Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Eeek! A Penis!
And for those out there who doubt Taylor Lautner's possible GAYGAYGAYness, watch:
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Top 50 Tracks of 2009
Monday, December 28, 2009
. . .
Two days ago I had another strange dream. I was living in an orphanage with my mother. She looked just like my real mother, but in this case she was a little person and my adoptive mother. All the other kids were also little people, but I was my regular size. For some reason, everyone was dressed in brilliant shades of indigo and cerulean. The kids were all singing an unfamiliar song in a language I couldn't understand, and there were subtitles in my dream which I couldn't read. My mother was in a rocking chair, holding me in her lap. I was sobbing and telling her how much I loved her and how grateful I was that she had adopted me. I think it's a guilt dream. My brother and I keep having to postpone visiting our mother, and it's been a while since I've seen her. Well technically she visited me in June, but I was knocked the fuck out from leg surgery and so loopy that I don't remember any of it. We've been talking a lot more recently, which pleases me. I always worry that I won't have anything to say or report to her, but I've found a fool-proof topic: cooking. I have her to thank for my interest in cooking, and I've realized there's always bonding to be done over variations on hollandaise sauce.
Swollen. . . Turgid. . . Tumescent?
Since the last time I posted about the gay fantasy books I planned on reading, I've finished the trilogy. I have mixed feelings about the Kirby Crow Scarlet and the White Wolf series. The overall story was interesting enough to keep me reading but certainly not riveting. I recommend them as good shit books. Keep them by your toilet to peruse while you relieve yourself. What's it called when you masturbate while taking a dump? I'm sure there's a word for it. The sexual tension between the main characters in the first book was drawn out and well played. Their love is almost believable. It made more sense than the Twilight books, and I guess that's good enough for me. They didn't have sex until the second book, and I thought it would be a hot reward after waiting so long, but it was awkward. Previous encounters mentioned noticing someone's rigid "sex," "members" other such typical romance book language that attempts to validate erotica. When the time came for Scarlet and his wolf (not a literal wolf, thank you, that's a whole nother genre) to. . . consummate their relationship, bitch brought it to the gutter. She busted out words like "cock" and "cum." I felt disappointed that she remained classy for so long only fall right into cock talk. Not that it wasn't hot, it just wasn't cohesive to how the rest of the story was told. I only had a couple other problems with the books. First of all, there were contradictions in descriptions everywhere. One sentence a man looks nothing like his evil brother, then two sentences later they bear a striking resemblance that is uncanny. I blame the editor. Then Ms. Crow (yes, miss. it may surprise you to know that the majority of gay romance and yaoi authors are female) nuked the motherfucking fridge. She went straight up Anne Heche-Celestia and threw in an alien twist at the end. Why? Why did you have to do that? Isn't it enough that a giant Viking king is fucking a magical elf?
Friday, December 25, 2009
Hannukah Cake
REINE DE SABA (Chocolate and Almond Cake)CAKE:
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
1 1/3 cup plus 2 tablespoon granulated sugar
6 large eggs, separated
2 pinches salt
8 ounces semisweet chocolate, melted with 4 tablespoons brewed coffee
2/3 cup finely pulverized (ground) almonds
1/2 teaspoon almond extract
1 1/2 cups sifted cake flour, returned to sifter
CHOCOLATE BUTTER ICING:2 ounces semisweet chocolate, finely chopped
2 tablespoons brewed coffee
6 tablespoons unsalted butter
Instead of buttering and flouring a cake pan, use parchment paper. Just line two 8-inch diameter cake pans that are at least 1 1/2 inches deep with the paper. This will make your life so much easier. I am never greasing a damn pan again. Martha Stewart would be proud. In a 3-quart mixing bowl, cream butter and 1 1/3 cups sugar together with an electric mixture for several minutes until mixture is fluffy and pale yellow. Beat in egg yolks until well blended. Beat egg whites and pinch of salt in medium bowl until soft peaks form. Add remaining 2 tablespoon sugar and beat until stiff peaks form. Fold chocolate mixture into butter-sugar mixture, then stir in almonds and almond extract. Alternate folding in a portion of the egg whites and sifting some of the flour in until they're all together. Turn batter into prepared cake pan and bake on middle rack of a preheated 350-degree oven, about 25 minutes or until cake has puffed and 2 1/2 to 3 inches around the circumference are set so that a cake tester in that area comes out clean. That's how long the recipe says to bake it, but ours was done in more like 15 minutes. Julia says to melt the chocolate in a bowl over a pot of simmering water, but eff that noise. Pop that shit in the microwave. No problem. We actually ran out of chocolate, but as it happened, our G-Ma (we were cooking at her house) had some 20-year-old Hannukah gelt, so we mixed in what we needed. Beat butter into chocolate, a tablespoon at a time. Place the icing in the fridge to set up a little for spreading consistency.
Happy Jesus Day
The Christmas texts have already begun. I got one from an ex that at least seems personalized. Although it's possible, and funny to imagine, he's probably not calling his mother handsome. Then I got a "Merry X-Mas" graphic mass text that was FWD:FWD:FWD:FWD:RE:FWD:FWD from an old booty call. Don't you wish you could remove your number from other people's phones? Anyway, my gift to you is this picture of a little chocolatier's caterpillar arm:
Monday, December 21, 2009
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Brittany Murphy Is, Like, Totes Dead
Update: no more "probs," this is for realsies :(
It's not confirmed, but TMZ is reporting that Brittany Murphy is deadles. She supposedly went into cardiac arrest this morning. You know what that means--DRUGS! Oooooh now the waiting game begins. What was she on! Okay, I'm guessing cocaine, meth, & probably a few prescription drugs for good measure. This is so weird! This morning I was watching that movie Spun, where she plays a meth-faced crack whore. Odd coincidence.
One More Thing
It hit me this morning that I left out a funny part of my hooker story. I don't know how it came up, but the question of whether or not Celeste was employed with male hookers arised. She said that she worked with a very pretty guy who dresses in women's clothing, and she could have him come over. Look, I'm all about a tranny. I love you, ladymen, but just not that way. Thanks, but no thanks.
Dead In The Eyes
I met a dude yesterday with a milky eye. It was kind of awesome. He was adorable and looked like the old man from Up (see previous post for fun: Up) but with a portable oxygen tank and a creepy, dead gypsy eye. He was charming and hilarious, and I was surprised to find that his eye didn't make me uncomfortable. My only concern was milky eye etiquette. When looking someone in the eye when he speaks, as is polite, is it rude to look into the milky one? Or just look at it and pretend it isn't weathered and useless?
Magic Smize
Sopapilla Bastardization
A guest at the party I went to yesterday brought "Mexican sopapillas." No. No she didn't. She brought a WASPy debasement of the traditional recipe. The way she described them as "Mexican sopapillas" conjured an image of a work-weathered Aztec woman in a colorful zarape she weaved herself, arduously kneading the tortilla dough with five small children crawling over her who then slaves over her wood stove to fry the dough strips, only to then stuff them with the traditional Mexican cheesecake filling. What? Look bitch, ain't no cream cheese in a real sopapilla. Get yoself learnt.
Songs To Wake Up To
Tamago Onii Shiro
Memory
I often use the notepad on my phone to make lists of things I want to post here. This morning though, instead of making it in my phone, I figured I could just remember. To do so, I made a list of keywords:
Egg pumps mermaid, milky prostitute.
That's a lovely and confusing image, isn't it?
Saturday, December 19, 2009
My Kinda Shit
The other day I was thinking about how much I love a good fantasy novel. I've never read one with a focus on a homosexual character though. I just read some that included a gay character, but he was dandy, lame, and died quickly. I thought to myself that I should write tasteful fantasy fiction with gay characters. Then I stumbled across a blog yesterday that features books with gay themes. I took a risk and ordered a series of gay fantasy books to arrive Monday or so, and I'm hoping they're great. I want great fiction that just happens to be about gay characters. None of this Christopher Rice bullshit. When I was in high school and not out, I was all about reading trashy gay books, but they just don't cut it now. I expect more from a book, not just excuses for a plot that kill time between sex scenes. So in the next month or so I'll try to do some reviews of these books--if I can make it through them. There's only one book I've ever purposefully not finished. I think I might go back some day and read it, just because it bothers me.
The Better To Bang You With
brother: I can't, I'm having lunch with J**** and her grandma.
me: (hip thrusting & slapping an imaginary ass) gonna tap that old ass?
brother: no.
me: gonna run a train on that old bitch?
Coming To A Gitmo Near You
I was preparing a delicious dish for a get-together today which required that I boil about 18 eggs. When I was transferring them to a bowl to cool in the fridge, a thought occurred to me. I don't think people realize just how fucking hot those bastards are out of the pot and how long they retain heat. For some reason, this made me think of a twisted torture technique. Put a just-boiled egg up a terrorist's ass! OMG. We'd find Bin Laden in a heartbeat. Trust.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Schnockers
I'm going to have to take another time to devote to the absurdity that is MTV's Jersey Shore. Basically it's awful and amazing. Best of all, it's introduced to the world the beautiful flower that is Nicole "Snooki" Polizzi. She's a drunken mess of a slut, and obvs spends way too much time giving herself skin cancer. Bitch has gone beyond orange and is. . . shit I don't even know. Burnt sienna? She made an ass of herself the first night and drank herself sick then passed out and missed the real party. She then tried to hook up with a guy who ended up getting sick & I guess even she won't kiss a guy who just vomitted. I suppose she does have standards after all. Like two of them. She loves being the center of attention at near-empty bars performing for old alcoholics. She's all about doing back handsprings and walkovers that show off her thong. She's clearly not an attention whore. But there's something so endearing about her! Perhaps it's because she's technically a little person. Her antics would not fly coming from an amazonian skank. That wouldn't be cute. Everyone's seen how she got punched in the face in last night's episode even though MTV made a faux-moral decision at the last second not to air the punch itself. Since we hadn't all seen it 23,049 times. Then afterward, they showed a message about violence against women. They took all the fun out of it! Last week I watched her get rocked in the face by a dude in slow motion over and over, and I laughed my ass off! Taking out the actual moment of impact and seeing it in context is actually very sad. I think the guy might have meant to punch the other dude but instead mashed an already ruined face. After the moment of blackness, they cut to Snooki lying crumpled on the ground, clutching her face. She's now like a retarded puppy :( You feel sorry for her and just want to take care of her. If she shits on the rug, it's okay, it's not her fault, she's special.
Fantastic Fantastic
(Look at those gams!)
Yesterday I woke up with Beyonce's "Single Ladies" running through my mind. Yuck. I hate that song! Why did that happen? All I could hear for 10 minutes after waking was that bullshit. I thought it was a bad omen, but nothing terrible seemed to happen. I can only assume that yesterday saw the birth of the antichrist somewhere in the world. December 17, 2009. Write that shit down. Today I woke up immediately in a great mood because the cast of Glee's rendition of "Don't Stop Believing" was in my head. And guess what? It's been a great day!
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Happy Birthday!
To my blog. I realized today is the one-year anniversary of starting this blog. I haven't been posting as much as I'd like to, so I'll try to be more attentive. I've compiled a sort of greatest hits list of entries below:
A Ballad About Female Genital Mutilation (the audio doesn't work anymore, but still fun)
This One Time. . .
Futuramadrama
My First And Final Face-First Foray Into Furburger
Singing In The Rain
Holy Racism, Batman!
Gambling's Bad, Mmmkay?
Die, Yuppie Cunt
Can You Say "Puta?"
Real Housewives' Alex McCord Fanfic
A Letter of Resignation from Paris Hilton's Vagina
Oooh Baby,Let Me Fix My Weave
Trancient History
Haifiveku
Star Text
Spidercorn
"Shia LaBarf"
Oops
Lazy-Smized
Let's Paint, Exercise, and Have Miscarriages
Termites
The Bends
But Was It Rape-Rape?
p.s. I had a dream last night that I decapitated Mischa Barton with a whip.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Would You Rather. . .
Monday, December 14, 2009
Sleeping Booty
Friday, December 11, 2009
Flirting Fail
Monday, December 7, 2009
But Was It Rape-Rape?
Thursday, December 3, 2009
What What WHAT?
FIRST of all, my favorite phrase in the existence of language was used: CLOWN HOOKER! Score! It doesn't get much better than that.
Eve's choir group performs "Bootylicious," and it's a little insane. It begins with a personalized version of the intro: "Jaelle, can you handle this? Shanonda, can you handle this? Aphasia, can you handle this?" For those of you unfamiliar with it, I'd like to inform you that aphasia is an acquired language disorder cause by brain lesions. Remember Queens of Comedy? Adele Givens had a bit in her set about women giving their children names they can't live up to. She said something like "Champagne? More like a forty. And not a nice one. The kind of forty you bust on a curb to cut a bitch with." Here's this episode's version: "Loquacia? Stuttering bitch is more like Aphasia." That's highbrow comedy right there. "Bootylicious" is filled with "hairography": smoke and mirrors, or in this case, racism and the sexualization of supposed minors.
And an Asian girl playing keyboards with weave down to her knees.
Then there's the deaf choir. Yes, you read that right. This one isn't just a Happy Hands club like in Napoleon Dynamite. It had full on deaf singing. It's quite a sight/sound. It was supposed to be touching and heart-warming, but I couldn't help letting loose a few chuckles at first. Color me evil.
p.s. I just stumbled across Adele Given's MySpace page, and it's kind of amazing. Here's how I know: the first link I saw on Google was to a blog entry entitled "I dont be got no weave." Another tidbit: with all the updating how come so many people i know still have a bad weave?....please people...bring yaki back-i....or take it to the (bald) head cuz." Then puts the ghetto icing on the hood cake with "uh oh, gotta go, the real housewives of atlanta is on...lol."
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Fuckin' Behemoth
While Google-ing a Julia Child recipe, I came across an interesting fact: for many years, she was an ardent homophobe. She was known to toss around "fag" and complain about all the homos in the U.S. She used some French term, pedalo, and even referred to a cooking school as a "nest of homovipers." I guess she changed her tune in the late 1980s when AIDS claimed the lives of some of her friends. You know what, you big Amazonian bitch? Too little, too late. Your hollandaise sauce recipe doesn't even call for vinegar, asshole. Kindly go fuck yourself sideways with a chainsaw.
Monday, November 30, 2009
This Is Why You're Fat
Sunday, November 29, 2009
"Still Eating Your Mom's Dirty Tampons?"
The Bends
It proved to be an appropriate theme song. I was having such a bizarre dream that I mentally reviewed it and wrote it down immediately so I wouldn't forget. I've been having trouble remembering dreams lately, so I'm glad I got this one down.
In the dream I traveled with some friends, two girls and a guy, to visit another friend of ours who was working and living at a remote sub glacial station in Alaska. This friend, Jason, was based on a guy I knew in high school. It wasn't actually him, it just looked like him. He's a shorter, adorable fellow. I always thought his real life counterpart was "cooler" than me, but I felt flattered how he deferred to me in Spanish class because I was the know-it-all who never scored below an A+. Anyway, it was immediately apparent that Jason was not right in the head. His coworkers/stationmates were nowhere to be seen, and he didn't have any answers that made sense as to where they were.
We noticed that he had a jagged, fresh scar that wrapped around his right abdomen, but didn't say anything to him about it since it was clear we wouldn't get a coherent response. We also noticed the strange meals that were prepared around the station. They were big lumpy bundles of some kind of meat. Each was sewn together like a pouch with the same poor craftsmanship as Jason's wound. While he was in the bathroom, I opened one, and inside was the head of one of his coworkers. He had been baking their heads wrapped in a sheet of flesh sewn together at the top, like the boned duck in Julie & Julia. I also peeked in on him in the bathroom and saw him stuff a liver (somehow I knew it was a liver) from one of his dead friends into his side, then sew it back up. I figured out he was suffering from severe decompression sickness, like that guy in The Abyss, and part of his delusion was that he would gain strength from eating his comrades and annexing their organs.
My friends and I planned to get the fuck out of there ASAP while he was in the bathroom before he decided to go all Hannibal Lecter on us. Then out of nowhere, Chucky from Child's Play showed up and started chasing us, except he had black and red eyes and shark teeth. WTF?
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Tired Moon
I suffered through two hours of New Moon this afternoon. It was entertaining in that it was terrible and unintentionally funny. Don't get it twisted, it was no Showgirls. Afterward we tried to decide who was the worst actor. It was tough. Kristen Stewart is awful and clearly has difficulty emoting. Her feelings chip must be on the fritz. Robert Pattinson seemed to be concentrating so hard on his lame American accent that he forgot to act. The Cullen family is also the worst, with Alice's peppy vampire portrayal leading the worst pack. And the mother figure has a misshapen head that is so distracting. Bella's father is alright; and I hate to say it, but Taylor Lautner as the werewolf Jacob was decent--even if he suffers from a severe case of gayface (and jailbait). My favorite was hands-down the firecrotch Victoria, who has no lines in the movie. The best moments of the movie were from a chase scene in the woods accompanied by a Thom Yorke song.
Twilight is just annoying and perplexing. There is no reason whatsoever for Bella and Edward to like, totally love each other like they do. Not one. She's an ungrateful bitch who screws everyone else over. Her friends fall over themselves trying to please her, yet she just shits all over them. And how many fucking pairs of denim shorts does werewolf Jacob own?
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Termites
I woke up at 6:30 a.m. today with morning wood. Fine, not a problem, it's good to know it's still functioning. The issue is that I wanted to go back to sleep, and it served as a distraction. For some reason, the position of my hand reminded me of my time in a nursing home this summer. I was there for physical rehabilitation, and ever day as I used my walker (and subsequently cane) to hobble to the activity room, I passed this unfortunate boy's room. He was about 21, and got in a terrible car accident when he was 17. He was rendered quadriplegic and has been in that room ever since. During the day, they prop him up in a special vertical apparatus. He sustained massive brain damage, so I don't think he really understood much. He was really attractive, and his family and friends had decorated his room with pictures of cars and nasty hoes from Maxim. Thinking about that was an instant boner assassin. Problem solved.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Let's Paint, Exercise, and Have Miscarriages
I usually enjoy those computer animated movies with a childish glee. Not this Up bullshit. I watched ten minutes and quit. That small portion of the movie is probably what little kids watch on a loop before they hang themselves from their swing sets. Here's a little breakdown: it's a terribly depressing tale of a lonely old man who is crippled by the loss of his infertile wife and then embarks on a journey with a fat Asian kid who is possibly affected by trisomy 21. I'm pretty sure it ends with a suicide pact.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Talk With Your Hips
Dancing Bears
I checked out the Glee pilot when it was previewed in May, and I loved it. I have to admit I teared up a little at the end when they sang "Don't Stop Believing." I was worried that it wouldn't find an audience, but it seems people have really embraced the show. I'm happy for it, even though there are rumors that the people responsible for the show had to pull a little ponzi scheme or something just to get it to air. Whatevs, like you haven't ever turned a trick in a men's bathroom for a sawbuck. Or super-sized fries back when they were available. Anyslut, the plots are stupid, and only serve as devices to have the musical sequences, which are great. Who cares what the excuse is to have a full-on window-smashing number to "Bust Your Windows" by a big black girl? It could be a Nazi parade ode to Hitler, and I'd still love the music.
Matthew Morrison is adorable, even if he overdoes it with his trademark rapey smirk. I don't know about you, but I'd shut up and let it happen. Do you think it would turn off a hardcore rapist if you were SUPER into it? "I love you so much. I want your babies. I can't wait for my parents to meet you. Let's get a minivan."
Other than the window busting song, my favorite was when the pregnant cheerleader sings. Here's a cover of it:
Here's a warning though: if you're not sick of hearing Beyonce's "Single Ladies" yet, episode four will convince you it is the soundtrack that plays on a loop in Hell.
Also, here's a random piece of trivia for Arrested Development fans out there. The principal of the high school is played by the actor who portrayed Nazhgalia, the unbelievably ugly girl GOB sleeps with thinking it will hurt Michael.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
But Classy, Though
Ten points to Gryffindor! for anyone who can place the reference for the title of this post.
An recent obsession of mine has been making buffalo chicken wraps when I get home from work. Complete with "Mexican cheddar jack" cheese and sour cream. I don't use the already flavored "buffalo chicken" from the store, but regular chicken tenders and store-bought buffalo sauce. Today as I prepared to assemble my snack, I needed to open a new bottle of sauce. It had plastic wrap around the top, but there was no perforated section to remove that would make it simple. I held the bottle in one hand, and a pair of scissors in the other, and decided that a quick stroke toward the lid would take care of my problem. As I did so, the lid popped off with a portion of the glass intact, and spicy buffalo sauce ejaculated all over the kitchen.
My first thought was of sabrage: when a saber is used to sheer the top off champagne bottles, taking the collar of glass with it. I had to laugh at the déclassé reflection of champagne to buffalo sauce and saber to scissors. I'm perfectly happy with my ghetto, country version.
V for Vagina
"yay, dyke bitch from nip/tuck has her oozy cooze all up in dexter's piece"
Wow I just used the word "cooze" for the first time in I don't even know how long. Seriously, when I think about it, I'm not sure I've ever actually uttered the word. It just makes me feel. . . dirty and shameful. It strikes me as super offensive, like the other C word, but with promiscuous undertones. Alluring, yet tawdry. That sounds like I'm describing a wine.
This '97 Cooze de Fête smells of musk, chocolate, and earth; however, its legs are shit.
Ahhhhhhhhhhhh holy shit I just scarred myself for life:
This is what happens when I Google image search "wine glass vagina" with the filter turned off:
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What is wrong with people??? Oh well, whatever, I hope that bitch got paid a lot and maybe even enjoyed the process. Good for her deadly, scary, Pinhead-from-Hellraiser-looking COOZE.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Fuck Jamie Foxx
And then there were the loud bitches sitting in front of us. They talked so loudly during the previews. When my brother turned his head to me as if to say, "can you believe these bitches?" I responded that it was only the previews, they'll probably shut up for the movie. They didn't. For a while I thought of what I could say to get them to be quiet. Can you please try to keep it down? or is it okay to just shush people? Shhhh, please? I thought maybe they would appreciate it if I could connect to them with "if you wanna talk through a whole muthafuckin movie, take that ass to Blockbuster, then do that shit at home." Ultimately I decided that actions speak louder than words. So I let loose a horrendously smelly fart and blew it right at them. Yes, I blew them a kiss from a rose. Choke on that, bitches! I laughed for about five minutes and imagined each of the girls thinking the other was such a nasty ho for stinking up the area. The best part is they were noticeably more quite after the incident.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Sugarplums and Serial Killers
I had a dream last night that a friend of mine had someone she really wanted me to meet. She said I would be excited to see her. When she moved aside to reveal an Asian girl, I did indeed get excited and blurted, "Utada Hikaru!" I thought I was meeting the pop icon songstress of whom I am a great fan, but apparently it wasn't her. They all acted offended that I would just see an Asian girl and assume it was Hikki because, you know, they all look alike. I tried to explain that it wasn't latent racism but that they really did look similar, but it only made me sound more guilty.
I guess it was better than a dream, well nightmare, I had a few nights ago. I was watching some version of Halloween with Ms. Jamie Lee Curtis, and the movie was just about over. The final scene was of a girl who looked just like Amanda Seyfried of Mean Girls and Big Love fame. In a sunny, wooded area there was a log with her head poking upright through a hole in the log. Another girl who could have been her twin leaned into frame and started kissing her. As the new girl left, I could see red marks on the first's face as if she had been lightly sunburned where the two touched. An instant later, her entire face was covered in Freddy Kreuger burns and she turned to look at me, terrified. That's when I realized Michael Myers was in the room with me now, and Jamie Lee Curtis was nowhere to be found. He didn't have his mask on, but he had a large razor blade in his hand. He started slicing the top of my left hand with quick strokes. It stung and left marks, but the blood wasn't flowing. He kept taunting me that I didn't know if this was real or fake, and it scared the hell out of me. Out of nowhere I was gripping over sized scalpel, which I then used to stab him a few times in the chest with no effect. He pulled out a snub-nosed revolver and pointed it at my face. I crumpled to the ground, crying now, knowing that he was about to kill me. That's when I woke up sobbing hysterically. Do I need therapy?
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Lazy-Smized
Me: B.E. IS THE BEST. SHE WILL SMIZE ALL THEM OTHA HOEZ TO DEATH. SHE WILL MURDER A BITCH WITH HER FACE AND NOT EVEN THINK TWICE ABOUT IT.