The story of how two young men end up having an evening of fantastic fun at Tescos, their home, and in their kitchen. It involves iMovie, Finnish pop music, and a very, very large citrus fruit.


Ugh, bad hangover.

Right. Last night, I was at home, doing some work, minding my own business, and suddenly, I notice I'm hungry. So I ask matt what he wants from the italian supermarket around the corner. As it turns out, the young man had already been to that very establishment to purchase foodstuffs, but he also pointed out we didn't have any meat (what you mean you don't eat no meat? I'll make Lamb!), and so the choice was made to go to Tesco, our local megamarket, in my newly aquired microvan.

Once there, it turns out that the meat we wanted needed cutting. The lady behind the counter barely spoke English, and said "wait" a lot. Apparently, the butcher was on a break. So we have a wander around the supermarket, buying stuff we essentially don't need.

In the fruit section, we come across something neither Matt nor myself had seen before: a huge citrus fruit labelled Pomelo. Interesting. They were 99p each, so I bought one, on a whim. No idea what it tasts like, of course, but I thought "Hey, it's citrus, so we'll squeeze it. If it's too sour, we'll sweeten it. It'll be fun".

At the checkouts, the guy has no idea what this strange fruit is. "It has no Barcode". (Of course not, you sockmuppet - it's a fruit. Fruit don't have barcodes!). So we tell him it's a Pomelo. he looks at us, to identify if we are pulling his leg. Then I tell him it's 99p. He doesn't believe us or something. So we tell him it's a giant grapefruit. He weighs it. "If it was a grapefruit, you'd pay 94p"). Jeez, how anal can you be?

Then he tries talking us out of buying it. "Do you really want this fruit?" "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do". Then, we tried convincing him it was a Lemon, at which point he called up his supervisor, who showed him that in two clicks (exotic fruit, then Pomelo), he could sell us the damn thing. This whole story must have taken about 8 minutes or so, and the people behind us in the queue were bemused rather than annoyed.

Anyway, we make it home, and as the pair of geeks that we are, decide to turn the whole thing into a 3-minute music video of turning the Pomelo into two vodka-laced drinks.

It was epic. and the video is here: http://huset.co.uk/2006/03/14/pomelo-from-tescos/

Never laughed so much in my life. After our pomelo juice, we went through two bottles of wine, a delicious steak, and some beer. No wonder my head is punishing me today. It's the most fun I can remember having on a Tuesday, though...

nonsequitory whines

Last night I saw a tail. It was long. Longer than a mouse's, shorter than a cat's. First tail in weeks.

Rats are not big mice. They are more like hyena.

If birflu hits as hard as the PR/Fundraising arm of the WHO has been saying it will, the discourse on chickens is going to change. No longer will chickens merely be comical white meat delivery systems. When millions die as H5N1KMULTRA feeds on tamilflu, farms will be abandoned and chickens will become feral. If America can't send its multi gabillion dollar military into New Orleans to save her sisters and brothers then we have little hope that they can quarantine/kill their, let alone all, the occidental chickens in time to stave off a complete chicken discourse rethink. Maybe I am overestimating White America's love for the people they see as soldiers, performers, athletes, and criminals.

I am hungry and bitter and old and bland. I am hungry all the time. When I was in my teens my sister talked about the "starving student look". She loved tall skinny boys in soft sweaters. Since she was my totally cool older sister I thought the starving student look looked good too. I was tall and skinny and loved argyle anyway.

My sister is dead now. It was years ago that she joined the earth. Between 36 and 38 ovarian cancer killed her and the child growing inside her. She had been trying to get pregnant for years. Cancer is a motherfucker.

But enough about cancer. If you don’t have cancer anecdotes of your own yet, you will. Unless you live in the mountains on a diet of potatoes and wasabi or live in a place where you normally die before cancer time.

I am hungry all the time and it's no fun. I lack the youthful glow that allows some to make a slight build look good. My face is gaunt. I am sadder more and since I am broke I eat shit foods. I count dimes and nickels for subway fare. It's amazing how much easier it is to be healthy when you have money. I am constantly begging my moms for money and my mother drags out that begging process because she is senile and thinks I am 12 and need a lesson in money management. Seriously. Maybe I am and I do, she can be surprisingly lucid at times and it is true that if you give me 20 dollars you can be pretty sure half of it is being spent on some sort of drugs.

There was a time I made, if you include bonuses, 50 grand a year and had no extraordinary expenses. I wasn't happy though so I quit that job years ago and now if I hit the wrong buttons on the candy machine and a Coffee Crisp comes out instead of Starburst I feel defeated. I do not have the energy to take it in stride. This happened to me yesterday. It was my last unbudgeted dollar twenty-five for the next three days and I spent it on a wafer covered in choco flavored corn syrup instead of a pack of tropically flavored chewables. I hated every bite of the candy bar but I finished it.

Things I can buy with a dollar twenty-five. Can of tuna, yogurt, a bagel, piece of fruit, can of pop, concentrate juice, new pen, I can print 11 pages at my local library, I can buy greens if they are loose leaf, twenty minutes at an internet cafe.

Things I can't buy with a dollar twenty-five. Meat that is not in a can, broccoli, any food except junk at my PepsiUniversity, Greens+, meat that is not heavily processed, a subway ticket, a loaf of bread, a carton of milk, vermin killing devices, dish soap, pot, cocaine, booze, I can buy glue but not airplane, I can wash my clothes but they will have to hang to dry.

I get my toilet paper and hand towels from public restrooms. Condiments and candle holders from restaurants. I began shoplifting again but it is not as fun as when I was a kid because now I really really want the things I am taking. Like good cheeses. I love to steal a nice block of five year old cheddar. I bum smokes, not because I smoke, but because I cannot afford dope and it is the closest thing to a drug that is available.

I am a bum. I don’t shave often but I should since my facial hair does not grow in evenly. My teeth are yellow enough that strangers sometimes mention it. It doesn’t seem to affect my "dating" life. My clothes are dirty. My apartment is messy and my kitchen is disgusting (think Ganges as I am dealing with a pooh and water problem).

There has been construction outside my apartment for months and it will continue for months. They start at 7 in the morning. Break at 8:45. I wake up in the morning and walk out onto my balcony, that is covered in the "No trespassing signs" collected on drunken mushroom cocaine fueled wanderings, shirtless in the freezing winter, and scream "good morning and fuck you" curses at the construction workers who are just doing their job. Well fuck them ya know, and fuck me. I bumped into a brother that works on that site and he recognized me from my tirades and laughed and I laughed because I am pretty sure he has his own static and I am pretty sure he could rend me limb from limb if he is not kept jolly.

I am thankful for friendships, music, the memory erasing powers of passion, and file sharing. Despite all the complaints I still get happy all the time. I call it forgetting.

Wilson!
Am so fed up with the willful stupidity around here. Just got an irate call from Brenda, complaining that all the other auditors got a gift cheque and she did not. I confirmed that I sent her one, and told her I had gotten her home address from her dept. admin Erica. Brenda replied, "Well, yes, I confirmed that address with Erica, but I can't get any mail there." Me: "Well, then, I don't understand why you would confirm it." Brenda: "Well, she never said what she wanted it for." FUCKING DUMBASS! What else does your workplace want your address for but TO SEND YOU SHIT IN THE MAIL?????? Now she is trying to get ME to track this shit, and I am telling her emphatically that it is her responsibility to have provided a reliable address, and to call her local post office and get on their ass, and that I did all I could be expected to do to get the goddamn gift cheque to her.
I want a goddamn gift cheque myself.
God damn bitch!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
She will be punished.
Hope you are well,
Gruner

Yo Gruner-
Dear God, your email regarding postal situation with idiot employee was funny. Forwarded to Mark. We have talked about it a lot. We are worried about you. Sorry to hear about the stress. Let me know if I can help. If only God had provided us with the material wealth to be able to actually shop, life would be good.
Love
Wilson

Wilson
Dude, don’t worry about me. Worry about people like Mira, whom I've been helping with some details on a meeting. Today she urgently IM'ed me saying "The physicians are asking if there will be coffee at the meeting!" as if it were TODAY, not three weeks away. When I responded that A) I hadn't yet ordered the food because the meeting was still three weeks away, B) she had not yet answered my questions about what kind of food she wanted and C) she had never answered my question about the headcount, she was all like, "Oh."
Then it turned out that in fact, only one doctor had requested coffee be served.
As a totally irrelevant side note, I happen to know that she earns $96,000 a year before bonuses.
WHY? WHY?
Have you ever seen The Wire? HIGHLY RECOMMENDED!!!!!!!!
Keep the peace Wilson.
love,
Gruner

My question is;
why did you come back?
To remind me
That I lack just enough
To make me not enough
But I'm just enough
To make you enough
I've had enough
And the truth is
Not that you'd know truth from a lie
but I would and I do,
Because you educated me
on the distinction...
The truth is that I loved you
and that was bigger than
any lab-created insufficiency
that you could invent
and staple to my image in your head
to justify the fact that you
wanted something else
which would never give you what I gave
love you like I loved
hear you like I heard
see you...like I saw you
(who took him, that man?
Or did I invent something beautiful
All the while you invented
pictures of me in unflattering tones
which when blended together
made various shades of ugly and tragic)
I guess that makes you an ungrateful fool in need of justification
You can have it.
Justification will never sing to you in tones saturated
wet with want
like I did.
It's ok.
Now you cry?
Your tears, do they taste like me?
Like my bruised skin?
(You can throw all the radiators that you want)
Like my shaking fingers, grabbing for the door
(You can wave your bullet slinger, 'cause you always fancied yourself a gunslinger)
Like my crushed and broken lips
(You can tell them stories about my base and immoral nature)
Somewhere between your lies and my fear
You learned to live with yourself
You did it just to...
to cover for the fact that
we had lunch with her every day and you never told me
I always wondered why she'd flinch when her eyes caught ring on my hand
And you, I thought your hands were in your lap
I loved you for your manners
To hell with all your manners
You shoulda just told me you prefer blondes
It's not polite to keep blondes in your pocket
And all the while, I thought it was me
something horribly wrong with me
And you can tell them that
I didn't meet your standard of beauty
I didn't ding the fuck-factor bell
To cover for the fact that
You didn't deserve what I had
Never earned it
Never loved it
But you took it anyway.
Didn't you?
It's ok.

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