Keep on eye on this space, Internet friends!
I'll finally get my chance to visit the gun range on campus next Monday afternoon.
Range report will be supplied. I won't have a camera, but I'll save any targets I have to show you later.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Friday, September 11, 2009
Remember
Obama on 9/11: 'No words can ease the ache of your hearts'
Remember this day. Remember the lives that were lost. Remember the sacrifices that were made in the name of freedom.
Remember the planes crashing into the north and south towers of the World Trade Center. Remember the terror of watching the buildings collapse. Remember the firemen, police, and paramedics rushing into the burning buildings, knowing the danger that lay ahead.
Remember the soldiers that fight for our freedoms on a daily basis and give their lives so that we can live happily.
But most of all.... remember this day, eight years ago, when a beautiful blue sky was torn apart by fire, smoke, and pure evil.
Remember.
President Obama spoke at the Pentagon on Friday to those who lost loved ones on September 11, 2001, telling them no words would heal their pain yet calling for a renewed resolve against the ones who attacked the country eight years ago.
"Eight Septembers have come and gone," Obama said. "Nearly 3,000 days have passed, almost one for each one who has been taken from us.
"We recall the beauty and meaning of their lives," he said. "No passage of time, no dark skies can dull the meaning of that moment.
"Let us renew our resolve against those who perpetrated this violent act," Obama said.
Remember this day. Remember the lives that were lost. Remember the sacrifices that were made in the name of freedom.
Remember the planes crashing into the north and south towers of the World Trade Center. Remember the terror of watching the buildings collapse. Remember the firemen, police, and paramedics rushing into the burning buildings, knowing the danger that lay ahead.
Remember the soldiers that fight for our freedoms on a daily basis and give their lives so that we can live happily.
But most of all.... remember this day, eight years ago, when a beautiful blue sky was torn apart by fire, smoke, and pure evil.
Remember.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
General Sociology
Only one class today. Sociology. Professor's from L.A. Black frizzy hair with a pointed face. Thin lips. Broad smile. Very charming woman. The years seem to have been kind to her. Laugh lines around her eyes and mouth attest to that.
The girl in the seat next to me has been spending the past two classes drawing in her binder, a little anime-style female with hair swept over one eye and a loop through her bottom lip. Kind of resembles the student. Imagine that. I like the girl's shoes, one foot bobbing lightly where it is crossed over her knee. Red and black plaid heels with an open toe. Very cute.
"In the beginner's mind, there are many possibilities. In the expert's mind, there are few."
The professor was writing those words on the whiteboard when I walked in and took my seat. Dr. Q seems kind of frazzled, kind of tired. She keeps slipping up with her comments, tripping over her words as she takes attendance.
Oh! That's why! She's dead on her feet from commuting every week from FLORIDA. Jesus christ, no wonder. Flies in early Monday morning and flies back Thursday afternoon after my class. Wow, that's got to be tough. I can't fathom spending all that time away, not to mention all that money. Very expensive.
"Give a two year old a spoon," she says. "There are many possibilities for them. A shovel, a weapon, a drumstick. But a spoon, to us, to adults, is just a spoon. Because we are, in so many words, experts on spoons. A two year old is a beginner."
Good point.
Conscious effort is needed to use a beginner's mind. Block out experiences and pre-conceived notions. Difficult to do. This class is definitely going to be interesting, I think.
We are programmed to judge, thanks to the media. The food you eat, the color of your hair, the music you listen to. Clothes, cars, the crowd you hang out with. As far as the quote goes, you are an "expert" on a person within five minutes of meeting them. And you are often taken by surprise when your pre-conceived notions about them are tossed out on their ears.
As I was walking down the aisle to sit in my seat, in the very last chair, the guy who sits in front of me glances up. His feet are sprawled across the walkway, beat up Vans untied, trendy pre-frayed cargo shorts faded on purpose, with a Hollister t-shirt on. His hair is brushed to the side and dangling over one eye. Kind of like the girl who sits next to me. Only he doesn't have a lip piercing.
I stop in front of his feet. He's got long legs with blonde hairs on them, but he doesn't move his feet. He just watches me. I start to lose my patience. I hate stupid people, and arrogant fuckwads who think that because they meet society's standards for attraction, the less lucky individuals like myself must fawn all over them for it.
"Excuse me," I say. Eye contact. He blinks and glances away. That's right, bitch.
"What?" He asks. Still won't meet my eyes. Doesn't move his feet, though, and I don't want to trip should he decide to move them while I'm stepping over.
"Move your feet." Frowning. Starting to get irritated now.
"Step over them." Oh, what a stubborn little jack ass.
I give up and kick the side of his shoes, the toes of my sneakers connecting with his ankle bone. He jerks his feet under his table and mumbles under his breath, "Cunt..."
Coming from the same guy who, on the first day of class Tuesday, turned around after my name was called during attendance, and told me in a stereotypical stoner voice, "I really like your voice. Victoria. Sounds like royalty."
That's nice, fuckwad.
This class is going to be so much fun. I can already tell.
The girl in the seat next to me has been spending the past two classes drawing in her binder, a little anime-style female with hair swept over one eye and a loop through her bottom lip. Kind of resembles the student. Imagine that. I like the girl's shoes, one foot bobbing lightly where it is crossed over her knee. Red and black plaid heels with an open toe. Very cute.
"In the beginner's mind, there are many possibilities. In the expert's mind, there are few."
The professor was writing those words on the whiteboard when I walked in and took my seat. Dr. Q seems kind of frazzled, kind of tired. She keeps slipping up with her comments, tripping over her words as she takes attendance.
Oh! That's why! She's dead on her feet from commuting every week from FLORIDA. Jesus christ, no wonder. Flies in early Monday morning and flies back Thursday afternoon after my class. Wow, that's got to be tough. I can't fathom spending all that time away, not to mention all that money. Very expensive.
"Give a two year old a spoon," she says. "There are many possibilities for them. A shovel, a weapon, a drumstick. But a spoon, to us, to adults, is just a spoon. Because we are, in so many words, experts on spoons. A two year old is a beginner."
Good point.
Conscious effort is needed to use a beginner's mind. Block out experiences and pre-conceived notions. Difficult to do. This class is definitely going to be interesting, I think.
We are programmed to judge, thanks to the media. The food you eat, the color of your hair, the music you listen to. Clothes, cars, the crowd you hang out with. As far as the quote goes, you are an "expert" on a person within five minutes of meeting them. And you are often taken by surprise when your pre-conceived notions about them are tossed out on their ears.
As I was walking down the aisle to sit in my seat, in the very last chair, the guy who sits in front of me glances up. His feet are sprawled across the walkway, beat up Vans untied, trendy pre-frayed cargo shorts faded on purpose, with a Hollister t-shirt on. His hair is brushed to the side and dangling over one eye. Kind of like the girl who sits next to me. Only he doesn't have a lip piercing.
I stop in front of his feet. He's got long legs with blonde hairs on them, but he doesn't move his feet. He just watches me. I start to lose my patience. I hate stupid people, and arrogant fuckwads who think that because they meet society's standards for attraction, the less lucky individuals like myself must fawn all over them for it.
"Excuse me," I say. Eye contact. He blinks and glances away. That's right, bitch.
"What?" He asks. Still won't meet my eyes. Doesn't move his feet, though, and I don't want to trip should he decide to move them while I'm stepping over.
"Move your feet." Frowning. Starting to get irritated now.
"Step over them." Oh, what a stubborn little jack ass.
I give up and kick the side of his shoes, the toes of my sneakers connecting with his ankle bone. He jerks his feet under his table and mumbles under his breath, "Cunt..."
Coming from the same guy who, on the first day of class Tuesday, turned around after my name was called during attendance, and told me in a stereotypical stoner voice, "I really like your voice. Victoria. Sounds like royalty."
That's nice, fuckwad.
This class is going to be so much fun. I can already tell.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
A Visit From My Favorite Person
So, as you can all tell by the pictures two posts back, the Ambulance Driver came to pay me a visit while I am in Houston visiting my family. I was very excited about it, especially the night before, and if you ask the folks in the gunblogger chat, they'll tell you I was freaking out and being a total fangirl. And it's true, I was.
AD got to my house around 10 AM, and amazingly enough, he got there before I did. I had to hop in the car and run to Walmart to buy a few things (including tennis shoes, because all I had were flipflops, and those don't go over too well riding a motorcycle). He called me while I was at the store, saying he was about six miles away, and sure enough, he called when I was just around the corner to say he had arrived.
I was immensely excited, that goes without saying, so when I pulled up in the driveway next to him on the bike, I jumped out and immediately pounced on him for a hug. I couldn't believe that I was getting to meet one of my favorite bloggers, if not THE favorite, and he drove all the way just to see ME. Very flattering, let me tell ya.
We went inside, because I just HAD to show off my little one, and AD agreed that he was a precious little fart, throwing a fit about getting a bath. And of course, there were a few minutes of sitting around talking, and just about the time it started to become awkwardly quiet, I suggested a ride. After all, that's part of the reason he came to town: I had never ridden a motorcycle before and was eager for the experience.
I didn't really have a destination in mind, but when he mentioned food, I immediately knew where we had to go: the taqueria in Pasadena where five mornings a week, my father and I used to have breakfast with the volunteer firemen. So on the bike we went, with the advice to lean with him when he leans, and off we were!
It felt so amazing. It's one thing to do 70 miles an hour in a sports car on the highway, but quite another entirely to have nothing around you but open air and wind in your face with a big rumbling machine between your legs.
It was HAWT.
We got off the bike at the taqueria, AD squinting up at the sky as a couple of the fighter jets stationed at Ellington Field flew by overhead, before ushering ourselves into the dim restaurant and welcome AC. Small talk was made, fajita tacos were ordered with Corona for AD, and we proceeded to chow down. He asked if there were any gun ranges in town that rented out handguns for patrons to try, and in all honesty, I didn't know, but I know somebody that did: My gun nut uncle. So I called their house, only to discover he had already left, but my older brother told me where one was. Off we went again, up and down Pasadena's highway 225 until we found it... only to discover that the place was closed on Mondays. Grrr.
Also, the guest of honor himself wanted to go to either Cabela's or Bass Pro Shop, and since we didn't have the former... we got back to my mom's house so we could get directions to the closest store, getting sprinkled on part of the way back. And neither AD nor myself wanted to ride in the rain, so we borrowed my mom's car and left the bike parked in the driveway.
Dude, I have never been in a BPS store in my life, mainly because I've never gone hunting, fishing, or camping, but I gotta tell ya... I was impressed. We wandered around aimlessly for a bit, checking out the warez, and stopping at one point where they had a target shooting game with electric targets and laser guns. AD played one round and went to hand me the gun, only to be met with protests. I balked and squawked: I knew my aim sucked, but he finally got me to shoot. I hit maybe 25% of the targets I was aiming for; I was having a hard time holding the gun still with the sights lined up. But once we were done with that, off again we wandered. Clothes, fishing goodies, camping stuff... then upstairs to the guns!
AD was not impressed with the gun and ammo selection there. To the point he actually stomped his feet and stuck out his lip in a pout. I just about peed myself I laughed so hard at the image. I was enthralled with some of the pistols they had, giggling to myself over a pink-handled revolver, when suddenly... hand! On my ass! Squeak, jump, glare at AD. Didn't believe that phony innocent look for a second, either, pal.
We ended up making it back to my mom's place, stopping to top off the gas tank in her car like AD promised he would in exchange for letting us use it, and after a little bit of hanging out and talking like the goofy idiots we are, AD said he had to start heading back home. I pouted, didn't really want him to go. I was having too much fun. But off he went, and I went back inside to eat and surf the internet a bit.
Couple hours later, I get an IM from AD: he had waded through a short construction zone for an hour and pulled over to gas his bike up... and have his card denied. What the shit?
Apparently his bank sees nothing suspicious about a couple of $500 charges two days in a row at a gun show, but a few charges on the I-10 corridor for ten bucks are less raise eyebrows, and they locked his card down. So, stranded in Texas with no money for gas and no way to get home.
Snarky to the rescue!
I rounded up some cash and hopped in the car and headed out towards him, and like an idiot, I passed the gas station he was at... by some ten miles. Turn around and head back. Not my fault, I couldn't see the station's sign from the overpass! But I finally get there, give him gas money and he fills up, demanding a hug and a kiss before he left.
What a busy day. Exciting. Fun. I had a blast.
Whoo!
AD got to my house around 10 AM, and amazingly enough, he got there before I did. I had to hop in the car and run to Walmart to buy a few things (including tennis shoes, because all I had were flipflops, and those don't go over too well riding a motorcycle). He called me while I was at the store, saying he was about six miles away, and sure enough, he called when I was just around the corner to say he had arrived.
I was immensely excited, that goes without saying, so when I pulled up in the driveway next to him on the bike, I jumped out and immediately pounced on him for a hug. I couldn't believe that I was getting to meet one of my favorite bloggers, if not THE favorite, and he drove all the way just to see ME. Very flattering, let me tell ya.
We went inside, because I just HAD to show off my little one, and AD agreed that he was a precious little fart, throwing a fit about getting a bath. And of course, there were a few minutes of sitting around talking, and just about the time it started to become awkwardly quiet, I suggested a ride. After all, that's part of the reason he came to town: I had never ridden a motorcycle before and was eager for the experience.
I didn't really have a destination in mind, but when he mentioned food, I immediately knew where we had to go: the taqueria in Pasadena where five mornings a week, my father and I used to have breakfast with the volunteer firemen. So on the bike we went, with the advice to lean with him when he leans, and off we were!
It felt so amazing. It's one thing to do 70 miles an hour in a sports car on the highway, but quite another entirely to have nothing around you but open air and wind in your face with a big rumbling machine between your legs.
It was HAWT.
We got off the bike at the taqueria, AD squinting up at the sky as a couple of the fighter jets stationed at Ellington Field flew by overhead, before ushering ourselves into the dim restaurant and welcome AC. Small talk was made, fajita tacos were ordered with Corona for AD, and we proceeded to chow down. He asked if there were any gun ranges in town that rented out handguns for patrons to try, and in all honesty, I didn't know, but I know somebody that did: My gun nut uncle. So I called their house, only to discover he had already left, but my older brother told me where one was. Off we went again, up and down Pasadena's highway 225 until we found it... only to discover that the place was closed on Mondays. Grrr.
Also, the guest of honor himself wanted to go to either Cabela's or Bass Pro Shop, and since we didn't have the former... we got back to my mom's house so we could get directions to the closest store, getting sprinkled on part of the way back. And neither AD nor myself wanted to ride in the rain, so we borrowed my mom's car and left the bike parked in the driveway.
Dude, I have never been in a BPS store in my life, mainly because I've never gone hunting, fishing, or camping, but I gotta tell ya... I was impressed. We wandered around aimlessly for a bit, checking out the warez, and stopping at one point where they had a target shooting game with electric targets and laser guns. AD played one round and went to hand me the gun, only to be met with protests. I balked and squawked: I knew my aim sucked, but he finally got me to shoot. I hit maybe 25% of the targets I was aiming for; I was having a hard time holding the gun still with the sights lined up. But once we were done with that, off again we wandered. Clothes, fishing goodies, camping stuff... then upstairs to the guns!
AD was not impressed with the gun and ammo selection there. To the point he actually stomped his feet and stuck out his lip in a pout. I just about peed myself I laughed so hard at the image. I was enthralled with some of the pistols they had, giggling to myself over a pink-handled revolver, when suddenly... hand! On my ass! Squeak, jump, glare at AD. Didn't believe that phony innocent look for a second, either, pal.
We ended up making it back to my mom's place, stopping to top off the gas tank in her car like AD promised he would in exchange for letting us use it, and after a little bit of hanging out and talking like the goofy idiots we are, AD said he had to start heading back home. I pouted, didn't really want him to go. I was having too much fun. But off he went, and I went back inside to eat and surf the internet a bit.
Couple hours later, I get an IM from AD: he had waded through a short construction zone for an hour and pulled over to gas his bike up... and have his card denied. What the shit?
Apparently his bank sees nothing suspicious about a couple of $500 charges two days in a row at a gun show, but a few charges on the I-10 corridor for ten bucks are less raise eyebrows, and they locked his card down. So, stranded in Texas with no money for gas and no way to get home.
Snarky to the rescue!
I rounded up some cash and hopped in the car and headed out towards him, and like an idiot, I passed the gas station he was at... by some ten miles. Turn around and head back. Not my fault, I couldn't see the station's sign from the overpass! But I finally get there, give him gas money and he fills up, demanding a hug and a kiss before he left.
What a busy day. Exciting. Fun. I had a blast.
Whoo!
Cutest Baby EVAR
So because there have been requests for mein small child from the gunbloggers, here we go!
Look, you even get to see my passed-out backside. Don't you feel privileged?
Look, you even get to see my passed-out backside. Don't you feel privileged?
Monday, July 27, 2009
Squeeeee!!!
AD! At my house! With his bike! And a spare helmet! I got to ride!
SQUEEEEE!!!!
PICS!
SQUEE!
He left one of his spare helmets here with me, with the promise of more rides whenever I was next in Houston.
I'll forgive him for grabbing my ass at the gun counter in Bass Pro Shops for that reason alone.
SQUEEEEE!!!!
PICS!
SQUEE!
He left one of his spare helmets here with me, with the promise of more rides whenever I was next in Houston.
I'll forgive him for grabbing my ass at the gun counter in Bass Pro Shops for that reason alone.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
This Thing Really Is More Trouble Than It's Worth
Yes, this is me bitching about the van again.
Found somebody who's willing to buy it, amazingly enough. Even give me $300 for it. Except he wants it with a title.
And the title hasn't come in yet. Sent off for it a month ago. So, yesterday morning, I limped my ass down to the license bureau to find out what the fuck is going on.
Keep in mind, I spent seventy bucks for first month's insurance, plus fifty and some change for tags, title, and license. So I wait in line for half an hour, because they can't ever do ANYTHING fast at the DMV...
"We don't have any record of you registering the vehicle."
Ex-fucking-cuse me? I talked to you A MONTH AGO to get it done, you even admitted to remembering me. And now you have no record of me coming in here? I shelled out money for this, I even have PLATES that YOU gave me, and you have NO record whatsoever of me registering it? Then who the fuck are the plates registered to?
Nobody, apparently.
GOD DAMN IT. AGH. FUCK YOU, DMV. Kiss my fat white ass. Eat a dick and go die.
Christ almighty.
Found somebody who's willing to buy it, amazingly enough. Even give me $300 for it. Except he wants it with a title.
And the title hasn't come in yet. Sent off for it a month ago. So, yesterday morning, I limped my ass down to the license bureau to find out what the fuck is going on.
Keep in mind, I spent seventy bucks for first month's insurance, plus fifty and some change for tags, title, and license. So I wait in line for half an hour, because they can't ever do ANYTHING fast at the DMV...
"We don't have any record of you registering the vehicle."
Ex-fucking-cuse me? I talked to you A MONTH AGO to get it done, you even admitted to remembering me. And now you have no record of me coming in here? I shelled out money for this, I even have PLATES that YOU gave me, and you have NO record whatsoever of me registering it? Then who the fuck are the plates registered to?
Nobody, apparently.
GOD DAMN IT. AGH. FUCK YOU, DMV. Kiss my fat white ass. Eat a dick and go die.
Christ almighty.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Stupid Bitch
Dear Tails,
First off, I want to say what a beautiful daughter you have. Congratulations on the birth of the most important thing in your life.
With the niceness aside, I would just like to say...
Fuck. You. You're two-faced and a liar, and I severely hope you never find another man to be good to you.
You and Doc were great together. He loved you to no end. That's why he PROPOSED TO YOU. You were happy when he did, too. You two lived together happily, and were overjoyed when you found out you were pregnant.
After your daughter was born, however, you did a complete 180* and suddenly loathed being around him. You kicked him out, broke off the engagement, and now refuse to let him see his daughter without giving a reason, all the while demanding he pay more and more child support.
You don't deserve the love he gave you, you fucking whore. I got a bad vibe from you from the very beginning; there's a reason Doc never brought you with him when he came to visit me. And no, I wasn't being "a dirty little cum-guzzler", trying to steal your man away from you. I've dated Doc before, and we're better off being just friends. Get your head out of your ass and get a fucking clue.
I hope to the gods above Doc wins custody of your daughter, and I hope you burn in hell.
Sincerely,
Snarky
First off, I want to say what a beautiful daughter you have. Congratulations on the birth of the most important thing in your life.
With the niceness aside, I would just like to say...
Fuck. You. You're two-faced and a liar, and I severely hope you never find another man to be good to you.
You and Doc were great together. He loved you to no end. That's why he PROPOSED TO YOU. You were happy when he did, too. You two lived together happily, and were overjoyed when you found out you were pregnant.
After your daughter was born, however, you did a complete 180* and suddenly loathed being around him. You kicked him out, broke off the engagement, and now refuse to let him see his daughter without giving a reason, all the while demanding he pay more and more child support.
You don't deserve the love he gave you, you fucking whore. I got a bad vibe from you from the very beginning; there's a reason Doc never brought you with him when he came to visit me. And no, I wasn't being "a dirty little cum-guzzler", trying to steal your man away from you. I've dated Doc before, and we're better off being just friends. Get your head out of your ass and get a fucking clue.
I hope to the gods above Doc wins custody of your daughter, and I hope you burn in hell.
Sincerely,
Snarky
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Movie Recommendation: Repo! The Genetic Opera
Aha. A movie recommendation for my readers from yours truly!
Well, specifically this one is for those of you who like darker music, rock, with a gothic tinge.
I bet you already figured out that this movie is a musical, huh? Yeah, you're right. It is. But it's the most seriously awesome musical I have ever seen. Hell, even the Redhead likes it, and he HATES musicals.
The movie is called Repo! The Genetic Opera.
Sounds a little weird, right? Yeah, I know. But don't worry, it makes up for it.
Starring Anthony Stewart Head (aka Giles from Buffy the Vampire Slayer), Alexa Vega, Terrance Zdunich, Paris Hilton, and a variety of other colorful characters. I can't remember them all off the top of my head, I'll come back to edit this post when I think about it and look it all up.
Sometime in the middle of the 21st century, an epidemic of organ failures ravages the land. Millions die because they can't afford to replace their organs (which are readily available, for some sick reason...) as they fail. Enter GENECO, the savior of the people.
GENECO offers affordable organ prices, and for those especially poor who can't pay for it, they even offer ORGAN FINANCING. The people are saved by GENECO, hurray! They also develope Zydrate, a very expensive and VERY addictive painkiller, to help people cope with the pain of recovering from their surgeris. A black market soon develops for street Zydrate - a lot cheaper, and harvested from dead bodies. Graverobbing becomes an offense so heinous, they execute on sight.
With everyone able to finance organs whenever they need one replaced, soon it becomes whenever they WANT one replaced. GENECO carves out a nice niche - surgery as fashion. "Remember, folks - It's what's on the INSIDE that counts!"
Rotti Largo, owner and president of GENECO, with his three children, Luigi Largo (he with a killer temper. Srsly), Amber Sweet (the daughter of GENECO, coupled with an addiction to the knife and Zydrate), and Pavi Largo (a man so hung up on his looks that he kills people and steals their pretty faces), lobby a bill through Congress.
Organ reposessions become legal!
Ninety days delenquincy on your organ payment, and the Repo man comes for you. No one to help you, no one to save you as he cuts you open to remove GENECO's property... and leave you laying dead in the gutter.
Shiloh (Alexa Vega) is a young girl in this world with a blood disease that her brilliant doctor father (Anthony Stewart Head) can't seem to cure. She can't go outside, exposing herself to the air made toxic from pollution, and if she doesn't get her meds right on schedule, she collapses. Rotti Largo takes an interest in her, and the story unravels from then on, with family drama between Shiloh and her father, Rotti and the Repo man, loves had then lost, competition for the fair lady, and my personal favorite - Paris Hilton's face falling off!
I know just from reading my ADD-kid synopsis of the story, it's hard to follow, but I promise you this: It's a very addicting movie, and everyone who I've shown it to has fallen absolutely in love with the characters and especially the music.
Hell, there's a song explaining the drug Zydrate - in a nursery rhyme fasion. Gather round, kids, let's learn how to do drugs!
Go check it out. Now, I'll leave you with the video and lyrics to Zydrate Anatomy.
I can't feel nothing at all!
Drug market, sub market
Sometimes I wonder why I ever got in
Blood market, love market
Sometimes I wonder why they need me at all
Zydrate comes in a little glass vial
(A little glass vial?) (A little glass vial!)
And the Zydrate goes into the gun like a battery
(Ahh, ahh!)
And the Zydrate gun goes somewhere agianst your anatomy
(Ahh, ahh!)
And when the gun goes off, it sparks
And you're ready for surgery, surgery
Graverobber, graverobber
Sometimes I wonder why I even bother
Graverobber, graverobber
Sometimes I wonder why I need you at all
And Amber Sweet is addicted to the knife
(Addicted to the knife?) (Addicted to the knife!)
And addicted to the knife, she needs a little help with the agony
(Agony!)
And a little help comes in a little glass vial
In a gun pressed against her anatomy
And when the gun goes off, Miss Sweet is ready for surgery, surgery
Graverobber, graverobber
Sometimes I wonder why I need you at all
(It's clean, it's clear, it's pure, its rare)
It's what?
It takes you there
It what?
It takes you there
Before the cut...
I can't feel nothing at all...
Feel alive!
Mag's contract's got some mighty fine print
(Some mighty fine print?) (Some mighty fine print)
And that mighty fine print puts Mag
In a mighty fine predicament
If Mag up and splits, her eyes are forfeit
And if GENECO and Rotti so will it
Then a Repo man will come
And she'll pay for her surgery, surgery
I can't feel nothing at all!
Surgery, surgery...
Well, specifically this one is for those of you who like darker music, rock, with a gothic tinge.
I bet you already figured out that this movie is a musical, huh? Yeah, you're right. It is. But it's the most seriously awesome musical I have ever seen. Hell, even the Redhead likes it, and he HATES musicals.
The movie is called Repo! The Genetic Opera.
Sounds a little weird, right? Yeah, I know. But don't worry, it makes up for it.
Starring Anthony Stewart Head (aka Giles from Buffy the Vampire Slayer), Alexa Vega, Terrance Zdunich, Paris Hilton, and a variety of other colorful characters. I can't remember them all off the top of my head, I'll come back to edit this post when I think about it and look it all up.
Sometime in the middle of the 21st century, an epidemic of organ failures ravages the land. Millions die because they can't afford to replace their organs (which are readily available, for some sick reason...) as they fail. Enter GENECO, the savior of the people.
GENECO offers affordable organ prices, and for those especially poor who can't pay for it, they even offer ORGAN FINANCING. The people are saved by GENECO, hurray! They also develope Zydrate, a very expensive and VERY addictive painkiller, to help people cope with the pain of recovering from their surgeris. A black market soon develops for street Zydrate - a lot cheaper, and harvested from dead bodies. Graverobbing becomes an offense so heinous, they execute on sight.
With everyone able to finance organs whenever they need one replaced, soon it becomes whenever they WANT one replaced. GENECO carves out a nice niche - surgery as fashion. "Remember, folks - It's what's on the INSIDE that counts!"
Rotti Largo, owner and president of GENECO, with his three children, Luigi Largo (he with a killer temper. Srsly), Amber Sweet (the daughter of GENECO, coupled with an addiction to the knife and Zydrate), and Pavi Largo (a man so hung up on his looks that he kills people and steals their pretty faces), lobby a bill through Congress.
Organ reposessions become legal!
Ninety days delenquincy on your organ payment, and the Repo man comes for you. No one to help you, no one to save you as he cuts you open to remove GENECO's property... and leave you laying dead in the gutter.
Shiloh (Alexa Vega) is a young girl in this world with a blood disease that her brilliant doctor father (Anthony Stewart Head) can't seem to cure. She can't go outside, exposing herself to the air made toxic from pollution, and if she doesn't get her meds right on schedule, she collapses. Rotti Largo takes an interest in her, and the story unravels from then on, with family drama between Shiloh and her father, Rotti and the Repo man, loves had then lost, competition for the fair lady, and my personal favorite - Paris Hilton's face falling off!
I know just from reading my ADD-kid synopsis of the story, it's hard to follow, but I promise you this: It's a very addicting movie, and everyone who I've shown it to has fallen absolutely in love with the characters and especially the music.
Hell, there's a song explaining the drug Zydrate - in a nursery rhyme fasion. Gather round, kids, let's learn how to do drugs!
Go check it out. Now, I'll leave you with the video and lyrics to Zydrate Anatomy.
I can't feel nothing at all!
Drug market, sub market
Sometimes I wonder why I ever got in
Blood market, love market
Sometimes I wonder why they need me at all
Zydrate comes in a little glass vial
(A little glass vial?) (A little glass vial!)
And the Zydrate goes into the gun like a battery
(Ahh, ahh!)
And the Zydrate gun goes somewhere agianst your anatomy
(Ahh, ahh!)
And when the gun goes off, it sparks
And you're ready for surgery, surgery
Graverobber, graverobber
Sometimes I wonder why I even bother
Graverobber, graverobber
Sometimes I wonder why I need you at all
And Amber Sweet is addicted to the knife
(Addicted to the knife?) (Addicted to the knife!)
And addicted to the knife, she needs a little help with the agony
(Agony!)
And a little help comes in a little glass vial
In a gun pressed against her anatomy
And when the gun goes off, Miss Sweet is ready for surgery, surgery
Graverobber, graverobber
Sometimes I wonder why I need you at all
(It's clean, it's clear, it's pure, its rare)
It's what?
It takes you there
It what?
It takes you there
Before the cut...
I can't feel nothing at all...
Feel alive!
Mag's contract's got some mighty fine print
(Some mighty fine print?) (Some mighty fine print)
And that mighty fine print puts Mag
In a mighty fine predicament
If Mag up and splits, her eyes are forfeit
And if GENECO and Rotti so will it
Then a Repo man will come
And she'll pay for her surgery, surgery
I can't feel nothing at all!
Surgery, surgery...
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