And it is a mighty fine chocolate, I do declare.
In recent times I have become more of a bookworm, expanding my collection of novels slowly. The largest pick of the litter is Terry Pratchett, and his Discworld novels.
They are a delightful read, playing on words by using them in a different, yet still apt, context that entertains the reader and causes them to rethink their view on the said metaphores.
This is nice ice cream.
The most recent completion is Soul Music, a personal favourite from my childhood, around the whole idea of "Music With Rocks In". While I remember inklings from here and there of the story, the entertainment truly threw me a wild card when I read through and became really impressed with it, mostly from the simple things that I didn't pick up before. Such as the main character whose name is originally Imp y Celyn but eventually decides to change it to "Buddy" as his name translates to "Bud of the Holly".
For those who don't know, this is a reference to Buddy Holly.
There is also a rather humourous reference that repeats itself through the story:
"That Buddy character looks a bit Elvish.Being a fantasy novel it's understandable that someone can look like a pointy eared lout. However this is a satirical book based on music, and has many references to our own life.
A following story with this character is the character Death. Death in the Discworld is exactly what the myths have told further generations. A Tall skeletal entity that releases life with a slash of his scythe. The difference here is that he is curious about Human life, something outside his actual understanding.
This issue, he comes with the concept of forgetting.
The ideas thrown to him are The Klatchian Foreign Legion, Drinking yourself into forgetfulness, and I have forgotten the third suggestion.
Without telling the entire story, I will leave further details from this.
From this I will derail onto another book that I have begun reading today: Starcraft, Liberty's Crusade.
First of a Three part series, this novel follows a more intricate story of the Starcraft computer game.
It is not a bad read. I wouldn't claim it to be a good read, but I'm not a critic.
The only downside to this book is that currently, I live in a dark and mysterious Nerd Hole.
The lightbulb has blown. And it's been a week. And I still haven't replaced it.
Yes. I am lazy.
I will get a new bulb tomorrow.
And I might do my washing.
I wouldn't push my luck though.
On a related note, I can't get my painting done because of this lightbulb dilemma.
It will be sorted tomorrow. And Tomorrow I will base my models, and assemble those that aren't fully assembled, and undercoat them.
Fingers crossed.
Reviewing my blog, I believe myself to have started so well. Throwing interesting and Humourous events and stories out into the world (or into Waggle's world at least) and enlightening their day.
Then I started to vent emotional events.
This isn't good. I can't look at this blog and feel happy that I am brightening their day (lest something terrible or frightening has happened).
I look at it and feel embarrassed. Embarrassed, I say!
I've written a whole blog on being called a Paedophile (A vexing problem).
I've bitched the living shit out of someone (and that wasn't even half of it).
I've informed that I prey on the emotions of girls (An exaggerated line, but it pushes the idea across).
I've affirmed my desire to write (something that will probably not happen as I obviously am not serious about it).
I'm not sure where to vent from here on in.
I have retrieved myself a stein of Mccoy and Ginger Ale. Far from a Gentlemans drink, but it decontaminates me of my sobriety.
Ah, the Mccoy. A bottle recieved as a birthday present from a far from likely candidate.
Sherrie is a curious being, and her mother Bernadette is a darling (obviously because she gave me two cakes and a bottle of Bourbon).
Paul, while seeming like a grumpy ogre, is still a bit of teddy bear. Mind you, scruffy hair isn't exactly pleasing for a hug.
These three (or at least the girls) gave me my fifth birthday event for the year.
That's right. Five.
The first was Transformers on the thursday night.
The second was my Uncle Scotts birthday celebration.
The third was my own party at home.
The fourth was, possibly debatably, at the Monsterpocalypse Tournament where Kel revealed a cake from Tash.
Aaron was devastated when he realised the number of events that have sprung forth.
He claimed that he was ripped off since he didn't have a birthday party last year.
It was a simple thing to retort to:
"Aaron, you said you didn't want a birthday party."Once again, another easy retort:
"I WAS LYING!"
"Aaron, we're too dumb for reverse psychology!"Conceding, he made his intentions clear that he wants a birthday event of some sort this year. Currently, my contribution remains as a colour print of one of his favourite warmachine characters (this is still in the works, actually).
Knowing that because everything is so short and sweet, with a hint of alcoholism and a dash of distraction, I'll finish this off before I become a blabbering mess, delving and reminiscing into my womanising ways (Pfft, yeah right) and raging on about the size of my genitals in a proud and confident way.
So I leave you with a couple of motivational posters that have distracted me just recently.
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