Cool Kids Never Have the Time (to read shit of this length)

Okay, we aren’t gossip mongrels. What's written here is pretty much the fruit which has spawned from our loins or else it is just some form from pop culture, calm the fuck down, there’s no place for B, S or J here.

So here's an idea, "The Nicest Thing". We call bullshit on Kate Nash's song of that title. Under lists of BlogBear and Dirtbag's nicest things versus saddest it'd definitely fall beneath the latter. Having someone suck on your earlobe shits on it in terms of the nicest. Honestly, an eargasm, but not in the way Kim Gordon would mean, is the mother of nicest things.

Now how's this for the possible rankest thing:

Just the other evening Dirtbag's thumb became persistently itchy and so naturally she scratched it against her front teeth. Not long after she rubs her lips with her index finger then upon examining her finger she realises that there's some kind of small thing there. Well turns out it’s a mosquito, dead, with his own little crime scene on her finger. Dying surrounded by someone else’s blood, there’s really no other way to die and really nothing else quite as feral.

Blogbear calls bullshit to that being the most feral thing in realisation that dirtbag has witnessed worse.

Now THIS is the most feral thing:

In a hotel bed in camdodia amidst sheets and legs beside her friend imagele (named after a horse) Dirtbag once woke up to the sound of cats dying. At first she thought it was a baby crying but then it became undeniable, she could hear the death cry of a fuck load of cats from being beaten to the ground, contained in a large hessian bag. In the alley next door there was possibly the seediest bar in the world and so perched on the window sill Dirtbag felt quite comfortable having looked out onto the night’s habits and inhabitants many nights in a row. When usually she had tuned in to watch “Broken Bricks” in all its gritty glory with Satanism message boards, a scrawny drunk owner in a Manchester United shirt, fights out front and two Khmer children whom worked there and retreated to bunk beds, visible to Dirtbag through a window, and not always slept alone, tonight she got the blockbuster appearance of a Dario Argento’s reverse of which ever local cat lady you’d like to imagine. When she was through with beating the cats she opened them out it to this fucking caldron like thing, a massive pot, full of boiling water. The night's effect was starting to get a little dodgy now as it got later into the night/furthermore into the next day and so Dirtbag could see that the cats still wore their skin along with its fur. She watched as the woman stirred the pot all through the night then as she set up shop, literally, and begun to serve her stew to people in the morning. Phenom Pen’s locals actually ate the shit for their breakfast, some delicacy you got there Cambodia.

Anyways, we should put some effort towards defying our titles, this is BlogProcrastinatorBear and DirtCuntBag right. Time to go shake off our bad reputations. yo ho, yo ho, it's off to work we go...

oh but first, how much do you miss this guy
well we sure do.

And last but not least: Simile of the post: She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up.