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.
Friday, November 27, 2009
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....
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxsexxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
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)
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
I AM A FAG XIV
Yesterday morning I was looking through the past months in my "2009 Teddies of the World" calander hanging insultingly close to my bed head, (always there warning me how quickly the days pass and how little i manage to achieve in the given 24hrs of each day) and made the near gut-wrenching realisation that yes indeed, november comes before december, and december indicates hustle and bustle, noise and incessant green-and-red sparkly/shiny/silky/furry/jingly shit everywhere-all of which as a result of christmas.
Although i'm the first to admit i do actually like the damned festivities, I am also frighteningly aware that post christmas comes new years, and new years inevitably brings with it a demand for change. Now they say a change is as good as a holiday, but they also say "you better shake up ooh ooh ooh, cos i need a man, and my heart is set on yoooooou" and well that's just queer. So let's discount anything 'they' say and i will continue by explaining my fear of the thought of new years resolutions....
In the past, i am sure many of you can relate, my new years resolutions have not stuck much past the first few days of our fresh new year...in fact my last years resolution to quit smoking lasted all of, what, 2 minutes when i decided to fag up to, well, celebrate the new year. ahh the clear-minded thoughts induced by sufficient beer consumption to drown an elephant..
As i was saying, I find myself in november 2009 already (i suppose we all do. Unless you're michael J Fox, back to (or from? or past? forward to the past? ah my brain hurts) the future.which in that case, stop shaking my hand.no really. stop shaking. what, stop it. stop nodding at me. stop jiggling your pelvis. oh what? you can't? fail. ) and cant stop thinking about all the enviable things i have achieved in my 19 years of life.
..
the birth of my lovely mutant child iamafag.
...
oh like that time charmed my way into scoring a free wheel alignment.
...
(well that sure makes my hit list look comparitively long..)
and now I have another achievement to add to the long and colourful list: leaving the Gats with more money than what i arrived with.
So what did i spend the $20 gifted to me on? why no, not lego. not even pot pourri. Cigarettes. (wow no way?!)
aaaanyway somehow my smoking/buying of cigarettes has been dominating my writing speed so i have fallen 4 blogs behind. i better get to it. chop chop. Like brock trimming his bonsai and rozzle trimming her pubes for a big bone last night.... word.
A morning of chemistry and 3 coffees comfortably in my system found me craving more than caffeine. As only to be expected. And so while topping up my go-card at 7/11, my thoughts once again turned not to katy perry's luscious cleavage, and not even to my mounting credit card debt, but instead, to cigarettes. and just to keep on the safe side, i selected Winfield Golds to suck and score.
I have an entrenched admiration for 'gold' cigarettes, as this usually indicates a smooth flavour while still delivering a semi-decent to decent bang. Therefore i was as sure as the fat in a big mac that i would not be disappointed with my selection. AND, i am happy to report, this was the case. In most aspects, these cigarettes delivered enviable quality and a decent sense of satisfaction.
Visually they offer little appeal, a little on the bland side. Playing it safe, a little like spiking your own beer with vodka to ensure messiness. Like hiding that extra dollar coin in your bra for when the pokies urge becomes insupressable. Like watching the barrista make your coffee from start to finish to ensure the cunt heats the milk right. Like sticking to 99 in a 100 zone so your licence isnt revoked. Like triple-coating you eyelashes with mascara to ensure a nice panda-eyed look the next morning. Like watering your herbs with a mixture of water and love just to keep them happy.. and such..
Now, less blah blah blah more numerals.
Although i'm the first to admit i do actually like the damned festivities, I am also frighteningly aware that post christmas comes new years, and new years inevitably brings with it a demand for change. Now they say a change is as good as a holiday, but they also say "you better shake up ooh ooh ooh, cos i need a man, and my heart is set on yoooooou" and well that's just queer. So let's discount anything 'they' say and i will continue by explaining my fear of the thought of new years resolutions....
In the past, i am sure many of you can relate, my new years resolutions have not stuck much past the first few days of our fresh new year...in fact my last years resolution to quit smoking lasted all of, what, 2 minutes when i decided to fag up to, well, celebrate the new year. ahh the clear-minded thoughts induced by sufficient beer consumption to drown an elephant..
As i was saying, I find myself in november 2009 already (i suppose we all do. Unless you're michael J Fox, back to (or from? or past? forward to the past? ah my brain hurts) the future.which in that case, stop shaking my hand.no really. stop shaking. what, stop it. stop nodding at me. stop jiggling your pelvis. oh what? you can't? fail. ) and cant stop thinking about all the enviable things i have achieved in my 19 years of life.
..
the birth of my lovely mutant child iamafag.
...
oh like that time charmed my way into scoring a free wheel alignment.
...
(well that sure makes my hit list look comparitively long..)
and now I have another achievement to add to the long and colourful list: leaving the Gats with more money than what i arrived with.
So what did i spend the $20 gifted to me on? why no, not lego. not even pot pourri. Cigarettes. (wow no way?!)
aaaanyway somehow my smoking/buying of cigarettes has been dominating my writing speed so i have fallen 4 blogs behind. i better get to it. chop chop. Like brock trimming his bonsai and rozzle trimming her pubes for a big bone last night.... word.
A morning of chemistry and 3 coffees comfortably in my system found me craving more than caffeine. As only to be expected. And so while topping up my go-card at 7/11, my thoughts once again turned not to katy perry's luscious cleavage, and not even to my mounting credit card debt, but instead, to cigarettes. and just to keep on the safe side, i selected Winfield Golds to suck and score.
I have an entrenched admiration for 'gold' cigarettes, as this usually indicates a smooth flavour while still delivering a semi-decent to decent bang. Therefore i was as sure as the fat in a big mac that i would not be disappointed with my selection. AND, i am happy to report, this was the case. In most aspects, these cigarettes delivered enviable quality and a decent sense of satisfaction.
Visually they offer little appeal, a little on the bland side. Playing it safe, a little like spiking your own beer with vodka to ensure messiness. Like hiding that extra dollar coin in your bra for when the pokies urge becomes insupressable. Like watching the barrista make your coffee from start to finish to ensure the cunt heats the milk right. Like sticking to 99 in a 100 zone so your licence isnt revoked. Like triple-coating you eyelashes with mascara to ensure a nice panda-eyed look the next morning. Like watering your herbs with a mixture of water and love just to keep them happy.. and such..
Now, less blah blah blah more numerals.
- Attractiveness of Pack- As I said, it tries, but it's bland. However at least it's not IN YOUR FACE AAAH and over the top, or frightfully patterned. Though more than 2 cannot be awarded. Sorry. It takes more than trying hard to impress me.
- Smoothness and Flavour- Very smooth, subtle yet satisfying flavour, (a hint of caramel popcorn at the back of the throat. no, really). I do wish, however, for a little more strength. But that's the job for blues and reds i suppose..... 3.5 out of 5 malignant tumours.
- Burning Time- Impressively steady. AND in addition, regardless of the direction/strength of the wind, these babies tend to light up with great ease, burn evenly, and not smoulder unless really sucked on. A bonus in my opinion. 4 out of 5 malignant tumours.
- Lingering Taste- Still detectable after a round of breathes and even an accidental gulp of seawater. (oh and i was strutting so confidently into the waves, until a bastard dumper proceeded to upturn me, dack me, and make me look like the fool i really am) The caramelly flavour i spoke of before tends to hang around more than the tabacco. Though overall, s'alright. 3 out of 5 malignant tumours.
AVERAGE SCORE FOR WINFIELD GOLD: 3.125... again with the 'gah about 3' scores. Well the results may be all too similar but, wtf do you want me to do about it? eh? huh? yeah.
Well after a little too much sun today (and by a-little-too-much-sun i mean sunglasses tan/sunburn and a striking resemblance to a rock lobster), i sit in slight agony, bra-less and baggy-clothed, reaping the benifit of a soothing westerly wind. On ya Kenmore.
oh and segue- need a place in Brisbane to stay? Join me.
luff,
missy.
Monday, November 16, 2009
I AM A FAG XIII
Morning fellow eager beavers. And away we go with the sexually explicit language. Oh Missy you may have set a new world record. (Unlike the measly 200 people that turned out bikini-and-speedo-clad in sydney the other day. Epic failed record attempt guys. Though I understand it would be far more comfortable in an apartment overlooking Martin Place with a pair of binoculars, a box of cheezles, your best pair of ogling eyes and a "Show Me Your Titties" shirt than parading in a newly post-winter early-spring not yet toned and tanned body through the streets of sydney...)
So a new week brings with it a new victim of my scrutiny. Under the recommendation of Ragsy, I fondled my first ever Longbeach Silver cigarette. Painful? not quite. Exciting? Less so. Educating? Yes. I have been waiting for just the right time to "sink" down to the low, commission-home, "sharna go en get ya ma some fags will ya" level of the, let's call it, Horizon/Longbeach income bracket. And though jobless and possibly thieving I technically fit quite comfortably into this socio-economic group, some part of my haggered body still holds it's head above the muck of low-class society and proudly in the "job seeking" not "unemployed" category. Hmph.
With a weekend of excited-colon-syndrome behind me (sorry gayboys, not excited-colon in the prostate-stimulating sense.. rather the more-liquid-than-solid secretion sense. And yet again i have managed to step beyond the threshold of acceptable societal conversation and into the murky, unforgiving depths of vulgarity. Smooth...) , I happily trundled off to Chemistry at 7am on a monday morning with a tall-skinny-flat-white in one hand and a Longbeach Silver in the other. With one eye on left-right-left-right butt cheeks of a nameless hot business woman in front of me, and another on the oh-so-sexy corporate rat walking impressingly beside her, I had all of my senses stimulated. to the extreeeeeeeme. extra large. big time.
Upon first fumbling a Longbeach, my well-seasoned and practiced hand noticed a stiffness and hardness in the cigarette previously unknown to me. (you're thinking it, not me.) Upon lighting, it seems an extra-long pull is needed to really get the darn thing combusting. I deduce that both these factors can be put down to a)tightly-packed tabacco and b)thicker paper. As I had anticipated, there is little kick in this victim. Simply opens the till and hands over the cash. (If you have learnt anything at all from me, it is that 'silver' suggests pussiness/weakness/lightness/mildness/WHERE'D YOU GO, FLAVOUR?) Therefore while I knew what was coming for me, I really was SO surprised at just how mild they really were. hm.
Though here's the twist: These cigarettes burn SO SLOWLY I swear YOU could run twice around the block, while stopping at 7/11 to get me a slush before it's even half-done. Which leads me to think IF ONLY these cigarettes tasted like...umm..cigarettes...then Longbeach would have a brilliant combination of long burning time, and flavour, which spells satisfaction in any language. And in addition, (presuming Longbeach actually has a cigarette in their range with flavour) Longbeach could single-handedly reduce the links in chain-smoking (think of it as lengthening the links, therefore you need less of them, gettttt it?)
WHICH equals less cigarettes munched WHICH equals less money spent WHICH equals less butts strangling our native fish or whatever WHICH, most importantly, equals a satisfied me (harder to come across than an emo with a sense of style).
SO we can say that (Longbeach+flavour) x 20 = Happy Missy + more money + less dead fish.
Said simply, Longbeach have got the batter of a glorious cake, oven pre-heated and cake tin greased, they just need to finish through with half an hour or so at a moderate temperature and a rich glossy icing.
(simply?)
*If you cannot count from 1 to 5, do not proceed beyond this point*
SO, Longbeach Silvers, I hand down my verdict.
andagainuntilnexttimepleasedontdoanythingiwouldntdo.
Missy.
So a new week brings with it a new victim of my scrutiny. Under the recommendation of Ragsy, I fondled my first ever Longbeach Silver cigarette. Painful? not quite. Exciting? Less so. Educating? Yes. I have been waiting for just the right time to "sink" down to the low, commission-home, "sharna go en get ya ma some fags will ya" level of the, let's call it, Horizon/Longbeach income bracket. And though jobless and possibly thieving I technically fit quite comfortably into this socio-economic group, some part of my haggered body still holds it's head above the muck of low-class society and proudly in the "job seeking" not "unemployed" category. Hmph.
With a weekend of excited-colon-syndrome behind me (sorry gayboys, not excited-colon in the prostate-stimulating sense.. rather the more-liquid-than-solid secretion sense. And yet again i have managed to step beyond the threshold of acceptable societal conversation and into the murky, unforgiving depths of vulgarity. Smooth...) , I happily trundled off to Chemistry at 7am on a monday morning with a tall-skinny-flat-white in one hand and a Longbeach Silver in the other. With one eye on left-right-left-right butt cheeks of a nameless hot business woman in front of me, and another on the oh-so-sexy corporate rat walking impressingly beside her, I had all of my senses stimulated. to the extreeeeeeeme. extra large. big time.
Upon first fumbling a Longbeach, my well-seasoned and practiced hand noticed a stiffness and hardness in the cigarette previously unknown to me. (you're thinking it, not me.) Upon lighting, it seems an extra-long pull is needed to really get the darn thing combusting. I deduce that both these factors can be put down to a)tightly-packed tabacco and b)thicker paper. As I had anticipated, there is little kick in this victim. Simply opens the till and hands over the cash. (If you have learnt anything at all from me, it is that 'silver' suggests pussiness/weakness/lightness/mildness/WHERE'D YOU GO, FLAVOUR?) Therefore while I knew what was coming for me, I really was SO surprised at just how mild they really were. hm.
Though here's the twist: These cigarettes burn SO SLOWLY I swear YOU could run twice around the block, while stopping at 7/11 to get me a slush before it's even half-done. Which leads me to think IF ONLY these cigarettes tasted like...umm..cigarettes...then Longbeach would have a brilliant combination of long burning time, and flavour, which spells satisfaction in any language. And in addition, (presuming Longbeach actually has a cigarette in their range with flavour) Longbeach could single-handedly reduce the links in chain-smoking (think of it as lengthening the links, therefore you need less of them, gettttt it?)
WHICH equals less cigarettes munched WHICH equals less money spent WHICH equals less butts strangling our native fish or whatever WHICH, most importantly, equals a satisfied me (harder to come across than an emo with a sense of style).
SO we can say that (Longbeach+flavour) x 20 = Happy Missy + more money + less dead fish.
Said simply, Longbeach have got the batter of a glorious cake, oven pre-heated and cake tin greased, they just need to finish through with half an hour or so at a moderate temperature and a rich glossy icing.
(simply?)
*If you cannot count from 1 to 5, do not proceed beyond this point*
SO, Longbeach Silvers, I hand down my verdict.
- Attractiveness of Pack- Haven't even dabbled in commenting on the visual element of these cigarettes yet, have I? Right, well i'll give them points for trying. AND for being different. The faded light blue/dark blue/grey impression of, wow believe it or not, a long beach on the front offers a pictionary-like description of the product for those who are perhaps slightly illiterate or too damned lazy to read. (can i comment on the irony that the beach on the pack is cigarette-butt free, however have fun trying to find a real-life beach which is butt-less?) ahh. I am impressed, I mean after all, they call an angry mix of bright hues by 'Someone Picasso..' art, so why cant our cigarette industry get away with it? (And in one simple sentence i have managed to show my complete ignorance when it comes to 'art'). 4.5 out of 5 malignant tumours, (the bonus 0.5 for colour matching the barcode to the deep-blue ocean)
- Smoothness and Flavour. As i've quite clearly enunciated, the flavour is barely there. Like a g-string under a tight dress, barely detectable. Smoothness however is optimum. For what it's worth, sometimes all you want is some nice smooth smoke to suck down, not necessarily a tastebudful of "hi my name's tabacco". So dependant on what you're after, it's um not bad. The damn thing still (chemically) satisfies, easing the shakes and steadying the head, even if the tastebuds are screaming for attention. All said, it's diffucult justifying anything over a 3 out of 5 malignant tumours.
- Burning time- Nothing more to be said. Has a likeness to a fucking eternal flame. 5 out of 5 malignant tumours (DING DING DING DING WE HAVE OUR FIRST FULL MARKS!!)
- Lingering Taste- And we're back to less-than-perfect. Unfortunately ANY trace of flavour/taste/essence is irradicated after a few short breaths of fresh air and a swallow or two. 1 out of 5 malignant tumours.
AVERAGE SCORE FOR LONGBEACH SILVER: 3.375. (and as usual, my insane passion and dedication for accuracy and precision makes me go 'meh let's call it 3' )
So there you have it, a cigarette with as much promise as a young, impressionable child. So which way will you turn her?
Toward the path of success, of early nights at home with the family, hours spent cowering over textbooks to further her education, a week packed with extra-curricular activities, a low-fat diet, frilled socks and polished shoes, a dollar a week pocket money, a CD collection including Michael Buble and "French beginners", girl-only sleepovers, caffeine-free coke (only on special occasions though, such as the dawn of a new millenium and for the coming of Halle's Comet)....?
OR,
"come on darlin', let's take you down to the TAB now you're old enough to reach the counter. Yeah go grab ya dad a coaster for is beer will ya? Hang on possum just hold on to this nice man's hand while ya daddy goes out to have a fag.... Darl can you take the wheel, i just gotta scratch me balls...........Waddaya mean ya pregnant, ddn't ya ma tell ya to tell ya bloke to always pull out n say 3 hail-bloody-marys after you rooted?...."
Oh the choice is in your hands.andagainuntilnexttimepleasedontdoanythingiwouldntdo.
Missy.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
I AM A FAG XII
Well i speak to you about 400kgs lighter than i did last time we conversed, having spent much of the past 2 days shitting out my entire digestive tract and wallowing in self-pity. Nothing that a good 30 solid hours of sleep cant heal, right? So here's to you Mcdonalds-or-possibly-M&M-yogo-or-whatever-happened-to-make-my-insides-so-upset. You shitted me off quite a bit (pardon the pun) but have not defeated me.. yet..
In a feeble attempt to errm 'dry up' my insides, i have been smoking perhaps more than usual in my wakeful hours...the thought of smoke and ash fragments meandering aimlessly in my body inspires me to think that somewhere along their journey they may heal or numb the pain..
Since reporting to you about the glory of Pall Mall Menthols, I have been hot on the trail of Choice Blues..... As you may recollect among my previous posts (and BY GOD you better or fuck off now and stop calling yourself a fan/human/worthy of life) I have already given Choice Silvers the once-over....and in doing so had my spectacular revelation about their insanely frightful and too-coincidental-not-to-be-planned likeness to Marlboros. A step up from silvers (well two steps up if you must be so pedantic), Blues have the promise of more wail kick and scream than silvers. Did they deliver? The questions hanging on the lips of man woman and child alike. Well it's not a yes and no question in my mind. Not definite. Unlike the certainty that yes, Delta Goodrem blows and no, i'm not going to buy Nintendo/Sunsilk/So Good/Proactive products just because she tells me to, it's difficult to judge Choice Blues as either hit or miss.
Today, while feeling game enough to venture more than 3 ft away from the sanctuary and safety of the bathroom, i decided to pop down to the Botanical Gardens out umm that way, you know, towards the 2pm sun.. and have a good lie down, embrace the fresh air, wrap up my latest novel and drench my lungs in the goodness of tabacco shhmoke. I'm determined not to whinge (about the chirpy children, canoodling couples, monsterous mosquitoes, incessant insects) rather speak fondly of the relaxation I gained from lying (vulnerable) out in the open of this great grand city of ours.
While i switched my "maybe i can meet a nice boy here" thoughts to a more likely and achievable "maybe i wont scare masses and masses of frightened humans away today", I took a moment to reflect on my achievements thus far in swimming through my ocean of cigarette brands. Then i realise how far i have to go. I have merely dipped my big toe (deformed and scabby at that) into the very edge of this great wide body of water. Though as i have said, i am dedicated. Nothing will stand in my way. Through cough and splutter, cigarette price-rise and shabbied, beer-ravaged packs, through bumming and lending lighters and sharing smokes, i shall not be deterred.
Right so off the path less-travelled thank you very much and back from the beaten track, we're left with the issue at hand- Choice Blues. With each new pack i select, i find it more and more difficult to me surprised, and more so, impressed by them. It's as if the majority of cigarettes end up in the "meh not bad" pile, and less and less make me go "BANG BOOM that's good tabacco".. Which is disappointing to say the least.
And no exception to this rule are Choice Blues. Yes you may say smoking is smoking is smoking, but every now and then i do wish a cigarette would talk back to me, you know. Say "hey bitch, suck me" while rolling it's tongue around it's lips suggestively and thrusting vigouresly with it's flat and ripped pelvis. hm. (Here lies the reason i am single...?) Although it may be considered shameful to want to share a special moment with a cigarette, I can honestly argue that it is NOT criminal or illegal for me to want 'something more' from an object i care so deeply and whole-heartedly about.
Me trying to get to the point is like driving from brisbane to sydney via darwin- You know that may possibly be the long way, but by god you waste a glorious about of time doing it that way....
So let's throw some numbers in, just to keep our old Maths teachers happy and possibly to attempt some FOCUS and DIRECTION amongst the rambling..
In a feeble attempt to errm 'dry up' my insides, i have been smoking perhaps more than usual in my wakeful hours...the thought of smoke and ash fragments meandering aimlessly in my body inspires me to think that somewhere along their journey they may heal or numb the pain..
Since reporting to you about the glory of Pall Mall Menthols, I have been hot on the trail of Choice Blues..... As you may recollect among my previous posts (and BY GOD you better or fuck off now and stop calling yourself a fan/human/worthy of life) I have already given Choice Silvers the once-over....and in doing so had my spectacular revelation about their insanely frightful and too-coincidental-not-to-be-planned likeness to Marlboros. A step up from silvers (well two steps up if you must be so pedantic), Blues have the promise of more wail kick and scream than silvers. Did they deliver? The questions hanging on the lips of man woman and child alike. Well it's not a yes and no question in my mind. Not definite. Unlike the certainty that yes, Delta Goodrem blows and no, i'm not going to buy Nintendo/Sunsilk/So Good/Proactive products just because she tells me to, it's difficult to judge Choice Blues as either hit or miss.
Today, while feeling game enough to venture more than 3 ft away from the sanctuary and safety of the bathroom, i decided to pop down to the Botanical Gardens out umm that way, you know, towards the 2pm sun.. and have a good lie down, embrace the fresh air, wrap up my latest novel and drench my lungs in the goodness of tabacco shhmoke. I'm determined not to whinge (about the chirpy children, canoodling couples, monsterous mosquitoes, incessant insects) rather speak fondly of the relaxation I gained from lying (vulnerable) out in the open of this great grand city of ours.
While i switched my "maybe i can meet a nice boy here" thoughts to a more likely and achievable "maybe i wont scare masses and masses of frightened humans away today", I took a moment to reflect on my achievements thus far in swimming through my ocean of cigarette brands. Then i realise how far i have to go. I have merely dipped my big toe (deformed and scabby at that) into the very edge of this great wide body of water. Though as i have said, i am dedicated. Nothing will stand in my way. Through cough and splutter, cigarette price-rise and shabbied, beer-ravaged packs, through bumming and lending lighters and sharing smokes, i shall not be deterred.
Right so off the path less-travelled thank you very much and back from the beaten track, we're left with the issue at hand- Choice Blues. With each new pack i select, i find it more and more difficult to me surprised, and more so, impressed by them. It's as if the majority of cigarettes end up in the "meh not bad" pile, and less and less make me go "BANG BOOM that's good tabacco".. Which is disappointing to say the least.
And no exception to this rule are Choice Blues. Yes you may say smoking is smoking is smoking, but every now and then i do wish a cigarette would talk back to me, you know. Say "hey bitch, suck me" while rolling it's tongue around it's lips suggestively and thrusting vigouresly with it's flat and ripped pelvis. hm. (Here lies the reason i am single...?) Although it may be considered shameful to want to share a special moment with a cigarette, I can honestly argue that it is NOT criminal or illegal for me to want 'something more' from an object i care so deeply and whole-heartedly about.
Me trying to get to the point is like driving from brisbane to sydney via darwin- You know that may possibly be the long way, but by god you waste a glorious about of time doing it that way....
So let's throw some numbers in, just to keep our old Maths teachers happy and possibly to attempt some FOCUS and DIRECTION amongst the rambling..
- Attractiveness of Pack- Arguably plain. You may think Robert Pattinson is attractive (i wouldnt admit it though unless you want me hunting you down in the middle of the night with a jaggerd wooden stake as my weapon of choice and all but foul words hurling un-edited from my vicious mouth) , though i think his resemblance to a short-snouted seahorse to be quit uncanny. You say banana, i say penis. Pretty dang darn sweat-shop mass-produced b-grade. i'm sorry. Simple but un-satisfying. 2 out of 5 malignant tumours.
- Smoothness and Flavour- It's a bit like corn on a cob without salt. Like weetbix without umm soggy soggy. Like shaving your legs to below your knee. Unfinished. Incomplete. There's just something missing....Flavour exists, but is slightly unpleasant really..This cigarette really leaves a fair bit to be desired.......2 out of 5 malignant tumours.
- Burning Time- Picks up a few lost marks here. Sticks around long enough to swap at least first names and phone numbers... However it seems the tabacco is pretty loosly and inconsistenly packed? or something.. because at times, ashing causes the 'whole bloody lot to fall out'. or something.... either way, burns more slowly than skinny bitch pall malls. ummmm let's say 3 out of 5..
- Lingering Taste- Not too bad really. The flavour hangs on the underside of your tongue and in the very fleshy mass of your cheeks. Through sip of water, coffee and even chewing gum for a while, the flavour remains. Kudossssss ssssssss. 4 out of 5.
AVERAGE SCORE FOR CHOICE BLUES: 2.5? something un-impressive. "Average". Hiding in the corner behind the trash can to avoid being picked on for your bogus glasses and ridiculously hideous face. I would not recommend this cigarette, BUT for it's $3 less a pack than Marlboro, it's not ummm toooooooo bad.. really...
So on this sunday night, while my insides are slowly solidifying and the tap is turning off, finally, i wish you all a happy week ahead of you. Get down get down get down.
misssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssy.
Friday, November 13, 2009
I AM A FAG XI
Re reoow. Hi hi hi hi hi hi. Excuse me Mr President.
Well what can say? so many cigarettes, so little time.
Since my last post (circa 3 days ago? maybe four if you're lucky..) I have chewed through 3 different brands. So less chat more rating. Down to business. No time for sitting on the boss's desk with my pencil skirt slipping up my thigh ("oh Mr. CompanyDirector you dont really want to fire me...") ... Just into it. Straight in. Like diving under a frothing wave at the beach. No time to appreciate the iciness of the water, head under, no fooling around. No funny business. "Yes please i'll have that coffee before next christmas if you don't mind". *tap tap tap of foot impatiently. "Why yes i AM actually in a hurry.."
Bam. Pall Mall Slims Green. While tsk tsking about the state of our country, (happy couples holding hands, prosperous youth smiling contentendly, old ladies free to walk (crawl, drag along, turtle/snail along) at their own pace..) makes me sick really, I decided i'd hit up Coles for it's finest tabacco. Finest money (um $9) can buy. Because my doctor tells me i'm female, i still have a place in my heart for those skinny slim 'pretty' Pall Mall slims. Subtle targeted marketing which works disgustingly well. AND green=menth menth menthol which ticks me more than Nike. Aaaaoo.
As I realise I have again managed to lose my favourite lighter in the possessed deep dark abyss of my hangbag, I decide to also purchase a mini-Bic to get the fire started.
"whaa colouurrr you waant?" asks Miss Korea at the counter. I laugh incredulously and say "i dont give a shit".. snap. that's what you get for trying to Serve Me Better Coles. Yeah, you'll love it.
Initially I am once again breathtaken by the slender pack's cosy fit in my palm. Curling my fingers tenderly around its smooth exterior, I cradle it toward the exit and immediately undress it from its plastic encassing and fumble greedily for the top. (hey hey hey, it's good enough for Mills and Boon) ...
Prissy, wanky and possibly a little tweeny, it seems these cigarettes must be smoked while humming along to the Ting Tings and must MUST be shared among a group of no-boys-allowed, only freshly-pubescent teenage girls while talking about "how TOTALLY lame Jason was being last night, OH EM GEEE he totally barred me off for COD and i'm SO annoyed because i REAAAAALLY wanted to like take it like further, like i'm like ready to like kiss him and like i even bought new lipgloss and like i asked him to come to the New Moon premier like WITH ME and like now he's making up like excuses and it's so lame cos i just want him to buy me a pink slushy we can like share, yeah i KNOOOW Soph, like it would be the BEST time to start kissing like even before the movie started, like we can share a straw and then he'll lean in and like kiss me and i'll taste sooooo good like cos not only do i have new lipgloss but pink slushies are so totally sweet...."
HOWEVER, I can put an XY twist on this predominately femalesque cigarette-with a beer in my left hand and an almighty belch erupting from the pit of my gut. To be less umm figurative, i overlook the pussiness of the appearance of this cigarette and can take it for its true value-the sweet sweet cool menthol tabacco goodness of its inner core. Never judge a book by it's cover they say, and hell, Stephen King is lucky many eager readers obviously live by this motto, as otherwise 'Misery', with it's cartoon 'angry typewriter' cover would not have sold even a single copy... ... ..
Slim cigarettes take me back to my smoking pre-engrained-habit-life-or-death-i-need-a-fag days... Nights sitting out the back of the One with BB on one side, Zee on the other, puffing happily on a vogue or a dunhill essence... aah. The instant refreshing menthol taste makes me feel like there's a party in my mouth and everyone (oh except him and him) is invited.
The elegantly-styled cigarette is reminiscent of Hollywood golden day movies. Length is obviously an important dimension to have in many every day... errr.. situations. Thinness is apparently admirable. Together they form an unbreakable, porn star team-impressive, desirable and most of all, arousing.
The absence of an orange tip, opting for cloud white from top to filter, is reminiscent of all good menthol brands, and admirable for its streamline and consistent appearance.
It seems there is nothing these cigarettes cant do-soothe the throat, unblock the sinuses, clear the head, refresh the breath and, most importantly, send off a waft of sweetly-scented smoke potent enough to erradicate hayfever and stuffiness for miles around. In addition to their impressive medicinal properties, they offer a buzz close enough to a full-strength cigarette to keep even the most dedicated smokers satisfied and relieved.
Now to convert all these words words words into numbers...
Well what can say? so many cigarettes, so little time.
Since my last post (circa 3 days ago? maybe four if you're lucky..) I have chewed through 3 different brands. So less chat more rating. Down to business. No time for sitting on the boss's desk with my pencil skirt slipping up my thigh ("oh Mr. CompanyDirector you dont really want to fire me...") ... Just into it. Straight in. Like diving under a frothing wave at the beach. No time to appreciate the iciness of the water, head under, no fooling around. No funny business. "Yes please i'll have that coffee before next christmas if you don't mind". *tap tap tap of foot impatiently. "Why yes i AM actually in a hurry.."
Bam. Pall Mall Slims Green. While tsk tsking about the state of our country, (happy couples holding hands, prosperous youth smiling contentendly, old ladies free to walk (crawl, drag along, turtle/snail along) at their own pace..) makes me sick really, I decided i'd hit up Coles for it's finest tabacco. Finest money (um $9) can buy. Because my doctor tells me i'm female, i still have a place in my heart for those skinny slim 'pretty' Pall Mall slims. Subtle targeted marketing which works disgustingly well. AND green=menth menth menthol which ticks me more than Nike. Aaaaoo.
As I realise I have again managed to lose my favourite lighter in the possessed deep dark abyss of my hangbag, I decide to also purchase a mini-Bic to get the fire started.
"whaa colouurrr you waant?" asks Miss Korea at the counter. I laugh incredulously and say "i dont give a shit".. snap. that's what you get for trying to Serve Me Better Coles. Yeah, you'll love it.
Initially I am once again breathtaken by the slender pack's cosy fit in my palm. Curling my fingers tenderly around its smooth exterior, I cradle it toward the exit and immediately undress it from its plastic encassing and fumble greedily for the top. (hey hey hey, it's good enough for Mills and Boon) ...
Prissy, wanky and possibly a little tweeny, it seems these cigarettes must be smoked while humming along to the Ting Tings and must MUST be shared among a group of no-boys-allowed, only freshly-pubescent teenage girls while talking about "how TOTALLY lame Jason was being last night, OH EM GEEE he totally barred me off for COD and i'm SO annoyed because i REAAAAALLY wanted to like take it like further, like i'm like ready to like kiss him and like i even bought new lipgloss and like i asked him to come to the New Moon premier like WITH ME and like now he's making up like excuses and it's so lame cos i just want him to buy me a pink slushy we can like share, yeah i KNOOOW Soph, like it would be the BEST time to start kissing like even before the movie started, like we can share a straw and then he'll lean in and like kiss me and i'll taste sooooo good like cos not only do i have new lipgloss but pink slushies are so totally sweet...."
HOWEVER, I can put an XY twist on this predominately femalesque cigarette-with a beer in my left hand and an almighty belch erupting from the pit of my gut. To be less umm figurative, i overlook the pussiness of the appearance of this cigarette and can take it for its true value-the sweet sweet cool menthol tabacco goodness of its inner core. Never judge a book by it's cover they say, and hell, Stephen King is lucky many eager readers obviously live by this motto, as otherwise 'Misery', with it's cartoon 'angry typewriter' cover would not have sold even a single copy... ... ..
Slim cigarettes take me back to my smoking pre-engrained-habit-life-or-death-i-need-a-fag days... Nights sitting out the back of the One with BB on one side, Zee on the other, puffing happily on a vogue or a dunhill essence... aah. The instant refreshing menthol taste makes me feel like there's a party in my mouth and everyone (oh except him and him) is invited.
The elegantly-styled cigarette is reminiscent of Hollywood golden day movies. Length is obviously an important dimension to have in many every day... errr.. situations. Thinness is apparently admirable. Together they form an unbreakable, porn star team-impressive, desirable and most of all, arousing.
The absence of an orange tip, opting for cloud white from top to filter, is reminiscent of all good menthol brands, and admirable for its streamline and consistent appearance.
It seems there is nothing these cigarettes cant do-soothe the throat, unblock the sinuses, clear the head, refresh the breath and, most importantly, send off a waft of sweetly-scented smoke potent enough to erradicate hayfever and stuffiness for miles around. In addition to their impressive medicinal properties, they offer a buzz close enough to a full-strength cigarette to keep even the most dedicated smokers satisfied and relieved.
Now to convert all these words words words into numbers...
- Attractiveness of Pack- I know I have done a satisfactory job at describing in detail my level of contentment and jaw-dropping impressiveness of the pack in all its glory. It's a big call, but this pack is infallible. Compact while delivering quality. Attractive while remaining solid, sturdy and un-scathed even while wrestling with my wallet, keys, latest novel, plastic knife and fork set, kiwi spoon, cosmetic bag, mirror, brush, perfume, phone, eco-sack, diary, paw paw cream, nailpolish, tissue pack, chewing gum, bobby pins, swiped Gloria Jeans straws, swiped McDonald's straws, swiped commercial/industrial sized roll of toilet paper from the Indroo cinemas (YES, I KNOW, it's a sure-fire sign you need to get a job/money when you're stealing toilet paper) in my bag. So close to perfect it hurts, like a riptide. 4.9999999999 recurring out of 5 malignant tumours. (Just because admitting perfection of anything from me is as rare as me going more than a minute without whinging about something superficial.)
- Smoothness and flavour- The smoothness is comparable to a newly-tarred section of freeway. With your tyres on a recommended 36psi, the drive is bump-free and like sailing on a waveless ocean without a breath of wind... The flavour tingles your tongue nicely, while curving gently downwards into your lungs, drenching them in a coolness otherwise only achievable with Ray Bans and a subscription to Frankie. 4.5 out of 5 malignant tumours.
- Burning time- NOOOOOOOO! well even Miranda Kerr poos. Even the things that appear perfect have flaws. The burning time for Pall Mall Slims is less than impressive. yes yes yes i take into full consideration that these cigarettes are CONSIDERABLY slimmer than traditional cigarettes, it still does not excuse them from the at-least-an-ad-break-long rule:I am shocked and appalled that I can leave The Amazing Race at an ad break to go outside for a smoke and be finished and return before the end of the break! I mean, it is easier for me to blame the excessive duration of ad breaks on Prime, as it's so difficult for me to in any way slander the humble cigarette, but I think in this case I best accept the truth and admit that even this heaven-sent cigarette is flawed. I can only award 2 out of 5 for burning time.
- Lingering Taste- Not impressive really. Menthol cigarettes tend to hang on the breath for longer than a traditional cigarette, however in this case it is the menthol taste alone, and not the tabacco at all, that lingers. Of course I don't have a problem with this, but less lingering taste+quick burning time=more cigarettes smoked times more money divided by available funds (answer being somewhere between -$257 and bankruptcy) 3 out of 5 malighant tumours.
AVERAGE SCORE FOR PALL MALL SLIMS GREEN: 3.6..... Won big points for 'prettiness' and taste as you have seen, but the longevity of the glory is less than impressive. Still, highly recommended regardless of final score. Like a hot-tittied girl with a fugly face, don't totally discount it. Sometimes you have to take the good and the bad, and just paper-bag what you dont like and supplement the flaws with some decent fondling and a bit of imagination... you know..
Well for those who know best, take my advice and run with it.
For those who know I don't actually know what is best, or right from wrong for that matter, stay in school eh?
Til next time, say hi to your mum for me. Well actually she's between my legs so i'll just say hi to her myself. geez.
Vulgarly yours,
Missy.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
I AM A FAG X
With the official 40th Birthday of Sesame Street being celebrated today, I am honoured to contribute to the festivities with a fresh dose of iamafag- what more child-friendly, educational topic to be preaching about than cigarettes on a day like this? The Count taught us the various numerals between 1 and 100, Cookie Monster subliminly taught our future pot-heads how to satisfy our weed munchies as quickly and efficiently as possible, and big bird taught us that anything large and yellow should be embraced and befriended, and should not be peeled, sliced and blended with natural yoghurt and a drizzle of honey, or even used as an educational aid for demonstrating how to put on a condom.
That said, I'd like to think that iamafag will go on to teach many pure eager-eyed children not only about the glory of time consumption, but also the beauty, elegance, satisfaction, PLEASURE, brilliance, happiness and joy of our blessed cigarette industry.
"here here"...
This morning I purchased Winfield Blues (in addition to buying washing powder, gee it's good having clean underwear again...) Sticking to the 'blue' theme, I thought this a logical step forward in my experiment. Brandishing phrases on its pack like "The Genuine One" and "Force No Friend, Fear No Foe", I was preparing for "waltzing matilda" and an army of Australian Military Soldiers to come rampaging from the pack as soon as i flipped the top. Disappointment. I sure silenced them...
Now I am not the type to 'take the piss' out of Australia, afterall, I was but one home-sick moment away from getting the Southern Cross tattooed on my left shoulder blade when i was overseas rather than my more sensible, pretty choice. And I am bang quick sharp on most questions offered in the theme of Australiana in trivia questions. BUT the fact that Winfield's are "a decent smoke with that same recognisable Aussis taste" in every smoke doesn't necessarily push my buttons. float my boat. raise my flag. hit the spot.. you know.
That said, I kept my mind as open as Pammy's legs. *all together now- SNAP.
So, this is what I found..
That said, I'd like to think that iamafag will go on to teach many pure eager-eyed children not only about the glory of time consumption, but also the beauty, elegance, satisfaction, PLEASURE, brilliance, happiness and joy of our blessed cigarette industry.
"here here"...
This morning I purchased Winfield Blues (in addition to buying washing powder, gee it's good having clean underwear again...) Sticking to the 'blue' theme, I thought this a logical step forward in my experiment. Brandishing phrases on its pack like "The Genuine One" and "Force No Friend, Fear No Foe", I was preparing for "waltzing matilda" and an army of Australian Military Soldiers to come rampaging from the pack as soon as i flipped the top. Disappointment. I sure silenced them...
Now I am not the type to 'take the piss' out of Australia, afterall, I was but one home-sick moment away from getting the Southern Cross tattooed on my left shoulder blade when i was overseas rather than my more sensible, pretty choice. And I am bang quick sharp on most questions offered in the theme of Australiana in trivia questions. BUT the fact that Winfield's are "a decent smoke with that same recognisable Aussis taste" in every smoke doesn't necessarily push my buttons. float my boat. raise my flag. hit the spot.. you know.
That said, I kept my mind as open as Pammy's legs. *all together now- SNAP.
So, this is what I found..
- Attractiveness of Pack- The 3D "blockbuster" NOW IN CINEMAS 'title' aka name on the front is a little OTT. As is the ridiculously textured background and the shameless self-promotion decorating every spare square mm of the pack. (not that I am at all opposed to shameless self promotion...) But i'll give it to them, the nasty health authorities have forced their sinful warnings on 3 of the 6 faces of the pack, kudos to Winny for squeezing every penny out of the rest of the space available to them on the pack. This all said, any visual that distracts me from the dying child, rotting lungs, toxic chemical, diseased eye, lardy shit being squeezed from an aorta shamelessly splayed on the pack only contibutes to my stubborn resistance to any desire to quit. Take that government health authorities... Let's say 3 out of 5 malignant tumours, if only for trying. hard.
- Smoothness and Flavour- I dont know quite what Winfield means by 'aussie flavour'-i imagine smoking a thong, kangaroo or VK Holden wouldnt quite compare.. Though I can identify a unique tang that i haven't experienced in other cigarettes. Whether or not this slightly caramel, slightly roast-lame flavour comes from the sweat of 'true blue aussie' workers labouring endlessly over at the tabacco factory is for you to decide. The cigarette is admittedly enjoyable, offering a smooth exhale and a pleasant buzz. This one's getting 4.5 out of 5 malignant tumours.
- Burning Time- Hasty. Swift. *chatty ex-friend approaches "sorry i.. umm.. have to go i have.. umm. an appointment with... umm... my gynecologist....." *sprints erratically in the opposite direction. That sort of thing. It's as if this cigarette is so eager to leave me it would rather self-destruct at a phenomenal rate than linger in my presence a second longer. Rather than take offence to this, I say 'eff youuu'. 1 out of 5 malignant tumours. "TAKE THAT WINFIEEEEEEEELD!"..
- Lingering Taste- Much like the cigarette itself, the flavour really doesnt like to hang around. Doesn't stick around to clean up the beer bottles after the party. Doesn't stay for breakfast. Doesn't call you tomorrow.......sigh. (would a conversion to priesthood or lesbianism help me?.. what?) .... umm so yes taste, taste. It's all gone quicker than the fag itself. 1 out of 5 mlgnnt tmrs.
So although it looked like Winny Blues were gearing up for a decent score, BOOM they desend into oblivion more quickly than my falling bank balance...
AVERAGE SCORE FOR WINFIELD BLUES: 2.375.... umm let's say 2.
So here my creativity and writing stamina has shrivelled up and failed like Mr. Uh-Oh's* member when presented with a nice, young, supple asshole.
*Not his real name.
Now i'm not forcing anyone, not weilding whips and handcuffs, but I would really really really really really really really really really appreciate if YOU show some appreciation if you like what you read..Follow me? Send me a valentine? stalk back and forth past my bedroom window in the wee hours of the morning? In summary, show me some love.......
Til next time baby,
Missy.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
I AM A FAG IX
Hoy Hoy.
As a leopard never changes its spots, I too must admit my inability to change mine.
Now please dont take this as an admission to being spotty. No, I dont have herpes/measles/liverspots..
I am simply stating that I have reverted back to my good ole Marlboros. tsk tsk. BUT, with a twist, of course, as i never once approach a cigarette counter without thinking long and hard about my life objective, my (greatest, all-encompassing, un-suppressable) priority- IAMAFAG.
I would not abandon my readers...erm..possibly reader,singular, may be less of an exaggeration. So I have chosen Marlboro Blue to test for its roadworthiness, vigor and virility (though virile in the sense of 'tough shit', not in the fertile, masculine, sperm-filled sense.. right) Think of it as a step back in my attempts to lose my bias toward Marl if you will, you pessimistic hag, or as a touching-base retracing back to my roots type movement...mm.
Although I swear to myself bi/tri/quad/hexi?weekly to NEVER purchase cigarettes from anywhere but the nasty big grocery/retail joints aka woolworths, I forgie myself when Night Owl is oh so much closer, i'm there buying lollies anyway, and the $2 extra a pack can go suck it when I need a cigarette. Like a bull at a gate, no reinforced steel or electric fence is sure to stop me.
So night owl takes my money, I take their cigarettes and an assorted baggie of lollies. Done. I see it as winning, even though each credit card statement brings me closer and closer to financial ruin (not far away now) and ultimate suicide.
Eventually I remember my original sunday aim-not lollies, not just to leave the house (though sunday daytime television had me teetering dangerously close to the edge of self-destruction) and not even exclusively to buy cigarettes. No, more than that, my sunday aim was to acquire a fresh new range of stationary from Office Works. Nice.
In an attempt to 'fully psyche up' for the commencement of my bridging course, I thought a new eraser and a sweet set of highlighters would surely start me off on the right foot. Office works is a mecca not only for roaring school children seeking out more more MORE coloured textas and the bendiest ruler money can buy, but also for such hopeful, possibly deluded types as myself.
Something about the wide open spaces inside Office Works always gets my heart a pounding and my head filled with hope and belief in the glory of living. No exaggeration. The aisles and aisles of dedicated (though often overpriced) goods makes me froth. Zoo eat your heart out.
My pulse quickens as I pass tresstle tables packed with colour-coordinated office organisation equipment. "You dont need it, you DONT NEED IT" I repeat to myself in order to avoid falling for a beautiful new $49 leather-bound diary (which i would only fill with pictures of boobs and song lyrics that probably dont exist anyway)..When passing by the post-its and pushpins i avoid eye contact and quicken my pace ("no, resist, you must RESIST")..
Finally i arrive at the pencil, eraser and pen aisle. easy right? At this point I take a moment to wipe the sweat off my brow and contemplate just how close i came to maxing out my credit card on an assortment of 'oh so pretty' stationary goods. Phew.
("hey ma, Missy's gone bonkers, she's sposta be writin' 'bout fags n now she's ramblin' on 'bout farkin paperclips!!") Yes I am very aware I have fallen off topic.
Back on the horse eh? Right so where were we? Right so the POINT of this was to say that after Officeworks I somehow decided to drive to ipswich. Look i dont know why, ok. I was just on the M5 and didn't feel like getting off. AND here's the segue, while driving on the good ole Centenary Highway, I once again had an opportunity to thoroughly try and test my Blues. To wrap this all up into a raggedy and slighty frazzled bow, I am happy with what I found. Here we go...
As a leopard never changes its spots, I too must admit my inability to change mine.
Now please dont take this as an admission to being spotty. No, I dont have herpes/measles/liverspots..
I am simply stating that I have reverted back to my good ole Marlboros. tsk tsk. BUT, with a twist, of course, as i never once approach a cigarette counter without thinking long and hard about my life objective, my (greatest, all-encompassing, un-suppressable) priority- IAMAFAG.
I would not abandon my readers...erm..possibly reader,singular, may be less of an exaggeration. So I have chosen Marlboro Blue to test for its roadworthiness, vigor and virility (though virile in the sense of 'tough shit', not in the fertile, masculine, sperm-filled sense.. right) Think of it as a step back in my attempts to lose my bias toward Marl if you will, you pessimistic hag, or as a touching-base retracing back to my roots type movement...mm.
Although I swear to myself bi/tri/quad/hexi?weekly to NEVER purchase cigarettes from anywhere but the nasty big grocery/retail joints aka woolworths, I forgie myself when Night Owl is oh so much closer, i'm there buying lollies anyway, and the $2 extra a pack can go suck it when I need a cigarette. Like a bull at a gate, no reinforced steel or electric fence is sure to stop me.
So night owl takes my money, I take their cigarettes and an assorted baggie of lollies. Done. I see it as winning, even though each credit card statement brings me closer and closer to financial ruin (not far away now) and ultimate suicide.
Eventually I remember my original sunday aim-not lollies, not just to leave the house (though sunday daytime television had me teetering dangerously close to the edge of self-destruction) and not even exclusively to buy cigarettes. No, more than that, my sunday aim was to acquire a fresh new range of stationary from Office Works. Nice.
In an attempt to 'fully psyche up' for the commencement of my bridging course, I thought a new eraser and a sweet set of highlighters would surely start me off on the right foot. Office works is a mecca not only for roaring school children seeking out more more MORE coloured textas and the bendiest ruler money can buy, but also for such hopeful, possibly deluded types as myself.
Something about the wide open spaces inside Office Works always gets my heart a pounding and my head filled with hope and belief in the glory of living. No exaggeration. The aisles and aisles of dedicated (though often overpriced) goods makes me froth. Zoo eat your heart out.
My pulse quickens as I pass tresstle tables packed with colour-coordinated office organisation equipment. "You dont need it, you DONT NEED IT" I repeat to myself in order to avoid falling for a beautiful new $49 leather-bound diary (which i would only fill with pictures of boobs and song lyrics that probably dont exist anyway)..When passing by the post-its and pushpins i avoid eye contact and quicken my pace ("no, resist, you must RESIST")..
Finally i arrive at the pencil, eraser and pen aisle. easy right? At this point I take a moment to wipe the sweat off my brow and contemplate just how close i came to maxing out my credit card on an assortment of 'oh so pretty' stationary goods. Phew.
("hey ma, Missy's gone bonkers, she's sposta be writin' 'bout fags n now she's ramblin' on 'bout farkin paperclips!!") Yes I am very aware I have fallen off topic.
Back on the horse eh? Right so where were we? Right so the POINT of this was to say that after Officeworks I somehow decided to drive to ipswich. Look i dont know why, ok. I was just on the M5 and didn't feel like getting off. AND here's the segue, while driving on the good ole Centenary Highway, I once again had an opportunity to thoroughly try and test my Blues. To wrap this all up into a raggedy and slighty frazzled bow, I am happy with what I found. Here we go...
- Attractivness of Pack- As I have previously stated, Marlboro packs are a little like steamed rice. Arrowroot biscuits. Boiled broadbeans. Mischa Barton. Plain. Unremarkable. However "hip hip horray" for blue. Blue Blue Blue here's to you. I really do enjoy blue. 3 out of 5 malignant tumours
- Smoothness and Flavour- mmmhmm that's good tabacco. Soft enough flavour to offer a gentle caress through the mouth and into the lungs, though gutsy enough to remind you you're killing yourself. The smoothness is questionable however, not harsh by any means but slightly bumpy on the exhale. Is it just me or is there a hell of a lot more 'smoke' in these cigarettes than usual? Again it could simply be the direction of the wind or the play of the evening light, but i feel like more of a billowing smoke-stack than i'm used to. BUT all this said, if you smoke, you smoke, so I cant be whinging about the...erm...smoke. AND it makes me feel even cooler, when my exhaled smoked curls up around my eyes, I take on a watery, squinty-eyed look and instantly resemble an uber cool audrey hepburn or, probably more of a resemblance here, a cranky John Daly. All said, 4 out of 5 should do it.
- Burning Time- enough time to light, drag, ash, indicate, turn up music, skip track, turn up music more, adjust mirrors, drag, death stare bogan in ute, ash, drag, indicted, accelerate, turn music up, repeat track, drag, indicate, brake, merge, check speedo, ash, drag.. you get it. Long. Good. Happy times. 4.5 out of 5.
- Lingering Taste- AAAOOOOOOOOOOOOooo oooo oooo. alright ya. No, I haven't chewed tabacco before, but let's pretend I have. I would imagine that little bits of it would get stuck in your teeth, allowing you to taste that shit long after it's been "pah taaaanged" out of your mouth in an almighty spit..The flavour from a Blue is similar to the flavour i imagine from a good ole chomp on tabacky. SO yes. Impressive lingering taste. 4.5 out of 5 malignant tumours.
MARLBORO BLUES AVERAGE SCORE: like 4.
*Dear Reader. I am frightfully aware that my ratings have all basically been rounded to about 4. I am also aware that a rating system out of 5 might not have been the best way to accurately judge such a broad variety of cigarettes. If you have a problem with this, that makes two of us. As I have said to all who have complained, i'm saving the 1's and 2's out of 5's for when I get desperate and hit up the real dodgy brands. I'm talking Horizon 40's. Longbeach. Enough to make me gag and cough in preparation for what my lungs are yet to endure. But i'm steadfast. I'm dedicated. I'm on a mission, call me Apollo 21 for fuck sake just believe that I will not stop until I sink my scraggly fingers deep into every pack of sssshmokes out there.*
Now that's all cleared up, bye.
Missy.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
I AM A FAG VIII
It's days like these that make me believe that there is a god and he is pumping my veins with heroine (NB No, this is not an admission to a belief in a higher power. Agnosticism still shits on any sort of belief system not centred around looting and sacrificing animals.)
Everything went my way. Bing. zoom. everything pleasant that could have happened, did.
a) I woke up, alive, even after a full night of torturous dreams (vanessa amarossi songs on repeat, 85year old men driving '88 datsuns in front of me, the closest overtaking lane kilometres ahead, and general knife-wielding, guns-blazing, punani-raping, ugly children nightmares you have from time to time.)
b) I craved avocado and tomato on vita-wheat crackers, and what do you know, the avocados were ripe and ready to mung on. Nice
c) Leaving Lismore at the nice ripe time of 9pm meant zero-to-less-than-zero traffic on the roads.
and d) I FINALLY FOUND A CIGARETTE WITH THE PROMISE OF RIVALING MARLBORO. But really. REALLY.
Name? Choice-how appropriate, (soon they may be my everyday choice eh? )
While perambulating around Lismore Central Woolworths, cracking my knuckles in a 'i-need-a-cigarette' way, I thought it would be appropriate to a) take advantage of the 20cent-ish discount generally found on cigarettes in NSW and b)choose my next victim for testing, as my Pall Malls were all but gone.
Scanning my eyes over the myriad of 'pretty colours' aka poisonous cigarettes, I instinctively dropped my eyes down to the price-tag ("WOW, coles brand cashews are 0.02c less per 100g than Nobby's Nuts, SCORE") and found a price in the single digits. $9? fo serious? Nice. And so "pack of Choice Silvers thanks"left my lips and a delicious new pack of ciggy babies (ew) left the register lad's hands into mine.
First impression? "Veni vidi vici?" wtf? The same Marlboro crest and motto blazened the pack. WHAT? AND in addition, "Phillip Morris" as the company which produces them... I smell a rat. It's almost as if (and like i know i'm right) 'Phillip Morris' make cigarettes packaged as both Marlboros (for $12 a pack) AND Choice (for $9)....The moral? (said in deep southern-American accent) "Hell yeaah ma i just saved me 25% at the checkout."
-Shove that in your pipe and smoke it Coles Dollar Dazzlers Woolworths Red spot Bi-Lo big brand sales..
With this new discovery, i just dont see any possible way life could get better. So this is what they call nirvana. Nice.
I'd like to say that I have thoroughly tried and tested these cigarettes all day. My favourite passtime just so happens to be freeway driving in conjunction with chain smoking-nothing else in life gives me such pleasure. No nothing. No not even that. Nothing.
Playing "empty" with Colin and thanking him with ever extra 10kms he powers on, long after the empty light has come flashing on. The "Chinderah Service Centre 21kms" sign gives me new hope. Cheap thrills idealising actually arriving at the petrol bowser without the needle on the petrol gauge truly sitting well below 'E' . Cheaps thrills indeed.
So with Colin having half a belly-full of Ethanol-Fuel mix and me a belly and a half full of double-shot-skinny-flat-white-no-sugar-thanks, we're on the road again.
The joy I gain from night driving can be put down to the false sense of security i get thinking 'ah it's night, no police would be so foolish as to cross me this evening'..... Something so empowering about driving that sneaky 12kms over the speed limit that gets your heart a racing and your egotistical head growing second by second. But undoubtedly THE MOST satisfying aspect of night driving is seeing the orange glow of cinder fly out my window when I ash. Like a personal fireworks display. hm.
Ok so enough anecdotes and into the serious stuff.
Everything went my way. Bing. zoom. everything pleasant that could have happened, did.
a) I woke up, alive, even after a full night of torturous dreams (vanessa amarossi songs on repeat, 85year old men driving '88 datsuns in front of me, the closest overtaking lane kilometres ahead, and general knife-wielding, guns-blazing, punani-raping, ugly children nightmares you have from time to time.)
b) I craved avocado and tomato on vita-wheat crackers, and what do you know, the avocados were ripe and ready to mung on. Nice
c) Leaving Lismore at the nice ripe time of 9pm meant zero-to-less-than-zero traffic on the roads.
and d) I FINALLY FOUND A CIGARETTE WITH THE PROMISE OF RIVALING MARLBORO. But really. REALLY.
Name? Choice-how appropriate, (soon they may be my everyday choice eh? )
While perambulating around Lismore Central Woolworths, cracking my knuckles in a 'i-need-a-cigarette' way, I thought it would be appropriate to a) take advantage of the 20cent-ish discount generally found on cigarettes in NSW and b)choose my next victim for testing, as my Pall Malls were all but gone.
Scanning my eyes over the myriad of 'pretty colours' aka poisonous cigarettes, I instinctively dropped my eyes down to the price-tag ("WOW, coles brand cashews are 0.02c less per 100g than Nobby's Nuts, SCORE") and found a price in the single digits. $9? fo serious? Nice. And so "pack of Choice Silvers thanks"left my lips and a delicious new pack of ciggy babies (ew) left the register lad's hands into mine.
First impression? "Veni vidi vici?" wtf? The same Marlboro crest and motto blazened the pack. WHAT? AND in addition, "Phillip Morris" as the company which produces them... I smell a rat. It's almost as if (and like i know i'm right) 'Phillip Morris' make cigarettes packaged as both Marlboros (for $12 a pack) AND Choice (for $9)....The moral? (said in deep southern-American accent) "Hell yeaah ma i just saved me 25% at the checkout."
-Shove that in your pipe and smoke it Coles Dollar Dazzlers Woolworths Red spot Bi-Lo big brand sales..
With this new discovery, i just dont see any possible way life could get better. So this is what they call nirvana. Nice.
I'd like to say that I have thoroughly tried and tested these cigarettes all day. My favourite passtime just so happens to be freeway driving in conjunction with chain smoking-nothing else in life gives me such pleasure. No nothing. No not even that. Nothing.
Playing "empty" with Colin and thanking him with ever extra 10kms he powers on, long after the empty light has come flashing on. The "Chinderah Service Centre 21kms" sign gives me new hope. Cheap thrills idealising actually arriving at the petrol bowser without the needle on the petrol gauge truly sitting well below 'E' . Cheaps thrills indeed.
So with Colin having half a belly-full of Ethanol-Fuel mix and me a belly and a half full of double-shot-skinny-flat-white-no-sugar-thanks, we're on the road again.
The joy I gain from night driving can be put down to the false sense of security i get thinking 'ah it's night, no police would be so foolish as to cross me this evening'..... Something so empowering about driving that sneaky 12kms over the speed limit that gets your heart a racing and your egotistical head growing second by second. But undoubtedly THE MOST satisfying aspect of night driving is seeing the orange glow of cinder fly out my window when I ash. Like a personal fireworks display. hm.
Ok so enough anecdotes and into the serious stuff.
- Attractiveness of Pack- Meh. Nothing special. But the Marlboro-esque seal and straight-up honest 'take me or leave me' attitude of silver colour wins points for blatent obviousness. Nothing more than a 3 out of 5 malignant tumours however.
- Burning Time- Fine. As good as Marlboros (did i fucking mention i'm convinced they're the same cigarette??!!) 4 out of 5 malignant tumours.
- Smoothness and Flavour- Smooooooth as 007 (if these cigarettes had a pair of arms and a shaken-not-stirred martini in its grip I am sure it could bed me within 4 seconds flat). Flavour is milder than i prefer, though of course this is only to be expected from light/fine/pissy/man-boy/girly/virgin-bride cigarettes. However not bad, a leader among it's class. To refer back to a previous simile, it's "like sucking fresh air (BUT with the kick of a small mule) through a straw"....They easily rate 4 out of 5.
- Lingering Taste- Well to be honest the taste had little-to-no time to linger at all before another cigarette was shovelled hastily into my mouth (sorry, but the rule while driving is a new cigarette for every overtake/reflector pole/tree/roadsign...) so I dont really have much of an idea... However the tabacco can still be tasted through the kick of caffeine and after deliriously singing along to Darryl Braithwaite, AFI, Ball Park Music ( www.myspace.com/musicfromtheballpark ), Smashing Pumpkins, Regina Spektor, and an assortment of (very compatible and similar. ha) artists on my most current driving compilation....So kudos for that. 4 out of 5 malignant tumours.
AVERAGE SCORE FOR CHOICE FINES: about 4. 'now we're talking'
Well now i am almost ready for bed. With a bellyful of McCafe Hot Chocolate (with marshmallows thank you very much) and a sinful serve of Chocolate jaffa cake (for DINNER non the less) there is little more contentment i can gain from this evening.
Until next time, I command you all to enjoy the rest of your weekend and 'dont do anything i wouldnt do'. Which basically rules out anything educational, enlightening or any positive contribution to mankind.
Later,
Missy.
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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.