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these are the things I give myself

Having spent the evening happily watching Death on the Nile while recording the O.C. (my dream TV evening consists of cosy period detectives followed by melodramatic/amusing teen angst - seriously, it does! I'm a big Agatha Christie fan), I was disturbed by the sound of the little fuckers next door (henceforth known as the l.f.n.d) playing fucking D12 really loudly. As I was in my 'jamas, I had no desire to parade next door and tell them to shut the fuck up. So to relieve my feelings, I maturely just put on Reject All American by Bikini Kill nice and loud. I didn't turn the volume up too loud, but I did turn the CD player around so the sound is going right through the stupid crappy wall. And lo, to my surprise, when the album finished, the noise next door had magically ceased. And has yet to start again.

Aaaaah. That felt good.

By the way, speaking of Bikini Kill, Kathleen Hanna should sue the NME. I flicked through the current issue in the newsagents this afternoon, and in commemoration of Kurt Cobain's death they had this crappy 'Kurt's life in graphic novel (biography?) form'. As many people know, 'Smells Like Teen Spirit' comes from graffiti by Ms Hanna, who was a friend of Cobain's and, of course, bandmate of his then-girlfriend Tobi Vail. Both Vail and Hanna were presented as typical comic-book babes, and Kathleen H got a whole panel depicting her posing coyly next to the graffiti with come-hither eyes, clad in a skimpy vest (tank top to you Americans) emblazoned with the words "riot grrrl". Seriously, it was so dreadful it was really funny. But still, dreadful. Really, really dreadful.


fat pony like thunder
The Monkey Princess

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