thediastema's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A jolly good fellow and his bitch Dear Master, This morning's visit with the plastic surgeon helped us advance our cause. I even got a nice little steroid injection into some of the touchier parts of the tissue damage, which was nice. It was so nice, I just told you it was nice twice. Mum took me out to lunch where she gave me permission not to be so damn worried and menstrual over everything. I came home, napped, bathed and dressed and groomed for the second time today, and made my way up to the theatre. HM's birthday. Shit, what was I going to do? I didn't have time to buy him anything important or useful. Inspiration struck. Thank you, Hamilton. Under Hamilton's passenger seat it lingered, a plastic replica of a Magic 8-Ball, purchased in a Kmart vending machine one strange night on one of my "really pointless excursions to Murray to buy hair dye or deodorant or God knows what without running into anybody we know" with Sis. It is not a legitimate oracle. It has a thin layer of paint on its underside displaying one message: "SOW SEEDS OF LOVE AND YOU WILL REAP A HARVEST!" I thought that this, along with a Jones Soda bottle cap on which I had "not yet cashed in," would suffice as a gift. We're talking HM, here. "You're his bitch," Al has told me. This is true. This is part of the mounting tension between myself and Gimp. HM is a "nark" and I'm his protegee. We are two gap-toothed, facetious Canucktahns in a world that doesn't understand us. And, if you ask Scott, HM and I are both sweet on Four-Eyes, but I have my doubts about the validity of this. I punched in and made my way toward the birthday boy, publicising his day of days for all who could hear. He rolled his eyes and told me I wasn't supposed to do that in front of "the troop." That's the Gestapo in Diastemaspeak. "I don't care! Hee!" "You have to see what the [Cage people] did for me." I was being invited into The Cage. Out of the ordinary, to say the least. Meekly: "Hey, kids." And there was Four-Eyes--more unshaven than ever, and watching my reaction. "Wow. That's... INSPIRED!" It was, too. They'd found a picture of King Arthur from one of the promo posters for Cam and stuck a little crown on it, then jammed several Canadian flags into that. I was slightly jealous. "Here," Four-Eyes said. "You have to see the background on his computer, now." The crown, again, superimposed onto a pic of HM. And Four-Eyes was talking. And I was comfortable. Not ignoring him! I laughed out loud. Later, as we set up for intermission, HM approached, thanking me for my gift. "[Four-Eyes] was playing with it earlier. He kept turning it over but couldn't seem to get a different answer." "I can totally see that." ~~ GOOD NEWS! Once again I'm slated to cover somebody for the last shows of the season! You heard me right: Sup needs coverage on 26 May. I can do my ritual with the dome fluorescents! It'll be magical. Eh, tonight even was, in its Canucktahn way. ~ETK 23:17 - 10 May, 2001 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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