n'est pas

There's nothing going on today here. I'm bored as fuck, provided that fuck is as bored as tombs, which better be at least half as bored as I am, because I am pretty bored.

I don't care what anyone says, and by anyone I mean stomp and stammer, I like the Dandy Warhols. You know what I don't like? Stomp and Stammer. Yet I still read it's at-least-two-weeks-too-late pile o' crap every month, like I really need last month's concert lineups. They have enticed me with their freeness, those bastards. I'm going to start my own zine, except I'm not going to call it a zine. Because that word makes it sound like all the editors are wearing flannel shirts and listening to Mudhoney.

Hell, I have access to free Xeroxes. I'm as pseudo-intellectual as any of those shits putting out all that other xeroxed name-dropping black and white irony.

Who's with me? It's going to be like McSweeneys except not good or professional.
Are you ready to be not good or professional? Can you handle it? Can you?

I hope this goes at least half as well as my attempt to start my band, Camp Basement, which now consisits of me and my Rubix cube (who has, as of late, been rather slow on the uptake).

I am so good at starting projects that don't go anywhere. I am even champion, I think. I would attribute it to me being a gemini, but I don't believe in that shite. (But more power to anyone that does. I mean, we have to have something to fill the void so we won't have to admit to ourselves that there really is no meaning to anything.)

On a completely unrelated note, I read "The Stranger" again last night. Charming book. Quick read. Highly recommended, especially to those who are students of astrology and/or religion. If I were The Cure I might just write a song about it. But as I am merely Camp Basement I will just sit and yell in your face and throw mashed potatoes at the wall and maybe sacrifice some rodents all in the good name of absurdism and in the badass name of ROCK AND ROLL. Motherfuckers.

Jal has been idle on AIM for 42hrs and 42 mins. That sounds like a really really rediculously stupid record.

What rot, I say. What rot you chaps. I really want to bring back semi-archaic British-isms.