We all mess it up.

You wanna mess it up with me?….

It’s what we are built to do. If we didn’t everyone would be a motherfucking super hero and there would be no one to aspire to or any reason to go to the gym for that matter. Not that I have been going to the gym. I am broke. I tie weights around my extremities and do the house work to early Metallica. Don’t scoff you fat heathens, it works.

Lilli’s retarded mother is gracing us with her jowl soaked moronic presence today.It never ceases to amaze me how some people can be so obtuse and stupid and still remember to draw breath. It’s a crying shame as some of my favorite soul singers of the 70’s would croon sweet enough to make me believe it. Her son is taking here to the Easter show. I shall be watching the news at six with baited breath to see if she fell into the pig enclosure and was promptly devoured.

My fellow Italians,the Sardinians are big fans of this method of body disposal. I myself am bored with torture at this point and am favoring two taps to the back of the head with a silencer of course, no point in alarming the neighbors and as we all know a roll of carpet and a hole in the desert solve a myriad of problems.

Poverty pulverized and living on tea and icy poles does wonders for my weight and very little to temper my omnipresent bad mood but I will take the abdominal definition over Prozac cheeriness towards people who’s faces I want to tear off with my bare hands any given day of the week. Alas I am out of phone credit so the world must bare the burden of my lack. Bugger. Dear Tim Sult turns 43 today. I Told him that I would get around to jumping out of a cake for him one of these days. What is it with me and jumping out of cakes? I adore that man.My few friends rule….

The Stooges are here this week.

In fact my week is packed with nothing but rock. I have also been asked to sing on the Desert Sessions this year. The lovely dude organizing it who’s name as slipped my mind at this point due to the fact that I have just woken up to no tea and a stupid fat woman lose in my house,wants me to do a song by the Hanging tree. Ass fuck that for a game of soldiers very bloody much! I still remember when Lucius  didn’t want me to audition for Cog because I’m a girl. What a thoughtless individual. His fathers back must be mighty sore being that his ego soaked son has been riding on his coat tails since birth. I have asked to do “Green machine” Loved that my ex did that when we toured for all those endless months. Many good memories attached to that little ditty. The Palm Springs crew and their own  always treated me with more kindness and respect than anyone in this godforsaken cultural ghettos so I think that I will follow my heart on this one thanks very much.

Matt came and grabbed me in the early afternoon yesterday for a jam at Mal’s place. The show is next Friday and I still haven’t got around to telling my brother that I am sharing a bill with him again because,let’s face it, I am hopeless. We have that acoustic show tomorrow night in Parramatta. Zen rehearsal space on Monday with Los diablos, Stooges on Tuesday, removing my head from my ass Wednesday, jamming Thursdays again with the devils men and stressing over what to clothe my fat bulk in for the show on Friday. I was meant to be going and watching Stave Hughes on Thursday but as the last time I really fronted anything in this country was with my long gone ex I want to make sure I am ready to rumble. Too many middle aged fat retards in Poison idea tee-shirts two sizes too small wringing their sweating little mitts together at their spots on the side line just waiting for me to fuck up.

Eat shit porky,it ain’t gonna happen.

Real boys hate me so I have decided to give what is left of my tattered affections to Gregory Peck around the “To Kill a mockingbird ” era.

I’m feeling like a junoesque Lorilee leading the wrong men to their doom and chemical dependency. It’s horrible. I don’t think that I am ever going to be the right girl for anyone but this is not a new revelation. Built to be alone. But by god I miss fucking. I can’t even be bothered to rub one out although now would be the window as I am listening to Prince and I just heard the front door slam. Bah, whatever. Can’t be bothered.

( If you hold my hand again and give me that hug when our whole bodies meet I can deal with anything. I like the weight of your words. I like your economy. I like your company.I like you….)

Sat up watching movies and customizing a Van Halen tee shirt wearing Thraxxy’s Russian generals hat while she was out painting the town black. I went and saw her annihilate the stage at The Standard with her brother Zee and Deadbeat and Hazy on Thursday night. A force of nature that one is. Then we went to a hip hop club where no could dance and the sexy seven foot deejay had a girlfriend who looked like a Maltese terrier in last seasons Supre.Of course she was lovely which made me feel like even more of a shithead. I give up. Tried to bust my brothers balls to drive us home but his phone battery had died.

Met a lovely dude called Dan who is interested in me fronting a new campaign for his hip hop shop in Bondi. I am thinking tits,pit-bulls and .45’s. I love that shit! It’s the Long Beach in me. Speaking of which, if I don’t get some sheckles together soon for shipping  my old roommate is going to donate all my shit that I left behind in the city of lost angels to goodwill. My snakeskin boots?  This is not an option. Imagine walking out of your front door and never going back again. This is basically what happened to me. It still floors and freaks me out.

Just keep going I guess…..

I really should get out of bed. Rob a bank or something.

Iggy is coming to town!