Eff Yiz All, Eff Yiz All

According to Wikipedia, brand-new Rob Zombie opus The Devil's Rejects has unseated Gary Oldman's 1997 Nil by Mouth as the film with the highest instance of the word "fuck": 560 utterances total, or 5.6 "fucks" per minute.
Jesus, who conducts this kind of research? My sixteen-year-old self was well into it. I tabulated the number of "fucks" in Platoon (unrememberable), number of people killed in Stallone's Cobra (well over 70) and Schwartzie's Raw Deal (only around 40), number of punches Rocky takes in the first round of the climactic fight in Rocky IV (at least 70, and from an opponent who earlier in the film had his punches measured at one thousand pounds of force each), and so on. But my stamina soon depleted, with some assistance from the demon cannabis no doubt. I recently tried to inventory the number of "goddams" in The Catcher in the Rye, but could only keep it up some thirty pages' worth. Surely the number exists on our great godly intra-web, should one need it. I leave it to the fortunate OCD few to soldier on, soldier on.

xee 'n' sleeve

I meant this to accompany the birthday bellow-out below, but Flickr was passed out on glue last night.

Happy First, Buggiest Birthday

. . . to my own little Xia Mara Beeswax!

But is HE a Seventh-Day Adventist?

A Little More Catch-Up. . . with Hate!

Again, this is something I meant to bring to the attention of Lower Blogolia last week. Its relevance to the human condition is evergreen, however.

Bands with "Hate" in Their Names Booked at Studio Seven This July

Hate Eternal
Hating Hillary
Hatefist
Turkish alt rock band self titled Yakup (assuming "yakup" is Turkish for "hate")

lovely as a green parakeet

As it turned out, I did end up having as lovely a day as I'd lamented not having in the last post. True to form, it's taken me a mere week and a day to relate it, thus most of the details are gone to the breeze realms. I do remember it involved going to Woodland Park Zoo to check out their new feature, the dirty-sounding Willawong Station, where for an extra ducat one can hold up a seed-encrusted stick and welcome one of hundreds of parrotoids to settle thereon and have a snack. I can't recommend this highly enough. To have birds eating from one's hand, in company of one's lover and delighted baby girl, on a vaguely rainy day, after checking out the lemurs' new digs on Monkey Island. . . how can a day (and the resulting week plus one day) not be perfect?

I could use a day as beautiful as this. Thanks for the daydreams, Frumious.