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spam a.m. April 23, 2006

Posted by eatnorthamerica in things that are not quite things we know.

As I might have mentioned earlier, I have now joined the base ranks of those who be PDA owners. I feel quite the yuppie. I even have it wrapped in a sleek leather case, some sort of reward for buying it secondhand on ebay. It arrived in perfect condition, so I left the seller a polite note explaining that I would have left him positive feedback even without the inclusion of the fingernail clipping. For the curious, it is a Dell Axim x50v, and I like it.

This means I can word-process just about anywhere. Yeah, I’m the word-processing unit something hardcore. I used to take paper and pen around with me, noodling scraps of incoherent rubbish which inevitably ended up fused into a lump of ink-stained pulp somewhere at the bottom of my bag, and later filling up land on the outskirts of London. I hate typing things up; none of those made it to public release. The internet highway has until now been spared the gross bulk of my verbal banditry.

So now, not so! I can spam on the fly; I can spam wirelessly, I can spam on the can, I spam I AM!

Which means I’ll probably do this for about a week and then settle back into prolonged laziness. Pity, I had stuff I wanted to say about this year’s snowboarding excursion to the Alps (the French ones), like how my colleague kept shouting “goddamn French people!” well-nigh everywhere we went. He is French to the core.

Harsh words indeed! Let me tell you, if you have ever had an octogenarian ski straight over your virginal snowboard, taking a gouge of paint out of your once-pristine topsheet as you queue patiently for the chairlift — if you have ever had an octogenarian do that to you and then top it all off by casually stabbing her ski pole right down where the most detailed part of the pattern is…

Fuck the French.

Anyway, I had stuff like that I wanted to say about the time I went snowboarding in the Alps, not recently-passed, where the skies were so perfectly clear that you could go a week without seeing a single cloud in their blue. I wanted to say how you could sit on a deck chair two thousand metres up, drinking your extravagantly-overpriced coke in an attempt to halt the boiling-over of your body temperature while your decidedly unpatriotic colleague speaks English very loudly and pointedly to all the French waiters who come around. I thought it was funny, cause I was speaking French to them, and he’s the one wearing their accent.

I asked him about it later.

He said, “Yeah, I hate the French.”

He also thinks vegetarianism is a disease of anaemic Anglo-Saxon teenage girls, why, if they ate meat they wouldn’t be so ridiculously underweight anymore!

I pointed out that most girls would love to be described as what constitutes ”slightly underweight”.

Madness, it’s all about the boobs. Big, bouncy boobs!”

You know, his wife is pretty well-endowed.

…So yeah, I was going to say something like that, but I couldn’t be bothered.

Does anyone know how to make my pda case stop smelling of smoke?


How doth the alchemy of language. Quoth the recognizer; nevermore.



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