaria and numerous STDs) from his recent Bali trip an assortment of cigarettes as payment for me picking him up from the airport.
My frothing anticipation for a good foreign fag has been unsupressable since he told me (slash i winningly convinced him) he was to bring me back a very missy-appropriate souvenir. Bali-a monkey? Assorted scented soaps (ass) ? CHeap region-irrelevant DVDs? Genuine, hoo-haa, fairdinkm real deal Prada sunglasses? Nah, only the finest hand-rolled tabacco. Now let's begin, rather predictably, at the beginning. The name. "Gudang Garam". Well fuck me. If only my linguistic knowledge extended to Indonesian then maybe i would be able to decipher this foreign crazy-talk. And at risk of sounding brutally ignorant, i'll stop here. Marlboro and Winfiled and Dunhill 'dont mean nuffin' in our language now, do they?? hm.
SO, even before the shrink-wrap was stripped off, an overwhelming aroma of vanilla? cinammon? sickly-sweet-something filled the air. Which only made my already over-active tastebads salivate further with the possibility of a cigarette-and-dessert all wrapped into one. aooo.
Now Simon, in his haul, brought back a 12 pack and a 16 pack (like wtf honestly? Indonesians must therefore have to buy their cigarettes about 4 packs at a time...) But this had me thinking, maybe they're onto something..Less cigarettes per pack=less time exposed to nasty oxygen=freshness +++ ! Ah who ever thought we could possibly learn anything valuable from our dirty asian neighbours? (Suck that Pauline Xenephobe Hanson..)
Now upon lighting them, i am shockingly overwhelmed by their intensely sweet fragrance and full-bodied flavour. And the greatest part? The sugar-sweet residual taste left on my lips post-drag. It's almost like i could smoke these babies pre-kissing a boy and, rather than have him gag and recoil because i taste like an ashtray, dwell longingly with his lips pressed amorously against mine (well obviously this 'kissing' occurs only in my dreams or my fucking glorious Mills & Boon-esque fantasies...) But really. Boys. Ew.
With each drag you can see and hear the crackle and pop of the inards of this tabacco roll. (i can almost invision micro-particles of sucrose snap and smoulder, causing the above-mentioned taste sensation..)
Visually, the cigarettes are umm attractive-ish.. While definitely never letting you forget that they are born from a possibly rat-infested, probably filthy back-alley factory in the slums of Indonesia. The stained and speckled paper screams un-hygienic and diseased. Their inadequate filter does leave me feeling a little dirty and contaminated with the thought of the unsanitary conditions they were no doubt created in.
BUT, the above criticisms cannot discount the fact that, all round, these cigarettes please me to no foreseeable end. AND uno due tre quattro cinque shall follow..
Attractiveness of Pack- A blood-red, deep mahogany, gold-striped pack screams "tacky" and overzealous. Like a fugly lass adorning flowers in her hair to attempt 'pretty'. Like souping-up a WRX. Like touching up crackled car paint with white-out. Beneath these meager attempts to jazz up a piece of shit, their unmistakable aura of cheap and tacky can not be escaped. Though at risk once more of sounding ignorant and boardering on racist, we havent really come to expect much of quality being churned out by our asian countries, have we? (maybe years of working at Crazy Clarks and dealing with near infinite shoddy products has left a rather bad taste in my mouth about asian imports.... )
Though a far cry from perfect, the pack does emminate a certain foreign appeal and acts a little like a micro-vacation-in-your-pocket. Nevertheless i believe a 3 out of 5 malignant tumours will suffice.
Smoothness and Flavour- As i have already alluded, the flavour burst erupting from these cigarettes is of gale-force and entirely unstoppable. I liken this flavour to the imagined sensation gained from smoking a lenght of ignited sugarcane wrapped in tabacco leaves. A surely kilojoule-dense carbo-loaded snack rather than a cigarette. Makes me feel like i can have my cake and eat it too. Never have i licked my lips so greedily as i do when i smoke these (well except maybe the first time i realised that aside from google and wikipedia, there are many rather arousing websites with un-censored content and a lot of flesh to be found on the world wide web. mmhmm)
The smoothness is non-existant however. The inhaled smoke seems to catch and snag on the battered and barbed lining of my respiratory tract. It's a very harsh exhale too, a lot of smoke (oh ze poor atmosphere. How i poison thee so..) Therefore it is appropriate that i alot 5 for flavour yet merely 2 for smoothness..
Burning Time- Blows freakin Longbeach and Marlboro Red clean out of the water. This really is a long-time-boyfriend-of-a-cigarette (*shudder) . Magically outlasts a stroll from Q st Station to commendably far down George St. I don't know how they do it, but they have a seemingly supernatural ability to outlast the irreversible force of time. 5 out of 5 mal tumours.
Lingering Taste- The sweet flavour and aroma clings on and does not release for a very.very.long.time. It's as if their essence impregnates every semi-porous organ in my body. The tabacco disappears like a tourist swimming foolishly in a rip however, but it is the pleasing honey-sweet aroma of these foreign babies that really continues to make its presence known. So aromatic are these dears that i keep 3 by my bedside to flavourfully and fragrantly lull me to sleep. My once tabacco-smell-drenched car interior temporarily smells fresh as a fucking daisy after smoking them. Lingering taste transforms into lingering presence, it's as if the scent of this marinates and fragrances the entire world (or maybe only the corrupt and naked world found only in my head..) 4.5 out of 5 m.t
Well for those mathamatically minded individuals, the sight of numbers has probably already sent your loins into a pleasure-filled flurry and your pulse a-racing. You have presumably done all the leg-work for me. Cheers. Owe you one.
Average Score for Gudang Garam- 4 out of 5
Not an entirely bad result if i do say so myself....
Well monday has reared it's ugly head once more (of course i wrote this yesterday. sorry.) however monday brings the promise of cheap tuesday to follow and the proceeding wonderful wednesday, where i allow myself to be swept away on a glorious tide of beer and trivia and the phenomenon of happiness. Therefore i welcome you, new week, and (attempt to) keep an optimistic and open mind about the delights that may be awaiting me in this december week.
I am living through this doomsday chem lecture with the thought of my petrol-wasting beach venture south this afternoon, which will no doubt get my melanomas writhing with glee and my already skin-damaged skin cursing me and wishing that i had even a slight sense of sun-sensibility.
Till next time fellassss (p.s thanks Simmy once again for the 'rettes)
Misssssssshhhy.
I'm talking technological tragedy. Cyber-homocide. By reasons unknown to me, my dear laptop Harry has taken his last breath. Now he left me at such an un-expected (and OF COURSE inconvenient) time that i have not been able to thoroughly grip the situation, and have only had the chance to mourne with a whinge/whine/complain and a few profanities thrown in for good measure. Because my computer-resucitaton abilities are limited and have miserably failed, i have been left with a stone-cold casualty. Thus i have found myself computerless.
Blessedly, ma phone allows for googling and facebook, therefore not causing a complete isolation from the cyber world (the real world?). However bloggin', which tops my list of "stuff that's coooool and fun to do" has nearly ceased over the past weeks. Oh and how many tears have been shed over this fact :|
So i am forced to slut it up big time with housemate's computers and mope away each day that my Harry lies reduntently in a lifeless heap on the floor. Sob. What a beautiful corpse.
The second and most disappointing tragedy occuring of late is my continued inability to source a cigarette that pushes my g-spo... i mean my buttons. Although many have been tried and tormented, given a good hard violent rape (at a rape-a-day rate, definitely contributing to my falling behind with blogging) there have been only a handful that make me go mm-mm and even fewer that make me ooh ooooh. Because i am in an oh-so-scarily good positive optimistic mood, i will start by thanking the bearer of my "Gudang Garam" cigarettes. They were gracefulyl gifted to me by my dearest Simmy, who brought back (as well as 2 strains of Malaria and numerous STDs) from his recent Bali trip an assortment of cigarettes as payment for me picking him up from the airport.
My frothing anticipation for a good foreign fag has been unsupressable since he told me (slash i winningly convinced him) he was to bring me back a very missy-appropriate souvenir. Bali-a monkey? Assorted scented soaps (ass) ? CHeap region-irrelevant DVDs? Genuine, hoo-haa, fairdinkm real deal Prada sunglasses? Nah, only the finest hand-rolled tabacco. Now let's begin, rather predictably, at the beginning. The name. "Gudang Garam". Well fuck me. If only my linguistic knowledge extended to Indonesian then maybe i would be able to decipher this foreign crazy-talk. And at risk of sounding brutally ignorant, i'll stop here. Marlboro and Winfiled and Dunhill 'dont mean nuffin' in our language now, do they?? hm.
SO, even before the shrink-wrap was stripped off, an overwhelming aroma of vanilla? cinammon? sickly-sweet-something filled the air. Which only made my already over-active tastebads salivate further with the possibility of a cigarette-and-dessert all wrapped into one. aooo.
Now Simon, in his haul, brought back a 12 pack and a 16 pack (like wtf honestly? Indonesians must therefore have to buy their cigarettes about 4 packs at a time...) But this had me thinking, maybe they're onto something..Less cigarettes per pack=less time exposed to nasty oxygen=freshness +++ ! Ah who ever thought we could possibly learn anything valuable from our dirty asian neighbours? (Suck that Pauline Xenephobe Hanson..)
Now upon lighting them, i am shockingly overwhelmed by their intensely sweet fragrance and full-bodied flavour. And the greatest part? The sugar-sweet residual taste left on my lips post-drag. It's almost like i could smoke these babies pre-kissing a boy and, rather than have him gag and recoil because i taste like an ashtray, dwell longingly with his lips pressed amorously against mine (well obviously this 'kissing' occurs only in my dreams or my fucking glorious Mills & Boon-esque fantasies...) But really. Boys. Ew.
With each drag you can see and hear the crackle and pop of the inards of this tabacco roll. (i can almost invision micro-particles of sucrose snap and smoulder, causing the above-mentioned taste sensation..)
Visually, the cigarettes are umm attractive-ish.. While definitely never letting you forget that they are born from a possibly rat-infested, probably filthy back-alley factory in the slums of Indonesia. The stained and speckled paper screams un-hygienic and diseased. Their inadequate filter does leave me feeling a little dirty and contaminated with the thought of the unsanitary conditions they were no doubt created in.
BUT, the above criticisms cannot discount the fact that, all round, these cigarettes please me to no foreseeable end. AND uno due tre quattro cinque shall follow..
Attractiveness of Pack- A blood-red, deep mahogany, gold-striped pack screams "tacky" and overzealous. Like a fugly lass adorning flowers in her hair to attempt 'pretty'. Like souping-up a WRX. Like touching up crackled car paint with white-out. Beneath these meager attempts to jazz up a piece of shit, their unmistakable aura of cheap and tacky can not be escaped. Though at risk once more of sounding ignorant and boardering on racist, we havent really come to expect much of quality being churned out by our asian countries, have we? (maybe years of working at Crazy Clarks and dealing with near infinite shoddy products has left a rather bad taste in my mouth about asian imports.... )
Though a far cry from perfect, the pack does emminate a certain foreign appeal and acts a little like a micro-vacation-in-your-pocket. Nevertheless i believe a 3 out of 5 malignant tumours will suffice.
Smoothness and Flavour- As i have already alluded, the flavour burst erupting from these cigarettes is of gale-force and entirely unstoppable. I liken this flavour to the imagined sensation gained from smoking a lenght of ignited sugarcane wrapped in tabacco leaves. A surely kilojoule-dense carbo-loaded snack rather than a cigarette. Makes me feel like i can have my cake and eat it too. Never have i licked my lips so greedily as i do when i smoke these (well except maybe the first time i realised that aside from google and wikipedia, there are many rather arousing websites with un-censored content and a lot of flesh to be found on the world wide web. mmhmm)
The smoothness is non-existant however. The inhaled smoke seems to catch and snag on the battered and barbed lining of my respiratory tract. It's a very harsh exhale too, a lot of smoke (oh ze poor atmosphere. How i poison thee so..) Therefore it is appropriate that i alot 5 for flavour yet merely 2 for smoothness..
Burning Time- Blows freakin Longbeach and Marlboro Red clean out of the water. This really is a long-time-boyfriend-of-a-cigarette (*shudder) . Magically outlasts a stroll from Q st Station to commendably far down George St. I don't know how they do it, but they have a seemingly supernatural ability to outlast the irreversible force of time. 5 out of 5 mal tumours.
Lingering Taste- The sweet flavour and aroma clings on and does not release for a very.very.long.time. It's as if their essence impregnates every semi-porous organ in my body. The tabacco disappears like a tourist swimming foolishly in a rip however, but it is the pleasing honey-sweet aroma of these foreign babies that really continues to make its presence known. So aromatic are these dears that i keep 3 by my bedside to flavourfully and fragrantly lull me to sleep. My once tabacco-smell-drenched car interior temporarily smells fresh as a fucking daisy after smoking them. Lingering taste transforms into lingering presence, it's as if the scent of this marinates and fragrances the entire world (or maybe only the corrupt and naked world found only in my head..) 4.5 out of 5 m.t
Well for those mathamatically minded individuals, the sight of numbers has probably already sent your loins into a pleasure-filled flurry and your pulse a-racing. You have presumably done all the leg-work for me. Cheers. Owe you one.
Average Score for Gudang Garam- 4 out of 5
Not an entirely bad result if i do say so myself....
Well monday has reared it's ugly head once more (of course i wrote this yesterday. sorry.) however monday brings the promise of cheap tuesday to follow and the proceeding wonderful wednesday, where i allow myself to be swept away on a glorious tide of beer and trivia and the phenomenon of happiness. Therefore i welcome you, new week, and (attempt to) keep an optimistic and open mind about the delights that may be awaiting me in this december week.
I am living through this doomsday chem lecture with the thought of my petrol-wasting beach venture south this afternoon, which will no doubt get my melanomas writhing with glee and my already skin-damaged skin cursing me and wishing that i had even a slight sense of sun-sensibility.
Till next time fellassss (p.s thanks Simmy once again for the 'rettes)
Misssssssshhhy.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
I AM A FAG XX
It's a sad time in a young woman's life (yes you heard right, woman..) when she finds herself singing along to 'going under'-evanesence on a shameless commercial radio station, combing her fingers difficultly through her 10-day-unwashed hair, perving on "oh yes he's got a nice arm nice car nice tyres.... oh he's 50+ and possibly balding and definitely revolting.."..and pondering her existance based on the fact that her passenger seat is empty bar the empty coke can and a shitload of sand. See i made the realisation today that well i have 5 seats in my car. So why is only one of them occupied by an ass? ah. What i'm talking about is an empty spot deep within my being that, until today, was unfilled and void-like. My life changed (slightly for the better) after purchasing Superking Blues.
Now initially i was drawn to them because the name sounds like a brand of condoms, or the developmental name of a sure-to-be-long-running adult only pay TV series in which many a loose whore gets pounded ruthlessly by super-duper horse-sized penises. And of course the cheap as shit price tag had me hooked. Did someone say bargain? Now Superkings really can be described as a cigarette fit for a king. Hardy, tough, large, ever so firm, ah. ah. mmm. And as i took my first impressionable drag, well, let's just say things went a little flacid. The fun was over all too quickly. Again i was harshly reminded to never judge a book by its cover (in this case of course, it's never judge a cigarette by its name... ah.)
Look when things go south and i'm left with a limp carrot rather than a raging freshly-picked continental cucumber, there may still be fun to be had, right? Yeah. right on. SO although the decline of my liking of these cigarettes continued as they smouldered ever onwards, i cant honestly say they were that bad. "How was it?" "oh yeah, it was fine" type shit.
No one should ever diss mediocrity. You could do worse, right? Yes. yes you could.
And as the sun set beautifully over Ipswich (yes i was in Ipswich, ok?? i'm sorry. look i just drove. ok. i didnt plan it. ok. it just happppppened..) i did begin to take a shining to these big kingboys. Like a nasty rash (ew?) they grew on me as the evening commenced. And maybe it was the influence of a comfy-as patch of green grass and the slight easterly breeze and a effing good novel that dressed me in my happy pants, but i really grew to accept them for what they were- a cheap-as-goon 'that'll do' type cigarette. Wow, if you peel away my layers upon layers of bitchy judgemeental shithead there might actually be some good in there? (but now we're getting ahead of ourselves a little...)
Believe it or not, i shall now cast down numbers to emphasise specific downfalls and wins in these babies. oh.
Attractiveness of Pack- With a metallic gold exterior, a racingstripe-esqu embellishment, and a dominating SUPERKINGS!!!! blazened on the pack, you can perhaps understand why my easily-pleased (ha) self initially assumed these dears had a lot to offer. Tall and thin, the pack can be likened to that fucking-i-hate-you-SO-much-some-girls-are-so-fucking-genetically-blessed tall skinny bitch walking insultingly tall and proud in front of your frumpy average butthead self. Though much like many of these supermodel-esque beings gracing our planet, their interior is empty and vacant as a Lismore motel. (yeah, that's very very vacant for all you not umm lucky enough to be from that socio-economic pitt that is Lismore). Though as we ARE talking shallowly and superficially about attractiveness here, i must award 4 out of 5 malignant tumours, for giving me a rather good impression, setting my pulse a-racing, and having me caress my inner thigh in attempt to fulfill my desires. Oh.
Smoothness and Flavour- As flavourful as the tiniest tiniest lump of Stevia. As smooth as a glass dildo. There is really little else i can say on the matter. YES i would prefer a little more kick. (obviously someone had these babies gagged and bound in the factory.) BUT not too bad really. far from mindblowingly impressive, but much more sufficient than some other wretched brands i have tested. 3 out of 5. And that's all i have to say on the matter.
Burning Time-Now Superkings are a good 1.5 cm longer than your traditional cigarette, so this handicap makes it slightly more difficult to accurately guage their burning time. Though with my well-seasoned cigarette knowledge i have deduced that they have an average burning time. Fucking better than B&H, but a far cry from Longbeach. They physically provide a longer smoking time due to their length, but comparatively, give me a marlboro any day. 2 out of 5
Lingering Taste- And here is the end of the Superking reign. Quicker than you can say "i heart nicotine" the flavour has disappeared. Of course this means a followup cigarette is required, perhaps detrimental to my lungs and certainly to my bank account. Look i'm sorry but if i dont smell and taste like an ashtray for at least 12 minutes post-cigarette then you're doing something very wrong. 2 out of 5 malignant tumours.
AVERAGE SCORE FOR SUPERKING BLUES: 2.75 or so....... Very accurate final score for what i genuinly thought overall about these cigarettes.. Av. real av.
Well that said, i still get a little flustered and aroused when i whisper 'superkings' and remenisce their long long firm presence in my hand... but look, i've had better, ok?
Well that's good, now i only have about 20 packs to write about and catch up on. Oh shit. A sure-fire sign i smoke too much? nope. i just dont type fast enough cleaaaaarly.
Well that's that folks. Oh p.s who wants to teach me some Chemistry tomorrow? i mean someone who actually KNOWS what they're doing. i mean REALLY. Yeah Mendel i'm looking your way (what do you mean he's dead? darn. people will do anything to get out of being in the same room as me....bah.)
BYE BYE and farewell and enjoy your monday evening, whatever you may be doing.
And as usual, if it's sexy or illegal, please send me a tape.
X
M
I
S
S
Y
.
Now initially i was drawn to them because the name sounds like a brand of condoms, or the developmental name of a sure-to-be-long-running adult only pay TV series in which many a loose whore gets pounded ruthlessly by super-duper horse-sized penises. And of course the cheap as shit price tag had me hooked. Did someone say bargain? Now Superkings really can be described as a cigarette fit for a king. Hardy, tough, large, ever so firm, ah. ah. mmm. And as i took my first impressionable drag, well, let's just say things went a little flacid. The fun was over all too quickly. Again i was harshly reminded to never judge a book by its cover (in this case of course, it's never judge a cigarette by its name... ah.)
Look when things go south and i'm left with a limp carrot rather than a raging freshly-picked continental cucumber, there may still be fun to be had, right? Yeah. right on. SO although the decline of my liking of these cigarettes continued as they smouldered ever onwards, i cant honestly say they were that bad. "How was it?" "oh yeah, it was fine" type shit.
No one should ever diss mediocrity. You could do worse, right? Yes. yes you could.
And as the sun set beautifully over Ipswich (yes i was in Ipswich, ok?? i'm sorry. look i just drove. ok. i didnt plan it. ok. it just happppppened..) i did begin to take a shining to these big kingboys. Like a nasty rash (ew?) they grew on me as the evening commenced. And maybe it was the influence of a comfy-as patch of green grass and the slight easterly breeze and a effing good novel that dressed me in my happy pants, but i really grew to accept them for what they were- a cheap-as-goon 'that'll do' type cigarette. Wow, if you peel away my layers upon layers of bitchy judgemeental shithead there might actually be some good in there? (but now we're getting ahead of ourselves a little...)
Believe it or not, i shall now cast down numbers to emphasise specific downfalls and wins in these babies. oh.
Attractiveness of Pack- With a metallic gold exterior, a racingstripe-esqu embellishment, and a dominating SUPERKINGS!!!! blazened on the pack, you can perhaps understand why my easily-pleased (ha) self initially assumed these dears had a lot to offer. Tall and thin, the pack can be likened to that fucking-i-hate-you-SO-much-some-girls-are-so-fucking-genetically-blessed tall skinny bitch walking insultingly tall and proud in front of your frumpy average butthead self. Though much like many of these supermodel-esque beings gracing our planet, their interior is empty and vacant as a Lismore motel. (yeah, that's very very vacant for all you not umm lucky enough to be from that socio-economic pitt that is Lismore). Though as we ARE talking shallowly and superficially about attractiveness here, i must award 4 out of 5 malignant tumours, for giving me a rather good impression, setting my pulse a-racing, and having me caress my inner thigh in attempt to fulfill my desires. Oh.
Smoothness and Flavour- As flavourful as the tiniest tiniest lump of Stevia. As smooth as a glass dildo. There is really little else i can say on the matter. YES i would prefer a little more kick. (obviously someone had these babies gagged and bound in the factory.) BUT not too bad really. far from mindblowingly impressive, but much more sufficient than some other wretched brands i have tested. 3 out of 5. And that's all i have to say on the matter.
Burning Time-Now Superkings are a good 1.5 cm longer than your traditional cigarette, so this handicap makes it slightly more difficult to accurately guage their burning time. Though with my well-seasoned cigarette knowledge i have deduced that they have an average burning time. Fucking better than B&H, but a far cry from Longbeach. They physically provide a longer smoking time due to their length, but comparatively, give me a marlboro any day. 2 out of 5
Lingering Taste- And here is the end of the Superking reign. Quicker than you can say "i heart nicotine" the flavour has disappeared. Of course this means a followup cigarette is required, perhaps detrimental to my lungs and certainly to my bank account. Look i'm sorry but if i dont smell and taste like an ashtray for at least 12 minutes post-cigarette then you're doing something very wrong. 2 out of 5 malignant tumours.
AVERAGE SCORE FOR SUPERKING BLUES: 2.75 or so....... Very accurate final score for what i genuinly thought overall about these cigarettes.. Av. real av.
Well that said, i still get a little flustered and aroused when i whisper 'superkings' and remenisce their long long firm presence in my hand... but look, i've had better, ok?
Well that's good, now i only have about 20 packs to write about and catch up on. Oh shit. A sure-fire sign i smoke too much? nope. i just dont type fast enough cleaaaaarly.
Well that's that folks. Oh p.s who wants to teach me some Chemistry tomorrow? i mean someone who actually KNOWS what they're doing. i mean REALLY. Yeah Mendel i'm looking your way (what do you mean he's dead? darn. people will do anything to get out of being in the same room as me....bah.)
BYE BYE and farewell and enjoy your monday evening, whatever you may be doing.
And as usual, if it's sexy or illegal, please send me a tape.
X
M
I
S
S
Y
.
Friday, November 27, 2009
I AM A FAG XIX
Having retired to bed with the knowledge i had smoked my last cigarette (and bravely opted not to dash to my local seveneleven to purchase some in anticipation of my morning cravings) i found myself durry-less and flustered as i sat patiently in the morning Moggill traffic. And after bailing one 400 bus (because it's wretched stench made me gag, the bus driver was a vicious love-child of Freddie Cougar and King Kong, and its antiquated pre-historic fucking old school state left me fearing that it would at anyh moment shake into a zillion pieces and land me ungracefully butt-first on Coro bitumin) to catch instead a newer, icy-cool airconned alternative, i continued to grit my teeth, check my watch impatiently and crave the rescue of the queen street seveneleven and its lifesaving array of marked-up but yet oh-so-satisfying cigarette range. Ah.
The moment finally came. And with the utterance "a pack of Marlboro Reds and $20 on my go-card thanks" i felt my morning improve exponentially almost instantly. Now for those who perhaps know me (god have mercy on your poor tainted souls) you may recall that i have an almost un-healthy affinity to red. Anything Red. Anything. I'm talking an un-rivaled love for tomatoes purely based on their colouring. I'm talking red-wall-red-doona-red-floor rug-red-gymball-red-lamp-red-curtains-red-candles-red-stones-in-fishtank-red-fucking-nailpolish-red-wallet red-red-RED ONLY ALLOWED PAST THIS POINT. And although moving out from my red-drenched good ole childhood room into my current abode was a slightly sombre day, i still opt for red-toned acessories as a hommage to my former self. So it seems to be that the inarguably brilliant combination of Marlboro and Red has me head over-not-so-much-there titties in an instant. yeah.
This may be rather presumptious of me, but it is as if the Marlboro design and marketing team created these cigarettes purely and solely for me, not only one of their most dedicated investors but also a steadfast follower of the red cult. Now i have already sailed pleasurably across the rest of the Marlboro range, so it was finally and inevitably time to suck-and-smile their red offering. Exaggerations, hyperboles, similes and lame comparisons aside, i held the belief that these cigarettes would take me to my happy place and leave me there. And i wasn't far wrong.
So i can in the future argue perhaps that i DO NOT RAMBLE INCESSANTLY GOD DAMN YOU, i will straight up switch my praise-in-words to praise-in-numbers. Hold on now.
Attractiveness of Pack- As i may have already suggested, red makes me pop sizzle and simmer. HOT. the seductive and sensual power of red never loses its knee-buckling affect on me. Ever. The revered distinctiveness of the Marlboro pack has the same visually-pleasing zing as their siblings, green/silver/gold/blue. No flaws in the design or decoration, a little 'boring' perhaps, but really we can never claim perfection in a world of acne and cellulite. So let's say 4.5 out of 5 malignant tumours.
Smoothness and Flavour- Like a gag in the mouth, the fully-fledged wack of these cigarettes instantly takes your breath away and replaces it with the awe-inspiring choke of tabacco. Being the strongest and hardest-hitting offering in the Marlboro range, i was anticipating the kick of a mule and force of a herd of stampeding buffalos. And i was correctemondo, The flavour is comparable to that gained from sucking 3 B&H's, and a Choice Silver in each nostril simultaneously. All rolled up into one hard-hitting fag. Surprisingly un-smooth however, but that can be put down to the fact that there is SO SO much flavour in these lovelies that it battles ruthlessly to gain footing in your respiratory tract, bumpily and carelessly fighting its way in. Though this "speed-bump effect" only slows down the durry munching, allowing for prelonged enjoyment.. For smoothness and flavour i award 3 and 5 respectively, averaging nicely to 4 out of 5 ma tum.
Burning time- verrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrry reasonable. Slow and steady like the turtle. Gives me enough time to watch flocks of Brisbanians, tourists, hags and criminals alike wander past my sitting self in Q st mall. And suss out the body-search and consequent drug bust over by the souvenir shop. and sip down my Coke Zero. AND then there's STILL give in this baby. reaow. Proudly awarding 5 out of 5 malignant tumours.
Lingering Taste- Well let's just say it's been at least 7 minutes since my last cigarette and i can still taste it frolicking in my tastebuds. It's hanging on like dozing bats on tree boughs. Remaining steadfast and un-moving like a heel stuck in a gap in the sidewalk. HA. Not relenting, like the damn sea of asians in sunnybank. There is litttle more i could ask for in terms of lingering taste (but i will hold my tongue til i'm sure, wont count my chickens before they hatch, just in case i hit the 10 minutes mark and the lingering taste begins to poof and disappear. but not likely baby......) 4.5 out of 5 malignant tumours..
AVERAGE SCORE FOR MARLBORO RED: 4.5 out of 5 malignant tumours. Another glorious result from the Marlboro Makers. Oh blessed are the Marlboro makers...I only wish their range could be extended to include various other types of orgasm-inducing cigarettes. ah well one day i shall climb the corporate ladder to the very bloody top and shall create a cigarette to rule them all... how about for now i just focus on getting some money and trying to find my dignity and possibly sense of moral judgement..
And now as i sit impatiently and painfully on the 454, scribbling inappropriately in my Chem book, as i have oh so many thoughts and no laptop to transfer them onto, i rememeber the very reason why my butt feels like it has been beaten to near death by a large solid blunt object. With my buttbone 'ouching' with every bump and shudder of the bus, my night-before-last's mistake comes back to haunt me and stays clearly in my mind. A belly-full of beer and a little too much alcohol-induced confidence gave seed to my "wow that would be so FUN" idea of attempting to jump the back fence. With the aid of a chair and a head full of optimism i commenced my venture. Oh let me tell you the climbing and jumping went exactly to plan. It was the landing that didnt quite go as i had anticipated. Like a beaten dog i recoiled back to my room and sulkily mourned my aching behind. I am still finding the pain to be irritating at times. Ah youth.
Well that must be all for another day. I shall attempt to conquer the Mt Everest-esque pile of fucking un-blogged-about cigarettes mounting steadily in my room. Ah a pack a day keeps the doctor away.
ex
M.
The moment finally came. And with the utterance "a pack of Marlboro Reds and $20 on my go-card thanks" i felt my morning improve exponentially almost instantly. Now for those who perhaps know me (god have mercy on your poor tainted souls) you may recall that i have an almost un-healthy affinity to red. Anything Red. Anything. I'm talking an un-rivaled love for tomatoes purely based on their colouring. I'm talking red-wall-red-doona-red-floor rug-red-gymball-red-lamp-red-curtains-red-candles-red-stones-in-fishtank-red-fucking-nailpolish-red-wallet red-red-RED ONLY ALLOWED PAST THIS POINT. And although moving out from my red-drenched good ole childhood room into my current abode was a slightly sombre day, i still opt for red-toned acessories as a hommage to my former self. So it seems to be that the inarguably brilliant combination of Marlboro and Red has me head over-not-so-much-there titties in an instant. yeah.
This may be rather presumptious of me, but it is as if the Marlboro design and marketing team created these cigarettes purely and solely for me, not only one of their most dedicated investors but also a steadfast follower of the red cult. Now i have already sailed pleasurably across the rest of the Marlboro range, so it was finally and inevitably time to suck-and-smile their red offering. Exaggerations, hyperboles, similes and lame comparisons aside, i held the belief that these cigarettes would take me to my happy place and leave me there. And i wasn't far wrong.
So i can in the future argue perhaps that i DO NOT RAMBLE INCESSANTLY GOD DAMN YOU, i will straight up switch my praise-in-words to praise-in-numbers. Hold on now.
Attractiveness of Pack- As i may have already suggested, red makes me pop sizzle and simmer. HOT. the seductive and sensual power of red never loses its knee-buckling affect on me. Ever. The revered distinctiveness of the Marlboro pack has the same visually-pleasing zing as their siblings, green/silver/gold/blue. No flaws in the design or decoration, a little 'boring' perhaps, but really we can never claim perfection in a world of acne and cellulite. So let's say 4.5 out of 5 malignant tumours.
Smoothness and Flavour- Like a gag in the mouth, the fully-fledged wack of these cigarettes instantly takes your breath away and replaces it with the awe-inspiring choke of tabacco. Being the strongest and hardest-hitting offering in the Marlboro range, i was anticipating the kick of a mule and force of a herd of stampeding buffalos. And i was correctemondo, The flavour is comparable to that gained from sucking 3 B&H's, and a Choice Silver in each nostril simultaneously. All rolled up into one hard-hitting fag. Surprisingly un-smooth however, but that can be put down to the fact that there is SO SO much flavour in these lovelies that it battles ruthlessly to gain footing in your respiratory tract, bumpily and carelessly fighting its way in. Though this "speed-bump effect" only slows down the durry munching, allowing for prelonged enjoyment.. For smoothness and flavour i award 3 and 5 respectively, averaging nicely to 4 out of 5 ma tum.
Burning time- verrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrry reasonable. Slow and steady like the turtle. Gives me enough time to watch flocks of Brisbanians, tourists, hags and criminals alike wander past my sitting self in Q st mall. And suss out the body-search and consequent drug bust over by the souvenir shop. and sip down my Coke Zero. AND then there's STILL give in this baby. reaow. Proudly awarding 5 out of 5 malignant tumours.
Lingering Taste- Well let's just say it's been at least 7 minutes since my last cigarette and i can still taste it frolicking in my tastebuds. It's hanging on like dozing bats on tree boughs. Remaining steadfast and un-moving like a heel stuck in a gap in the sidewalk. HA. Not relenting, like the damn sea of asians in sunnybank. There is litttle more i could ask for in terms of lingering taste (but i will hold my tongue til i'm sure, wont count my chickens before they hatch, just in case i hit the 10 minutes mark and the lingering taste begins to poof and disappear. but not likely baby......) 4.5 out of 5 malignant tumours..
AVERAGE SCORE FOR MARLBORO RED: 4.5 out of 5 malignant tumours. Another glorious result from the Marlboro Makers. Oh blessed are the Marlboro makers...I only wish their range could be extended to include various other types of orgasm-inducing cigarettes. ah well one day i shall climb the corporate ladder to the very bloody top and shall create a cigarette to rule them all... how about for now i just focus on getting some money and trying to find my dignity and possibly sense of moral judgement..
And now as i sit impatiently and painfully on the 454, scribbling inappropriately in my Chem book, as i have oh so many thoughts and no laptop to transfer them onto, i rememeber the very reason why my butt feels like it has been beaten to near death by a large solid blunt object. With my buttbone 'ouching' with every bump and shudder of the bus, my night-before-last's mistake comes back to haunt me and stays clearly in my mind. A belly-full of beer and a little too much alcohol-induced confidence gave seed to my "wow that would be so FUN" idea of attempting to jump the back fence. With the aid of a chair and a head full of optimism i commenced my venture. Oh let me tell you the climbing and jumping went exactly to plan. It was the landing that didnt quite go as i had anticipated. Like a beaten dog i recoiled back to my room and sulkily mourned my aching behind. I am still finding the pain to be irritating at times. Ah youth.
Well that must be all for another day. I shall attempt to conquer the Mt Everest-esque pile of fucking un-blogged-about cigarettes mounting steadily in my room. Ah a pack a day keeps the doctor away.
ex
M.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
I AM A FAG XVIII
So listening to Jayer's new album (thanks brock) and digesting a sick-as mango, i feel rather enticed to write write write. (Since it's the only sure-fire way to ensure my rambling rambling does not go unnoticed.. oh and wouldn't that be a total shame? nice)
I am in a state of panic to be really honest. No, i havent lost my mind through a leak in my skull (though perhaps that explains it...) and no, Krudd hasn't booty called me and i only have 30minutes to prepare for my guest. I have once again slipped disappointingly behind with ma bloggin'. Now for a normal person, this fact might influence me to umm smoke less and therefore fewer blogs would be necessary. Well you'd think that. But 'normal' is the operative word in that sentence. Oh but dont even get my started on self-shunning and slaughtering. then we would in fact be here all night, rather than just a few wasted hours..
So as i line up my smoked-and-sexed packs, i have an interesting mixed-grill-smorgasboard-all-you-can-eat-like selection. And closing my eyes and groping relentlessly into the dark (funny you should bring that up..) my hands landed eagerly on a pack of Vogue Superslims Menthol. And because i DO have so much catching up to do, and no real order or organisational skills exist in my being, i will start right here.
Like their sister, Vogue Blues, Vogue Menthols have an alluring appeal and sex-factor with a likeness to a Ralph magazine and track 12 on the White Album. Their slight build and lean design scream obscenaties while having the unstoppable ability to get me on the floor. EF. And with the addeded kinky hint of menthol, they make for a purely pleasureable long-night-in, or long-drive-south ;)
(p.s i cannot help my slight turn towards sexual inuendo and explicity... John Mayer is crooning so seductively as we speak, and as my shorts moisten and my breath gets heavy, you must forgive me for turning G into MA to R. sorry. )
..
As i was saying before my um peak, (ew) Vogue Menthols deliver as satisfyingly and sufficiently as a late night booty call and a bottle of gin. Their thinness is not a flaw and rather an unsuppressable appeal. They offer a taste of 'what chu got' and a hit of 'what i want'. I will unshamebly use such words as 'cute' and 'deary' to descibe their character. Babies-first-cigarette type shit. And my comments may make you sprint to the bathroom in a vomit-worthy rush, and have Docs appearing unannounced on my door step, but i shall not surrender my claims. These babies are darling. Really gorgeous. I wont attack them for their pussiness because although they are clearly a female-target cigarette, they still kick surprisingly hard and rough. A little like a lesbian with a strap-on.
Now John Mayer's new album seems to be as mellow as a post-man on christmas day and as slow as the 444 in peak traffic, but it is a fine accompaniment to a Vogue or 8 and a mild spring night. Listening to him melodically pleasure me sort of makes me want to fall-in-love-all-over-again, or at least reduce my cynicism toward the disgusting phenomenon that is coupling and relationships. In conclusion i would date Jayer, or he's best non-asian impersonater if the chance ever arose. yes.
So Let's perhaps choose a number between 1 and 5 to sum up the quality of these faggies.
Attractiveness of Pack- As i have said with Vogue Blues, Menthols also have a supermodel appeal and legs-11 bang that is irresistable. Elegantly printed with wisps of green, these cigarettes outwardly represent exactly how 'pretty' their contents are, and offer an insight into their very delicate flavour. Although the pack's attractiveness is redundant after a toss in my hangbag or slight spill of beverage, it's delicacy doesnt flaw them, rather reminds me to be gentle with these little suckers. It's as if these cigarettes single-handedly remind me how to care and love, as if they calm my violent ways and take me back to a time when i wasnt comparable to a raging maniac with homicidal tendancies. 4 out of 5 malignant tumours.
Smoothness and Flavour- As smooth as the post-botox face of a hollywood trophy wife, as flavourful and tasteful as a censored eminem song (yes fyi i do consider that that fellow has a whole lot of taste hidden deep down inside his outer shell of vulgarity..) Offering a swig of menthol in a mixer of tabacco, Vogues satisfy all my tastebuds.. 4 out of 5 maliigy tumies.
Burning time- With a slightly faster burning time than their accomplacies Vogue Blues, Menthols disappear a little too quickly. However, given their dimensions, i cant be too harsh on them. After all, it's rude to laugh at a skinny girl struggling to keep her head up and carry her feet (or so i have learnt...) All considered, i shall award 3.5 out of 5 malignant tumours.
Lingering Taste- The tabacco is quickly MIA in the mouth after the inhalation of the last drag, but the fresh menthol taste hangs around for celebratory drinks and drunken shenanigans. 3.5 out of 5 malignant tumours.
AVERAGE SCORE FOR VOGUE SUPERSLIM MENTHOLS- 3.75 out of 5 malignant tumours.
Ooh Ooh Baby, rather satisfying (fucking fucking fucking like Britney the other night. NB that i haven't even bothered to begin to talk of her concert because i know deep deep within my heart of hearts that once i start to rave about her brilliance and total babeness i will not stop. ever. ever. i would need sedation and possibly a ripping-out-of-the-vocal-chords just in order to shut the fuck up. Which in fact wouldnt actually be that bad of an idea for all those unlucky enough to be within earshot of me or answering their mobile when i'm on a rant....)
Well with the prospect of waking up in the morning at 6 am deterring any inclination i have to go to sleep, and the sickening dread of getting back a (no doubt, too late now) big F on my chem exam, I shall now leave you and engage in another form of procrastinatory activity. Hello mister V.... oh ew ew.
Night night to all, remember to put the cat out. set your alarm. close your blinds. kiss yo baby goodnight. pack your lunch for the morning. leave 2 pennies out for the milkman....
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missy.
I am in a state of panic to be really honest. No, i havent lost my mind through a leak in my skull (though perhaps that explains it...) and no, Krudd hasn't booty called me and i only have 30minutes to prepare for my guest. I have once again slipped disappointingly behind with ma bloggin'. Now for a normal person, this fact might influence me to umm smoke less and therefore fewer blogs would be necessary. Well you'd think that. But 'normal' is the operative word in that sentence. Oh but dont even get my started on self-shunning and slaughtering. then we would in fact be here all night, rather than just a few wasted hours..
So as i line up my smoked-and-sexed packs, i have an interesting mixed-grill-smorgasboard-all-you-can-eat-like selection. And closing my eyes and groping relentlessly into the dark (funny you should bring that up..) my hands landed eagerly on a pack of Vogue Superslims Menthol. And because i DO have so much catching up to do, and no real order or organisational skills exist in my being, i will start right here.
Like their sister, Vogue Blues, Vogue Menthols have an alluring appeal and sex-factor with a likeness to a Ralph magazine and track 12 on the White Album. Their slight build and lean design scream obscenaties while having the unstoppable ability to get me on the floor. EF. And with the addeded kinky hint of menthol, they make for a purely pleasureable long-night-in, or long-drive-south ;)
(p.s i cannot help my slight turn towards sexual inuendo and explicity... John Mayer is crooning so seductively as we speak, and as my shorts moisten and my breath gets heavy, you must forgive me for turning G into MA to R. sorry. )
..
As i was saying before my um peak, (ew) Vogue Menthols deliver as satisfyingly and sufficiently as a late night booty call and a bottle of gin. Their thinness is not a flaw and rather an unsuppressable appeal. They offer a taste of 'what chu got' and a hit of 'what i want'. I will unshamebly use such words as 'cute' and 'deary' to descibe their character. Babies-first-cigarette type shit. And my comments may make you sprint to the bathroom in a vomit-worthy rush, and have Docs appearing unannounced on my door step, but i shall not surrender my claims. These babies are darling. Really gorgeous. I wont attack them for their pussiness because although they are clearly a female-target cigarette, they still kick surprisingly hard and rough. A little like a lesbian with a strap-on.
Now John Mayer's new album seems to be as mellow as a post-man on christmas day and as slow as the 444 in peak traffic, but it is a fine accompaniment to a Vogue or 8 and a mild spring night. Listening to him melodically pleasure me sort of makes me want to fall-in-love-all-over-again, or at least reduce my cynicism toward the disgusting phenomenon that is coupling and relationships. In conclusion i would date Jayer, or he's best non-asian impersonater if the chance ever arose. yes.
So Let's perhaps choose a number between 1 and 5 to sum up the quality of these faggies.
Attractiveness of Pack- As i have said with Vogue Blues, Menthols also have a supermodel appeal and legs-11 bang that is irresistable. Elegantly printed with wisps of green, these cigarettes outwardly represent exactly how 'pretty' their contents are, and offer an insight into their very delicate flavour. Although the pack's attractiveness is redundant after a toss in my hangbag or slight spill of beverage, it's delicacy doesnt flaw them, rather reminds me to be gentle with these little suckers. It's as if these cigarettes single-handedly remind me how to care and love, as if they calm my violent ways and take me back to a time when i wasnt comparable to a raging maniac with homicidal tendancies. 4 out of 5 malignant tumours.
Smoothness and Flavour- As smooth as the post-botox face of a hollywood trophy wife, as flavourful and tasteful as a censored eminem song (yes fyi i do consider that that fellow has a whole lot of taste hidden deep down inside his outer shell of vulgarity..) Offering a swig of menthol in a mixer of tabacco, Vogues satisfy all my tastebuds.. 4 out of 5 maliigy tumies.
Burning time- With a slightly faster burning time than their accomplacies Vogue Blues, Menthols disappear a little too quickly. However, given their dimensions, i cant be too harsh on them. After all, it's rude to laugh at a skinny girl struggling to keep her head up and carry her feet (or so i have learnt...) All considered, i shall award 3.5 out of 5 malignant tumours.
Lingering Taste- The tabacco is quickly MIA in the mouth after the inhalation of the last drag, but the fresh menthol taste hangs around for celebratory drinks and drunken shenanigans. 3.5 out of 5 malignant tumours.
AVERAGE SCORE FOR VOGUE SUPERSLIM MENTHOLS- 3.75 out of 5 malignant tumours.
Ooh Ooh Baby, rather satisfying (fucking fucking fucking like Britney the other night. NB that i haven't even bothered to begin to talk of her concert because i know deep deep within my heart of hearts that once i start to rave about her brilliance and total babeness i will not stop. ever. ever. i would need sedation and possibly a ripping-out-of-the-vocal-chords just in order to shut the fuck up. Which in fact wouldnt actually be that bad of an idea for all those unlucky enough to be within earshot of me or answering their mobile when i'm on a rant....)
Well with the prospect of waking up in the morning at 6 am deterring any inclination i have to go to sleep, and the sickening dread of getting back a (no doubt, too late now) big F on my chem exam, I shall now leave you and engage in another form of procrastinatory activity. Hello mister V.... oh ew ew.
Night night to all, remember to put the cat out. set your alarm. close your blinds. kiss yo baby goodnight. pack your lunch for the morning. leave 2 pennies out for the milkman....
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxsexxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
missy.
Monday, November 23, 2009
I AM A FAG XVII
well, as has seem to be the tradition in the last weeks, my blonde-filled belly inspires my air-filled head to push words unfiltered through my fingertips onto the keyboard. so no editing. fuck it. pure filth. the way to go.
and as perhaps i have already stated, i am so out of date with ma bloggin that i have contemplated handcuffing myself (fluffy red, for future reference) to my laptop until i am well and truly up to date. and although i doubt that i will catchup this evening, i will do my best to ramble till the sun comes up. or until my poisoned blood boils down to a level allowing sleep to ensue or at least until enough beer fills my system to put me fastly to sleep. yes, a nip of brandy in baby bottle helps the bub sleep. you said it, not me.
and because i am in a ranting mood, believe it or not, i shall commence my shunning of Pall Mall Blues. Now let me straight up announce that these babies are not worthy of excess simile. No exaggerating the point in this one baby. Only pure beads of truth shall be perspired from my pores tonight. ah.
I cant actually remember where or even when i purchased them.. perhaps (and most fucking likely) in a state of cigarettenessless, when the desperation of the intense need for nicotine overrides any judgement or realism of the quality of my selection. yeah you're right that didnt make sense. well, punish me then. yeah scratch me. yeah break my arm.... oh.
The point can succintly be made in this case, these cigarettes were chosen on a wim. random pointless and without consideration. (however i lie, as usual. i decided to complete my pall mall collection. wrap this shit up like st nick. and thus wiping an entire brand from my future consideration. leaves me thinking i am one step closer to my final aim of beating the fucking entire cigarette population down to a pulp. yes i have been there, done that.)
I really must begin with the visual and or tactile description of these faggies. I will state first up that the butt of these is the biggest let down since the sinking of the titanic..sand-paper textured, obviously designed to improve grip but simply irritating me to no end... like fucking nails dragged on a black board. the voice of fran dreshcer over a loud speaker. ..
so boring and irritating were these cigarettes that, just to 'mix it up', i decided to finally fulfill a rather life long dream.....extending my fag with a maccas straw. oh the classiness doesnt end there. In fact this rather creative approach to the act-of-smoking actually extended the somewhat minimilistic flavour of the cigarette and, of course, hightenend the fun and novelty factor.
SO grossly embossed and ribbed as these cigarettes are, i cant overlook or ignore or sideline or shun or disregard the satisfying kick the produce. lame or not, the shmoke sells. sex or salvation, through and entire Doors song and a David letterman ad break they continue to improve the burden of living, even if their general appeal is only umm appealing post beers and semi pre sleep and Rex cuddles.
Although i am reaching the wretched end of my tether (make that a rope, a fucking knoosed and bound rope) with mediocre cigarettes, they do less than push me towards the edge of the cliff and more towards the life long aim of accepting flaws in aproduct/person and subsequently teaching me to un-bitch and un-judge.
Whilw Brock likes girlfriendless in his more than ample queen bed while his in fact gf entertains the lovely pile of Meth on the sofa, i contemplate my lonely presence in life and finally admit the forcefully-supressed fact that perhaps i do too much self-entertaining throughout the week. It has come a time where i need someone to irritate and badger. Someone to share my (thoughtful?witty? more like shitty) remarks and thoughts with.. I may be talking of a person gifted with a talented and hopefully throbbing penis, but more realistically i should be talking of a being with a pulse and possibly an open mind. Ans as always, i have headed mercilessly off topic (assuming of course there was a set topic to begin with...)
As my itunes suffle reminiscently through past much-loved songs and freshly acquired hits, i am finally ready to admit thatp erhaps life asks for more than i give it. If my contribution to the globe does not at least neutralize my carbon dioxide emission, thn what is the point of me continually taking advantage of the boundless breath offerred to me? i guess what im trying to say is that i am going to quit smokiing on the 17th dec.
Yes. you heard right. no ear-candelling needed. although 2012 and it's subsequent apocalypse in perhaps immenent, there is not reason to start packing the bunker with canned goods yet. Yes, i am finally admitting that perhaps there is an offering in life greater than cigarettes, and perhaps i should aim to seek it.
FOr fuck sake, pall mall pall mall pall mall blues...
I am not one to bother with arithmatic at times like these. (trying times? testing time? hard time? perhaps just well-beer-lubricated-times) therefore as has occured in the past, i will bypass the numbers, rather opting for a summary score, in an effort to reduce rambling and spare you of precious time. i mean that floor isnt going to sweep itslef baby. get down on your hands and knees... and while you're down there baby.. yeah would you mind?????
Pall malls have an appeal parallel to a cheeseburger. yeah "that'll do" type shit, but without the the frills and fancy it just lacks that extra kick to really end up satisfying.
The pack-flavour-burning time-and lingerin-taste can all be round to a neat little 3.
one two three not only you and me.
and now because britney calls in 18hrs and most unfortunately i have a big day of whinging and chemistry study ahead of me, i shall perhaps retire to my worn out bed, attempt a sleep, strip myself of pointless clothing, scare my poor four walls with the sight of misshapen and "oh my god what is THAT" body, and dream of everything that would make even the pope horny, and virgin-fucking-mary curling her toes and shunning the concept of immaculate conception.
until next time (when hopefully a clear head and sense of moral returns to me, (or actually shows signs of existing in my person) and i am able to again return to my usually structured and purposeful posting, HA! )
night night fellows, and hello pearl boy.
ecs oh
missyyyy.
and as perhaps i have already stated, i am so out of date with ma bloggin that i have contemplated handcuffing myself (fluffy red, for future reference) to my laptop until i am well and truly up to date. and although i doubt that i will catchup this evening, i will do my best to ramble till the sun comes up. or until my poisoned blood boils down to a level allowing sleep to ensue or at least until enough beer fills my system to put me fastly to sleep. yes, a nip of brandy in baby bottle helps the bub sleep. you said it, not me.
and because i am in a ranting mood, believe it or not, i shall commence my shunning of Pall Mall Blues. Now let me straight up announce that these babies are not worthy of excess simile. No exaggerating the point in this one baby. Only pure beads of truth shall be perspired from my pores tonight. ah.
I cant actually remember where or even when i purchased them.. perhaps (and most fucking likely) in a state of cigarettenessless, when the desperation of the intense need for nicotine overrides any judgement or realism of the quality of my selection. yeah you're right that didnt make sense. well, punish me then. yeah scratch me. yeah break my arm.... oh.
The point can succintly be made in this case, these cigarettes were chosen on a wim. random pointless and without consideration. (however i lie, as usual. i decided to complete my pall mall collection. wrap this shit up like st nick. and thus wiping an entire brand from my future consideration. leaves me thinking i am one step closer to my final aim of beating the fucking entire cigarette population down to a pulp. yes i have been there, done that.)
I really must begin with the visual and or tactile description of these faggies. I will state first up that the butt of these is the biggest let down since the sinking of the titanic..sand-paper textured, obviously designed to improve grip but simply irritating me to no end... like fucking nails dragged on a black board. the voice of fran dreshcer over a loud speaker. ..
so boring and irritating were these cigarettes that, just to 'mix it up', i decided to finally fulfill a rather life long dream.....extending my fag with a maccas straw. oh the classiness doesnt end there. In fact this rather creative approach to the act-of-smoking actually extended the somewhat minimilistic flavour of the cigarette and, of course, hightenend the fun and novelty factor.
SO grossly embossed and ribbed as these cigarettes are, i cant overlook or ignore or sideline or shun or disregard the satisfying kick the produce. lame or not, the shmoke sells. sex or salvation, through and entire Doors song and a David letterman ad break they continue to improve the burden of living, even if their general appeal is only umm appealing post beers and semi pre sleep and Rex cuddles.
Although i am reaching the wretched end of my tether (make that a rope, a fucking knoosed and bound rope) with mediocre cigarettes, they do less than push me towards the edge of the cliff and more towards the life long aim of accepting flaws in aproduct/person and subsequently teaching me to un-bitch and un-judge.
Whilw Brock likes girlfriendless in his more than ample queen bed while his in fact gf entertains the lovely pile of Meth on the sofa, i contemplate my lonely presence in life and finally admit the forcefully-supressed fact that perhaps i do too much self-entertaining throughout the week. It has come a time where i need someone to irritate and badger. Someone to share my (thoughtful?witty? more like shitty) remarks and thoughts with.. I may be talking of a person gifted with a talented and hopefully throbbing penis, but more realistically i should be talking of a being with a pulse and possibly an open mind. Ans as always, i have headed mercilessly off topic (assuming of course there was a set topic to begin with...)
As my itunes suffle reminiscently through past much-loved songs and freshly acquired hits, i am finally ready to admit thatp erhaps life asks for more than i give it. If my contribution to the globe does not at least neutralize my carbon dioxide emission, thn what is the point of me continually taking advantage of the boundless breath offerred to me? i guess what im trying to say is that i am going to quit smokiing on the 17th dec.
Yes. you heard right. no ear-candelling needed. although 2012 and it's subsequent apocalypse in perhaps immenent, there is not reason to start packing the bunker with canned goods yet. Yes, i am finally admitting that perhaps there is an offering in life greater than cigarettes, and perhaps i should aim to seek it.
FOr fuck sake, pall mall pall mall pall mall blues...
I am not one to bother with arithmatic at times like these. (trying times? testing time? hard time? perhaps just well-beer-lubricated-times) therefore as has occured in the past, i will bypass the numbers, rather opting for a summary score, in an effort to reduce rambling and spare you of precious time. i mean that floor isnt going to sweep itslef baby. get down on your hands and knees... and while you're down there baby.. yeah would you mind?????
Pall malls have an appeal parallel to a cheeseburger. yeah "that'll do" type shit, but without the the frills and fancy it just lacks that extra kick to really end up satisfying.
The pack-flavour-burning time-and lingerin-taste can all be round to a neat little 3.
one two three not only you and me.
and now because britney calls in 18hrs and most unfortunately i have a big day of whinging and chemistry study ahead of me, i shall perhaps retire to my worn out bed, attempt a sleep, strip myself of pointless clothing, scare my poor four walls with the sight of misshapen and "oh my god what is THAT" body, and dream of everything that would make even the pope horny, and virgin-fucking-mary curling her toes and shunning the concept of immaculate conception.
until next time (when hopefully a clear head and sense of moral returns to me, (or actually shows signs of existing in my person) and i am able to again return to my usually structured and purposeful posting, HA! )
night night fellows, and hello pearl boy.
ecs oh
missyyyy.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
I AM A FAG XVII
Nothing says summer more than swatting mosquitoes on sweaty thighs, 'road-trip'-like ventures to the beach, and a relentless desire to get cool cool cool, anyway possible (argh it's too hot to wear underwear). Therefore my next ciggie cig quenches the summer heat more than i ever thought possible. We're talking Arctic-cool. Dirty Harry-cool. Fucking 5kg Servo ice-cool. The wintery shades of blue eminating from a snow-capped peak of a mountain, behind a silver "ALPINE" lable screams "somebody get me my mittens, its gonna be a cold one out today". Additionally, the refreshing splashes of pristine silver detailing the pack adds to the sub-zero enticement of these ciggies.
As i was saying (or probably not, knowing me) a long drive north to the beached regions of Caloundra and such called for a long dip in the refreshing ocean, a good shameless perve on the surrounding oh-so-nearly nude baking bodies, and a special treat, an early christmas present to myself if you will. Of course, this came in the form of aquiring a fresh pack of cigarettes.
And so Alpine Ice Nova 25s High Cooling menthol cigarettes came into my life and yet another $12 debited from my account. NEVER in my life have i felt a sense of anticipation so great as i had then. (well except maybe the great countdown to the release of Angels and Demons in cinema, but that's a-whole-fucking-nother essay...)
Upon releasing the pack from its all-encompassing wrap, the sweet sweet aroma of tabacco mingled with menthol filled my rather lofty nose. :( .... Even my twinny bro Dave, sitting patiently next to me, gave an impression of eagerness and said excitedly "wow, they smell like a cough lolly, like umm vic's vapour rub".. Yes. Well noted ma bro. The first drag is comparable to snorting liquid nitrogen- an almost painfully cool sensation. I could almost visualize a thin, crackled layer of ice forming throughout my respiratory tract.
Even Dave, a serial non-smoker (and an at least thrice-weekly utterer of the rather common phrase "Missssyyyy, do you HAVE to smoke??!!) was curious enough to have a drag when i told him he should. Two at that. This says a lot about a) my insuppressable and overbearing bossiness and b) the enigmatic curiosity generated by these cigarettes.
Experiencing such a terrifyingly powerful burst of icy-coolness, i can now truthfully say i know just how Amundsen must have felt traversing the Antarctic. How Jack Dawson felt floating helplessly in the freezing Atlantic Ocean (because FUCKING Rose DeWitt Bukater couldn't move her big fat upper-class Aristocratic ass over and share the bloody big door acting as her saviour from the water.. but again, a whole other essay topic, usually argued on after the consumption of a beer or 8...).
On my resume i can now add (in addition to my name, address, and a very meager list of attributes ) "Missy Chapple, climber of the highest ice-capped peak of the Alps. Glacier surfer. Bather in dry ice....
Ahh, such exaggerations may one day land me in hot water (though keeping to topic, let's say cold water) but it's my effortless ability to hype up the truth, lie ruthlessly through my teeth, that i am ableto rort the "customer parking only" policy day in and day out at Toowong Woolworths. "oh yes, sir, im just popping across the road to grab a coffee, yes sir, i'll be right back"... Sucker. And away i strut, smuggly content with my lie and feeling invincible. Ah.
SO let's get it onnnnn numerically. ok. ?
Attractiveness of Pack- As i have probably well enough outlined, the pack visually represents its contents perfectly. Although not really my 'cuppa tea' in essence, its not bad really. In terms of durability and resistance, i have few complaints (what a change from the norm..) 4 out of 5 malignant tumours.
Smoothness and Flavour- So smooth, so flavourful, it's difficult to pick a flaw in these babies. HOWEVER, they border on being TOO flavourful, but of menthol and not of the, well, preferred, tabacco taste i do so crave most often. I can therfore say that although a refreshing novelty on a hot summer's slash spring's day, they would not satisfy as a day to day cigarette, and as such would not be my brand of choice. so for this i dock 2 points. And if unlike me you HAVE half a brain you will deduce that the score is 3 out of 5 malignant tumours.
Burning Time- Not bad really. The tabacco is rather loosely packed, causing me distress in gusts of wind, but the cigarette burns rather steadily and evenly. Not quite as impressive as Longbeach, and by fucking oath a lot slower than B&H Ultimate (gag cough vom ew.) I'll say 3.5 out of 5 malignant tumours.
Lingering Taste- The taste of menthol continues to freeze you from the inside-out for moments and moments after the cigarette is all gone. The small amount of tabacco taste in the cigarette soon disappears however, but the pleasant menthol aftertaste still satisfies the senses and leaves you with a warm fuzzy feeling inside. eh eh. 4 out of 5 malignant tumours.
AVERAGE SCORE FOR ALPINE ICE NOVA: about 3.5.... A semi-smashing result from a very pleasant cigarette.
Well all this talk of ice and coolness makes me desire nothing less than lying on a giant bed of ice, being fanned (preferably by bikini-glad DD women and perhaps a ripped guy or two..) and spritzed with water mist.... 3 consecutive days of sunbaking and swimming has left my skin lobsteresque and slightly painful. But, never the less, i will surely appreciate the tan that will undoubtedly develop within the next few days. Sticking it to the cancer council. Big time.
I wish you a pleasant monday evening. If you're getting laid let me know how it goes.
If you're not, come join me and we'll mourne together.
luuurrve (ew vom die)
misssssssy.
As i was saying (or probably not, knowing me) a long drive north to the beached regions of Caloundra and such called for a long dip in the refreshing ocean, a good shameless perve on the surrounding oh-so-nearly nude baking bodies, and a special treat, an early christmas present to myself if you will. Of course, this came in the form of aquiring a fresh pack of cigarettes.
And so Alpine Ice Nova 25s High Cooling menthol cigarettes came into my life and yet another $12 debited from my account. NEVER in my life have i felt a sense of anticipation so great as i had then. (well except maybe the great countdown to the release of Angels and Demons in cinema, but that's a-whole-fucking-nother essay...)
Upon releasing the pack from its all-encompassing wrap, the sweet sweet aroma of tabacco mingled with menthol filled my rather lofty nose. :( .... Even my twinny bro Dave, sitting patiently next to me, gave an impression of eagerness and said excitedly "wow, they smell like a cough lolly, like umm vic's vapour rub".. Yes. Well noted ma bro. The first drag is comparable to snorting liquid nitrogen- an almost painfully cool sensation. I could almost visualize a thin, crackled layer of ice forming throughout my respiratory tract.
Even Dave, a serial non-smoker (and an at least thrice-weekly utterer of the rather common phrase "Missssyyyy, do you HAVE to smoke??!!) was curious enough to have a drag when i told him he should. Two at that. This says a lot about a) my insuppressable and overbearing bossiness and b) the enigmatic curiosity generated by these cigarettes.
Experiencing such a terrifyingly powerful burst of icy-coolness, i can now truthfully say i know just how Amundsen must have felt traversing the Antarctic. How Jack Dawson felt floating helplessly in the freezing Atlantic Ocean (because FUCKING Rose DeWitt Bukater couldn't move her big fat upper-class Aristocratic ass over and share the bloody big door acting as her saviour from the water.. but again, a whole other essay topic, usually argued on after the consumption of a beer or 8...).
On my resume i can now add (in addition to my name, address, and a very meager list of attributes ) "Missy Chapple, climber of the highest ice-capped peak of the Alps. Glacier surfer. Bather in dry ice....
Ahh, such exaggerations may one day land me in hot water (though keeping to topic, let's say cold water) but it's my effortless ability to hype up the truth, lie ruthlessly through my teeth, that i am ableto rort the "customer parking only" policy day in and day out at Toowong Woolworths. "oh yes, sir, im just popping across the road to grab a coffee, yes sir, i'll be right back"... Sucker. And away i strut, smuggly content with my lie and feeling invincible. Ah.
SO let's get it onnnnn numerically. ok. ?
Attractiveness of Pack- As i have probably well enough outlined, the pack visually represents its contents perfectly. Although not really my 'cuppa tea' in essence, its not bad really. In terms of durability and resistance, i have few complaints (what a change from the norm..) 4 out of 5 malignant tumours.
Smoothness and Flavour- So smooth, so flavourful, it's difficult to pick a flaw in these babies. HOWEVER, they border on being TOO flavourful, but of menthol and not of the, well, preferred, tabacco taste i do so crave most often. I can therfore say that although a refreshing novelty on a hot summer's slash spring's day, they would not satisfy as a day to day cigarette, and as such would not be my brand of choice. so for this i dock 2 points. And if unlike me you HAVE half a brain you will deduce that the score is 3 out of 5 malignant tumours.
Burning Time- Not bad really. The tabacco is rather loosely packed, causing me distress in gusts of wind, but the cigarette burns rather steadily and evenly. Not quite as impressive as Longbeach, and by fucking oath a lot slower than B&H Ultimate (gag cough vom ew.) I'll say 3.5 out of 5 malignant tumours.
Lingering Taste- The taste of menthol continues to freeze you from the inside-out for moments and moments after the cigarette is all gone. The small amount of tabacco taste in the cigarette soon disappears however, but the pleasant menthol aftertaste still satisfies the senses and leaves you with a warm fuzzy feeling inside. eh eh. 4 out of 5 malignant tumours.
AVERAGE SCORE FOR ALPINE ICE NOVA: about 3.5.... A semi-smashing result from a very pleasant cigarette.
Well all this talk of ice and coolness makes me desire nothing less than lying on a giant bed of ice, being fanned (preferably by bikini-glad DD women and perhaps a ripped guy or two..) and spritzed with water mist.... 3 consecutive days of sunbaking and swimming has left my skin lobsteresque and slightly painful. But, never the less, i will surely appreciate the tan that will undoubtedly develop within the next few days. Sticking it to the cancer council. Big time.
I wish you a pleasant monday evening. If you're getting laid let me know how it goes.
If you're not, come join me and we'll mourne together.
luuurrve (ew vom die)
misssssssy.
Friday, November 20, 2009
I AM A FAG XVI
and because the call of midnight and the swish swish of blonde in my tummy makes it hard for me to sleep, i think i shall use this time productively and catch up on some well overdue and definitely necessary (yeaaah, right, sure, i know hey) posty posts.
with a mounting (no toe-curling mount however) pile of packity packs of all but empty cigarettes littering every commonplace region of my house, it brings my attention back to the fact that a) i smoke too much and b) i really really have to grow some balls, finally check my no doubt disgustingly in debt credit card statement and c) Brock's home and singing and it's all going down hill from here.
Midnight means sexy and sexy is embodied within every square mm of Vogue Superslims. If you know any more about me than my first name you should have a decent comprehension of my obsession with skinny swayze in his pre-death cancer days, and any assorted superslim celebrities making me feel bad about my stature. Therefore the very look of the pack, and the sweet sweet cigarettes encassed gloriously within, is enough to send me over the edge, back up again, and flailing gloriously through space time and pleasure over the edge again.
With the drone of late night television pulsating irritatingly through the glass panel shutting me out of my lounge room, and a swarm of menacing mosquitoes hungrily feeding on my poisoned blood, I am slightly hating the outdoors and wishing to fuck i lived in an old-shit bombed-up nasty junk house, and could thus smoke up every square inch of the inside of ze house. But you know, you win some you lose some you lose some more you lose some you lose them all.
(Brock attempts to unpsych me, push me back near the thin thin menacing line of suicide, buy shamelessly blasting remeniscent John Mayer songs from his pissy pissy mac. he will never succeed while beer and cigarettes remain legal..)
SO as i was so succinctly saying (you will actually find the words 'succinct' and 'missy' to be fucking light years apart, if you havent already caught on to this fact) My next willing sucker, should i say suckee, were Vogue Superlims Blueu (because we're fucking wanky and french or something..)
I have commented on indeed the very wankiness and pretentious nature of all slim cigaretes previously, however i do have to straight up ask you not to associate vogues to any other slim cigarettes on the market, simply because they are inarguably in a field of their very own.
What possessed me to purchase them was an unquenchable desire to (attempt to) regain my femininity (paralled to my efforts to reduce my public stomach-turning vomit-worthy belches and disgusting use of obscene language). Obtained (expensively) from a george st 7/11, these cigarettes immediately gave me a (false?) sense of vaginaristic characteristic (synonym (and rhyme for that matter) sourced from brock, my living, walking thesaurus).
AND once again i am happy to report they delivered on all fronts.
From my first glimpse, my first drag, my first delicious realisation of what i was experiencing, these duzzes blew me away like a 50knot southerly zephyr (aka a gale. again, thanks b-rock). I almost felt dignified and slightly sophisticated strolling carefree through the nastily architectured riff-raffed streets of my beautifl city with one of these skinny sluts hanging daintily between my index-and-middle fingers, lifting her seductively to my parted lips, sucking greedily on her satisfying exhaust.
It's as if every fucking christmas i've ever lived through have come at once. and come and come again. aaoooo. and the walls shook. and the bed slats broke.
I could go on for eons with my description of their awesomeness, yet i will cease to ramble before i lose too many of you poor soles. As is, by now, only to be expected, i will transcribe my thoughts and words into numbers to numerically express my contentedness with these sexy babies.
Attractiveness of Pack- Perfectly matching the description, the pack is both enticing and dangerously anorexicesquely slim. It's the small things that add to the pleasure of this pack (quite ironic, isnt it, when classifying 'small' as 'pleasurable'? i'm sorry, enough with the sexual inuendo eh?). The pack would under no circumstances last under the often strenous and testing conditions which i expose my packs to, (i.e acting as my wallet for a night out), and housing even my tiniest mini-bic lighter is impossible. This all said, it's the virginal white, subtle whisps of blue and aqua, and delicate pattern that really takes this pack up from delicious to insuppressibly execptional. Although it gains a nice tidy zero for longevity and practicality, i award it 4.5 out of 5 malignant tumours for its breathtaking sensuality and stunning design.
Smoothness and flavour- DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMN gurl. sorry. but really. how else am i able to vocalize my delicious level of satisfaction with these beauties? although they have a diameter of umm not more than about 4mm, the level of flavour from these cuties is not only unexpected, but orgasmically impressive. acclimatizing to the severe skinny-longness of them is a painfully delicate process, but with a little tenderness and a gentle hand (no, not rough hard hard and fast) this is easily achievable. Ashing them involves a gentle tap rather than a hardy flick, again adding to the femininity of them. Their smoothness is comparable to daniel craig at a poker table, their flavour a welcome change from the (far too common) flavourlessness of many rivaling brands. My verdict seems to indicate perfection, but just to attempt modesty and create a sense of realism i will award them 4.5 out of 5 malignant tumours in this category.
Burning Time- Although the actual volume of tabacco in these cigarettes would be, naturally, less than that of an average or king size cigarette, they still burn remarkably efficiently and steadily. The smoulder only when drawn on, they combust evenly, they go on and one and on more than Beethovens 7th symphony. 4.5 out for 5 malignant tumours (i'm sure now you're thinking their faultlessness is becoming all too good to be true, but nay, i speak only words of honest, unblemished truth.)
Lingering Taste- A subtle tabacco flavour dwells pleasantly on the pallet for a commendable amount of time. although the last drag (obviously) brings with it the last hint of actual taste, it lingers for an impressive amount of time. No nasty bitter singed-leaf flavour. No ' i-need-a-piece-of-gum' urge. Just the slowly-fading essence of the smashing cigarette that was. 4.5 out of 5 malig tums.
AVERAGE SCORE FOR VOGUE SUPERSLIMS: 4.5. My highest rating cigarette thus far. (Let's hope this isn't a peak in my cigarette-rating venture).
AND now, after a night of furiously attempting to regain lost ground on my blogs-to-cigarettes purchased ratio, i hope you are as satisfied as i am.
Until next time you allow me to fill you mind with utter filth and mindless jabber,
missy.
with a mounting (no toe-curling mount however) pile of packity packs of all but empty cigarettes littering every commonplace region of my house, it brings my attention back to the fact that a) i smoke too much and b) i really really have to grow some balls, finally check my no doubt disgustingly in debt credit card statement and c) Brock's home and singing and it's all going down hill from here.
Midnight means sexy and sexy is embodied within every square mm of Vogue Superslims. If you know any more about me than my first name you should have a decent comprehension of my obsession with skinny swayze in his pre-death cancer days, and any assorted superslim celebrities making me feel bad about my stature. Therefore the very look of the pack, and the sweet sweet cigarettes encassed gloriously within, is enough to send me over the edge, back up again, and flailing gloriously through space time and pleasure over the edge again.
With the drone of late night television pulsating irritatingly through the glass panel shutting me out of my lounge room, and a swarm of menacing mosquitoes hungrily feeding on my poisoned blood, I am slightly hating the outdoors and wishing to fuck i lived in an old-shit bombed-up nasty junk house, and could thus smoke up every square inch of the inside of ze house. But you know, you win some you lose some you lose some more you lose some you lose them all.
(Brock attempts to unpsych me, push me back near the thin thin menacing line of suicide, buy shamelessly blasting remeniscent John Mayer songs from his pissy pissy mac. he will never succeed while beer and cigarettes remain legal..)
SO as i was so succinctly saying (you will actually find the words 'succinct' and 'missy' to be fucking light years apart, if you havent already caught on to this fact) My next willing sucker, should i say suckee, were Vogue Superlims Blueu (because we're fucking wanky and french or something..)
I have commented on indeed the very wankiness and pretentious nature of all slim cigaretes previously, however i do have to straight up ask you not to associate vogues to any other slim cigarettes on the market, simply because they are inarguably in a field of their very own.
What possessed me to purchase them was an unquenchable desire to (attempt to) regain my femininity (paralled to my efforts to reduce my public stomach-turning vomit-worthy belches and disgusting use of obscene language). Obtained (expensively) from a george st 7/11, these cigarettes immediately gave me a (false?) sense of vaginaristic characteristic (synonym (and rhyme for that matter) sourced from brock, my living, walking thesaurus).
AND once again i am happy to report they delivered on all fronts.
From my first glimpse, my first drag, my first delicious realisation of what i was experiencing, these duzzes blew me away like a 50knot southerly zephyr (aka a gale. again, thanks b-rock). I almost felt dignified and slightly sophisticated strolling carefree through the nastily architectured riff-raffed streets of my beautifl city with one of these skinny sluts hanging daintily between my index-and-middle fingers, lifting her seductively to my parted lips, sucking greedily on her satisfying exhaust.
It's as if every fucking christmas i've ever lived through have come at once. and come and come again. aaoooo. and the walls shook. and the bed slats broke.
I could go on for eons with my description of their awesomeness, yet i will cease to ramble before i lose too many of you poor soles. As is, by now, only to be expected, i will transcribe my thoughts and words into numbers to numerically express my contentedness with these sexy babies.
Attractiveness of Pack- Perfectly matching the description, the pack is both enticing and dangerously anorexicesquely slim. It's the small things that add to the pleasure of this pack (quite ironic, isnt it, when classifying 'small' as 'pleasurable'? i'm sorry, enough with the sexual inuendo eh?). The pack would under no circumstances last under the often strenous and testing conditions which i expose my packs to, (i.e acting as my wallet for a night out), and housing even my tiniest mini-bic lighter is impossible. This all said, it's the virginal white, subtle whisps of blue and aqua, and delicate pattern that really takes this pack up from delicious to insuppressibly execptional. Although it gains a nice tidy zero for longevity and practicality, i award it 4.5 out of 5 malignant tumours for its breathtaking sensuality and stunning design.
Smoothness and flavour- DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMN gurl. sorry. but really. how else am i able to vocalize my delicious level of satisfaction with these beauties? although they have a diameter of umm not more than about 4mm, the level of flavour from these cuties is not only unexpected, but orgasmically impressive. acclimatizing to the severe skinny-longness of them is a painfully delicate process, but with a little tenderness and a gentle hand (no, not rough hard hard and fast) this is easily achievable. Ashing them involves a gentle tap rather than a hardy flick, again adding to the femininity of them. Their smoothness is comparable to daniel craig at a poker table, their flavour a welcome change from the (far too common) flavourlessness of many rivaling brands. My verdict seems to indicate perfection, but just to attempt modesty and create a sense of realism i will award them 4.5 out of 5 malignant tumours in this category.
Burning Time- Although the actual volume of tabacco in these cigarettes would be, naturally, less than that of an average or king size cigarette, they still burn remarkably efficiently and steadily. The smoulder only when drawn on, they combust evenly, they go on and one and on more than Beethovens 7th symphony. 4.5 out for 5 malignant tumours (i'm sure now you're thinking their faultlessness is becoming all too good to be true, but nay, i speak only words of honest, unblemished truth.)
Lingering Taste- A subtle tabacco flavour dwells pleasantly on the pallet for a commendable amount of time. although the last drag (obviously) brings with it the last hint of actual taste, it lingers for an impressive amount of time. No nasty bitter singed-leaf flavour. No ' i-need-a-piece-of-gum' urge. Just the slowly-fading essence of the smashing cigarette that was. 4.5 out of 5 malig tums.
AVERAGE SCORE FOR VOGUE SUPERSLIMS: 4.5. My highest rating cigarette thus far. (Let's hope this isn't a peak in my cigarette-rating venture).
AND now, after a night of furiously attempting to regain lost ground on my blogs-to-cigarettes purchased ratio, i hope you are as satisfied as i am.
Until next time you allow me to fill you mind with utter filth and mindless jabber,
missy.
I AM A FAG XV
F U C K M E..
Please be warned that i am about to rip a cigarette to shreds. No, jimi didn't shred compared to this. Chedder just isn't shredded compared to this. No shredded chicken as pizza topping is shredded compared to this. Shredded post-burnout tyre tread does not compare to this.
Stop traffic. This cigarette is dirt. Dirt riddled with remants of dog shit. Dog shit-riddled dirt on a rainy day.
Benson and Hedges Ultimate. Well let me just commence by bring your wandering attention to the utter inappropriateness of the name. Ultimately gay. Ultimately horrendous. Ultimately a cigarette that should be shunned from public inhalation. Production of it should cease immediately and all remaining stock should be drilled into the very molten core of our earth or shot into the infinite universe. As i have informed you previously, (in my B&H smooth review) i have never met a B&H smoker who isn't totally a gronk. Really stale. Forgettable and unimpressive.
So walking briskly along George St, I realise that less than 2 cigarettes remaining in my pack is depressive enough to send me, once again, spiralling unrestrained into the realms of suicide. Therefore i hit up my 'usual joint' on george st in order to exchange money for goods. (I admit, my continuous return to this spot has less to do with the fact that it's in a convenient location and more with the fact that the boy who works there has a pretty face and the ebility to make me weak at the knees...)
Initially i asked (*brushes hair over shoulder, attempts to pout ridiculously thin and un-luscious lips, sucks in gut, parts legs slightly) "hey do you sell Camels?"...Unfortunately a "no" response followed, and i was left utterly devastated for a moment or two, as i reaaaaaally wanted to give Camels another go. SO my second choice, as uttered thoughtlessly from my mouth, was "erm B&H ultimate thanks"...
$13 later, i feel dirty, ripped off and blemished. With the first drag comes the disappointment i had been sourly anticipating. Fuck. Hello flavour? Satisfaction? Hit? Where the eff are you?
I have never been so disgusted to 'call myself a smoker'.. I mean really, a low point in my (otherwise sooooooooooooooooo rich and prosperous. ha. ) life.
As i do, i inspected the cigarette from tip to glorious (toned and sexaaaay) butt to not only gain a better understanding of the darn thing but to pick at flaws and failings. and what do i find? a perforation halfway down the butt. Confused, i pondered the reason for such an addition. I put it to Brock, who suggested it was to allow 'outside air' aka fresh-fucking-un-tabaccoed-air into the inward drag of breath, thus further weakening the (already non-existant) strength of cigarette. And although i am a rabid dog when it comes to arguing, i cannot argue with him, agreeing whole-heartedly that this indeed is the manufacturers aim. which leads me to my next question- WHY THE DONG WOULD YOU POSSIBLY WANT TO MAKE THESE DAMN THINGS ANY LIGHTER THAN THEY ALREADY ARE?????!!!
(take 20minutes here to calm the fuck down are realise that yes, indeed, life is worth living, just as soon as i get these nasty B&H's out of my life)
Right, and my beer is warm. great. it's as if even Kel the Kelvinator fridge is out to get me. He's damned seals are buggered to hell and my lack of funds and/or will prevents me from making any attempt to solve the issue.
Look to be honest i dont even think these cigarettes deserve a strenuous and effortful rating. Like actually they just dont. Because i am not a fan of zero (it just fucks everything up- it's not a number, it's nothing!) i will straight up give these bastards 0.5. And that's rounding UP and being very fucking generous.
So sourly disappointed am i, that i even contemplated allowing my brother to fling the nasty things deep out into the brisbane river. (only my stinginess and the wretched thought of "thirteen dollars, THIRTEEN DOLLARS" eventually convinced me to indeed ask the male chapple twin to refrain from doing so. )
so hear's to you, B&H, for ruining my day and almost ruining my life. I leave your name and your name only in my suicide note, and, after this moment, wish never, EVER to speak your name again. Like a never-going-to-happen relationship, like a one-night stand, like a coulda been shoulda been but wasnt, there is no happy ending in this dire story.
I wish i was exaggerating, i really do.
But not only do Shakira's hips not lie, but neither do I. (oh unless i lie to the guy working at maccas, pretending that "yeah, one of these apple pies is for my friend", when really i am just making breakfast-lunch-and-dinner out of these little cheap suckers.)
Well here we've passed the mark of tolerablility and venturing un-aided and vulnerable into the never-never land of bullshitting, so i should wrap it up. (like you, St. Nick, will be wrapping up the fucking espresso machine, wii remote, zippo, season 4 Scrubs, 47 cartons of Blonde ... that i have requested for christmas. ho ho hoe. )
Download Annie Lennox- Dont let it bring you down. Nice song.
Til next time my fellow nameless readers (again, the presumptions that anyone actually wasted not only their eyesight but also time on reading this shit are flowing strong) ... ,
missy.
(would turn gay for you)
Please be warned that i am about to rip a cigarette to shreds. No, jimi didn't shred compared to this. Chedder just isn't shredded compared to this. No shredded chicken as pizza topping is shredded compared to this. Shredded post-burnout tyre tread does not compare to this.
Stop traffic. This cigarette is dirt. Dirt riddled with remants of dog shit. Dog shit-riddled dirt on a rainy day.
Benson and Hedges Ultimate. Well let me just commence by bring your wandering attention to the utter inappropriateness of the name. Ultimately gay. Ultimately horrendous. Ultimately a cigarette that should be shunned from public inhalation. Production of it should cease immediately and all remaining stock should be drilled into the very molten core of our earth or shot into the infinite universe. As i have informed you previously, (in my B&H smooth review) i have never met a B&H smoker who isn't totally a gronk. Really stale. Forgettable and unimpressive.
So walking briskly along George St, I realise that less than 2 cigarettes remaining in my pack is depressive enough to send me, once again, spiralling unrestrained into the realms of suicide. Therefore i hit up my 'usual joint' on george st in order to exchange money for goods. (I admit, my continuous return to this spot has less to do with the fact that it's in a convenient location and more with the fact that the boy who works there has a pretty face and the ebility to make me weak at the knees...)
Initially i asked (*brushes hair over shoulder, attempts to pout ridiculously thin and un-luscious lips, sucks in gut, parts legs slightly) "hey do you sell Camels?"...Unfortunately a "no" response followed, and i was left utterly devastated for a moment or two, as i reaaaaaally wanted to give Camels another go. SO my second choice, as uttered thoughtlessly from my mouth, was "erm B&H ultimate thanks"...
$13 later, i feel dirty, ripped off and blemished. With the first drag comes the disappointment i had been sourly anticipating. Fuck. Hello flavour? Satisfaction? Hit? Where the eff are you?
I have never been so disgusted to 'call myself a smoker'.. I mean really, a low point in my (otherwise sooooooooooooooooo rich and prosperous. ha. ) life.
As i do, i inspected the cigarette from tip to glorious (toned and sexaaaay) butt to not only gain a better understanding of the darn thing but to pick at flaws and failings. and what do i find? a perforation halfway down the butt. Confused, i pondered the reason for such an addition. I put it to Brock, who suggested it was to allow 'outside air' aka fresh-fucking-un-tabaccoed-air into the inward drag of breath, thus further weakening the (already non-existant) strength of cigarette. And although i am a rabid dog when it comes to arguing, i cannot argue with him, agreeing whole-heartedly that this indeed is the manufacturers aim. which leads me to my next question- WHY THE DONG WOULD YOU POSSIBLY WANT TO MAKE THESE DAMN THINGS ANY LIGHTER THAN THEY ALREADY ARE?????!!!
(take 20minutes here to calm the fuck down are realise that yes, indeed, life is worth living, just as soon as i get these nasty B&H's out of my life)
Right, and my beer is warm. great. it's as if even Kel the Kelvinator fridge is out to get me. He's damned seals are buggered to hell and my lack of funds and/or will prevents me from making any attempt to solve the issue.
Look to be honest i dont even think these cigarettes deserve a strenuous and effortful rating. Like actually they just dont. Because i am not a fan of zero (it just fucks everything up- it's not a number, it's nothing!) i will straight up give these bastards 0.5. And that's rounding UP and being very fucking generous.
So sourly disappointed am i, that i even contemplated allowing my brother to fling the nasty things deep out into the brisbane river. (only my stinginess and the wretched thought of "thirteen dollars, THIRTEEN DOLLARS" eventually convinced me to indeed ask the male chapple twin to refrain from doing so. )
so hear's to you, B&H, for ruining my day and almost ruining my life. I leave your name and your name only in my suicide note, and, after this moment, wish never, EVER to speak your name again. Like a never-going-to-happen relationship, like a one-night stand, like a coulda been shoulda been but wasnt, there is no happy ending in this dire story.
I wish i was exaggerating, i really do.
But not only do Shakira's hips not lie, but neither do I. (oh unless i lie to the guy working at maccas, pretending that "yeah, one of these apple pies is for my friend", when really i am just making breakfast-lunch-and-dinner out of these little cheap suckers.)
Well here we've passed the mark of tolerablility and venturing un-aided and vulnerable into the never-never land of bullshitting, so i should wrap it up. (like you, St. Nick, will be wrapping up the fucking espresso machine, wii remote, zippo, season 4 Scrubs, 47 cartons of Blonde ... that i have requested for christmas. ho ho hoe. )
Download Annie Lennox- Dont let it bring you down. Nice song.
Til next time my fellow nameless readers (again, the presumptions that anyone actually wasted not only their eyesight but also time on reading this shit are flowing strong) ... ,
missy.
(would turn gay for you)
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About Me
- iamafag
- i am usually noisy. unless i'm asleep. then i'm a little less noisy. i like smoking. i also enjoy coffee. i'm a bag of cliche`s you've just got to have.