From : Raymi Lauren
Sent : December 29, 2004 1:34:50 PM
To : email@example.com
Subject : tom green is a lesbian
| | | Inbox
my name is raymi and i remember watching your eccentric hyperness way back on rogers cable ten because i am all canadian and shit. anyway, i am glad that you have a blog because that is how you keep your people interested and it unites cunty fans across the lands bla bla. i have a blog. i’ve had mine since 1999 and i get 3000-5000 hits a day (lie, kinda) because i am an obnoxious loudmouth who is funny and smart and marketably attractive and sometimes i put up pictures of my breasts and so i have successfully cornered that part of the market. i guess you could say i’m kinda eccentric myself but more in a self-destructive and half-assed i am bored of the world way. i write funny articles about pussy farts and how to be a small town slut and i probably make better jokes than you. i think we should be email buddies and i will post what you write back to me on my site and link you and it can be the new thing you do occasionally, either way it makes me look better. you should read my blog and copy it because it is real life mundane smut. oh yeh im 21 and bipolar manic depressive. how impressive is that. i’m putting this email on my blog, ps.
oh and my favorite thing u did i think is when your parents went away and you painted their house plaid and also the time you woke them up really late/early to watch that bon jovi concert vhs with you.
watched garden state last nite and the whole way through fil and i were fighting over the lead character guy because we thought he reminded us of ourselves and so basically the entire time it went something like
oh i would SO be doing that.
well yah but I would have won that retard award too!
but i think in the end i won because duder was on lithium since the age of ten and i understood how the character felt the most because i was on that junk before and so every five minutes more or less i’d say oh well look now he knows how to interact socially again because he’s not on lithium anymore and fil would go, yeh i know, i’m following the story too.
but at some points i thought i was more like natalie portman’s character ‘cos there’s this one part where she makes this strange noise that is suppose to be original in her bedroom in front of the guy and because i am kind of bizarre and bored of myself i pull that crap all the time
except i’m not acting
then we played truth or dare jenga while going through the stoli and soda water and i dared fil to eat a temptation cat treat and he did it immediately and my stomache churned then i started telling him all these ADD-fueled/inspired stories that didn’t really go anywhere and then i had to immitate him so i picked up the guitar and strummed it as obnoxiously as i could and made all these frustrated loud sigh noises and walked around trying to be taller.
then i annoyed cid like how aimee does ‘cos i was bored and it was kind of a setback in the cid liking me more department.
all this sitting around playing video games reading movies drinking smoking sitting in the tub getting mad at the noise the drops of water make when they hit the water my ass is the size of jupiter and my favorite thing to do when i am taking a pee is plucking out pubic hairs ’til i think i have been in there long enough.
we went outside finally and across the street out the window over my tuna sandwich i was staring at the kid hollywood clothing store and got really mad inside my head over the name of that store and all the items sold inside of it and beside it is bark & fitz some wannabe expensive rodeo drive type crap for all the spoiled dogs and you’d be surprised at how many people checked themselves out in the window reflections. well, maybe not too surprised. people are predictible. nothing is shocking anymore.
at first it was like holy cow everyone is looking at me.
they’re looking at their furry boots.
it’s that part of the season where i fucking hate my looks and want to dress to be obscure and invisible. i asked fil how he was feeling ‘cos he’s been all sick and stuff and he said fine and i said do you want to know how i am feeling? and he said what why huh do you still have cramps? and i said no, i mean, i feel flamboyant.
this jacket and these foot soldier boots you know.
then we marched all the way to the movie store and got anchorman and stopped by his mum’s to get laundry and walked it home and talked about all the fucking salt on the sidewalks and he told me that it raised the sidewalks and i said, you are smart and i think he thought i was lying but i wasn’t i was just taking a picture at the time and reading a text message from jamie about when he is coming to toronto.
i wrote to tom green today. i don’t think he will write back to me but maybe he will. i told him we should be email buddies and that he should get me a job being his coolness advisor. every “celebrity” i ever write to i suggest email friendship and it never happens. pfft. like the time i emailed pauly shore and told him he could ride around toronto with me on bicycles and he could sleep in my futon with me and other lame charming be my friend type crap and he didn’t respond at all.
i’ll wait a day or something for his response but of course i’ll post what i wrote and how i wrote it because the email is just, crap. if i got an email like it myself i would be like, ya thanks, leech.
The post is from RaymiTheMinx.com copyright 1888 to 2888
“Now, Martin, like most embittered ex-hippies, is a yuppie, and i have no idea how you’re suppose to relate to those people. And before you start getting shrill and saying yuppies don’t exist, let’s just face facts: they do. Dickoids like Martin who snap like wolverines on speed when they can’t have a restaurant’s window seat in the nonsmoking section with cloth napkins. Androids who never get jokes and who have something scared and mean at the core of their existence, like an under-fed chihuahua baring its teeny fangs and waiting to have its face kicked in or like a glass of milk sloshed on top of the violet filaments of a bug barbeque: weird abuse of nature. Yuppies never gamble, they calculate. They have no aura: ever been to a yuppie party? It’s like being in an empty room: empty hologram people walking around peeking at themselves in mirrors and surreptitiously misting their tonsils with Binaca spray, just in case they have to kiss another ghost like themselves. There’s just nothing there.
“So, ‘Hey Martin,’ I asked when I go to his office, a plush James Bond number overlooking the downtown core–he’s sitting there wearing a computer-generated purple sweater from Korea–a sweater with lots of texture. Martin likes texture. ‘Put yourself in my shoes. Do you really think we enjoy having to work in that toxic waste dump in there?’
“Uncontrollable urges were overtaking me.
“‘…and then have to watch you chat with your yuppie buddies about your gut liposuction all day while you secrete artificially sweetened royal jelly here in Xanadu?’
“Suddenly I was into this tres deeply. Well, if I’m going to quit anyway, might as well get a thing or two off my chest.
” ‘I beg your pardon,’ says Martin, the wind taken out of his sails.
” ‘Or for that matter, do you really think we enjoy hearing about your brand new million-dollar home when we can barely afford to eat Kraft Dinner sandwiches in our own grimy little shoe boxes and we’re pushing thirty? A home you won in a genetic lottery, I might add, sheerly by dint of your having been born at the right time in history? You’d last about ten minutes if you were my age these days, Martin. And I have to endure pinheads like you rusting above me for the rest of my life, always grabbing the best piece of cake first and then putting a barbed-wire fence around the rest. You really make me sick.’
“Unfortunately the phone rang then, so I missed what would have undoubtedly been a feeble retort…some higher-up Martin was in the middle of a bum-kissing campaign with and who couldn’t be shaken off the line. I dawdled off into the staff cafeteria. There, a salesman from the copy machine company was pouring a Styrofoam cup full of scalding hot coffee into the soil around a ficus tree which really hadn’t even recovered yet from having been fed cocktails and cigarette butts from the Christmas party. It was pissing rain outside, and the water was drizzling down the windows, but inside the air was as dry as the Sahara from being recirculated. The staff were all bitching about commuting time and making AIDS jokes, labeling the office’s fashion victims, sneezing, discussing their horoscopes, planning their time-shares in Santo Domingo, and slagging the rich and famous. I felt cynical and the room matched my mood.
The post is from RaymiTheMinx.com copyright 1888 to 2888
fil is mad because the majority of the time, cid is choosing that of my company over his and last nite while watching return of the king was the last straw because cid sat on me again and fil felt insulted and secretly in my head i was like YES! SCORE! FINALLY! YESSSSSSSSS!!!! but still i made explanations as to why the cat is all diggin’ my grill and fil said we could just have each other and leave and i was like FINE!
but we didn’t go anywhere.
we better drink all the booze by new year’s eve. this is ridiculous.
i was up from 5 30am tossing and turning with the worst menstrual cramps ever and fil had the gayest fevery hallucinations about return of the king.
now it’s all about burnout 3.
it feels like a monday, yesterday felt like sunday.
though the feeling of today could still pass for sunday.
i got the wonderland soundtrack yesterday from music world with my gift certificate. man, that place is a dive.
i hate buying cd’s. i love it when it’s over. though the whole figuring out what you want, that process is stressful because you have to get it right and you also have to look like you know what you are looking for ‘cos if you don’t those music weasels come up to you all hello can i help you find what you are looking for ma’am? and then you are all, um ya, do you have that cd by that band that i already know you don’t have and i know you have never even heard of them because you’re a commercial-music-loving-fuckpig but i’m going to ask if you have anything by them anyhow just to prove that my musical knowledge exceeds yours above and beyond and in fact i should replace you here but lucky for you i am a lazy drunk so whatever anyway do you have ladytron? and i know you don’t because i just searched for it in your immaculately shitty, alphabetically scattered piss-poor what you call organized system of finding music what with these general terms of music genre to plunk in various artists who are nowhere near having anything to do with alternative pop and/or rock music, i already know yo do not have ladytron anywhere in this store so no i don’t need your help in finding it or anything else because i am embarassed enough to be standing here right now with a 25 dollar gift certificate, trying really really hard to not fuck this up so please, just leave me alone.
uhhhh doooooiii, you’ll have to check the catalogue for ladytron.
The post is from RaymiTheMinx.com copyright 1888 to 2888