I’m a bear called Jeremy

I can do most anything

I can play and I can sing

Little tunes like Do Re Mi

When he heard me sing

The King of Birds said to me

“Here’s for you to sing

A whistle that goes

tweet-tweet, tweet-tweet,

tweet-tweet, tweet-tweet,

TWEET!”

this bear is so cute i want to vomit

we had a fancy lunch today and then we had a fancy dinner and we watched chris rock say the N-word a lot and after a long while of laughing i said fuck man, all he ever does is complain about being black, wtf?

maybe this is where i went wrong

maybe

i should base my career on white-guilt and pace around with a microphone and bitch about white people stuff and every fucking white celebrity that’s ever fucked up large and bring it back full circle to it all being because they is white.

like what the fuck chris rock, you’re fucking hilarious, and so is/are every other comedian making fun of their race.

why can’t comedy just go back to cute innocent stuff like banana peels and seltzer bottles and some old guy getting really really mad and shaking his fist with a newspaper in it at some cute dog that just shat on the carpet, you know, mr. wilson styles?

why can’t the world be smart enough to be satisfied with monty python and watching tommy boy over and over and over again? why do women comedians always have to complain about their fucking shitty husbands and tampons and the men comics make up lies about some hobag in their hotel room and the wife chained to the kitchen sink.

lazy.

not funny.

disappointing.

trash.

straight up.

if i were a stand-up comedian i’d most likely just stand there shaking my head at everybody and raising my eyebrows and say all this crap that only makes sense to me and some deaf lady and then throw my hands up in the air out of frustration and be hurt that nobody laughed and have zero capacity of piecing together the possibility that just maybe it was because i was insulting every single person in the audience and not in a funny ha ha way.

fuck it.

so far today’s plan of detox has failed. fuckin’ holidays.

a dog is barking in the alley and it is quite loud, the little focker could be in the closet. though, it’s so damn cold out, if i was out there myself, tied to a lamp post, i wouldn’t be making polite conversation to passersby like a collar on me ain’t no thang and my cunty owners are staring out at me while they dip their fancy bread in olive oil, wearing matching asshole sweaters and talk about how much they love me.

fuck them! BARK BARK BARK RAWAAAAAOOOORR BARK BARKITY BARK FUUUUUUUCK!

i got in trouble for writing about that girl and making her out to be a big town drunk because sean shit-disturbed and i show up and adan is all yo dood she read that shit and i’m like serious? and he’s all yeh and i’m all fuuuuck and sean is all yeh guy she printed that shit and has it in her purse! and i’m all yo what the bloody fuck why you’s gotsta start ruckus dood i came here for holiday festivities wha’gwan and girl be all yo my sober friends know me a different way, seen? and i’m all bloop bloop f this soap opera noise, i’m outtie, PAYCE! you’s gotsta understand, aiight, i write things in an amusing light, ya’s ain’ts gotsta feel all like entertainment fodder for my peeps and shit i had notteeng else to write ’bout, dig? and she’s like, werd.

and then we talked about christmas shopping.

you can buy a raymi poster that jamie made of me way back when my hair was orange and shorter and i wore it in tiny pigtails occasionally because it makes you think i am 15 and chew bubblegum and talk about boys and write in cute little flowery journals with matching flowery-print pencils and put hearts as the dot on my “i’s”.

boink!

oh and ps if you don’t want a big dumb picture of me looking at you on your wall then you can buy jamie’s other depressing artwork things that will make you feel bad about yourself and lack of creative abilities and maybe call up an old highschool buddy and say hey tod, sorry i’ve been out of touch the last little while, you wanna meet at the museum and look at dinosaur fossils?

yep.

hey raymi/lauren,

How do you write so poetically and heartfelt? I think you should write a blog or a book even on how you write better than jack kerouac. really. ive started his ‘on the road’ since you posted your old essay about it, and when i read it i think raymi does it better.

i want to be like you and write like you and look like you and

anyway.

maybe because i am modern day and a girl and aware of my drunkenry and

mania and because i am so lippy and sharp it gets others around me

going so then i have a lot of material to work with. one of my fave

writers is douglas coupland, he speaks honestly and i find his stuff

very amusing because it is simple and makes you go DAMN i know EXACTLY

what he is talking about. if u just relate everything you know or ever

experienced in life and then write it in a way so people are like wow

what a genius how does she know this, they begin to think that u are a

genius but really u are just writing about something u experienced

once. use humour too. i dont want to teach the world how to write

like me, only certain nice people who make a point to email and ask.

everyone has their own writing voice. mine comes from pain and

depression and cynicism, thats how i look at the world and i feel bad

about being negative so i put a spin on things by way of humour and

then everyone is like oh ok that’s funny, so it’s ok.

I don’t really know of any parties yet this Christmas. Not on the scale of the ones I threw at my old place. I live in a swank loft on Richmond now that’s too damn small for a party. They have a party Room in my building but I think that’s really, really gay.

And no more coke buffets either. I think I was one of the last hold outs….

but I’ll keep you posted if I hear anything

yeh those party rooms in loft buildings are totally gay and corny and

thats why theyre a hit because it’s like you rented out the community

centre in your co-op and everyone has to whisper and the lights go off

by 1am so you are not allowed to have a sleepover party

paxil never bothered me at all, barely knew i was taking it, that I guess is

the point with that type of shit, strange as this may sound over 1000 live

shows and the whole band was always sober while playing, with the exception

of a communal type 1 shot of booze thing right before we went on.

drink never solved a whole lotta anything for me either butt it never hurts

to see if one last time it will.

I just had a weird flash of something like Burroughs, Kerouacs’ friendship

obvious reason for you not as much for me, I met Bill in Kansas while

Ministry was hanging out doing video’s and such, he had such great old junky

wisdom, I was only about 20 or so and he kept telling me what an old soul I

was, totally blew me away.

non sequitor do you miss hockey? it’s fucking killing me not to be able to

see a game.

yeh i miss hockey

i am tired of hearing about football/basketball

i cant even deal with sexyness anymore

> What book/s are you reading currently?

currently i am not really reading any books. everytime i take a bath i try and re-read this one book but i end up just lying there with the cat looking at me and i am thinking about the futility of bathing because the not smellyness lasts for only so long.

> Apples or bananas?

both

> DO you have brothers/sisters?

older brother, 1 of.

> Did you ever fry ants or burn holes in stuff with a magnifying glass when

> you were a kid?

no we didnt have a magnifying glass hanging around. only at my grandparents there was one but we were too excited to bother with it for more than 3 seconds, we were too busy running around the yard in circles throwing tennis balls at each other’s faces.

> Do you speak fluent French?

i can read and comprehend it well enough and if i am around french speakers i pick it up quickly and so yeh i can speak it i guess

> Hows Blythe – Does she have many clothes?

blythe is wonderful and snobby and beautiful and she has lost total respect for me now that i have blond hair.

1051am also get it.

fil wonders what in the hell aimee and raymi are planning for his retardedly important birthday. notice how he is trying to see through time. pfft.

raymi practises wearing winter clothing with her backpack on and also gets plenty of stretches in there because the forecast is calling for lazy drunken assholeness and she is like, fil get the fuck out of here we have to get busy, aimee and me.

so fil left

and put on the stupidest not-cool at all hat that he could find. go fil!

aimee and raymi met up to uh, discuss, uhh, fil?

and then raymi took some dancing lessons and totally discussed preparations for fil the entire time.

fil is extremely occupied but still obsessing over how nice and thoughtful aimee and raymi are and he considers a total random act of kindness for them like maybe a unicorn and a rainbow and a trip to disneyworld because he is spoiled with all this attention all the time

gee i wonder what they are doing, for reals.

casual labour and contract espionage, basically

el cid telepathically begs fil to come back before he shoots laserbeams out of his eyes at aimeeraymi

fil begins to have doubts about aimeeraymi giving a fuck at all about him and his birthday

doesn’t anybody care? anyone, at all?