Attention rabid fans

Heh, since it appears that at the moment this site comes up before Lemonsmile's myspace site when you search for Lemonsmile on Googleboogleoogle, it would seem prudent here to link to said myspace site, www.myspace.com/lemonsmileband. There. Now, go there and become one of our many fabulous and beautiful fans, and shower us with praise, and so on. If you do so, I promise I will give you my good pal John So's number next time you need a body to "disappear", or for some of your drug money to be "laundered".

Don't forget the okurigana to complete the words!

In a continuation of Lemony Goodness' determination to steal all of Matt's ideas and redo them in our own half assed way, I shall now quite possibly improve upon his idea of re-translating Botchan by SOUSEKI Natsume by translating Question 3 of page 125 from last year's Obentoo Textbook. I would have done something from this year's, but I left it at school.
It's a heartwarming tale, a reflection on the superficially boring and insignificant minutiae of man's daily life, but ultimately revealing an intricate picture of the narrator as he ruminates on his limitations, his past, and his hopes for the future. Run for the hills.

I read the newspaper everyday. Today I read two interesting articles.
The first one was about a new car produced by Toyota. It's fast, and safe too. It has airbags, a navigation system and power steering. The newspaper had a picture of a blue coupe. I like the coupe, but it's a bit expensive.
The second article was about Walt Disney, an American man who made cartoons. When I was a child I saw heaps of Disney cartoons. During the summer holidays, I want to go to Tokyo Disneyland with my family.

Today's newspaper was interesting.

What is the world coming to?

I tell you what the world's coming to, UTTER ANNIHILATION is what. That's right, and at the hands of "GUESS WHO". Some guy probably. Possibly even THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES. It's quite possible. DAMN possible in fact. I mean, he's got the button right there. Right there. He could press at any goddamn time. Hell, what if he gets drunk or something, and he's like, stumbling for a light switch? What then? WHAT IF I SHOULD PROBABLY PICK BETTER TOPICS TO WRITE BLOG POSTS ABOUT? Hmmmm? That's what I'd like to know.

Don't shoot the pianist, he's trying his best. Naw, I'm kidding, take a few pot shots, that bungled trill was just awful. He deserves it.

Meh, haven't blogged for a while, so thought I might as well. Below is a list of things I did today. Read it. Or don't. Then put on a green shirt. And dance. A waltz would be nice. I'll provide the music. BOOM cha cha BOOM cha cha...

1. Went to Stevie Wonder's house and had ma band Lemonsmile's first practice for yonks undt yonks. Twas fairly wonderful, I'd forgotten how marvellous it feels to be making music and things. Ahhh, even more satisfying than that time I managed to wing Georgie Porgie Puddin' an' Pie, kiss the girls and made them cry W. Bush in that quick draw mcgraw contest. We practised up my new masterpiece, tentatively titled "I'm so damn tired", and discussed another pal's ambition to become our manager. Excerpt from conversation:

Me: Yeah, so apparently T.K wants to be our manager. Or whip us into shape or something.

Stevie: Well, we could do with some whipping.

Jimmy: I feel like some licorice.

I'd like to see Jimmy respond to THAT, the licorice lovin' fool. Also, we put in a piano part to the new song, AND made plans for a cello part, once we get that million dollar recording studio built and Jimmy sleeps with Yo-Yo Ma.

2. I went to Jimmy's house for a wee bit and waited to get picked up by mama. Whilst there, Jimmy ate some licorice and tried to pin me to the ground while the Goode Ladae Genivaeve warmed up the hair straightening hair straighteners. I managed to fight both of them off, move to Wichita and proceed to work the soil. Man, I swear, a Seven Nation Army couldn't hold me back. I'm unstoppable.

3. Came home, fustigated some mofo polynomials and listened to the Sleepy Jackson's Lovers. I'm not quite sure whether I love that album because I dig those Lennon meets Doing time for Patsy Cline style tunes, or because it reminds me of Japan so much (I bought it at the H.M.V store in Tokyo). I have the same dilemna with the Hell song. Whenever I hear it I suddenly get transported back to the Kyoto Dai-Ni Hotel and the time I had to hide in the girls across the hall's shower to escape the deadly clutches of the creepily anti-interminlingbetweenthesexes Principal Harbottle. Now that was a fun night. For at least the pre-party getting smashed up by thugs dressed as principals bit. Bah.

Tommorrow: FILMING. Hopefully Jimmy'll get hit by a car and Stevie will kill an ant with a rubber band. Hopefully.

UPDATE

Unfortunately we only managed to get Stevie to kill an ant. However, you would be mistaken in thinking that wee little Jimmy has escaped our clutches just yet. Oh no sirree bob....

A bedtime story about newts

Just doin' a wee bit o' scavenging from one of my old sites, don't mind me. This particular little thing was originally posted on a Friendspage I have that I don't bother updating anymore. Hopefully, this may help people find my page if I ever get round to listing it on Google and they try searching for 'newt'.
Enjoy slightly seared with a large dollop of garlic butter.

Once upon the backside of a man listening over and over to "I can't win" by The Strokes there lived a family of three newts. One was fat, one was thin, and the other one hadn't existed yet. Actually there were only two newts.
The one who was not doing the existing came into being one night after the thin newt drank 12 too many Cosmopolitans (after seeing an attractive newt do the same thing on Sex and the Newt one night while all alone and contemplating her navel which she didn't have because she was a newt. Or maybe she did. I don't know. DO YOU???!!??) and decided to grab hold of the first breathing newt she found and exchange newtish type body fluids with it. After a few close calls with some recently deceased newts she hit upon the fat newt, who was very grateful for the chance to obtain her body fluids as being a fat newt he wasn't getting much.
After they made, what for want of a better word I will call love, the fat newt became increasingly clingy towards the thin newt, which annoyed her no end until she found out she was pregnant as a result of the fat newt's clumsy advances. Being a staunch Catholic newt she demanded that the fat newt marry her and pay for the upkeep of the child newt. The fat newt didn't have anything planned for the rest of his life anyway and so thought marriage would be a nice way to pass the time.

They had a beautiful wedding with genuine smiles all round.

Nine newtish months later the thin newt had a newtish child, named him Humpeldinck and was never quite as thin again. Now this family of three lives on aformentioned Strokes fan's backside and try to get along as best they can.
The weather's quite nice, though sometimes a bit windy on Thursday, which is the Strokes fan's curry and oysters night with the lads.

An obscenely long post which quite bizarrely almost contains "A perfect day for Bananafish" spoilers

Ye may all rejoice in celebration, my legions upon legions of fans, for your great Master and Overlord Kitto has returned from his week long sojourn down the coast at Kennett River. Now normally I assume this would necessitate some sort of overlong, fairly boring discourse on what I did, however this will not be the case here. Rather, I shall instead only list a couple o’ things in dot point form. This post will still be overlong and fairly boring, but for additional reasons that shall be revealed shortly.

Nanyways, behold; the following is the aforementioned list of thingz wot hapind,

-I almost got swept away out to sea at Wye River, but Jimmy saved me. Bless him

-Alice didn’t buy us any Gin

-Jimmy won the most matches of Table Tennis

-I body boarded everyday and learnt a new meaning of the phrase “Scared shitless” upon encountering 1.5 metre dumpers

-I wrote and performed a song with the lines “So I noticed everything before me led to this/But it seems to me to be some kind of Supernatural bliss.” Lord but I suck.

-I briefly acquired one sister named Lisa, who used me largely as a squishy, kinda warm pillow. I feel so violated.


And that’s mostly it (All true by the way). Now for all that delicious filler I promised you.

If you will be so kind as to direct your eyes here, you will notice that fantabulous Matt has finally finished his translation of NATSUME Souseki’s “Ten nights of Dreams”. In celebration, I have decided to start my own “Ten nights of Dreams” compilation. Partly so as to further prove the genius of Mr. Natsume by showing how comparatively meaningless and stupid the dreams of most ordinary people are, but mostly because ever since I saw Waking Life I’ve been obsessed by the idea of having lucid dreams, and apparently writing about the non lucid ones you have helps. Also this is my site and I’ll write about my dreams if I want too. I may also cry at my party. Again, this is my right and nothing you can do can take that away from me.

Anywayzerz, without further ado, I present:

THE FIRST NIGHT (which according to my journal, happened on the 9th of the 1st o’ dis year)

James and I were at my friend Amy’s house, in Panama of all places. I knew we were in Panama because Amy’s house was perched on the edge of a high cliff from where we could look down on a huge shanty town, and one of the houses of the shanty town had a gigantic Panamanian flag waving in the backyard.
The three of us were all sitting on a carpet watching the shanty town when Amy went to get us something to drink. She brought us back a bottle of Gin first, then a bottle of Absinthe, and finally a bottle of Cinzano.
“Aha!” I cried, “The local drink!” whilst wildly gesturing towards the shanty town (though I’m pretty sure Cinzano is made in Italy or Spain or somewhere). We all laughed and drank about half a bottle of each of the tipples.

Just as we were getting into the swing of things Amy’s father stormed out into the backyard, his face all red and sweaty.
“You’re all drinking!” he bellowed, “Are you drunk?” I was terrified, but Amy replied quite calmly that we were “militarily drunk”, whatever the hell that means. Her dad stormed off and she poured us all another glass of Absinthe, which we drank kinda nervously.
“Does he drink?” I asked nervously.
“Not now,” Amy replied, “I think he used to drink while he was in the army, but then he got ridiculously fat and couldn’t live with himself.”
Then Amy’s dad stormed back and we all tried to hide the liqueurs. James dropped his glass of Absinthe over the edge of the cliff and we could hear it smash on the shanty town a thousand metres below.
“You’re all going home!” he screamed, and we all got up and started running around. The dad caught James and Amy quite quickly but I managed to evade capture until I jumped out of a window and onto the Galleoti’s huge T.V.
“You bastard, you left a dent in my T.V!” screamed Amy’s dad, which I found after checking to be quite true. While I apologised profusely, Amy’s dad grabbed me and set me down in a chair, which was the same thing he’d done to James and Amy. Then we had to watch a Bambi D.V.D, entitled “Bambi fun”. However, on the back of the D.V.D box I saw that one of the stories was a cartoon adaptation of the J.D Salinger story “A perfect day for Bananafish”.
So we started to watch that, but I found it to be a quite poor, cheap 1980’s anime style adaptation of the story. For one thing they completely skipped the conversation between the girl and her mother at the start and the little girl in the story was a boy instead. Also, when Seymour Glass and the “boy” went out into the water to look for Bananafish, instead of kissing his feet Seymour kissed the boy on the lips.

At this point in the film a narrator’s voice came on saying “Welcome to Donnie’s Darko’s world” and I woke up.


Now may be a good time to ponder what you could have done with the time you just spent reading that. Depressing, isn’t it? On the bright side, it may have just given you an edge in understanding the devilish nature of my psyche, which may well help you whilst trying to defeat me the next time I invade Lithuania and steal their potato crop.

Ahhh, sweet, merciful lunacy.

And then he killed everyone and my dad (who said he must be dangerous) was vindicated.

I was in Puckle st. today eating lunch with mama, when this wild and wooly looking guy started walking down the street and screaming at the top of his pot stained lungs.
"I created flowers! I created photography!" he cried, "Where's my fuckin' thanks? You're all going to DIE! I created you, and now I will UN-create you! Noone ever thanks me! NOOOO-ONE!"
He continued on in this fashion until a young man sitting at the table next to ours yelled out "Thanks mate!"
Everybody laughed, myself included, though inwardly I was seething. "How dare they make fun of the man who invented flowers," I thought,"Flowers are great, dammit. Photography too."
That creator guy really made me think about being more grateful. Especially to Mother Nature and Joseph Nicéphore Niépce. Or at least their respective descendents.

A crushing, crushing, crushing victory.

So, happy new years everybody (Jimmy and Laura, I'm looking directly at you. Well, not actually, infact I guess in reality it's you two who are looking directly at me, through the power of my WORDS! Mwahahahaha. Ha. Anyways...) , hope none of you made any resolutions you'll live to regret, or won't live to regret in your case Jimmy, that is if you keep that resolution about not doing what the mafia tells you to. I keep telling you, they mean business. I myself only vowed to try and somehow stuff ice down Sarah's top, which I'm pretty sure I suceeded in doing shortly after the bells tolled midnight, and as such I am now completely allowed to do whatever I want this year. I remember last year vowing to somehow wear a cat on my head, something I again managed to do pretty shortly after midnight.
And no, that party wasn't as good as it sounds. The cat was stuffed for one thing. And I was also very, very sober. Instead of just mostly sober this year. Damn scheduling of cocktails designed to keep us all from getting pie eyed. It was new years for chrissake. Nah, good on em. Damned if my parents would have even allowed us kahlua and milk, let along margeritas. Still, speaking of kahlua and milk, I was just watching Jimmy's copy of John Safran vs. God, and I noticed that during Johnny's rant against Mormon's knocking on his door before 12:00p.m on a Saturday he said something about how he might have "been out drinking kahlua and milks all night before", which seemed a somehow entirely appropriate drink choice for him. I mean, can you possibly imagine him moseyin' up to the bar, and ordering "a triple scotch please" in that impossibly high and grating voice of his? I can't. Well, that is to say, I can, but it doesn't really gel particularly well with his image. The kahlua and milk choice is just perfect really, a fine fuck you to the rest of us pretending to like that crazy new scotch and vodka concotion everyone's talking about, "Scotchka". I salute you, Johnnie.

Also, did you know George Bush only got like 2% percent more votes than Kerry? So now, if someone ever starts talking about how dumb the majority of Americans must be for voting for Bush, you can spit in their face for me and remind them that it's only about 3 million rednecks who hold the balance of power over there, and it'd probably only take a few batches of bad moonshine to return us to the golden stability of the cocksucking Clinton years. What a man.

UPDATE

Oh, just remembered that I started to play this trick on that exorcist guy in the last episode of John Safran Vs. God. Can't be bothered writing about it now, maybe later. If you're good.