Nothing like a couple of strangers in my crib to make me think I should dust the joint. Bless her service uniform clad bottom, the female half of the cable guy duo picked up the loose bits of snipped co-ax. Scoffed and thanked her for picking up that dust rhino that got attached to one of them. The vacuum is my nemesis.

The vacuum cleaner of my childhood hated me. Was always choking on grapling jetsam and fucking itself up. Ma eventually regulated my floor cleaning duties to strictly sweep and mop detail only. Damnable vacuum. What's the point of the infernal thing if I gotta bend over to pick bits out of it's way? Better suck up that goddamn paperclip silly hooovernerd.

Chilly chill. Huge advantage to operations now centrally located at the same place I wash my crack. Not only can I write with impunity, as if I set boundaries to myself before, but I can rock my own typing soundtrack. Go ahead on stereo and kick those random all disc jams. Glad the subletter decided to leave the fifty one cd tray selector here.

So yeah, Beck, then Crystal Method, then The Ramones, then Redman, then Hybrid, and then..........whatever the spork the randomiser decides next. Yee haw.

Saw Dancer Upstairs today. It was better than Hollywood sewage, but it didn't entirely satisfy my geek independent cinema core. Directed by John Malkovich. For his first outing behind the lens I'll dribble some cocktail in his direction. I'll pay attention to secundo movie-o from Mr. Malkovich if and when that is green lighted.

Hey! I wonder if the internet has midget anal porn even when I'm not surfing from work? Which means I can wax the weasel to my own personal soundtrack too! Which would be Talking Heads right now, that might be weird. Only one way to find out.

Oh by the way, click on that fucking vote link down there often ya bastiches. Fargin iceholes. Got street cred to protect here. Pay for the freak brain voyuerism somehow would ya. Sheesh ganeesh.