the OJ trial as told by Dr Seuss

THE OJ TRIAL AS TOLD BY DR. SEUSS
I did not kill my lovely wife.
I did not slash her with a knife.
I did not bonk her on the head.
I did not know that she was dead.

I stayed at home that fateful night.
I took a cab, then took a flight.
The bag I had was just for me.
My bag! My bag!
Hey, leave it be.

When I came home I had a gash.
My hand was cut from broken glass.
I cut my hand on broken glass.
A broken glass did cause that gash.

I have nothing, nothing to hide.
My friend, he took me for a ride.
Did you take this person's life?
Did you do it with a knife?

I did not do it with a knife.
I did not, could not, kill my wife.
I did not do this awful crime.
I could not, would not, anytime.

Did you hit her from above?
Did you drop this bloody glove?
I did not hit her from above.
I cannot even wear that glove.

I did not do it with a knife.
I did not, could not, kill my wife.
I did not do this awful crime.
I could not, would not, anytime.

And now I'm free, I can return
To my house for which I yearn.
And to my family whom I love.
Hey now I'm free -- Give back my glove!!

By some total champion

good evening any who actually read this damn thing.
have you ever had the feeling that you've said too much. its that sinking feeling you get right after someone has told you to shut up, and you realize that what you have been saying has not only been boring and self centred, but also incredibly hurtful, insensitive and tactless. also talking wantonly about your percieved problems is a great way to let things slip that you never intended. and then that deadly feeling, 'im boring' and as much as you may have known it before it really comes and hits home at that moment, no matter how confident you thought you were. and much as you feel like a fool theres really nothing you can say. by apologising you seem only more of the very thing you fear. your teenaged insecurities begin to play on your mind, and then, if you dont stop and pull your mind away, it all comes crashing down, every little thing youve said or done in the past week that has made you look like an idiot and you have singularly failed to care about. there is nothing like the genuine boredom or discomfort of another person to really tear you down. and when you do tell them something that hurts, offends or is purely unnecessary to that person, you feel so unnecessary yourself. particularly when that truth insights contempt or a lowering of opinion, it really becomes too much to bear. and while this may seem to many to be the rantings of a confused and insecure teenage girl, and that may be, nobody likes to be undermined by their own sense of self-disappointment and embarrassment

jocular

how cool is the word jocular?!

Melancholy

ive often wondered what the true meaning of melancholy is. or rather the true feeling. its such an elusive emotion, kept in the dark, almost a default setting for the human condition. and yet so many seem to know it so well. do we all know it the same, as if its programmed into our very DNA, we know what it is, yet we never do. and even then, you are given to wonder, does everybody feel that sinking, sweet sadness that creeps up when you need it most and least.

and how to describe it. ive heard that feeling called self-indulgence, wallowing, and a dozen things, but thats not how it feels. if it was simple wallowing, how is it accepted in those wonderful, soul-tearing songs that drag or lead you back to that magical melancholy. things like yellow ledbetter, everybody hurts, im lonely (but i aint that lonely yet), holiday in spain, little fall of rain (from les mis), throw your arms around me, even the real thing, nuts as th song itself is. these songs can make you cry and love that you are crying. they contain fantastic lines written by people who seem to understand, and who have found a way to somehow articulate what you cant or wont. "i guess the winter makes you laugh a little slower, makes you talk a little lower".

a few months ago i found myself thinking that guys, because so many are incredibly emotionally stunted, did not feel this incredible, moving emotion, that they were somehow not able to find the sensitivity or subtlty to really get it. but i realized recently how very short sighted that opinion was, and is, but it also brings up a strange idea. not to bitch again about lit, but they have spent some time teaching us that certain people, like Daisy Buchanan from The Great Gatsby, are incapable of feeling true love, or any kind of real emotion. i beleive that yes there may be those who cannot feel love, but are there those who escape or lose melancholy. what do these people do? how can they live without that sweetness that only comes through a period of self-evaluation? and how can they bear to embark on self-evalutation without first a feeling of melancholy and a deep desire to understand. that feeling of looking into your own soul and trying to dig at the inadequacies is as painful as poking your own eyeball with a pointy stick, but somehow it all seems so fascinating. until you reach a real black spot, something you wish nobody could ever see, least of all you, and you recoil in horror, yet somehow that wistful cobwebby feeling draws you right back in till you want desperately with that desperate knowing, to know more and more and you venture out (or in) again.

the dictionary from MS Word has this to say about melancholy; sad, depressed, downheated, miserable, down in the dumps, down, low, glum, gloomy, unhappy, despondant, dejected, dismal; encarta seems to have got it a bit better;

1. pensive sadness: thoughtful or gentle sadness
2. gloomy character: the gloomy character of somebody said to have an excess of black bile, one of the four bodily humors that were once thought to determine people’s health and emotional state (archaic)

although the last is perhaps a little odd.but still, they are beginning to get the idea i think. the fact is, there are no words, and not to repeat the hackneyed cliche, but is like trying to describe colour to a blind person. the closest i can come is to refer to the feeling resting in your stomach when you cry for somebody else. its detatched, and slightly cold, but still present, slightly surreal and beautiful, like lace and cobwebs, somehow not solid. in fact, no, the best way to describe this feeling of which i am now in the grip, forcing me to sit crying at my computer, trying to quietly to analyze what i could never really understand, the only way to describe, is in the smooth, even piano beat, understated violin, simplicity of sound, or even an amazing soprano effort (a la mio babbino caro). its in a slow steady ballad or an aria of broken, unrequited love. its everywhere, and we recognise it, glorify it, yet never really seem to speak of it. thats so strange. thats so human.

the putrification and bastardization of humanity that is english literature

what the fuck is the point of a lit class, i ask you?! i mean, you read depressing books, through which you learn that you are stupid, human kind has befouled itself through its acts of dissipation and that anyone who chooses to rebel will be visited by some form of horrible and graphic retribution. as if we dont learn those things soon enough anyway. english classes/teachers may treat you like a retarded 4yr old, but at least they dont purposely try to impart a bleak and hopeless world view on every unfortunate being that passes through.

that, i suppose, is all well and good, but theres more. they take perfectly wonderful texts (Ibsen's Ghosts, Medea, The Lost Honor Of Katharina Blum, The Great Gatsby, etc) and impart an awful lot of meaning, mainly resultant from their own sense of disappointment in their sad little lives, totally unmeant by the author. this includes misreading of symbols, drawing themes outta thin air and generally crapping on. even this may be acceptable if it wasnt for the teachers air of contemptuous disdain for any opinion not belonging to them and their whole attitude of arrogance.

and god forbid you should actually voice an opinion *gasp*, or worse....and opinion NOT out of spark or brody notes. unthinkable! i mean, its a subject supposedly based around personal views and the ability to argue a point of view. that is, not a subject where you are greatly rewarded for quoting the teachers stupid fucking ideas numerous times in a text. and for students with a more puckish, perverse,.... annoying sense of humour, this presents a huge problem. those who exoerience this, like me, will know what i mean. by the bery fact that some jerk is patronizing your actual, semi-constructive point of view, that sense of humour almost forces you to come up with increasingly pointless ideas, such as the link between Ghosts and Starwars characters. you dont understand why you are compelled to do this, and yet you cant help it. even write it in essays, or quote unhelpfully to conclude "that is not it, that is not what i meant at all", which as you will probably notice, negates everything you have written to date. but on the upside, it does piss off that arrogant fucking bitch you have for a teacher. mine is, admittedly not too bad, pretty odd herself, until you point out that quoting in french from a totally different text at odd intervals is not only pointless but also highly pretentious, or express an opinion a llittle out of the ordinary. then they have th gall to put on reports things like "needs to apply herself". well, all i can really say, is fuck them! fuck them all and may they rot forever in eternal torment!

my life questions - any answers, guesses, whatever, let me know

Why isn't phonetic spelled the way it sounds?
Do you need a silencer if you are going to shoot a mime?
Have you ever imagined a world with no hypothetical situations?
If a 7-11 is open 24 hours a day, 365 days a year, why are there locks on the doors?
If a cow laughed, would milk come out her nose?
If nothing ever sticks to TEFLON, how do they make TEFLON stick to the pan?
If you tied buttered toast to the back of a cat and dropped it from a height, what would happen?
You know how most packages say "Open here". What is the protocol if the package says, "Open somewhere else"?
You know that little indestructible black box that is used on planes, why can't they make the whole plane out of the same substance?
How do they get a kangaroo to cross at that yellow road sign?
If it's tourist season, why can't we shoot them?
What's another word for thesaurus?
Why do they sterilize the needles for lethal injections?
Why is abbreviation such a long word?
Why did kamikaze pilots wear helmets?
When you choke a smurf, what color does it turn?
What was the best thing before sliced bread?
What do you do when you see an endangered animal that eats only endangered plants?
Would a fly without wings be called a walk?
Why is mozarella in the bobbly packaging 3cents more than in the sqaure one?
Why do people who know the least know it the loudest?
If a turtle doesn't have a shell, is he homeless or naked?
When it rains, why don't sheep shrink?
Should vegetarians eat animal crackers?
If the cops arrest a mime, do they tell him he has the right to remain silent?
When companies ship Styrofoam, what do they pack it in?

Count Sockular

Count Sockular, that most brave and adventurous of adventurers has completed a test of noble knighthood and passed into our hallowed ranks. all of inferior rank and station must now bow to him in his sockish wisdom and might, as to all in our order. his might shall be recognised across our lands, and any failure to comply will result in hefty and frequent punishment
this edict sent down from
your sock-sent mistress
Sockleena

jeffries the mighty sock lord

in other news, we have had a recent initiation in our sock dominion. his sockname is JEFFERS LORD OF THE SOCKS and it shall be feared throughout the lands as your rightful lord and master; all outside the noble rank of socklord shall bow to the infinite sockish wisdom!

note - those of un-sock class are to be reminded that they are required to submit as many knitted socks to fuel the armies. any failure in this respect and the punishments will be serious!

fantastic beyond fantastic quotes

• all columnists should be beaten to a pulp and converted back into paper"
• 20th centrury? i could pick a century out of a hat, blindfolded, and get a better one
• its a charmed life, innocence wild, crayola skies for a thousand miles"
• a bowl of oatmeal tried to stare me down....and won
• moderate strength is shown in violence, supreme strength is shown in levity
• Label jars, not people
• Koo Koo Kachoo
• We are everyday angels
• "Sic semper tyrannus."(Your dinosaur is ill.)
• Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astaire did, but she did it backwards and in high heels.
• Duct tape is like the Force. It has a light side and a dark side, and it holds the universe together
• Artificial Intelligence is no match for Natural Stupidity!
• Nothing is fool-proof to a sufficiently talented fool.
• The next time you feel like complaining remember: Your garbage disposal probably eats better than thirty percent of the people in this world.
• Boldly Going Nowhere.
• I saw Elvis. He sat between me and Bigfoot on the UFO.
• Some days you are the bug; some days you are the windshield.
• I am the walrus
• It's always darkest before dawn. So if you're going to steal your neighbor's newspaper, that's the time to do it
• I Do Whatever My Rice Krispies Tell Me To.
• If you believe in telekinesis, raise my hand.
• Time may be a great healer but it's also a lousy beautician.
• Change is inevitable, except from a vending machine.
• Everyone seems normal until you get to know them.
• When you make a mistake, make amends immediately. It's easier to eat crow while it's still warm.
• It's only unethical if you get caught.
• It was recently discovered that research causes cancer in rats.
• I don't approve of political jokes...I've seen too many of them get elected
• Welcome To Shit Creek ~ Sorry, We're Out of Paddles!
• Remember, double negatives are a complete no-no
• Some people are only alive because it is illegal to shoot them.
• Try not to let your mind wander. It is too small to be out by itself.
• Fashion tip #56: never wear anything that panics the cat
• Education-the path from cocky ignorance to miserable uncertainty

Socks & Les Mis

yes, as you can guess, my loving compatriots, i am still wearing my wonderful, walking-in-warm-scented-mud socks. and while wearing these socks i have an isatiable craving for tea, i think i may go and find some.

ok, got my tea, and settled in with my socks and blankey to write, as captain von trapp said "what may be the last blog ill be able to write for some time". yes, sadly, study catches up with the best of us and i suddenly realized that having done nothing of use for several months it is time to force my nose firmly back to the grindstone.

on a totally unrelated topic, everyone must, when they are presented with the chance, see Les Miserables. i've been writing furiously for years begging and imploring the theatre company to tour, bt to be honest, even if they did, perth isnt exactly up there on the cultural ladder. in short, les mis is without doubt the most tragic and phenomenal pieces of theatre to be seen, ever, the world over, well not quite but it really is good.
the drama begins in a prison where male protagonist Jean Valjean is in the process of serving 19 yrs hard labour for stealing a loaf of bread then trying to evade arrest. in a powerful and moving moment of sonorous interchange between Valjean and prison guard Javert Valjean is given his parole and becomes again a free man. he shacks up with a kindly priest who gives him food and shelter, then while the generous gent sleeps Valjean attempts to make off with the silver. in doing so he is surprised by the priest who's head he bashed with a candlestick while running away.
Hardly surprising, our doubtful hero is arrested by two of london's finest who drag him back to face the injured priest. injured priest behaves very well and states that in fact he gave the silver to Valjean and then goes on with a really long speech about how he has 'bought his soul for god'
valjean goes straight, becomes mayor of a french town and opens a factory into which comes broken single mother Fauntine to work. she is exposed as a 'fallen woman' by a bitchy co-worker and is fired and forced into prostitution to pay medical bills for her daughter Cosette. after contracting what is thought to be consumption she meets valjean on the streets as she is dying and begs him to care for her sick child. he agrees
throughout all of this the nasty Javert has been seeking Valjean for breaking his parole, and finally thinks that he has found him. he goes to the town mayor (u guessed it, Valjean) to tell him that he has found this criminal. Valjean has a large soliliquy about the moral dilemma between the truth and saving his skin, at the end of which he chooses to spare the man and tell Javert who the true criminal is. he does and then escapes arrest to journey to the village where Cosette lives with an innkeeper and his wife.
the innkeeper and his wife are completely odious and treat cosette very badly while they treat their own daughter Eponine very well. in short, Cosette is bought from them and removed with several amusing musical interludes in the process.
at this point, shortly before the end of the 1st act, the revolutionaries are introduced. they are the students involved in the 1st, failed attempt at revolution against the monarchy in france. hardly surprising, in this rabble of rebels is the sensitive yet rugged hero, the young French revolutionary Marius. in an accidental meeting Marius and a significantly grown-up Cosette fall in love (and noone saw that coming or anything),the night before she is sent away to school in Paris. Marius returns to the oh-so-classy pub where his friends plot revolution and bores them with his newfound love for cosette in yet another rather moving vocal interlude. Anyhow, in an amazing coincidence Eponine, the daughter of the cruel innkeepers, is also in love with marius, an incredibly obvious fact he hasnt yet realised. he asks her to carry a message to cosette, but on the way she is intercepted by Valjean who learns through her of his daughter and marius' love. he also learns of the revolutionary plot timed for the next day, knowing all the while that it is DOOMED TO FAIL! in some odd loop of logic he rushes away to fight at the side of the revolutionaries. anyhow, they fight, everyone dies but marius and valjean, including the tragic eponine. during the fighting valjean and javert meet finally face to face, but valjean chooses to spare his sad and pathetic life. this act of random kindness seems to unhinge javerts mind and confined way of thinking, and after a protracted and somewhat catchy soliliquy he throws himself from a bridge into fast running water. valjean dies from his battle injuries but never fear, all is not lost, he lives just long enough to tell the story of his life to cosette and marius and see them marry, assumably in an effort to live happily ever after.
THE END
g'nite

A Day in the Life

I read the news today, oh boy,
About a lucky man who made the grade
And thought the news was rather sad
I just had to laugh
I saw the photograph.

He blew his mind out in a car
He didn't notice that the lights had changed
A crowd of people stood and stared
They'd seen his face before
Nobody was really sure
If he was from the House of Lords.

I saw a film today oh boy
The English Army had just won the war
A crowd of people turned away
But I just had the book.
I'd love to turn you on

Woke up, fell out of bed,
Dragged a comb across my head
Found my way downstairs and drank a cup,
And looking up I noticed I was late.
Found my coat and grabbed my hat
Made the bus in seconds flat
Found my way upstairs and had a smoke,
Some body spoke and I went into a dream

I read the news today oh boy
Four thousand holes in Blackburn, Lancashire
And though the holes were rather small
They had to count them all
Now they know how many holes it takes to fill theAlbert Hall.
I'd love to turn you on

and now the st hildas verse....
I went to school today, oh boy
Another 'lucky' girl had made the grade
And though the news was rather sad
Well I just had to laugh
I'd seen the aftermath

She threw her mind up with her lunch
She didn’t notice that her life had changed
A crowd of people stood and stared
They’d seen her face before
Nobody was really sure if she was one of them or more


interesting fact, lindsay lohan wrote a song of the same name. i recommend you check it out if you're in the mood to be nauseated, its quite an experience. just goes to prove that no matter how good a band is (ie the beatles) there will always be an obnoxious american teeny-bopper to rip them off (ie lindsay)

my socks (and the hobo gloves)

i maintain that there is no feeling in this world better than brand new, warm, fuzzy socks. my socks are quite amazing. for starters, there is the feeling of receiving socks; this can come from many places, but in my case socks are a, 'unbirthday present' from my beloved grandmother (beloved chiefly becuase of the socks). while this may seem somewhat odd i look forward for months to the time of new socks, guessing at the colour, fabric, texture and warmth of the socks, and envisioning that sensuous feeling of walking in partially melted marshmallow or warm mud.

these particular socks are bright pink and made of something that feels like duck-feathers without the problem of an attatched duck. they have a certain sensation of walking through heaven and hell simultaneously. this is even more interesting as my use of this metaphor and these socks proves a certain beleif in ecclesiastical principles and teaching which i had no idea was in there, how odd.

the only negative aspect of these delectable socks is their slipperyness. wonderful as they are they did cause a particularly embarrassing fall in my front garden this morning while looking for my cat. so if you think of it a certain way it could actually be considered the fault of the cat rather than the socks, for the socks are completely wonderous and incredible, like the dalai lama or the beach in winter.

while in telling you all about my wonderful socks i may as well tell u about my hobo gloves. these wonderous gloves were a birthday present (thank u kate w) of a particularly useful nature. they are green, blue, pink, red, yellow and orange striped and has no fingertips. these are great gloves because i can use them to type to you lot, read in bed, distraction from homework and all that cal. they also have an unusual and surprising use. when drinking tea, coffee, cocoa or a similar beverage on a cold day these golves provide the perfect warming mechanism. while the wool distributes the majoirty of the heat and sheilds your hands from that burny feeling you can still periodically gain extra warmth from placing your un-gloved fingers on the cup, then removing them before said burny feeling kicks in.

dammit, the moving people have come back. there is now a large, imposing moving van parked on our kerb. as such, it is in my personal space, which is grossly intrusive. i think i'll go shout at them for a while, ta ra my sweetlings.

bloody great quote

hows this for a fantastic quote,

"Are you telling me you’re attracted to a disembodied set of eyeballs?"

- NCIS

gotta love that show,if only for pure amusement at their characters stupidity

batfink

Batfink, just cos

well my dear readership, i your leader have returned, all bow, grovel and fear me!
haha, how good does it feel to finally have your own kindom where all is in your control and you canpost pictures of batfink without getting stoned to death. in fact, i do beleive that batfink should appear in moreof everything. major television programs have so far in fact shown a deplorable lack of batfink. for example, have you ever seen even a whiff of batfink in any of the states current affairs or news programs?i think not, and thats not right dammit!

people

some people are only alive because it is illegal to shoot them, ie; tourists...