Holy smokes! I just took a couple of things out of my refrigerator that I wasn't sure I could legally throw into the garbage, owing to strict German HAZMAT regulations. I had trouble identifying some of them; luckily, most of the labels were still legible, under the green slime running down the sides. Every time I clean out my fridge, I swear to God it's the last time I'll let the shit go like that. It's amazing, and repulsive, to compare the inhabitants of my refrigerator in their original form to the pulsating, slimy, hideous, mutated forms they've now assumed.
| Some Inhabitants of My Refigerator in their Original Form |
The Pulsating, Slimy, Hideous, Mutated Forms They've Now Assumed |
| 1 cup Crme-Fraiche |
A sort of wet, dark green algal life-form. It manages to be simultaneously furry and slimy, and smells like feet. |
| 250 gram wheel Angeroux Cheese |
An abomination, characterized by the outward appearance of Angeroux Cheese, yet the wax rind has been replaced by a fine, downy layer of mold, and the once-golden creamy cheese has turned sepia. It, too, smells of feet. |
| 1/2 can sweet golden corn |
Interestingly, this has become corned beef hash with onions. I don't understand how this can be. |
| 1/2 can mushrooms in water. |
Sweet Jesus, I cannot describe the contents of this can. I can only say that it's no longer filled with mushrooms as you or I would undestand them. That, and they also smell like feet. |
| 1 cup sour cream |
This turned out remarkably similar to the Crme-Fraiche, although the fur is a slightly lighter shade of green. One notable difference: The slime seems to have crawled up and over the rim of the cup at some point before going into hibernation. |
I swear, I will never let that shit go like this again.
Update: Fridge-rot zeitgeist?
Poking around at Jeff's Place, I came across this article, the gist of which is that cell phones are bad for your boys. Seems to me that just about everything these days is targeting the testicular tadpoles. After a little googlin', I was shocked at how many things have been proven to lower your sperm count.
Things That Have Been Proven To Lower Your Sperm Count
Keep em covered, and stop rubbing yourself with your cell phone, weirdos.
Name that tune:
Translated by Rube into German
Schalt dein Gedächtnis aus, relax und geh mit dem Strom
(Es heisst nicht sterben)
Leg alle Gedanken ab, gib Dich zum Nichts auf
(es funkt)
Noch wirst Du den Sinn des Innens begreifen
(Es heisst Dasein)
Die Liebe ist Alles, und die Liebe ist Alle
(Es heisst Wissen)
Ignoranz und Hass bedauern den Tod
(Es heisst Glauben)
Doch hör den Farben deines Träumens zu
(Es heisst nicht Verlassen)
Also, Spiel das Spiel Existenz bis zum Ende
(Das Ende vom Anfang)
Translated by Google back into English
Still your memory switches off, relax and goes with the river
(it does not mean to die)
puts down all thoughts, geb you to the nothing on
(it transmits)
you the sense of the Innens will understand
(it is called existence)
the love is everything, and the love is all
(it is called knowledge)
Ignoranz and hate regrets death
(it is called faith)
hears colors of your dreaming nevertheless too
(it is not called leaving)
thus, play the play existence up to the end
(the end of the beginning)
My boiler went out on me. For those of you who live in the First World, let me explain what a boiler is. A boiler is a huge, obnoxious contraption that hangs on the bathroom wall and goes out on you, forcing you to take cold showers, and shave with icy-cold razors that, as Davy Jones promised all those years ago, do indeed sting. In America, I've never seen a boiler. That doesn't mean they don't exist; it just means they're at least hidden and don't go out on you. This particular boiler, which I've learned to ignore over the years, is about 5 feet tall, a foot deep, and 2 feet wide. It's made of steel, is painted white, and hangs on the wall right next to the bathtub. It blocks an entire corner of the room ,and sometimes it drips black, greasy, evil smelling fluids onto the floor. Now it doesn't even make hot water, so I'm not sure what the point of the thing is.
I'm a vegetarian; I separate my trash, because otherwise the trash-men won't take it; I have socialized health care; I recycle, because I have to; and, now, I hate bathing. Living in Europe is just like being in college, without the drugs and smug illusion of superiority. Objectively, I'm more pinker than even the pinkest of American pinkos.
Damn dirty hippy.
Andrea Harris shouldn't keep it all bottled up.
Every blog should have a "Bitchslaps" category, because there's nothing like a good rant to getcha all woken up on a Saturday morning. Unless she's down under, which means it's, like, Tuesday or something for her.
