Friday, January 15, 2010


Heidi's breasts are DDD now, and according to her, still not big enough.

Heidi Montag looks... like her plastic surgeon should be sued. The aim of cosmetic surgery, I'd always thought, was to improve unfortunate features, straighten the wonk, downsize the chunk, even the oddities. Instead, this surgeon took a naturally pretty young girl and turned her into something monstrous.

I've never been much of a fan of Heidi Montag (or Spencer Pratt), their desperation for fame via any means, and irritating religious fervour, but now I feel genuinely sorry for Heidi. She was never a supermodel, but she was pretty in an all-American way, with a fantastic figure. Now she's a bargain-bin version of Barbie, and it only cost her 30k.

If that surgeon is proud of his handy work, he's demented. If I were him, I'd be in hiding.

I hope she never realizes what she's lost, because it's too late now. Poor Heidi.

The photo below is older, of Heidi in her prime.


Monday, January 11, 2010

T is for time-killer, V is for very

Hi, my name is Tui. And I watch too much TV.

There, I said it. More skin-crawling, hide your face, deny deny deny, than herpes. Well almost. It's up there. Something no one wants to admit. Hey life, show my dumb brain anything and I'll get addicted to it. It's easy. Here I am, fuck me over. I love it. Must love it.

Cartoons, reality shite, talk shows, docos (look how highbrow I am!), static.

The line up tonight: King of the Hill, Family Guide, The Mentalist, Dexter. And I'm excited. Bleh.

It's my boyfriend's fault. Blame him.

Since he moved in the telly is always on, constant background noise, while I read, crossword, write, do the internets, eat, even sleep. It's on.

I have a lot of catching up to do. Being one of those two-headed freaks who grew up without a telly. All those kiddy conversations and pop-culture references left me quiet, and outside. Maybe it was like that for you too, as a kid, having to be a little clone, or be dead weird. My parents always made sure I was the weird one. The vegetarian, with sprouts in her lunchbox. No lollies allowed. No fizzy drink, yep I was 9 before I tried coca cola. The only kid not allowed to go to the boy-girl parties. I had to wrangle, weasle, whinge and manipulate hard to go to school dances. My dad was suspicious, and bored, and controlling. Pop music was banned because of the lyrics. My purity was his project. And somehow, i systematically became as unpure as possible. And weirder than ever. Yee ha.

And now, please excuse me, the ads are over.

Sunday, January 10, 2010


-Pam Carter

//For fuckssake I'm not going to get addicted.

You sound like I did.

Seriously. I'm not. Stop trying to be my mother//

I've helped a few people fall over, along the way. I know better now. I'll never introduce anyone to a dealer again. I think. I hope. Who knows. My promises aren't worth much.

Addicts are dropping like flies over here.

Jim died last month with a pick in his wing. I missed his funeral, and it makes me cringe. I hope someone went. He was one of the good ones. Brought me a huge, messy bunch of flowers he'd stolen on his way. Thought I was beautiful. Always ready to help. Always wanting "to borrow" ten bucks. Always around. I keep thinking I see him, on K road. But then I realize no, he's dead too. His best friend gave him the pill. One pill. The police went round to his house and searched it, after finding Jim's body. Any excuse, really. Even strip searched his teenage daughters. He'd just been trying to help out a friend. Terribly low tolerance. Who would think you could die from so little? At least we'd seen him the day before and I'd given him a hug. Old Jim. Sweet old Jim.

Terry was dead for a week before they found him, elements still burning. Sarah gave herself HIV, gave it to her boyfriend, probably gave it to numerous johns who brought it home to their wives.

Those that don't OD, who want to quit, they kill themselves. It's all too big. Every day without drugs looms massive. There's no way to describe it. It's in your cells. Relapsing is terrifying. So is abstainance. Every second of everything is fucking terrifying.

But I'm still here, and I'll try to update more often. No resolutions. Just... try.