February 20, 2003

Unemployed

Argh. Unemployed. Argh.

Posted by rory at 01:50 PM

February 19, 2003

Cat Litter

I've promised to write this. Not to anyone important. Just me. And, one hopes, to the million of adoring fans who hang on my every word, like a rabid Jack Russell you were only trying to be nice to, only now you're about to lose half the sleeve of your sweater. Which is just because you're madly swinging that damn canine over your head, in some bizarre test of just how much room it would take. And you lack a cat.

Ah, cat. What I was going to write about. See, over the past few months I've developed, nay, honed a feel for the feline. A penchant for the pussy. Captivated by a kitty cat, I've stayed awake far longer than has been good for me. I've discovered hours of the morning that resisted my enquiries. I've found shows on satellite TV that, I've now realised, are on at those ungodly hours for a reason. Wide awake, unable to dream, unwilling to sleep, I'll turn, and reach for a tissue every now and then.

And it can all be yours, too. I'll show you how. Just queue up here. Form an orderly line…

I've promised to write this. Not to anyone important. Just me. And, one hopes, to the million of adoring fans who hang on my every word, like a rabid Jack Russell you were only trying to be nice to, only now you're about to lose half the sleeve of your sweater. Which is just because you're madly swinging that damn canine over your head, in some bizarre test of just how much room it would take. And you lack a cat.

Ah, cat. What I was going to write about. See, over the past few months I've developed, nay, honed a feel for the feline. A penchant for the pussy. Captivated by a kitty cat, I've stayed awake far longer than has been good for me. I've discovered hours of the morning that resisted my enquiries. I've found shows on satellite TV that, I've now realised, are on at those ungodly hours for a reason. Wide awake, unable to dream, unwilling to sleep, I'll turn, and reach for a tissue every now and then.

And it can all be yours, too. I'll show you how. Just queue up here. Form an orderly line…

First of all, like any go-fast powder that threatens your way of life, you have to take it seriously. And often. It's not enough to mess about with 'experimenting'. No-one ever realised the full, and quite possibly final, effects of a recreational substance just by 'experimenting'. Experimenting, cried the scientist, would have resulted in the atom being merely chipped, the speed of sound somewhat dented, and Archimedes would have only been a prune-skinned old fart, who'd fallen asleep in the bath. Again.

And then, when you're taking it seriously (and often - did I mention often?), you'll probably think that's it. Yep. That's it, you'll say, and order another gram.

Poor, delusional, and slightly sinus-ridden reader - allow me to put down these humble, uh, lines, for your pleasure.

That art of nasal imbibitions of the oxidised alkaloid bear some reflection. And not just because you're doing it off a mirror. There is an art, a craft, perchance even a ritual that should be followed to maximise the effects.

First of all - blow your nose. Yes, your brain almost screams at you for doing so - you're frantically calculating the financial impact of what you've just put in that tissue. You did use a tissue, didn't you? Or are you alone, reading this, and have dispensed with all social niceties, in your haste to follow my advice? Or are you in a group of people -- and have dispensed with all social niceties -- and you are now wondering what to do with your left hand? Trust me…

We're just popping into the bathroom. This is where it gets really interesting. Wash your hands. See? I told you to trust me.

Oh, I almost forgot - we need to nip into the kitchen first. Go turn the oven on - nothing too hot. Just enough to heat a plate. Now get a plate. The bigger, and flatter the better. An off-white colour is best, for reasons of aesthetic as well as aim. There's a reason that the runway lines are clearly marked for incoming aircraft. You don't want to get stuck in a holding pattern. You want the nasal traffic controller to guide you down with the bats of clarity. Pop the plate in the oven, and return to the bathroom.

Next, imagine what it must be like for your sinuses. No, stop trying to look up them. It's not pretty. I said imagine. There they are, completely clogged with gunk, absolutely snowed in, as it were. You need… a snow-blower, a sinus-sweeper, something to clear those passages, and prepare them for the blizzard of all line.

Stand over the sink, and turn on the water. Cup your hands… come back here! I said, cup your hands, fill them with water, and sniff it up. You'll know you've done it right when it feels like you've just had one of those awful beach experiences where the sea and your nasal passages meet, and neither one bothered to stop and introduce themselves.

Now blow. Feels good, doesn't it? Gesundheit.

Now return to the kitchen, and with the help of a oven mitt, retrieve the plate. It should be warm, but not scalding. The idea here is to dry out the kitty. No-one likes damp pussy.

Upend the sachet, apportion, serve, chop, slice, dice, and line 'em up. You know the drill.

But before you take rollcall - grab a tissue. Scrunch it up into a tube that can be shoved inside that nostril, and twisted around. A bit like a mad plumber with a hankering for the Spanish Inquisition. And absolutely no clue. Repeat for the other nostril.

And finally - as you clutch that rolled up paper symbol of trade in your hand (never knowing how many syphilitic lepers have used it), squeeze your nose shut, and blow hard until you feel slightly dizzy.

At this point you swoop down, like a transatlantic flight that's just sustained a sudden loss of cabin pressure, along with, albeit brief, world fame. You inhale, that try line disappearing in your very own test match series.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

Posted by rory at 08:45 AM

February 18, 2003

Survivor: International

Ant, after being asked what he thought of an 'Survivior International' where the contestants are from different countries, and not just the States: "Yeah, but the others would probably end up cooking and eating the American."

Posted by rory at 07:35 PM | Comments (1)

February 15, 2003

City, sun

Spent the day frying various bits of me at Sun City. Stunning friends.

Posted by rory at 08:40 PM