Happy Easter, to those who celebrate. Personally, I do what I've always done, which practicly means food at home with the family, possibly an easter egg from my mom and/or my grandad, then off to the bonfire to see the whole spectacle down there and usually (hopefully) win a little something at the lottery. And, of course, fireworks. One thing I really do hate about this bonfire-thing is the small children who no one really cares about or takes care of on this particular night. They run around with home-made torches, throw things in the fire that definitly shouldn't be there (a white plastic garden chair last year, among other things (alot of "BOOM"s were heard, so I'm only going to asume hairspray-cans, fireworks and things alike)) and run in and out of people, zig-zaging between the legs and mainly being a pain in the ass.
I believe it's pretty obvious by now that I and kids don't work with eachother. My littlebrother Adam had a very bda tendensy of poking my eyes when we were younger, and when I actually did meet him (it doesn't happen that often, explanation might come some other time, if I have the energy to write it down or share it at all). I do wish I had appreciated those pokes a little bit more by now though, since I haven't seen him since god knows when. 2004-2005, perhaps? 2005, at christmas. Now I remember. He got a remote Volvo that he drove all around my gran's house while happily brumming like a little hummingbird. I belive I go gold earrings, which I couldn't have because my ears weren't even pierced. They broke a few months later anyway.
Kids have always annoyed me, and to the depths of my despair, they always seem to be able to hunt me down exactly where I can't run. Like the bus, for instance, or my worst nightmare; the train. Everytime I travel from Gothenburg to Stockholm and back, to visit friends and enjoy myself, there's a three hour long traintrip in it for me. On those trips, this whole world always work together to make it the biggest pain in the ass I can possibly withstand. Ergo, kids right inbetween four and eight years old. Preferably boys who run straight through the train non-stop for two thirds of the trip, while happily yelling and tripping eachother. The other third they sit on their seats like good boys, with the exception of the table. Oh, those wonderful tables whose sides you can fold up to have more room, or fold down so you can eat. Kids loves the noise those tables to when they come crashing down into nothingness, and every other passenger on that blasted train hates the kids for loving the noise, me included obviously.
On my last trip home from Stockholm, I had two kids just like that on the train with me, and I can't stress it enough how much they actually got to me. When I can hear them through my oversized headphones in which I listen to music on the highest volume, I think they're being just a taaad bit too loud. Okay, correction. I freaking HATE the things, and think you should strap them to their seats with a nice towel shoved tightly down their throats. Maybe not that harsh, but something like that. I hope you're starting to grasp just how much I hate children. But I have to admit, sweet kids do exist. My cousins, for example. I don't think I've ever met kids that cute.
Now, if everyone will excuse me, I'm going to lie down in my bed, fix the sketch of Cloud Strife to perfection (the eyes, I can't draw eyes for the life of me), possibly try to eat something, and play FFXII. I might pop by the pc later, to play Lufia and the Fortress of Doom or Illusion of Time on the SNES-emulator. If anyone has ROMs to send, please do. New games are always welcome.
Thine horrid image doth unfix my hair.
Hot Chip - Over & Over
Laid back
Laid back
Laid back, we'll give you laid back
Laid back
Laid back
Laid back, I'll give you laid back
Over and over and over and over and over
Like a monkey with a miniature cymbal
The joy of repetition really is in you
Under and under and under and under and under
The smell of repetition really is on you
And when I feel this way I really am with you
Laid back
Laid back
Laid back, I'll give you laid back
Over and over and over and over and over
Like a monkey with a miniature cymbal
I believe it's pretty obvious by now that I and kids don't work with eachother. My littlebrother Adam had a very bda tendensy of poking my eyes when we were younger, and when I actually did meet him (it doesn't happen that often, explanation might come some other time, if I have the energy to write it down or share it at all). I do wish I had appreciated those pokes a little bit more by now though, since I haven't seen him since god knows when. 2004-2005, perhaps? 2005, at christmas. Now I remember. He got a remote Volvo that he drove all around my gran's house while happily brumming like a little hummingbird. I belive I go gold earrings, which I couldn't have because my ears weren't even pierced. They broke a few months later anyway.
Kids have always annoyed me, and to the depths of my despair, they always seem to be able to hunt me down exactly where I can't run. Like the bus, for instance, or my worst nightmare; the train. Everytime I travel from Gothenburg to Stockholm and back, to visit friends and enjoy myself, there's a three hour long traintrip in it for me. On those trips, this whole world always work together to make it the biggest pain in the ass I can possibly withstand. Ergo, kids right inbetween four and eight years old. Preferably boys who run straight through the train non-stop for two thirds of the trip, while happily yelling and tripping eachother. The other third they sit on their seats like good boys, with the exception of the table. Oh, those wonderful tables whose sides you can fold up to have more room, or fold down so you can eat. Kids loves the noise those tables to when they come crashing down into nothingness, and every other passenger on that blasted train hates the kids for loving the noise, me included obviously.
On my last trip home from Stockholm, I had two kids just like that on the train with me, and I can't stress it enough how much they actually got to me. When I can hear them through my oversized headphones in which I listen to music on the highest volume, I think they're being just a taaad bit too loud. Okay, correction. I freaking HATE the things, and think you should strap them to their seats with a nice towel shoved tightly down their throats. Maybe not that harsh, but something like that. I hope you're starting to grasp just how much I hate children. But I have to admit, sweet kids do exist. My cousins, for example. I don't think I've ever met kids that cute.
Now, if everyone will excuse me, I'm going to lie down in my bed, fix the sketch of Cloud Strife to perfection (the eyes, I can't draw eyes for the life of me), possibly try to eat something, and play FFXII. I might pop by the pc later, to play Lufia and the Fortress of Doom or Illusion of Time on the SNES-emulator. If anyone has ROMs to send, please do. New games are always welcome.
Thine horrid image doth unfix my hair.
Hot Chip - Over & Over
Laid back
Laid back
Laid back, we'll give you laid back
Laid back
Laid back
Laid back, I'll give you laid back
Over and over and over and over and over
Like a monkey with a miniature cymbal
The joy of repetition really is in you
Under and under and under and under and under
The smell of repetition really is on you
And when I feel this way I really am with you
Laid back
Laid back
Laid back, I'll give you laid back
Over and over and over and over and over
Like a monkey with a miniature cymbal
The joy of repetition really is in you
Under and under and under and under and under
The smell of repetition really is on you
And when you look this way I really am with you
K-i-s-s-i-n-g
S-e-x-i-n-g
C-a-s-i-o
P-o-k-e
Y-o-u
M-e
I
I started thinking about what I to have to do (tell you)
I got to thinking that I mean just what you do (tell you)
I started thinking about what I to have to do (tell you, tell you, tell you, tell you)
I started thinking about what I to have to do (tell you)
I got to thinking that I mean just what you do (tell you)
I started thinking about what I to have to do (tell you, tell you, tell you, tell you)
Over and over and over and over and over
Like a monkey with a miniature cymbal
The joy of repetition really is in you
Under and under and under and under and under
The smell of repetition really is on you
And when you look this way I really am with you
K-i-s-s-i-n-g
S-e-x-i-n-g
C-a-s-i-o
P-o-k-e
Y-o-u
M-e
I
K-i-s-s-i-n-g
S-e-x-i-n-g
C-a-s-i-o
P-o-k-e
Y-o-u
M-e
I
Under and under and under and under and under
The smell of repetition really is on you
And when you look this way I really am with you
K-i-s-s-i-n-g
S-e-x-i-n-g
C-a-s-i-o
P-o-k-e
Y-o-u
M-e
I
I started thinking about what I to have to do (tell you)
I got to thinking that I mean just what you do (tell you)
I started thinking about what I to have to do (tell you, tell you, tell you, tell you)
I started thinking about what I to have to do (tell you)
I got to thinking that I mean just what you do (tell you)
I started thinking about what I to have to do (tell you, tell you, tell you, tell you)
Over and over and over and over and over
Like a monkey with a miniature cymbal
The joy of repetition really is in you
Under and under and under and under and under
The smell of repetition really is on you
And when you look this way I really am with you
K-i-s-s-i-n-g
S-e-x-i-n-g
C-a-s-i-o
P-o-k-e
Y-o-u
M-e
I
K-i-s-s-i-n-g
S-e-x-i-n-g
C-a-s-i-o
P-o-k-e
Y-o-u
M-e
I
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