Strange Nikolai

not a stormtrooper

Archive for the tag “kitchen”

What I hate today… fashion magazines

This is quite a short and specific hate, but I’ve been eating a lot of takeways lately, because I haven’t had an oven for, oh, maybe 5 weeks now? And no bench for at least a week. And not really a clean environment to cut up food. I’m redoing my kitchen in case you haven’t guessed. Never buy a house. Trust me. Just spend all your money on booze and drugs, which will make you impotent and susceptible (fuck that’s a hard word to spell) to an early death and then you won’t need to own Real Estate.

But anyway, I have to eat. Cos I’m a fatty boomsticks. Well, that’s not why I have to eat. It’s something to do with not being Superman. Superman is solar powered you see. That would be freaking AWESOME. Don’t get me wrong – I LOVE food. But I wish I didn’t HAVE to eat it 2 or 3 times a day. If I didn’t have to eat or sleep I would really really enjoy occasionally eating or having a sleep in. That would probably be one of my three-magic-genie-wishes. That and controlling my own personal gravity and speed of time. And shape-shifting. I know that’s four but that last one is so scientifically impossible I would have to keep it in reserve (yes, I know it’s all impossible. It’s irony).

And to try and get back to the point, I end up buying takeaways. And waiting for my food. And reading crappy magazines. And sometimes I pick up a classier magazine for a classier read. And you know what? WHAT THE FUCK IS WITH THESE MAGAZINES???

Here’s where it started. I picked up Bazaar magazine (sorry there is not going to be a pun on that name – it’s too easy) – and tried to find the contents page. You always expect a couple of ads before the contents page, but OMC this was ridiculous. (ok that was a pun. I lied. At least it wasn’t that obvious… if you didn’t get it, don’t worry. Even NZers don’t understand why that is “the biggest selling record ever to be released by an act originating from and recorded in New Zealand”).  The first page for the contents was on page 142. One Hundred and Forty-Two!!!11!!! Every page before that was a full-page ad.

And then I realised something. Girls buy fashion magazines for the Ads! So you’re paying for something that the advertisers have already paid for you to see. How FUKCED is that??? And you give us shit about Playboy etc!

Check it out. Next time you open a magazine, find the contents page. If it’s not at the front, then… I don’t know… GRRRRRRR… do something…. bah…. I’m the worst anti-capitalist ever…

Strangely Nikolai



Feel sorry for me

I has a booboo. This little foray into my personal life is probably not of any interest to normal blog readers (what is a “normal” blog reader?)  and may put people off reading in the future what has been up to now generally inane musings and hopefully humourous randomnimity. So please forgive me this vanity post. I’m in pain.

A brunette goes to the doctor and as she touches each part of her body with her finger she says, “Doctor it hurts everywhere. My leg hurts, my arm hurts, my neck hurts, and even my head hurts!” The doctor asks, “Were you ever a Blonde?”. “Yes, I was.” she replies. “Why do you ask?”. The doctor answers, “because your finger is broken!”

It’s an oldie but a baddie.

This is a phone pic so not the best, but yeah I smashed my index fingernail into a nail (a nail nail, or a wall nail, anyway it was metal and sticking out of the wall and about 15 cm long. Like proper big.) and it fecking hurts (I’m not swearing in this post 😉 ). It doesn’t help that I’m a 3 finger typer so every time I forget and hit a key with that finger I get pain shooting up my arm. Right now, I’m suffering for my art. If you can call this art. I really effing hope I don’t lose the fingernail. That would suck harder than paris hilton.

The good news is that the door and wall which had the nail in it is now dead. I killed it. I am the wallslayer. Fear my wally wrath. Grrr.

Today I will kill another wall, tomorrow we will have a “new” kitchen door, and in the next few weeks, a new kitchen. O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!

Strangely Nikolai

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