Long-term Agenda

From time to time I'll post something on the agenda for pondering; whether the public likes it or not, I'll probably attempt it at some point, given the proper resources and safety precautions.

I don't want to get killed doing any of this ridiculous shit. I don't particularly wish to get arrested, although in this one instance what I'm suggesting I'd like to do is purposefully crafted to attract the attention of local law enforcement.

For the most part I really just want to make people stop what they're doing and watch for a moment or two. Like freezing time if you will. For the sake of funny. It's always for the sake of funny.

So my first order of business for the "Agenda", as it from here on out shall be known, is as follows:

Mission: Skip Across Vatican Square
Required items: Full-tilt Russian ballerina costume
Required skills: Speed and endurance (Currently inadequate)
Intended results: Startle the Swiss Guard
Details: If I make it across the square and successfully evade the Swiss Guard, I win. If I get arrested, Mr. V has to be photographed smoking a bong in his getaway-driver tuxedo with my be-tutu'd ass being hauled away in the background.
Connecting topics: Ms. V and Ms. J inject Rocky into every-day power workouts (necessary endurance training, chock full of insanity and hearty food)

Next topic: High tea with David Bowie, John Cleese, and Peter Gabriel.

Sunday Afternoon in the Company of Warriors

"You need a priest, man. You get to wear dresses with priests. It's fucking awesome."

There are a few things that I immediately discerned from this statement, prior to making Mr. V repeat it - just for documentation purposes, of course, to ensure that I heard him correctly the first time. Clearly I was a little taken aback by the statement, as Mr. V has not ever been one to condone his own cross-dressing. Not that there's anything wrong with it for anyone else. Not that he wouldn't look pretty nice in some of my dresses. This is not the point.

The point was, for once in a very long time, I was truly, amusingly, startled by something said in my own home. (If these walls could talk, they'd sound insane; we're used to this office being full of weird)

This is what I concluded immediately:

Firstly, that Rasputin was secretly an undead priest. Of this variety:

Then, finally, and probably via the most ridiculous mental word-association game ever documented, I decided that an undead priest would be the Horde choice for this man, were it available to him at the time:

I don't know what else to say, except that perpetually rainy Sunday afternoons are highly unproductive and mentally erratic.

Also, Mr. Collins should have plenty of reading material for now.

Ridiculexts

I want to believe that the term "Ridiculext" is pretty self-explanatory.

Mr. Collins and I both have a pretty bad habit of sending very cryptic, or just downright strange, text messages - often seemingly without all necessary pieces of information.

On other occasions, we simply text each other when we have an epiphany of some sort; a good example was a week ago while Mr. V and I were staying at the inlaws for the weekend. At 11:30, while in bed, the entire black room lit up with my cellphone's screen.

Just to inform me that via massive religious realization, I should refer to Mr. Collins simply as "The Wholly C." Hey, I agree - I agree completely. I know of no other man in existence who could lend himself to that name and pull it off. Point was, I wasn't even entirely phased by the action of the late night text message with no purpose.

It is, quite simply, how we do.

So for your first Ridiculext pleasure, I present you with something I recently sent to one of my oldest best friends, who is several hundred miles/kilometres detached from me and hasn't seen me in many years:

"I cut off all my hair and dyed it black in homage to my lonely 16yo self, but the glamorous bitch who took over at 19 styles it so well that everyone likes it, and I succeed at failing everything I attempt, including rebelling in misery."

Ridiculexts from here on out will simply be the body of the message, with little to no explanation. Enjoy!

Inter-Office Memo; CC: Mr. Collins

Mr. Collins;

While I understand that I am in fact the CEO and typesetter of the department and thereby the umbrella company of SR Productions, I must ask one favour of you.

As we are aware, there is a large file marked "Learn to Drive" sitting in a filing cabinet here that I believe I am incapable of filling out and processing for you. I was never properly taught to drive, only how to survive on a roadway filled with asshats and crazy vigilante pedestrians, so I feel I am inadequate with spearheading this particular project.

Please have an outline on my desk as soon as possible.

We're both aware that you can drive very well and I can simply avoid being caught while breaking laws of the highway and city roads, so perhaps it would be most prudent that you attempt to teach the masses how to drive properly.

I am only capable of telling them how to evade detection while driving like an arrogant ass.

Thank you! Look forward to next board meeting at headquarters.

- Ms. V

The Priscilla Syndrome; the $10 List

Part of the original $10 list includes Hugo Weaving and Guy Pearce, for some very specific reasons.

Obviously moviephiles can argue that both men (and, without a doubt, Terence Stamp, who played Bernadette/Ralph) deserve great praise for their list of fantastic films. I don't disagree. They're all great actors, but there's an actual reason I must find these two and pay them their $10 tribute.

It's that Hugo and Guy have taken such epic roles since Priscilla that most of our young generation today isn't even aware of their jaunts into the great art of transvestite acting. (By great, I mean the very personality alone necessary to pull off such flamboyance.)


It's that no matter what amazing role I see either of them in (V, Elrond, Agent Smith, Leonard Shelby, etc) I cannot keep a straight face throughout the film despite their good acting skills.

Because it always comes back to Felicia and Mitzi for me. Always.

To make this entirely appropriate, I can sum this up with a great gem from another of Hugo's great movies, V for Vendetta.

"Are you like, a crazy person?"
"My dear, I am quite sure they will say so."

Tuesday Morning Server Maintenance with Mr. V

Ms. V is surfing Twitter; Mr. V is rocking out to some Metallica (aka FRANTIC, INC).

Ms. V: I want my own suit of armour.
Mr. V: Why?!
Ms. V: Because I think it's cool, alright?!
Mr. V: Well, so do I, okay?!
Ms. V: Fine!
Mr. V: FINE!

Just another morning at the office...

Mr. C: Are jeans too casual for an interview at the [local cellphone provider] kiosk?
Ms. V: As long as they're clean and unripped. And making an otherwise appropriately clean looking appearance. I'd suggest you go as the private investigator* though. That's a good look.
Mr. C: With the tie and striped pants?
Ms. V: Anyway, I meant to say, no, jeans are now a more acceptable look, being that current trends make their cuts more appropriate to a wide variety of workplaces. Yes. Tuck in the shirt, though.
Mr. C: Yes yes.
Ms. V: Or, everyone's favourite English teacher.*

*Mr. C has a somewhat useful habit of naming his outfit ensembles in such a way that I can easily categorize them mentally. It also makes speaking in code a somewhat entertaining endeavour, and lends itself to my plot to dominate the world via the crumbling English language.

Patrick Bateman lives on, in a pregnant 24 year old hairstylist.

The Hollywood Judgement

The celebrity death list tolls.

This month alone has taken a number of names.

Now, when they're all gone, do you suppose we can all go on living normal lives?

Perhaps. The false idols are falling. God is seriously pissed off.

I'm not even a believer, and I can tell God's righteously annoyed.