b3ta.com user SurferRosa
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» Well, that taught 'em

I'm a bad, bad man.
Thank god for the relative anonymity of the internet, because what I'm about to confess is both dangerous, illegal and vindictive in a manner far in excess of the dirty deeds done by the hapless victim.

I know a girl who hated me for no readily apparent reason. I was nice to her, ribbed her in the same gentle manner as I do everyone, attempted to make conversation about topics such as lesbianism, absinthe, Dadaist art etc. which I couldn't give a tinker's damn about, but which she took great interest in. In short, I made quite an effort.

Not that she cared. Pouring poison into the ear of all our mutual friends, spitting in my pint, dropping ash on my carseats... this and many more acts of petty irritation wore away my patience until one day, not too long ago, I snapped.

I'm not a violent chap, so I didn't lash out physically in any way. Anyway, that would be but a momentary release of the my pent-up vexation and I wanted more of a long-term drip-dry, much like the annoyance she subjected me to.

This young lady has a voracious appetite for various Class A's, so in my corkscrew mind a plan was formed. I informed her I had obtained a contact who was able to get me some 'top-drawer snort', and would she be at all interested in purchasing some? Never have I seen someone carry out an attitude 180 so fast. Bought me a drink, fawned over me like a lapdog, offered me a smoke etc etc. Almost pathetic to watch.

Next week I turn up with two bags of crushed Pro-Plus pills and baking soda which I sold her for £40 apiece. I've been doing this for a few months, and the poor dear seems to be developing quite the coke habit, and I have absolutely no intent of telling her. Now my real friends are asking for some and I'm genuinely considering doing the same with them.

Let me just reiterate: I'm a bad, bad man.
(Sat 28th Apr 2007, 13:31, More)

» Terrible food

Oh dear god Austria. A country famed for Der Governator, Mozart, the Berchtesgaden, lederhosen and, more to the point, its excellent and reasonably priced skiing.

A few years ago the promise of chucking myself down some prime, virgin pistes in the most heart-stoppingly, ball-quakingly beautiful scenery you can possibly imagine outside of Norway with my school chums took me to this godforsaken fiefdom.

Quite apart from the utter, utter chaos that reigned over the entire trip and the truly excellent skiing that was to be had, the two things that will be forever associated with Austria in my mind are the reasonably priced, unreasonably strong (80%, bejesus) rum and the food.

The food. In the same manner as a survivor of the Soviet gulags, I can't bring myself to give a narrative account of its horror, so instead I will give more of an itinerary of culinary suicide. Once more into the breach!

Soup: Water, grease (you could SEE it on the surface, urrrgh) and soggy croutons. Also saltier than a merman's jizm. This was the starter for every meal I ate, and was ignored every damn time. You wouldn't drink the Dead Sea, would you?

Bread: Loaves?! Gott in Himmel, vot are zey? I've never appreciated a 39p Freshdays Thick Sliced more than when forced to eat fucking baps for a week. Passable when smothered with some 'generic Lidl nut spread'.

Milk: Tasted slightly off all the time, and had a layer of cream/fat on the top so thick it needed spooning off. So no cereal, hot chocolate, coffee... the list goes on.

Wiener Schnitzel: All the crap cuts of veal mashed together, covered in breadcrumbs and cooked until it's dryer than Nefertiti's fadge. Like eating sinews preserved in formaldehyde.

Almdudler: Saw it in a shop on the slopes for about 20 cents less than the other bottled drinks, so I thought I'd give it a blast. Looked like apple juice so that's what I expected. Took a swig and immediately spewed it back up when the taste registered. Imagine urine, bleach and alcohol-free Diamond White mixed together in a cocktail of delight and you're about halfway there; definitely had the smell of fermentation about it. That it's the Austrian national drink speaks volumes.

Mutton: Managed the task once thought impossible, namely putting me off lamb. Swimming in grease, tough and hellishly overcooked, served with a side of beansprouts and lightly peppered pasta. I'm not making this up, I swear blind.

Nockerl: Served as dessert, but oh christ. Imagine bread covered in melted butter, with a few chocolate sprinkles on top. Tasted like coronary thrombosis, with a hint of metal.

For the 7 days we spent in this culinary backwater, I survived on the aforementioned overproof rum; the spaghetti carbonara served at the restaurants on piste; pizza ordered at the local pizzeria-cum-gay bar (again, this is 100% of fact) which had to be collected by walking the 2 miles to the local burgh and back under dead of night in temperatures of around -10 celsius, often in moderate blizzard conditions; ice tea which was (and still is) bloody lovely; and apple strudel, which is the official Best Thing About Austria.

Even the women were ugly for god's sake! And the cigarettes were... no, no more! My fragile mind can't take it! Yes Nurse, pass me a Temazepam if you please. No, don't worry about this pencil you silly strumpet, it's not even sharp. Give it back I say! BACK!

Apologies for, well, everything really...

EDIT: Got veal and mutton confused, arse!
(Fri 18th May 2007, 1:35, More)

» Going Too Far

Weekend away in Dublin
Rory having sex in my bed wasn't nice.

Rory having sex on my prized Joy Division-tastic trenchcoat was even less nice.

Rory (18) having sex with Samantha (14) and thus qualifying for a free 25 year holiday at Her Majesty's pleasure probably edged it into the realm of 'too far'.

Samantha being on her period just dropkicked it over the line.
(Sat 11th Nov 2006, 22:13, More)

» Mistaken Identity

Shave off the beard and sort out the lips, and this man is me

He is Kristian 'Varg' Vikernes, Norwegian murderer, Nazi, black metallist, church burner and general tabloid fodder extraordinaire. His Wikipedia is here, which gives a bit more detail on the man's ideals and crimes.

The resemblance is so strong that many a pissed up metalhead has asked me why the hell I'm in Belfast and not composing pathetically faux-artistic ambient bullshit in some Norwegian prison cell. I simply smile enigmatically, wink and say 'Beer is good, ja?'

Then they buy me Guinness all night in return for on-the-fly fabricated anecdotes about how I wrote such and such a song and why the icy fjords are so hauntingly beautiful and other such patent bollocks. They leave with a sense of understanding and mild awe, and I leave very very drunk indeed.

Every cloud etc.
(Thu 31st May 2007, 18:56, More)

» DIY fashion

Worth 1000 words...

And the worst thing? It wasn't even fancy dress.
(Sun 27th Aug 2006, 19:38, More)
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