Acquire superpowers! Discover amazing music! Get your balls busted with useless advice!

There is only one superpower in this world, and it is not what you think. It is not flying, reading minds or knowing which stocks to buy. It's something simple: the ability to change. I've said that countless times in the past (my friends are probably sick of hearing it), and I'm saying it again now. If you can change, then you've got a superpower few others possess. People don't change; only falling in love and expecting to die can make them behave differently. If you can change without the help of these two situations, then you've got a near-magical ability. There is nothing you can't do, nothing you can't achieve.

I'm tired and dispirited. I don't want to get off the chair. My butt is conveniently grafted on it, and the inside of my head feels full of pickled seaweed. This is why I'll get off the chair, go upstairs to the rooftop and exercise. I need to change my priorities if I want to see a positive result and no-one else can do it for me. I can't become the living impersonation of the protagonist of Assassin't Creed, but I can certainly make my episcopal tummy diminish. By "episcopal" I mean the kind of tummy that rosy-cheeked fat heads of church use it to rest their entwined fingers while they give advice. Well, here's my advice. Change your priorities. Put yourself and your own well-being first. If you can do that... you're well on your way, and you have my deepest respect. If not, well, give it a try just to see what happens. Or not. I am not here to change you.

For the musical part, I am honoured to know personally Cally, the exceptional singer of both videos. She has a voice than can only be characterised as haunting. If you like them (and only being deaf can be a justifiable reason you don't!) then go and like their Facebook page, subscribe to their Channel, and share their videos. If you don't do that, I shall call upon my episcopal tummy to smother you. It will not be pretty.

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Valentine special: Ikea cupboards and Greek extreme metal bands

As a general observation, I avoid Greek art like the plague. I am not referring to ancient Greek art or the kick-ass Greek poets we were lucky to have. I avoid reading modern Greek writers, watching Greek films and listening to Greek music. Then again, there is a Greek band called Septicflesh that I love to bits. If you enjoy the darker aesthetic and symphonic death metal, check this awesome video. It's directed by Jon Simvonis, a friend of mine. If you like your visual treats a little fucked up and still wiggling/ crawling 'fresh', you'll find this right up your alley. If not, don't watch it. It will most likely put you off your food, and maybe your grandparents as well.

(If you enjoyed the video, you can see more of my friend's work at his site here, or subscribe to his youtube channel, and you can be real darlings and like his Facebook page.)

Other than that, it's Valentine's day tomorrow. I am busy at work. Have you noticed there are days someone leaves the doors of the asylums open and the inmates are left to their own devices, to roam the earth and make the rest of the population tear their hair? I got several escapees already. They came disguised as customers. One in particular was so weird and hopelessly idiotic I wanted to ask her if she found her boyfriend before or after the lobotomy. Being a polite seller, I kept my mouth shut and my opinions to myself. Blogging doesn't count. 

Besides that, I want to refer to the fact lately I've entered a weird phase and keep ogling men like Chris Hemsworth (Thor), Chris Evans (Captain America) and Benedict Cumberbatch (in his role as Khan). Men who seem to belong to an Ikea catalogue, cupboard section. If you ask me why, I have no plausible explanation. I can only attribute it to my present age. My ovaries are probably singing the Lament of Unfertilised Eggs, and lust after man meat (=good genes for possible children, that by the way, I don't want to have). Well I never. Ever since I remember myself, I liked my men feminine. Now I stare at buffed up studs with backs like trees and thunder thighs of doom and grin absentmindedly, in an idiotic manner. Slightly disturbing, but to hell with it. I have bigger problems than my changed taste in men. Besides, the possibility of me finding such a guy is only marginally bigger than me having a relationship with the protagonist from Assassin's Creed: Unity, so I let my ovaries lament. Hey, I'm not even sure I do want such a guy as a possible suitor, OK? So I ignore this new information. Never mind the fact I lose the plot and walk into doors when a big guy near me flexes his biceps. It's under control, I swear.

Me while discretely admiring yet another buffed up hunk passing by.

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Job silliness

I have a calculator at my job. It has a button that reads 'MU'. I have no idea what that means or what it does, so my imagination rushed in, trying to offer me possible explanations.

1) The lost continent of Mu. That's where it's been hiding all this time. If I keep looking, I'll probably discover Atlantis's hiding place too.

2) As soon as you press it, it sprinkles you with milk. Hopefully cow milk.

3) If you press it, someone in your environment says "haha" because that's what follows "mu". Especially if you are a cartoon villain.

4) Mulan. She appears and kicks your ass. For no reason. She just does.

5) M(ind) U(nhinged). You press it, you go mad. If you were mad to begin with, you are teleported against your will to the aforesaid continent of Mu. You know. Meet and greet the cows. Exciting stuff. Or worse, you come back to your senses while stranded on this planet. Poor motherfucker. I hope you go mad soon, it will be a relief. :P

6) You become a cow. If you already were one (and I don't mean bovine) you get polka dots everywhere. I like polka dots. Good luck getting laid.

7) I am not working right now. I ought to be sleeping, and I'm writing blog entries instead. So tomorrow I will press that button and see what happens. If I stop updating this blog, please send help. If I upload only cow photos, don't be alarmed, they are selfies and I am looking for a boyfriend.
(If you enjoy my content, please consider supporting what I do. Thank you.)

Friendly conversation with a writer (with Thranduil's butt as a bonus)

Thranduil: Ass divine. Unlike our good ol' elven king, have one, don't BE one to your friends.

Source: http://ranlae.deviantart.com/art/mailea-kaila-556271990 

Me: "This pisses me off, you know? There is a friend of mine who has vanished for years now. And you do know how few my friends are. Every time he gets into a relationship, he drops off the face of the earth. Stops calling. Stops meeting with me. And it pisses me off when my friends do that. It makes me sad. Time passes and I may move abroad and never see him again. I am not expecting him to spend time daily or even weekly with me. But for the love of fuck, surely you can find some time once or twice a year for a fucking coffee with me?! I am not asking for the moon, I am asking for maybe two hours every few months!"

Lizbeth: "Let me quote Walter, the scientist, from the series Fringe: 'It's all because of that temptress. She tricked him with her carnal manipulations and he fell right into her vagenta!' (vagina+ agenta). Maybe his girlfriend isn't happy with him meeting his female friends, you know. Most women feel that way and they are VERY manipulative and cunning. They make sure to alienate their boyfriends from their female friends to eliminate possible competition. Men don't realise it until it's too late."

Me: *Laughs* "I don't know if he has realised we have not met each other for at least two, maybe three years now. Men are complete idiots. As soon as they find a relationship nothing else matters. They no longer have friends or other interests. There is the Holy Vagina, and then there is everything else: work, food, sleep and maybe something called hobbies, if her majesty the Vagina allows. These men find themselves alone in their fifties, married to what has become a fat, unpleasant woman, and they drink beer in front of the TV and wonder why they have no friends left. Because you ditched us years ago, you bloody morons, that's why!"

Lizbeth laughs. "You do remember what J. told you about it, don't you now?"

Me: "Yeah. J. said he has so many other, more serious problems in his life, that doesn't have any time or energy left to worry about those who never call and don't keep in touch because they developed a case of severe phone allergy doubled with Procrastinatis and Arseholery."

Lizbeth: "That's why I love that guy. He's right, you know."

Me: "Oh hell, fuck me, I know. That's why I stopped calling my friend and no longer try to reach him. He lives in a new house now, much closer to mine. If he can't be bothered to call and meet up, then to hell with him. I have other priorities too. I can't chase anyone. Let him go. Maybe someone else will replace him. It hurts, but you can't make people stay, you can't make them care or give you their time. Obviously my idea of our friendship was wildly exaggerated."

Lizbeth quotes Mark Twain: "As in 'the reports of my death have been wildly exaggerated'?"

Me: "Yeah. Something like that. How goes the review hunting, by the way?"

Lizbeth makes a face. "I've kissed so much arse in the past one month I am beginning to feel hairs growing on my poor chapped lips. You can't imagine how boring this procedure is. Some of the reviewers are rude, too!"

Me: "Well fuck them. Give them the finger if they are rude." *Raises her middle finger in solemn salutation*

Lizbeth: "You can't give them the finger, even if they are rude. Sure, I've said many 'fuck you too' to my screen whenever I receive a rude email. I don't mind a refusal. If they tell me they are busy and can't do another review, what am I going to do, kidnap them and force them to write reviews for my book? I just shrug and thank them anyway. But the rude ones, oh the rude ones are so much fun. I wish I become famous just so they regret being so unpleasant to me."

Me: "Don't worry about them. Fuck them. Your writing isn't for everyone. You know that, right?"

Lizbeth: "Nothing is for everyone. I just wish humans were less unpleasant to each other."

Me: "Isn't this what makes you write?"

Lizbeth: "Don't you go all Buddha on me now, about existence being painful and this pain being the grit that makes the pearl grow. Being polite is always an option, especially if the other person has been nothing but polite to you. Have an arsehole. Don't be one."

Me: "Yeah, fat chance of that, love. Mutation by proximity."

Lizbeth: "More like mutation by constant association with that orifice and thorough brain alienation."

Me: "I've got an 'alienation' label on my blog. Maybe I should use 'brain alienation' too."

Lizbeth: "Maybe we should stop caring about people who don't care about us in the same way."

Me: "How can you tell how much someone cares?"

Lizbeth: "Easy peasy. They check on you every now and then to make sure you are okay."

Me: "Aw man, I must delete almost my entire list of contacts if that's the case."

Lizbeth: "Don't delete them. Just stop worrying about them, stop calling them, and stop wondering why they don't call. You've got bigger fish to fry."

Me: "Yeah, my glorious self. I will be a feast." (I am Pisces with Pisces ascendant...)

Lizbeth: "Goodie. Am I invited?"

Me: "Of course. Come, eat, this is my body. But you will most likely start fancying elves and vampires and unpleasant characters afterwards."

Lizbeth: "I don't see any discernible difference. I do that already."

Me: "And here I was, wondering why we keep each other such good company..."

Learning Excel online

Perfect example of an elven king tailor-made for the purpose I describe below: Thranduil from the Hobbit.

It mostly hurts after a while. It feels like someone is repeatedly rubbing half onions on my back. I want to do something else than clicking on boxes, calculating sums and dragging ranges. Like a good girl, I suck it up and sigh. And dream of elven kings with long blond hair, who are so snobbish even dust avoids settling on them, fearing their disapproval. As a way to blow off steam, I dream that I am chasing the aforesaid king on horseback. In a field full of brambles. And he is terrified, on foot and wearing absolutely nothing. And I am holding a flogging stick and hit him for extra encouragement. There's probably a hapless human in there too, and I am sure he or she is the creator of Excel. They are an easy target; sooner or later they will collapse inside a bramble bush, and I'll leave them to find the way out on their own. 

So the elven king runs for dear life, his testicles dangling about like a meaty pendulum, his penis making a flapping sound against his thighs, his wide back golden pink in colour and full of crisscrossing red welts, his legs covered in scratches, his firm, muscular butt poetry in motion, and I yell like a banshee from the back of my horse. Run, motherfucker, run! Run because when I catch you I'll have a distinguished elven aristocrat for supper and guess what, you'll be the main course! 

If I keep going, I am pretty certain eventually he will stumble and fall. I hope he lands face first on a pile of horse or bear shit. And rest assured I'll jump off the horse and step on his head to make it sink deeper in it.

(What do you mean this is just too cruel? It's a mating ritual. You wouldn't understand. The way these fuckers pose and their behaviour manages to tickle all the wrong anatomical bits of me, unfortunately together with the right ones.) 

The reason my basic hero in that other story (/book/ trilogy/ saga) is a dark elf, is that they usually are stronger, faster, and more vicious than any pure-blooded, arrogant, belonging to a superior race and blessed by the gods elf. And they have absolutely no qualms about punching those arrogant dickbags in the face and bloodying their perfect noses. In fact there's nothing they, or their maker, would enjoy more than that. So I cackle with glee and go back to learning Excel. Maybe one day I'll write that story. Maybe not. Let me finish with what I'm halfway through first, and we'll see about that.

Here is the site I am using to learn Excel, if you feel like torturing yourselves:

http://www.excel-easy.com/

https://youtu.be/8L1OVkw2ZQ8 

And here are some more Thranduil photos in case you want to have a better look. ;)

A sincere cover letter

I am trying to write a cover letter to include with my CV. It's one of the most boring activities someone can engage in, with advanced accounting and being whipped to build an Egyptian pyramid being marginally worse. I am tempted to write a sincere cover letter praising my unique and amazing abilities, like being able to discover the petting spots that turn cats into goo, writing good porn with just about any gender and species involved, regularly producing farts of outstanding potency and duration, and being able to make successful divination with a thesaurus. The more I struggle with inane templates of cover letters and the pompous statements they contain, the more facial ticks I develop. So here is a cover letter guaranteed to land you the dream job you were always looking for, or a place in jail and one hell of a reputation.

Dear Sir/ Madam,

I am writing to apply for the position of Exalted Asslicker in your prestigious company of nitwits and attention whores.

I am a unique and highly resourceful individual, managing to stay out of jail although I can't pay any of my bills due to the current political situation. I am a fast learner, competent in bullshitting or threatening to have it my way, and adaptable to any situation, including zombie apocalypse. In my last job we were adequately trained in shooting the delivery boy and one of the accountants if they were late. I can cope with a vast range of administrative tasks while balancing a waffle with ice-cream on my left ear and juggling with living piranha. I am fully capable of prioritizing my workload, putting porn and masturbation on top and leaving office work for the clerk I am blackmailing with photos of his current affair. I am motivated by cocaine and fueled by speed, have a gangster attitude and love learning new skills, like ritualistic sacrifice, taxidermy and shibari (Japanese bondage). My communication skills are excellent; everyone does as I say or find themselves swimming in the nearest large body of water wearing cement shoes. I can fulfill a variety of roles due to my numerous interpersonal skills. I prefer Dominatrix, but I also double as a bodyguard and negotiations expert, because my plasma cannon is way bigger than yours.

I believe that every problem is unique and needs to be handled as such, applying both past experience and new ideas to tackle it successfully. I am in constant contact with hit men of different nationalities and most mafia organizations. I am also discreet with personal information and can handle a range of possible situations, from blackmail to murder.

I am well versed in the use of the written word in a variety of subjects and occasions, from ransom notes to political manifestos. I am fully capable of adapting to given guidelines and improvising according to circumstance and need, moderately good at wording contract loopholes and fully proficient in forging. I am also highly skilled in planning, customer communication, and handling all the different tasks and challenges of a busy office environment, such as hidden landmines, possessed managers and drug addicted CEOs. I am keen on meeting with new challenges and expanding my professional horizons with a reputable company like yours. I believe that I will prove myself to be a valuable asset to your team, or I will make sure there isn't a hole deep enough to save yourselves from my wrath if you don't hire me. 

In my free time I am an astrophysicist and a neurosurgeon. I love recreational drugs and occasionally run the gatherings of the local Freemasonry organisation, including minute taking of their plans to take over the world with the assistance of Pinky and the Brain. 

I’m looking forward to learning more about this position and what it entails. I would greatly appreciate the opportunity of speaking with you at your earliest convenience, via e-mail or phone. Thank you for your time and consideration. And psssst, nudge nudge. If you hire me, the girls for stress alleviation and the office cleaners are on me.

Sincerely and/or not bothering much,

Elizabeth Armpit.

Example of a conversation at my job.

Customer, man in his thirties: Hello, uh,  do you have any single wet hankies?

Me: Yes, I do. How many would you like?

Customer: Dunno. 3-4 I guess. They are women's stuff.

Me: Keeping your hands clean is women's stuff?

Customer: No, I mean the hankies. I wash my hands.

Me: Oh, I get it. You have a portable sink. Well done. The rest of us will just have to use hankies, I guess.

Prayer: Please Satan, Buddha, Christ, and Spaghetti  Monster, I want my next job to involve the general public as little as possible. Lighthouse keeper sounds ideal. Thank you.

Burning down the Heavens

Life is degrees of hard and absurd. Maybe it’s the planets. I can rephrase a famous poet’s last words and say I had a lover’s quarrel with God, not the world. 

These aren’t good days. These are days to stay indoors and avoid all electrical appliances. Psst. Wear a helmet too, just to be sure.

Life is also degrees of unfair, and the only actual source of solace and comfort are friends. You can pray all you want, light all the candles that you want, but there will be no answer. Or maybe I am persona non-grata, and the rest of you are fine with the Almighty Asshole, so don’t listen to me. Pray on. See if He gives a fuck.

I scratch my head as I am considering ways of burning down the heavens. So far I’ve disregarded three plans and I am looking for possible flaws in a fourth.

I am also considering having more tattoos and blowing my brains out, but those are just silly thoughts, the exasperation of the slave that has been a punching bag, a toilet girl, and ashtray and a mule for her entire life. Oh, did I mention free therapist/ healer as well? Write that down under everything else. Now look at the title, it has my name, my photo, and the 'mysterious' inscription ‘idiot-sucker-moron’ next to it. In impressive big red letters. With the additional information/clarification “desperate to please” noted just under that. What a CV.

I valiantly offer my middle finger and piss on the shadow of every power hungry pantheon of the planet. I am so sick of you, you fucking pushers, pimps and bullies of human despair. I shit on you. I defy you. I deny you. I’ll make you pay, Spider Jerusalem style. I swear I will, even if it takes away everything I have. I haven’t got much left to begin with, since you took it all away. Sanity isn’t compatible with the kind of life I am left with.

I refuse to live here. I want to pack my stuff and leave, go away to some plane that isn’t governed by deities with a small dick and a big opinion on themselves and their equally small-minded Renfield-like followers. Those sad idiots do the dirty work for free, they are so narrow-minded and easy to control that they create a living hell in a place that was supposed to be neutral ground aspiring to heaven. And I see these humans everywhere. Everywhere. They are the threshold keepers, always knowing better and deciding whether you are to be allowed in the ‘elite’ or not. They are the priests, or the defenders of normality in various positions, telling you what is normal and what isn’t natural and God looks down upon you and will burn you for it. They are politicians, licking the asses of each other and the asses of multinational corporations and banks and stepping on the backs of everyone else. They are even the rude person who steals your place in a queue, the neighbour that minds your business instead of theirs, the parent who raised you to be unhappy for the rest of your life.

By the curses of my grandmother, I fart in their weddings and shit on their properly mowed grass. They can go suck my fuck.

I want an exploding vagina. I want big fucking guns and ammunition. I want lethal boobs. I want to rid humanity of a few dozen deities who drink the blood of the innocents and revel in our pain and entrapment. I want to squash these bloated leeches who are feasting on our dreams, our happiness and our good fortune. I want to stomp and dance on their corpses. I want to find a way to bring down the veil and release the planet of this tyranny. First and foremost I want to release myself from their tyranny. 

They say if you want something, really want something, you might get it. I won’t leave this to chance. I'll work towards it. We’ll see. You’ll see. You have been warned.

Aristocratic

 

Would you look at that. Those fingers, those nails.

And I presently look like a homeless woman who's trying to give birth to the Antichrist through a zit on her forehead. Or maybe I am on my way to becoming a unicorn. The possibilities are endless.

Wah.

:-/

Go away, 2013. Just go away.

You suck.
[Sherlock]

An urgent announcement

http://dangerousminds.net/comments/awesome_native_american_grandmothers_capture_and_burn

This made me laugh like a mad woman. Way to go ladies!!!

Ever tried googling your name?

Here are some of the weirdest (and least related) results I got after I googled Elizabeth V in images:

Maybe more related than I think, this one. xD

It's amazing.

If my life was a comic, there would be no background in the panels. Every single frame would be filled to the brim with brain flotsam and jetsam and random whatnots. That's what I do. I manage to squeeze in humble everyday life insane amounts of tasks in order to avoid thinking. Thinking makes me depressed and depressed is not good. 

I think it's time to start threatening deities again. I am good at it. The deities can testify it. If something happens to me you should all know that the usual suspects are Jehova, Raphael and some asslicks of similar magnitude. Now that I said "asslicks", I just remembered popular Supernatural (the series) swearwords. Bobby uses "eejits" but the medal goes to angel Castiel for his ingenious "assbutt". A man after my heart, Castiel. I love you for managing to fit the word ass twice in one swearword. Four ass-cheeks in one go. And there's always Alistair, a demon, referring to angels as, "you righteous dicks!" Oh indeed. With exceptions, of course.

I got my short stories back, corrected by an editor. I opened one of them, saw countless red lines. Closed the document again and went away to clip my nails. The next day I opened another. Another red sea there. I closed it and went to feed the geese. (I have no geese but I am sure you know what I mean.) It was the same with essays in my university years. I would go home, clean everything, re-arrange furniture, fold all my clothes in the closets (because if your closet is in disarray, you obviously cannot write an essay. It's self-explanatory. Closets are vital to essay writing) and then I'd go grocery shopping. In the supermarket, I would put goods back on their right place on the shelves, making exasperated remarks on the irresponsibility of people. When I went back home, I'd spend copious amounts of time re-arranging everything on my desk. Doing the laundry. Taking a shower. Anything to delay writing the damn essay. I'd enlist for an astronaut if it was possible. Same with the short stories now. I only started going through them after a month and a half. And now, instead of checking them I write in my blog. Procrastinating? No way!

I go now. I need to feed the bears. The polar bears. :) See you later.