You're Egypt!

Curator of ancient mystical secrets, your life on the surface is fairly typical these days, though you are in denial about more things than most people. Nevertheless, you're trying to convince people that you're safe despite your more volatile and unstable times that seem to be behind you. You like cats a whole lot. You'd probably really appreciate The Blue Pyramid.

Take the Country Quiz at the Blue Pyramid.

[Via Steven Chapman. He's Mexico. Viva!]
Behold the power of my wrath.

Just the threat of a hissy fit was enough to make whoever the hell left that grill on my patio take it someplace else. At least, I guess that's what it was.


They toil not, neither do they spin.

Thanks to Bernadine for the heads up on this unbelievable bullshit:
September 14, 2003 -- THEY have cell phones. They've got e-mail. They shop free at Old Navy, McDonald's and Virgin record stores. They have free access to acupuncture treatments, yoga classes and massage therapy.

Welcome to the coddled lifestyles of New York's new "homeless" - young kids who, besides getting pampered by charities, rake in hundreds of dollars a week begging on the street.
Cell phones and e-mail.
Cell-phone toting Dawn, who like most interviewed for this story did not wish her full name revealed, is one of their number, and she's staked out a corner at Fifth Avenue and 14th Street as her begging spot.

A sign at her feet reads, "Hungry, broke and miserable . . . All I want is a warm, safe place to stay until I . . . get back home . . . or back on my feet here."

Dawn told The Post she averages $40 a day panhandling - what the new homeless called "spanging" - but recently a stockbroker handed her $600 cash, saying he'd once been in similar straits.

"I don't spend my money on drugs, so I'm able to afford a cell phone, buy clothes and go to the movies once in a while," she said. "Part of the reason I'm living like this is to get away from the material life."
Then ditch the cellphone, stop asking strangers for money, and change your motherfucking sign, you lying bitch. You're neither hungry, nor broke, nor miserable, and the cynicism with which you are manipulating the good-hearted people who hand you money for your bullshit sobstory makes me hope someone steals your phone and beats you up. Repeatedly.

Meanwhile, her boyfriend, scion of a well-to-do family, declaims,
"I don't find joy in a 9-to-5 gig," Tom told The Post. "I'm kind of happy with the way things are now. And if it ever gets to the point where I'm not, I'll change my life."
Fuck you, you goddamn parasite.

I just feel all warm and tingly thinking that the tax money of regular schmoes who hold the 9-to-5 jobs Tom so disdains is being handed to him in the form of Virgin Records coupons and Old Navy gift certs. Yes, indeed, I do.