Even I don't know what my problem is.

[Both upper photos: Toshiya, the bassist of Dir en Grey.]

It's past surrealism and right into the realm of Nonsense.

It's past eleven and close to midnight.

Ahem, ahem.

Ladies and gentlemen. Κυρίες και κύριοι.

I have officially lost it.

It's always the photos that do this.

I am not annoying anyone and those goddamn photos come and disturb me.

Can someone tell to Gackt, this bloody idiot here, just above the text, that he's Japanese, so he's not supposed to look like this body-wise? Thank you.

I think I soaked my knickers.

And can another person tall to that idiot bassist of Dir en Grey that he's not supposed to look BOTH like a truly enchanting woman and like a drop dead gorgeous guy just by changing clothes and adding make up? Again thank you.

I am going home to lament for the fact Toshiya looks like this (picture just below) and he's living in Japan. I have had enough of this!!! I think I am truly going for a sex change this time. Long live my mustache. Do not try to find me.

I have an itch I cannot scratch!

And a cat I cannot pick up anymore! Or my kidneys will go "flop" and fall off and just roll on the floor before coming to a stop.

I have also missed the most important thing! Connection with the funny train I wanted to ride in order to be writing here! I caught a connection to an ordinary train and now all I can see around me is boring people and old ladies with hairs coming out of their chins. Which reminds of the fact I have a mustache I ought to be doing something about. I think I am the only person who sees this mustache. However, it is not an imaginary mustache, I swear, and it has all the appropriate conditions for taking over the world. Or the rest of my upper lip. An uncaring owner and lots of space, as well as the hormones of a body that's past thirty and not getting any younger.

Goddammit, I am sure I will wake up one day and it will have developed into a fully blooming gentleman's goatee during my beauty sleep. Perhaps it will go even further, it will cover me whole and I will transform into a female yeti! Yikes!!!

Perhaps I should add fertilizer to it then. I am not getting laid anyway, whether I am male, female or genderless. Perhaps I am hiding something interesting in my pants and don't even know it myself. I am not looking much down there, to be honest. Not much to see. Darkness, spiders, mold. It sounds like a cellar. Not a lady's lower region.

It's interesting to have undiscovered areas on one's own body, isn't? I am falling apart anyway, soon I will have detachable arms and legs on top of everything else. And as I was telling to my best friend, a detachable vagina would also be handy. I would leave it at inconspicuous places, then walk away indifferently as to avoid suspicion.

Someone might even find it and fuck it. Imagine that.

Freedom to vaginas everywhere. Donate them to people who will be nice to them. Put them up for adoption if you cannot fulfill their purpose and fill them. Perhaps someone else will do a better job than I. It's the head's problem, you see. No matter what my vagina dictates, my head refuses. So the poor thing just sings indecent songs to itself during the wee hours of the night. I think it calls out to penises in the vain hope at least one will appear. Whenever one appears, the owner is a dick too, so I just shoo them away and then the vagina complains to me like a child that has been promised ice-cream and I have not delivered.

One of these days it will rebel against me, I know. I will be trying to wash it with nice lukewarm water and gentle liquid soap and it will bite off my fingers, then jump off and run away together with my kidneys. And I won't say a word, I swear. The poor thing will have every right. I have earned it.

I think this is the right train after all. :-)))

Cats, blogs and masochism.

How can I put feelings in words?

I don’t think I can.

When I cannot put feelings in words there are three things to do.

One, be silly. As silly as possible. I am good at this.

Two, cry my eyes out. I am good at this too.

Three, walk. I am not very good at this but hey, I try.

Right now my lower back is killing me. The weather turned cold and humid and once more it started acting up. I hurt my lower back when my father was living with us before he died. I was taking care of him and picking him up. That was three years ago. Another unpleasant thing I owe to him, except for the lousy taste in boyfriends and the general mess he left concerning the inheritance. Thanks, daddy. Nice one. Remind me to give you a piece of my mind when we meet up there or down there. Together with a lit stick of dynamite or a homemade chocolate that contains milk, hazelnuts and TNT.

And I read silly novels about death and choice and no easy answers. Mmm, tell me about it. And I also read Mr. Gaiman’s blog entry about his terrible shortage in cats and of how he will miss Princess, his terribly evil white fluffy cat when she’s gone and of how he cannot explain to anyone why he’ll miss that cat. A kind one, yes, but Princess is not such a case. Having a similar case of an evil Persian I think I know what he’s talking about. You see, I have this orange fluffy log of a cat that lives for is eating, purring and running around the house at maximum speed for reasons unknown. He does that in a cute bouncy way that more often than not ends up knocking my mother’s legs out of his way with all ten cute kilos of him. Needless to say, he makes me happy beyond words to have him purring on my bed. And then I also have this white Persian that’s a case of Spite and Malice and very sharp claws all-rolled-in-one. I have accepted my fate; I was the one who picked her from the streets so I belong to her. And yet when she’ll be gone I know I’ll be bawling like a baby, for in spite of her nasty demeanor she follows me around the house and is always happy to be close to me. Never mind the vicious bites and scratches she gives me when she is irritated by the way I pet her, for example. That’s another thing. Try to imagine Hannibal Lecter following you around and trying to be sweet to you and you’ll probably know why I’ll cry when she’s gone.

And then I had my cards read for me. It’s always so much fun when this happens; when I discover people's true sentiments it makes me want to take up new interesting hobbies. Such as knitting (and giving away as gift) explosive pieces of underwear, or installing electrical eels in plumping systems of the aforesaid people, or reversing hinges in doors so that instead of entering a room, have the door land on their heads or toes or chop off their nose. Does this make me mean? You haven’t heard about the glass-shard enhanced pillows yet, so don’t jump into conclusions, ok?

I think I’m going to go and get some sleep before I start telling you about the homemade make-up removing lotion with sulfuric acid. And before my Persian indeed manages to sniff the lit candle as she’s been trying to do for the past one minute. Bye now.

Fun lessons

Trying to learn Japanese.

Reading a relative book.

Yeah, right.

Japanese has a curse as a language. One may learn both alphabets and be able to read the letters when seen on paper. Or almost able. Then one tries to write a word down and suddenly both alphabets scurry out of one's head as fast as a swarm of millipedes on a stampede. You're like, fuck, I know this letter, I know what "ne" looks like. But is this "ne" or is it "ke"?

The minutes tick away and no matter how much you squeeze your brain cells you cannot remember. You try to recite the letters in your head and much to your horror, you realise you have forgotten even more letters. And you try again and again. Exhausted by the effort, your mind connects with a Chinese laundromat somewhere and you hear happy sounds all the while, birds chirping, wheels spinning, the washing machines of the laundromat on the rinse cycle, someone whistling an interesting tune while putting the g-strings in the dryer. Empires collapse, women lose their virginity, the warden of the Imperial Prison loses his entire batch of keys and you still cannot remember if that letter is ke or ne. Slowly the season changes, the eon is gone, the entire human race is wiped out including all the Greeks regardless if they came from Sirius or Yuggoth, and the Japanese fly away back to the planet Zerg where they originally came from, riding a super-space flying sandal. Or something.

Do I need to say you still cannot remember what that letter looks like?

'Tis the season.

'Tis the season of family happiness again. It began a little before equinox and it's riding me like the man who came across the armies of Satan while on a pleasant day out.

Not a day passes without a major fallout with my mother. It's fucking charming is what it is. Like putting a cobra and a mongoose in a pit and showering them with red hot volcanic pebbles for more effect. Like arranging a blind date between a fascist and an anarchist. Blind date I said? No, not quite. More like the two of them stuck in a narrow elevator due to a power cut that will last for a week. Make that a year and you'll know what I mean. If she wasn't my mother, people would have thought we have been married for half a century. Only such couples hate each other's guts so much.

I am trying to see what I am doing wrong and I can't locate it even if my life depended on it. In this case, it is not my life but my sanity; at least a negligible amount that is left. I will try again tonight to do my little hocus pocus. If this doesn't work, I will have to ask the patience bank to extend my credit for an undefined period of time. And I'll also replace all the knives in the house with plastic ones. Just in case.

When everything goes wrong I always try to remind myself of one of the most valid truths from my magic quotations box. "This too shall pass". And just like any other rule, or quotation, or anything that there is, really, it has exceptions. Every rule has exceptions; even this rule.

I am just so tired. I am almost thirty three and there are days I feel sixty. All the things I want to do are always inaccessible, and I don't think there is anyone else with more suppressed desires than me, except maybe for someone who was sentenced to a lifetime of imprisonment at nineteen. However, there are cracks on my prison wall now, I can see them clearly. Perhaps this is what she too sees, and she is scared.

She should not be afraid. It's what they say: If you really love something, set it free. If it comes back willingly, it will be yours forever. If it doesn't, take a shotgun and shoot the motherfucker. :-)

[I borrowed the picture from Alexia's photos- it's Mr Argh! Say hello to Mr. Argh, everyone.]

Shopping spree

Now, I have heard of women who buy shoes as shopping therapy. I've heard of those who buy lingerie, jewellery, cosmetics, you name it, change their hair style, begin yoga lessons or go to beauty salons and let other people smear them with all kinds of gooey, sticky and icky substances.

Never heard of one buying a printer as a shopping therapy. I suppose that makes me a freak of nature? Meh. :-P

Still have not found any salons where sensible, well-developed young men give you a massage and then screw you till your eyeballs pop out. :-)

Yes, I am buying magazines with Japanese singers again. And my friend K. is downloading porn with Asian men for me. Again. God bless her (un)holy fingertips and her gift-bringing, eye-bulging, orgasm-sharing internet connection, I have nekkid Asians in my hard drive, in various stages of getting hard for my eyes only. Bless you girl. That latest Thai one was... mmmgrrr. Mew!

The problems Asian rock stars present me with are endless, and my hormones are presently cascading like a waterfall from the mount Venus. First of all, it's the glitter and the eye-liner they use. Why oh why? Why not let me draw on their skinny bodies with pieces of praline? Where is the sense in getting onstage to sing wearing only bits of fur and suspenders? Why is my rabid grace endlessly tortured with pictures of boys who barely reach my nose, all made up like a present, hairless and skinny, with ding-dongs that look like my finger? (That latest bit I choose to ignore on the grounds that, with another race, I'll never have the chance to fuck with a male someone who wears more make-up than I do and looks prettier in a skirt than I). Even worse, what in the name of Buddha was God/dess thinking when S/he placed them at the other side of the globe? (probably their safety...)

On the happy side of nonsensical news, here is a new video by Dir En Grey. I am sure K. will appreciate watching her precious Die (the charming guitarist who resembles a hardcore Yakuza criminal) with his arms covered in what looks like infected dragon scales. I surely enjoyed it. Kyo is singing in his usual amazing style, like a man who accidentally swallowed first a smurf, than half a dozen frogs and finally a pit demon. The bassist is one of the most exquisite creatures you can hope to come across, with a neck that can make even a zealot vampire hunter develop strange urges. And the drummer... Mmmm. Pistachio.

*Mmmmm*. Busy licking imaginary neck right now. Talk to you later.

The nipple theory

I have a theory I'd like to share with you. Actually, I have many theories but let's focus on one for the time being.

Some nipples are rebellious by nature.

I pee. The sudden wave of relief caused by emptying my bladder makes them poke out. As if I didn't know their whereabouts and they had to make sure I am not worried or anything.

I take a hot shower. They get happy and stand out like the insolent little bumps of flesh they are.

I am cold. Et voila. You wouldn't believe it, I know, but two nipples giggle to themselves and make their presence known to me.

I am not ever referring to what takes place if I happen to get really excited about something. Something like Japanese gay porn, in my case. They rise to their fullest height like they are the champions of Nipple Land facing a possible pretender to their title. But anyway. The problem goes beyond that. For example, another part of the problem is that I presently have the tummy of a lady of a castle. And a very inactive and slothful lady for that matter. Or of a four months pregnant female elf, accompanied by the appropriately slim legs, and the hips of a woman painted by fucking Frazetta. All that topped by the face of a charming American Indian with tuberculosis. One would have thought I didn't need rebellious nipples as an addition, but I have them too, whether I asked for them or not.

A positive note is that I am happy about my boobs, blown to surreal proportions after gaining about ten kilos, and forcing me to hug them tightly whenever I have to break into a run. I wouldn't have thought this possible as a skinny teenager, but life had other plans. And there is obviously the matter of gay Japanese porn, found in my links. It's a pity it's not happening in my guestroom, but let's look at where gods decided to put nipples and count our blessings, eh? I am glad we don't have them on our forehead as a species. Like an unwanted alarm of some sort. Just imagine it. You'd see this oddball guy staring at you with his forehead nipples hard as rocks and you wouldn't know if you ought to shit yourself and run for it or he had just had a fabulous toilet time.

[Speaking of foreheads, I wouldn't mind having one of those Jap boys sat on my face. Then again, they are in Japan, and my nipples presently napping inside my bra.]

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Possible answers to stupid questions

A friend's grandfather had just died and she was about to leave work early. A colleague asked her,

"What, you are leaving now? What for?"

Here is a list of possible answers to this kind of question:

1. To try and resurrect him. I actually have a good success ratio. Here is my card.

2. Don't tell anyone, but my grandfather was the head of Free Masonry. I have to go and make sure our world domination plan carries out as agreed.

3. No reason, just feel like goofing off. Next week that we take inventory I'll off my grandma.

4. We have a family tradition that goes back thousands of years; to eat the bodies of our deceased loved ones. He was my favourite grandpa. Wouldn't want to miss out on that. He had always been so... um... soft.

5. *in an irritated, exasperated manner, as if explaining something to an idiot:* And who's going to open the mouth of his mummy, smart ass? Do you happen to know the ritual?

6. We're prone to turning into vampires from that part of my family and you just wouldn't believe how good I am with a stake.

7. What are you talking about? I need human brains for a potion! This is my chance! Next week is full moon!

8. Oh, it is just a perfect opportunity to unchain my grandma and finally release her from the closet before anyone else sees.

9. Because he has beat me in every single game of poker we've ever played! I'm gonna stand over his grave and yell, "who's the lucky one now, motherfucker?!?"

10. It is just that I have no money for the dentist with the present crisis and all, so it would be a good idea to get his false teeth before someone else does, you know? It's called persevering.

11. Uh... Um... I like, um, don't get this the wrong way, *blushes and starts fidgeting with her clothes* I just, um, just like being around dead people, you know? I guess, um, I guess it is not that unnatural, is it?

12. *Starts bawling hysterically* He was my sweetheart! My sweet sugar granddaddy! He was the one who turned me into a proper woman!

13. I don't know if in your family you turn your dead relatives into compost, but very generally speaking, there is a thing called funeral.

14. I actually don't want to go and it it is very convenient that you propose to go in my stead. Don't worry, I'll call grandma and explain to her I've been through sex change. Her eyesight is not what it used to be so it will be fine. Here is the address. Thank you so much, you are an angel, a life saver!

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Eat proper food, exersize, don't smoke, don't drink, don't fuck. Die healthy.

I think I want to organize an orgy.

Fat chance of that. I can barely organize my thoughts lately. I read everything wrong. I am either arbitrary relating it to sex or my misreading gives everything a new, more interesting meaning.

Jewelery makers become undertakers.

Travel agencies suddenly specialize in crepes.

Bet newspapers turn to sex marathon reports. And so on.

It could be funny. It is funny. But my energy has become lopsided, my grounding ability has gone to hell, I drop things, feel tipsy all the time and still have to think, work, walk... My attempts at walking are often misunderstood as tango between a drunken person and an invisible three legged bull on high heels. Fun, fun, fun. All my cds seem to be playing gibberish, like I've had my entire music collection stolen and replaced by the Martian top 40. And I am eating non-stop. My jaws are working overtime, gobbling down prodigious amounts of chocolaty, delicious, sugary, non healthy CRAP. Arghhhh...

I want to fondle tits, or have mine fondled. I want to be an Emperor, or run a ninja organization. I want a massage. I want to kiss the delicate fingers of Shinya, the drummer of Dir en Grey, and smack the Pope of Rome for his comment on gay people. I want all my farts to be silent and non smelly and my legs and magic carpet always waxed. I want to my tom cat to turn into a 1,90m tall black were-panther, who's well hung, polite and loves to lick me. I demand vacation, evacuation and non-smelly perspiration. Free chocolate and ice cream delivered to me till my last days by handsome ninjas in leopard thongs. Massage by the pretty Asian boys I ogle, all of them dressed exclusively in badass leather or period dresses for ladies, both versions with full make-up. Someone to take care of an indecent winged fellow that refuses to die in spite of my best efforts, and I am not referring to a mosquito. I want pillows stuffed with hamsters that smell like an almond tree in full bloom, a Japanese tattoo on my entire back, Sephiroth as my lover and Vampire Hunter D as my husband. And to cheat on them both with Totchi, the bassist of Dir en Grey dressed as a goth slut (see picture). And to give my period to someone else when I have it. And not get any zits or colds ever. And always have enough money regardless of anything else. And very very long hair.

I DON'T WANT TO TURN 33! WAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!

Discovered!

With the help of my dear friend K., the table Nuare fucks (previous post) is finally discovered!

Happy new year everyone! :-D

Vampire Hunter D

I am presently reading the Vampire Hunter D series of books. I have five of them.

I am pissed off with the series.

When I read the first book I had been left speechless. The book combined hack and slash with a fantastic setting in the far off future. There are spaceships and laser cannons and at the same time people travel on horseback and fight with vampires and werewolves. There is a very interesting basic character, D, who sports outrageously good looks and is about as involved with other humans as the moon is involved with your average bus. He merely shines his grace on them. And that's about it. Now, having the kind of father I had and all the lovely traumas and confused childhood years I had, it was inevitable that I would be immediately smitten with D and would want to read about him. And the first book was very good. But then I read the second, and the third, and then the sixth and tenth. And in the tenth book the basic character is still as evolved as it was in the first. He never mingles with humans. Never uses the bathroom. Never masturbates or fucks or shows even a glimpse of interest in anything else than "flying like a mystical bird through the air" and slashing everything around him in bloody confetti.

And I got really annoyed and bored with the series.

In my stories I have Nuare. Nuare is similar to D in some ways. But he fucks. In fact he would have fucked just about anything that caught his fancy. Even a wooden table with three legs and a vase with flowers on it. I swear. He cannot fuck anything he wants but when he does fuck there is enough detail in there to make the reader sidestep to avoid a flying ribbon of spank that is coming through the page and seems to be aiming at their eye. (I swear this is accidental, by the way.) It just happens that any realistic character will have some sort of sexual life at some point if it is a humanoid being. Right? And if not sexual life he will have friends. Some kind of emotional involvement with SOMEONE, for the sake of fuck.

But no. D "flies like a mystical bird through the air". Of course. How stupid of me. That should be enough.

Give me five years. That's all I am asking for. And they will all eat my dust. That, or I'll find a way to slip half a dozen viagra in D's goblet of wine and make him show me his other bird. Not the mystical. The one hidden inside his trousers.

"And there was much rejoice".

Monty Python

Judgement Day

And then comes one day that you want to turn Angel Safari into a national pastime. Hunt the fuckers. Raid the Elysian fields or aetheric levels or whatever place they live in, sleep and tan their gorgeous bodies while gracefully sipping mojitos or whatever shit they drink. Pluck their feathers out with pliers. Take a plane and fly over them while they snore peacefully and throw them anvils and safes to flatten them in their sleep. Paint them with black nail polish. Chase them with a flame thrower. Throw them big cactuses with the entire clay pot attached while they merrily chase each other in the ever green fields of the paradise. Next time I am introduced to one of those lazy motherfuckers, I will kung fu their brains out of their skulls. Yeah right, why EVEN TRY to bother with the earthly shit? Oh noooooo, THEY are TOO IMPORTANT to bother. It doesn't matter that this plane of existence has turned into a demo version of hell. Oh nooo, it is not their fault, you see there is this thing called FREE WILL, and since that thing exists, well, THEY CAN'T do anything, it is not their RESPONSIBILITY. You see, there are RULES.

I will rule your ass out of existence you shitstained pieces of feathered ego, you Pharisees of heavens! You bloody scum! Handing over your powers to the exactly wrong kind of humans without caring as long as you will not bother with us lowly mortals, with those oh-so-unimportant mortal affairs. You see we're flesh and blood, too disgusting for your divine hands and standards. When you fucked mortal women they were good enough. Now there is no fucking involved so you can't really bother with the rest of us, can you? Oh no. Too much work and a very dirty job. Too much trouble. A whole fucking planet turned into purgatory and billiors of souls screaming in misery and despair every single day of their lives and you can't move a finger to help. No no no. You are safe where you are. Why bother?

You miserable, arrogant, pretentious pieces of crap. You fucking hypocrites. YOU LOWLY, COWARDLY SCUM. If you cared, really cared, if you indeed served the Creator you claim you serve you'd be too ashamed to show your fucking faces. The brave ones of you have taken the dive in flesh and live amongst the mortals, suffering just like any other human. Being oppressed, victimised, raped, scorned and used like asswipes by mortals and immortals alike. Behold the wonder of existence and what it has turned into. I hope you are proud of yourselves. This is your responsibility as much as anyone else's. When you see a crime committed and you do nothing to stop it, you are as much a criminal as the one commiting it. Hail to the entire angelic race! As above so below; as below, so above. Go fuck yourselves and see if you multiply. Douchebags!

PS I swear, the next forty something American lady/healer with the serene, all knowing smile and the catchy New Age vocabulary I come across in the net, "channelling messages" from this or that or the other Archangel or Teacher or entity, I'll track her down and fuck her up the ass until she recites the entire Greek alphabet backwards.

Angels, devils and guitar players.

It is time.

The time of frosted moon and de-frosted Asian buttocks.

I shall be merciless.

I shall chase them like a mad dog to the gates of hell and even further. Into police stations, into libraries, into churches. It is the time of ultimate doom.

Ovulation has kicked in.

I need Asian boys all wrapped up in ribbons and fake fur.

First of all, Uruha. I shall tie him up and throw him in the oven and roast him. And eat him beginning with his little ass.

YES! YOU! YOUR ASS! ASS! BRING ME THE ASS OF URUHA on a silver platter, well roasted and topped with mustard! Onions and potatoes will mark his passage! And leave me to it! ~AAAAAASSSS! That will teach you to shake your hips in videos in such a slutty, despicable, unacceptable manner! ASSSS! ASSSSS!!! Your ass will be GRASSSS!!!

Then Gackt will be the one to suffer. I shall wear my armor and go find him in his fortress. He shall hear me approach, me and my minions of evil, and he shall know me by my evil boots of DOOM. Thigh high platforms that imitate the sound "DOOM" while I march to war. "Doom, doom, doom". Like a frost giant wearing two anvils instead of shoes, walking half-heartedly to his own wedding. The kind of sound that makes the ground shake and the fillings in your teeth vibrate. And behind me, millions of my evil man-eating gothic smurfs chattering away like demonic locusts. All white, with black gothic clothes and tiny very sharp teeth. We shall prevail!

[Gackt, as soon as he heard the news of me approaching, is trying to disguise himself and flee. NO such luck you bastard! Your penis will decorate my hall of trophies tonight!!!]

Then Hyde must fall victim to the power of my ovulation. He will try to escape, try to run and hide, all in vain! VIOLATION! Random violence and undiluted pain in my hands! Tied up and covered in marmalade and me shaving him with a chainsaw while one gazillion ants run all over him, tickling him to death! His defeat and humiliation will be unparalleled, an example to every other Japanese rock star thinking he's more feminine than I am, and prettier as well! BASTARDS! BASTARDS! Why do you have to live in Japan from all places? I need 2000 euro to come there and give you a piece of my mind! I shall take Japan by force and have it under martial law! You will be forced to walk around dressed like ugly transvestites for the rest of your miserable lives!

[Hyde under my martial law, mocking my authority. Take him inside and WHIP him till he bleeds, the bastard!]

And then...

What?

(Someone from behind a curtain speaks to me in a low voice.)

Oh.

I see.

I was just informed that a specific someone brought me gifts in order to reconsider.

Hmmm. Bananas. I love bananas. Come here sweet Uruha boy. I hope you know where these are going.

[Cries of panic echo in the courtyard. A door slams. Then silence.]

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Crash test

Okay, this post will not make much sense to anyone not involved with Japanese rock music. Then again, I want to make my friend K. laugh because she's a true blessing in my life, and she has made me laugh at times I needed it more than dear breath. There you go girl, this one's for you.

SEX CRASH TEST!

Between two major J-rock musicians: Gackt (Gakuto) Camui (musician, performer and singer) and Kyo Nishimura (Niimura), singer of the cult band Dir en Grey.

Gackt: tall, (1.80?) slender but beautifully worked out, lovely smile with blinding white teeth, the androgynous beauty of an angel, mid thirties to late thirties, quite the charmer and the playboy. He is too good not to be vain, conceited and self-involved to the wrong degree. You know, the "for fuck's sake get the fuck out of the bathroom, I need to pee, there are mirrors in other rooms of the house too goddammit!" type.

Kyo: too short, (1.60?) very slender, full of tattoos, a tiny man of solid muscle, yellow teeth that look like a traffic jam after an accident, rather ugly to downright grotesque, early thirties, oddly quiet and polite. The type of quiet and polite that makes you wonder if he's got a closet full of mummified fans hidden somewhere in his house.

Why fuck them?

Gackt: because he's too good to be true, the bastard. Criminally pretty. And grows old beautifully as well.

Kyo: because on stage he behaves like an epileptic orc during a psychotic episode, even to the point of self-mutilation. If he is the same in bed, he's gonna be the fuck of a lifetime.

What would they think if they saw me in a crowded room?

Gackt: Hmmmm... She's too tall (note:I am 1.78m), taller than I (in high heels). How dare she be taller? *annoyed* And she's got tattoos on her arms. Yuck. Such bad taste! How unfeminine! And bags under her eyes as well! Hasn't she heard of concealer? Plus she's not even blond! And she's got boring brown eyes! But I haven't fucked non-Japanese pussy in quite some time, so perhaps I will devote SOME of my PRECIOUS time to her, but only a little.

Kyo: wow, that woman is TALL. (His eyes inevitably fall on my cleavage, due to them being at that exact height.) Er. *Blushes* But why is she staring at me? (Starts looking left and right, certain I am not looking at him.) Perhaps she is looking for the ladies' room?

Romantic courting:

Gackt: Women are such sensitive creatures. (Pours more wine in your glass, to make sure this sensitive creature in particular will be too tipsy to say no.) They bring true joy to my life. (Read between the lines: especially those 90-60-90 types, born mute and perpetually hungry for my divine penis.) Sometimes the loneliness gets me down. (Translation: I haven't scored in two weeks. I need to get laid to satisfy my manly urges and desires. You, lucky girl, you.) I wonder if I will ever find the one I am looking for. (Translation: you could be this one, you luckiest woman on the planet.) Then he smiles a kittenish smile while 'accidentally' touching skin, and you really want to smack his face because he's such a douchebag, especially those perfect teeth are begging for your knuckles, but the lower part of your body has a very different opinion on the whole matter.

Kyo: (Looks at you mystified, then points at a random direction with a barely audible polite whisper:) That way. (Meaning "to the ladies' room".)

Line to make them fall for you:

Gackt: No line. He likes his women mute anyway. Just IGNORE the bastard, ignore him with all your might and fury.

Kyo: ??? Perhaps using a baseball bat would be more effective than any line I can presently think of.

SEXUAL ARENA

Size matters:

Gackt: I'll be damned if I know. Then again, he's Japanese, so what the hell do you expect down there, the Tokyo Tower?

Kyo: He's tiny. I surely hope he's not tiny everywhere. I think in his case you are in for a surprise. Now, whether this will be a pleasant or nasty surprise, we can all pray to the Phallus god. And buy a strap-on just to be on the safe side.

About giving you oral:

Gackt: *twitches his -plastic surgery- perfect nose in serious distaste.* Do what? Yes, I suppose I could do that, being an exceptional lover and all that, but why don't we try this other thing first? (My perfect face is NOT meant to be between the legs of ANY woman, you deluded moron! It is meant to be worshiped, photographed and depicted on magazines worldwide. JUST WHO do you think you are???)

Kyo: You don't ask him to give you oral. In fact, you don't speak at all. You just grab him by the hair and direct his head between your legs. Once down there, I have this very strong suspicion he knows very well what to do.

About you giving them oral:

Gackt: But of course. It took you some time, but you finally understood your purpose in life. That's the only fitting place for a woman anyway. In the bedroom, after she has satisfied all my manly desires. In the kitchen, while at the same time cooking a heavenly meal for me. In the living room, while I am sitting comfortably in my designer couch and she has just vacuumed. In the recording room, while I am writing yet another romantic song and need gentle inspiration. I think I will compose a new song now and perhaps even include you in my thanks section of my latest album.

Kyo: *blushes tomato red*

On scratches and bites:

Gackt: OW! Are you CRAZY? (He jumps out of bed and runs to the bedroom mirror, strategically placed somewhere near bed to be able to watch himself while fucking you.) You scratched my face(/back/arm/leg)!!! My beautiful face(/back/arm/leg)!!! I have a photo shooting in two days and this CAN'T be covered by make-up! Argh!!! (Don't be very surprised if he slaps you at that point and then ties you up, to make sure you won't be able to scratch him a second time.)

Kyo: OW! That felt GOOD! (Then he either reverts to epileptic orc mode and starts fucking you as if there is no tomorrow, or he gets confused, thinks he is on stage and starts singing. Good luck with that.)

AFTER SEX

Gackt: Was it as good for you as it was for me? Of course. How could it not be? I am the perfect lover. Tomorrow I will make breakfast and bring it to bed, BLAH ME BLAH ME BLAH ME BLAH ME BLAH ME... ME ME ME ME ME ME, BLAH DE BLAH... (Just pretend you are asleep. It will save you.)

Kyo: Sleeps like a dead man, probably curled, snoring lightly and drooling on your pillow.

LINES YOU CAN SAY TO...

...make them marry you:

To Gackt: No lines. Zip it for the rest of your life. And read this blog entry from the beginning. Are you sure you want that? Now, I don't think you've been paying attention!

To Kyo: You know, I can scratch, slap and bite you like that EVERY time. Plus I love little fluffy animals. (There are pictures of Kyo nearly shitting himself with joy while petting doggies, cats, rabbits and the like.)

...make them run for dear life and never look back:

To Gackt: I think I am pregnant.

To Kyo: You know, I LOVE torturing and killing little fluffy animals. And hey, actually you look like one. Why don't you get some sleep now? You must be tired.

... make them dump you and possibly execute all your relatives as well:

To Gackt: Kyo from Dir en Grey does it better. Plus he's got a bigger dick than yours.

To Kyo: I have been cheating on you with Toshiya (another member of Dir en Grey) since the beginning of our relationship.

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