Goddamit all to vitun hell, I have another award, flung straight back at me by no less than my hero herself, Madame Signs of the Deft Pen (and Keyboard). Thank you, Signs, I muttered under my breath (and, to be honest, to her straight up as well), thanks a vitun bunch. She has only given me a "Nice Award". Nice. Me. I am reknowned, all over my world, as a sharp-tongued pathologically self-centred meanie ex-punkette, I am, and also, increasingly as a reclusive hermit who's just short of taking the monastic oath of virtuality (the idea for which is © Signs-the-very-same-as-above, and I'm not laying claim to having invented it, just jumping on it with gusto, because it's a good one). I am not nice.
And now, it seems, I am. My world-view has crumbled down, I don't know what to do and where to put my hands, I have never realised but I am actually viewed to be a tea-and-cucumber-sandwiches, kittens-and-balls-of-yarn, tell-me-your-woes type. And the worst of it is, because it is Signs who has come up with this assessment, it must be true, and no amount of swearing in Finnish is going to change the situation. I console myself with Signs' words "Nice is the New Cool".
I have been given no instructions as to how to behave now, but I expect usual rules apply, one must nominate others to suffer the same fate. Not very nice of me, this vindictive passing-on of the hot potato, it rather contradicts the terms of the award, but see if I care (that's how nice I am, do you hear, Signs?). Right. I pass the niceness-trouble on to
NMJ, Ms Legs my Cyberfriend, because she is lovely to her bloggy guests, cares about people in the world, she brought me Marmite although she hates the stuff, and I have met her and can verify it, she truly is nice. Really nice.
The Periodic Englishman, for similar reasons: he is lovely to his bloggy guests, cares about people in the world, and we, too, have had Marmitey transactions, albeit of the virtual kind, but (see above) virtual is fine by me. I have also, once upon a time, given him a pink pony, and it's high time that poor creature had some feline company, I think.
Right, that does it for now, I think - and this isn't to say, by the way, that I think the rest of you blogfolk are not nice, because I think you are very nice, the lot of you (see above, oath of virtuality, etc). You are all so nice you are welcome to come for tea and cucumber sandwiches over here at my house, whenever the mood grabs you.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
It's official: I'm nice. Oh shite
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11 comments:
I'm glad to see that © there, Anna, otherwise I might have had to contact Messrs. Sue, Grabbitt and Runn for compensation - I'm feeling a bit litigious. But I'm Nice, as you know (it's official). See, what you have to remember is the licence this gives you to do just about anything and if anyone complains and says "oh, that isn't very nice", all you have to do is point to the award as living proof of your Niceness. And now that we are all part of the Nice gang whatever we say goes.
Not that I'm suggesting you become cynical about this or anything - and clearly you're not because you have chosen two worthy people as victims, I mean recipients. And it feels somehow appropriate that Marmite is involved in all this. I think we all know why.
Anna, the word ver fairies are having a party in your honour! And they are toasting you - listen:
icewdf
Oh man, Signs, I am running around my blog trying to keep up with you, and now the word ver fairies have made me laugh. In my out-of-breath state, I will just cough and splutter and giggle and, quite possibly, make more tarry French stuff (who cares it's midnight, it's never stopped me before, and never shall) to accompany my (eleventh) coughy spluttery celebratory balcony ciggy. Care to join me? I knew you would.
But seriously, thank you not only for the award but for the instructions for use you have now supplied me with. Ah yes, the world opens up from a totally new angle when one is no longer burdened with the reputation of being Queen Bitch of the Universe. Excellent. We will take over this planet in no time, Reverend Mother, in no time at all. Mwah, mwah and mwah, and remember to inhale, okay?
Hei Anna,
Ah, Signs is so kind isnt she?
And to think she also classed me as "nice" alongside your good self - well that is a high compliment as well, because you are nice :-)
I will take you up on your kind offer and pop in for cucumber sandwiches if I ever pass by.
But Kahless, you are nice, and passing by, so here, have some sarnies, and there's a selection of teas, too.
Signs is nice, you are nice, apparently, I am nice, too, and in fine company. Oh, what a weird new world, that hats such (nice) people in't.
I think you´re very nice too.
Why Grockles, fine Mr Z, what a lovely (not to say nice) surprise to see you here. I have heard rumours of your return, and they must be true, because here you are. Goody good stuff (I knew you couldn't keep away for very long, let alone for ever. Virtuality is the New Cool, as this post along with its comments is here to proudly announce). I shall be nipping over to yours to see what's going on, then. And thank you for the compliment - I happen to think you are v. nice, too, Grockular Mr Z, and it is a delight to see you at my house. Tea? Sarnies?
Incidentally, and more generally - I have just spotted a most infuriating typo in my previous reply to Kahless - "hats" instead of "has" (or wait, is it really meant to be "hath"? Serves me right to think myself witty, tampering with Shakey). Oh-my-God. Why oh why won't Blogger sort it out so you can go and edit your comments? As things stand (and I am one who always, always, always without failure previews comments to prevent this from happening), I have no other option but to don the dunce cap and go face the shame corner (which really, I should never have left in the first place, I guess). Ah well, I'm sure it'll be nice and character-building for me.
Mr Z, this one's for you: x .
Nice Maiden, hei. (I know, I stun myself with my linguistic genius - try to stay calm.)
Thanks for the thing, that was really lovely of you. You'll know by now that I never ever display the (many, many, many) awards that I handsomely "win", because I am achingly hip and aloof. This in no way whatsoever indicates a lack of appreciation - I love these things, they make me happy - but is merely a manifestation of my attempt to appear achingly hip and aloof.
I want people to think:"how can someone so achingly hip and aloof still be so nice? It's a miracle. I love that guy."
It's going well.
Kissing your thighs, Finlander. Nicely, mind. Thank you - and sorry for taking so long to get here.
Your loving (and admiring) superior,
TPE
Beloved Superior, hei to you, and no need to thank me, apologise to me, or display the cat I gave you. After all, what more thanks does a girl blogger need than you kissing her thighs - even if she is Nice Maiden (oh, no way could I stay calm, I'm sorry - I failed quite, quite, quite miserably at staying calm)? And why should you apologise for not coming here earlier when you've made me so happy coming here now? And why display the cat when, well, everybody knows you are lovely (as well as achingly hip and aloof) (and nice) without it? Although, I do think what I said about poor wee pink ponipoika, over there for months and no feline company, still stands. But given it's your horse, your site, I cannot force kitties there.
(Just winding you up, okay? I gave the thing to you knowingly, knowing you don't put these things up. Consider it a gift without any duties attached whatsoever, just a bit of the old Kenoota, Khooba, Makikh, Abilii, Rukha and Dadcean Libhoun.)
Love and admiration right back at you, Superior Stallion. With some adoration attached, for good measure.
xx
kiwdfti, dear Anna, is a particular state of mind which, when afflicted with, it is better not to go shopping for food or anything else in a supermarket. It is when you are Kiwi-daft, you see, and would therefore buy absolutely any crap without thinking twice about it, even the rock-hard Kiwi fruits that your usually functioning, thinking self simply knows are hard, acidic monstrosities that have been subjected to such vile treatment they will refuse to ripen in the natural way and will sit there in your fruit bowl (or blue plastic vegetable rack) and glower hairily at you until you slice them through the middle and spit them out or just tipe them straight into the recycling bin. Believe me, I have been staying away from supermarkets recently for this reason exactly - the word ver leppies know everything about us, you see. Unfortunately I have now run out of loo paper and the woodchip version in my local health shop is so ridiculously expensive and horrible that even a kiwi-brain like me can see it don't make sense. But what does, Anna, eh? Bottoms up, and I hope you are preparing for another ethereal radiation Friday week.
(pucboxo sounds a bit dire, my dear, I hope you are not overdoing it)
I have just nipped in here to show you how resourceful I am and, because you asked: Daydream Believer is still standing guard. I notice that your posts don't go to the end any more but if you press the arrow bit you can read the next bit and it also takes you to comments. If one stays there and keeps pressing "older posts" one eventually arrives here, thus outwitting the guards. But it is hard work! I wouldn't even think of trying to access the dear old Orgasm post this way. But, you know, you're the Boss here. If the nether regions are out of bounds I'll come and stick my head above the parapet. I'll go anywhere, me. Har!
Unstoppable Signs of our Times, hello and hei and welcome in these depths (you've delved deeper, I am aware of this, too, and shall try and dig you out after this bit of bollocks I am setting out upon here). You came bearing a fine piece of bollocks with identifying the horrendous condition of kiwi-daft which some of us are, from time to time, subject to. Truly, that is the way the world is, and when does any of it really make sense? And furthermore, does it really need to? I doubt it, Signs, and have long since stopped trying to either make it make sense, or find some sense made by anybody else in it. I just enjoy what I can and suffer or discard what I can't. And, because I am discovering my inner power freak this weekend, I strongly believe everyone else should do the same. Indeedly I do.
I hope you liked the pirates in Daydream Believer, Signs, incidentally. I am a little disappointed you never mentioned them. But but but, what is this you tell me - do my posts actually cut off at some point? I need to investigate this further, because if any of my golden words somehow disappear from public view, the world as we know it just might come to an end (this means we may all be in for a very interesting time, and probably a better world, because (with respect to the elusive Creator of it all) the world as we know it could certainly do with a bit of improvement, here and there - although cutting my blog posts short might not have been the first place I would have started the process of improving our world, but then I may be a mite biased).
Right, okay, you can make your way anywhere, Signsikins, this is a matter that was never under any doubt and which has now been proven, so now I need to take leave of you here and go and seek you out elsewhere. Sorry for taking forever getting back to you, btw. Poor show on my part. And please feel utterly free to stick your head above and below here at my house, now and in the future, okay? Goody. Now off I trundle, with my shovel on my shoulder. Heigh ho, heigh ho, it's to the depths I go...
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