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December 21st, 2006
01:01 am - Is that a dollar in your pocket or are you just dammit.
Hello Interweb,
Contrary to information widely reported in the Peruvian press, I will in fact be arriving in Kalamazoo this Thursday, the 21st of December.
Stay on the line to hear about a dollar.
Love,
Davis
PS - Ha ha ha get it? Stay on the line? That's amazingly funny. I don't get the 'dollar' reference though.
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September 3rd, 2006
04:40 pm - Go to the front desk and ask for Tommy Jones.
Dear Internet,
I am flying to Michigan on Tueday morning.
Correction.
I am flying to Amsterdam on Tuesday morning, and then I am flying to Michigan. If anyone wants me to pick up some hashish, I will be making a delivery to the Radisson in Kalamazoo. You can go up to the front desk and ask for Tommy Jones, and they will redirect you to the narcotics storage room in the basement. The one which we all know exists.
Any who, I'm arriving in Detroit in the early afternoon. If I make it out of Detroit alive, I'll be in Kalamazoo in the afternoon.
Have a plum.
Love, Davis.
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August 10th, 2006
01:15 am - So I won't bother with the details.
Dear Interweb,
It's been a long time, my friend. How have you been? Chess master yet? Aware of your own existence? Nice. Good to hear. Big Blue never was a match for you.
Moving on. So it has been what, 2 months? 3 months? since my last confession. I wouldn't remember all that has happened in that time, so I won't bother with the details. Hell, I won't bother at all.
I am now, what some consider, gainfully employed. What exactly am I gaining? Well for starters, I bought a pineapple a few days ago. No, really.
So it would seem that the Society of the computer variety has unilaterally emigrated to the United States of Myspace. I've got the sneaking suspicion that in some areas, people are ceasing to speak altogether, and are rewriting entire volumes of literature using only surveys:
And the Lord said unto Moses, 'List the last three people you sent an SMS to:'
Others are showing promising signs in the early development of a new era in art criticism,
Mona Lisa yur HOTTT. More pics pls!
All this, and I haven't gotten a flying car yet. Oh you've got me dreaming androids.
Love, Davis.
Over and out.
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May 11th, 2006
05:58 pm - More on that later.
Dear Diary,
Yes I am still here.
More on that later.
Love, Davis.
PS - You're a bucket.
Over and out.
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April 2nd, 2006
10:19 pm - A wander through Green Park.
Dear Diary,
Today, London rained on me. I'm not sure yet how I feel about that.
This afternoon I went for a wander through Green Park. I noticed the nice wood and canvas lawn chairs that are usually scattered around the area when it gets warmer and I thought to myself, 'Wouldn't it be just lovely to lounge on one of those and read a book for a while?' Then I noticed a little sign. It stated that one could engage in a '2 hour session with a lawn chair' for only £1.50. Since when did lawn chairs sell themselves so incredibly whorishly cheap? (Pardon my Romanian). I mean, you either offer an alright free public service, or you charge the shit out of a mediocre luxury and attempt to look at least a bit respectable.
Damn Green Park cheap whorish lawn chairs.
Tomorrow morning I fly out to Portugal. I depart London at 6.35 in the morning. Why do I always subject myself to such ridiculously early flights? Oh yeah, maybe it's because I'm a broke bastard. Maybe if I were employed I'd be able to afford a few of the small comforts of this great land. Like not having to wake up to try and get to the airport before Robert Downey Jr. snorts heroin through a pickle and 'calls it a night.'
I mean, fuck.
6:35 !
So in accordance with my new random photo initiative, I've got another good one, after the jump. I'm not really sure what to say about this one. Something witty about drugs, I suppose.
( The Photo! )
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April 1st, 2006
02:48 am - Hot-dog!
Dear Diary,
Today I saw a hot-dog running down the street.
No, that's a lie; there are no hot-dogs in England.
Love, Davis.
PS - Way to misconstrue the facts.
Over and out.
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March 24th, 2006
04:36 pm - Mad as a March hare.
Dear Diary,
How's it snap-crackle-and-popping? Is it snapping well? Oh good, I'm glad to hear it. The word on the street was that you'd become a heroin addict and were shooting up inside bookstore dumpsters. Hey, at least you get yourself a bit of education while you're at it, right? And also you know how many copies of 'Howl' are currently in stock. Good solid particulars.
Moving on. Today was the last day of term for us in the good old London College of Communication. So now we're on a month long break, which will of course involve lots of eating chicken.
And steak.
So this week was pretty mad as a March hare. In school on Monday, about 30 people in our year pitched their proposed Super 16mm films, and 7 got chosen to go into production. They were voted on by the 60 or so people that comprise our year. My film was one of the 7 to get the green light, so now work has begun to get this puppy to fly. In case you're curious, the name of the film is:
'About Having Confrontations With Strangers and Mescaline / The Biggest Secret Ever'
I know, it's more of a sentence than the name of a film. But c'est la vie, non? That, by the way, is French for 'I was drunk.' Ah well.
On an equally bright note (pun utterly intended), I will be going to sunny Portugal for a little while, mainly to see the land that had the capability and willpower to spawn someone as unhinged as The Fonz. That should be great fun and ginormous leisure.
I will now leave you with one quick image.
This is what happens when you leave London to its own devices:
Good night, and good luck.
Love, Davis.
Over and out.
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March 14th, 2006
08:06 am - Doing things.
Dear Diary,
Today I woke up at 6:37 in the morning.
$#&@&$*%!!!
That's amazing. In fact, it's still 8 in the morning and I'm doing things besides twitching and drooling on a heap of pointy metal round things called my bed! Safe!
Love, Davis.
Over and out.
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February 7th, 2006
12:26 am - That's just the way it is.
Dear Diary,
Today saw a discovery of paramount importance. I was on the infamous Tube (TFL you fucking bastards still suck), making my way down to college. Of course I was ridiculously late, because that's what I do; I say 'peanut butter' and you say jelly, I say 'Davis' and you say late. That's just the way it is. Any who, I was totally late. The best thing to do in these kinds of situations, I've found, is to just stay calm and breathe slowly, instead of flipping out and punching old ladies in the face. Years of being late has taught me this. So I sit down, pop open a book (a collection of short stories from Roald Dahl — three cheers for The Library of The Fonz), and start studying the little black marks on the faded sheets of paper.
CUT TO: Moments later
I'm sitting there reading, employing a feeling of general satisfaction, when I suddenly arrive at the Elephant & Castle station, which is where my college is located. (Well, not in the station. Stop being a smart-ass.) At this point I'm quite taken aback, since I was expecting the journey to last well into a solid pattern of me dozing off between words, propping my head up on the shoulder of the smelly guy next to me, and perhaps the occasional vomit. 'What the Jonas?' I say to myself. Clearly, something was amiss. Or maybe not? After all, people do say that reading a book usually makes you feel like time passes by quicker.
CUT TO: Me standing on the platform of the station
I look down at my watch, and it hits me: Holy fucking shit, the Tube totally time-warped! It wasn't that by my reading of a book, my perception of time passing was diminished, but that the Tube totally went through a fucking time-warp and cut like, at least 30 minutes off my commute! I mean, when I left Hampstead station, I was about 30 minutes late — when I arrived at Elephant & Castle, I was ON FUCKING TIME!
...
So my question to you is: Do I finally get a fucking Nobel Peace Prize?
Love, Davis.
Over and out.
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January 27th, 2006
12:00 am - That is a really good plan
Dear Diary,
So, you don't have to remind me of how much of a tool I am — of that I'm perfectly aware. It seems like a lot of posts lately have been about how I suck at posting things, and
HOLY FUCKING SHIT can I please stop getting fucking junk email!?!?!
Sorry. It's just that every few seconds some douchebag computer thing thinks that sending me emails about medication I can't pronounce will totally convince me to buy some.
"He he he he hey guys you know how we could make a huge bucket of cash?"
"How is that, Timmy?"
"Well we could send emails to this guy named Davis about Xvyvxpltriox and he'll totally like buy 3 billion dollars worth and we'll live in Idaho and it will be awesome."
"Dang Timmy, that is a really good plan. I mean it is good. I want to have that plan's children it's so awesome. I would let that plan smack my ankles with fish and I wouldn't even say anything about it because it is so damn good."
Those fucking bint-faced Lithuanian hooker bastards. I want to shoot them out of a PVC pipe.
Anyways, London is busy. Right when I got back from my excursion to Latvia, Kelsey arrived for a brief visit, and then school started, and now I want to eat a pineapple.
Damn guys. This post has been very not interesting and kind of on the 'what kind of fucking crack do they sell him in London?' side of things. But that's what junk email will do to someone.
Au revoir.
Love, Davis.
PS – If you were a tool, what kind of tool would you be?
Over and out.
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