!!! \O/ !!!
Category Archives: Muntedness
Saturday, 24th September.
An epic time was, needless to say, had.
The Patrick Porter award for the best present and best guest overall goes to Kirrily. The prize for the most perverse guests goes to the Keith! Party crew – comprising on this occasion Talkshow Boy, 2-SHEE, Hot God, Gezus and entourage including Ms C. C*ulter (alias unknown) – who turned up unfashionably early, immediately occupied what would normally be the dancing room and systematically set about turning it into a chillout room. WTF. (NB: And it was *great*.)
Prize for the most long-lost-but-pleasingly-now-seemingly-regained former CH party regular goes to Vicwie. Prize for the best guest who wasn’t able to attend physically but who came in essence goes, as always, to Wads. Prize for the best autographed copy of Kafka’s “Metamorphosis” and best Tasweigan mafia attaché goes to Doktor Midnight aka The Dan Cross Revolution. Prize for the best drug by almost universal consensus goes to nitrous oxide.
Prize for the most gobsmacking act of delusionality – not to mention the most concerted but nevertheless pathetically unsuccessful attempt to ruin a birthday party of mine in the history of the world – goes to the profoundly
fucked in the head disappointing Ms G. Rouse. Prize for the most departing housemate of three years goes to Grim$ha.
Prize for the most heroically tenacious still-recovering-from-her-own-birthday-shenanigan-the-previous-night attendee and all-round best MC-Ren-would-you-please-give-your-testimony-to-the-jury-about-this-fucked-up-incident regaliousness goes to Toots.
Special award for the mouthiest ho goes, as it generally does, to Kat (see audio, below).
Extra special thanks to, y’know, everyone. Seriously.
Friday 11th June.
(My original plan was to throw it off the roof before destroying it. But unfortunately the ladder which would have facilitated this turned out to be at Toots’s house. So it goes; that piece of shit still got completely annihilated. Result! etc)
Vale SRC. I’m gonna miss you hugely in some ways; in other ways not so much. I’ll certainly miss your Xmas parties. Or maybe I’ll just crash them.
The following was captured at Harrie & Atkins’ house, at some point quite far into the 17-odd hours’ worth of extended shenanigans.
Messy night; messy audio. But I like it.
For the Facebook-equipped, here’s a link to the Dinner Party Project manifesto.
This all started the night before G’s Picnic at Prudence, when – in a sudden, entirely-non-drug-induced moment of feeling like I was peaking on fucking awesome drugs – I was compelled to inform my friends Vicwie & Kav that they would, at some point in the near future, be coming to dinner at my house.
Four other superstars from my work (including the legendary Bourkie) were subsequently invited. And Toots, obvs.
It occurred. It went off.
The rest is currently in the process of going down in relational aesthetics history.
(In accordance with her wishes, all of V*cw*e’s audio parts have been edited out; the excisions are marked with bleeps.)
It is going to go OFF.
Here is a picture that this chick posted on my wall, which I like very much:
As you can see, it depicts a longhaired cat sitting atop a moog or some such against a background of stars and bares the motto: “Astro Cat will play for you the Symphony of Space.”
Like William Carlos Williams’ red wheelbarrow, it is what it is.
No more, and no less.
At long freaking last.
In the meantime, my two primary gmail accounts, my Facebook account and my TypePad (blog) account were hacked & rendered inaccessible. Oy.
I’ve managed to resecure the blog account, at least, thanks to a friendly cookie which recognised my machine. Bless that cookie. No damage appears to have been inflicted. The only evidence of intrusion is that the answer to my secret security question (“What is your mother’s maiden name?”) has changed from “Symington” to “whore”.
Charmed, I’m sure.
Here – nested all meta-style – is an earlier entry I scrawled freehand on Tuesday, and was planning to post at the ‘ternet caff that evening but couldn’t, because I’d been hacked:
Is the word of the week. As in “Man, I got munted on Saturday night.” And I did. I really did.
At 10pm I was summoned by Wouters to a party in the Brunswick area. I was only going to stay out for two hours or so on account of: (a) I was supposed to be working the following day –
(In other news: I started working at the doodle palace again last week; it’s been almost as much of a shock to my system as Rainbow. But in a significantly less good way.)
– and (b) I didn’t actually know the person who’s party it was or anyone else who was going to be there. Or so I thought..
As it turned out.. ah, it’s quite a funny story, but it’s also a bit complex and at least four of my five remaining readers basically know it already.
Suffice to say a munting good time was had, this being only improved – and further enmunted – by the semi-random appearance of none other than the mysterious and extraordinary Thad at an advanced stage of the evening. (Update 8 Feb: I’ve encountered him twice more since then. I think he’s stalking me. Or someone I know. But I don’t mind at all.)
I didn’t make it to work. I’m not sure how I made it home. I’m really not.
In other muntedness news, I’m having a party tomorrow night. It’s going to be pretty good. If you are reading this and you know my street address, you can come.