Do we know it's Christmas Time at all?

Urgh, god. Christmas.

Christmas starts with me and She Who May Not Be Named Under Pain Of Horrific Mascara Torture And Death Of The Stand aka Catharine aka Satan's Favourite Prostitute ect etc [/insults] opening our Santa-sacks. I got a new copy of The Stand (seeing as my old one had all-new front covers made from an old plastic mac) and that glue gun I requested, which I have dubbed "Dobbin".
Catharine got pink sparkly hideous crap, as per usual, and The Spear. I'm going to enjoy this. It's a book about neo-Nazis and the ressurection of a rather mouldy Heimlich Himmler, and she is very very squemish. Nearly as squemish as Himmler himself (he fainted when some brains splattered on him at a mass execution - serves him right).

Then Gramma comes over. Apparently, Gramma wasn't always permadrunk, but that was before I was born. Mum drank to keep her company and therefore both were passed out on the sofa by lunchtime. This meant that it was up to me, Cat and dad to cook Christmas Dinner (Grappa doesn't belive that men should cook). We can't cook anything more comlicated than a microwave dinner. So, as always, we had Turkey Twizzlers, MacCain MicroChips and raw carrots. Followed by Cadbury's chocolate mousse.

Then, Christmas Films. These are a 'family event' which mean I have to watch them. Joy of Joys. I'd much rather be watching 'The World At War' which I can watch as long as I cover my eyes during the opening credits because I find them creepy. Yeah, I know, flames, but I find the faces creepy. Lets say I am pro-bombs but anti-war. So I sang rude carols through 'Finding Nemo' and them sugested we find him in sushi. It was at this point that Catharine threatened my new copy of The Stand and I shut up. No-one touches my The Stand!!!

Yes, after that was Doctor Who with The Lovely David Tennant. Squee! Bascially, David Tennant is not the only reason I watch Doctor Who - more like the cream on a delicious chocolate fudge cake. The Cream (David Tennant) makes the fudge cake (Doctor Who) a lot lot nicer, but it is not essential. Lovely though.

I do wonder... why do I look forwad to Christmas, seeing as it's always like this?

Happy Christmas to all, and to all a Good Night.

Trashcan Girl.

Emos: All big frauds in my opinion

OK. Dear Emos who are reading this. I have nothing against you personally, you could be the best people in the world.

BUT.

If emos say that "everyone hates me" and "I'm so miserable/depressed/bleeding to death from slitting my wrists with a chainsaw next time I'll use a razor blade" then why must they make my life more miserable and add further confirmation to my belief that everyone hates me???

Today, free period with Johnny, reading comics (me: Lenore - borrowed off of him, him: JTHM, borrowed off of me) and some emos (fringe positioned correctly, downcast o woe is me expression in place, bracelets showing off and complimenting hardcore wrist slashings on one of them) came over and said "wannabes!" and (specifically to me) "PyroPsycho!"

I didn't know the emo population fraternized with my sister Bitchface. She thought up "PyroPsycho" like, last year. Um... o-kaaaaaaaaaay...

Also, we are not emo wannabes. We a pseudogothic, and know it, so we cannot be wannabes. Wannabes do not know they are wannabes. And why in God's name would I want to be an emo? I have enough pain in my life already without having to slash my wrists and get more. :) Also, I'm too hyper. One of the physics teachers told us off because we were quoting Invader Zim at each other and it got very loud. VERY LOUD.

Well, Johnny asked about that, and I had to lie. Setting fire to stuff can cost you your social life, I admit that. Other people's intolerances. Tcha!

On the plus side, he calls me "Trash" not "Sammie" *puke puke*. I told him not to call me "Sammie" or I would rip out his eyes and play golf with them. He thought I was joking. I guess I was... for a first offence.

By the way, Catbutt thinks she has a social disease. Nuh-uh, I was in charge of putting away the clean underwear and 'doctored' her undies with chilli powder. I've been laughing my head off watching her scratch her butt and boobs all day now and trying to cover it up because she's with boys she's trying to impress. :D

Sibling rivalry

Hello, and sorry for the delay. Long story, to be recounted below.

I casually mentioned that Johnny and I will be going into town for "Christmas Shopping". Read: Buy cheap crap for worthless family members and then stuff our faces with muffins, milkshakes, hot dogs, buy Stephen King and James Herbert books. Yay! We don't like most shopping.

AOS overheard. And because Ickle Sammie is going on an outing with only ONE boy, and no others, this is a date. Divvo. And dates = MAKEOVER TIME!!! Yes, it's horrible. Makeup (eww) hair (I honestly don't know what she could do with my hair - lets say it went frizzy) and finally...false nails. OH. MY. GOD. (Sorry, had to be done.)

I tried to remove them but they were stuck. No movey. What did she use, No More Nails? Heh. So, acetone-soaked fingers and achey hangnails later, I light some soothing candles... wait, who am I kidding? I light my dish of lighter fluid. It has a similar effect. My intention was to forget the horror in a spot of meditating... flaming dish, Firestarter music, chill... piss off AOS, no big loss.

“My” nails caught fire. On my right hand. One trip down A&E later by mum and not with Catharine, more burns dressings and me now typing in my leather driving gloves. I wear them a lot. I also have globs of acrylic at the ends of my fingers, and a slightly gross noise happens when I pick at it. I think they’re now permanent.

So no trip with Johnny, painful hands, and I was very angry, seeing as Cat’s arse was the cause of all this. I burst into her room (where she was performing vile acts - but fortunately as close to fully clothed as she gets – with faeces features), brandished my hand in her face and yelled “THIS IS ALL YOUR BL**DY FAULT!!!” I then told her to never, ever, ever do such things to me again or I will give her a pyromaniac haircut. You know what they are, dear reader. She had a go at me for burning her favourite picture of faeces features and using it to graffiti the toilets. Basically, we went over everything we did to each other, including my “assimilation” of some of her Barbies with my own when I was 8 and she was also 8 (there's only a 10-month age gap between us because Mum forgot that the idea of not having children shortly after childbirth only works when breastfeeding). Her Barbies were as packaged, mine were post-apocalyptic cyborg punks merged into some post-apocalyptic Star Wars action figure play fantasy. Nuff said. MINE WERE COOLER!

The upshot is, we’re not talking to each other. Or getting each other Christmas presents, which is good, because I didn’t want to spend any money on pink sparkly fluffy crap, and I didn’t want to receive any pink sparkly fluffy crap either.

Hair! Hair! Long, beautiful, burnt hair!

About a year ago, I was setting fire to something, and back then I had beautiful, long waist-length hair, albeit in a bizarre purple-maroon colour (it's natural, something many teachers refuse to believe). I set fire to the object, I believe a pile of leaves and grass and wood in a bowl, and I lent over and set my hair on fire. Ever since then, I've tied it back. Anyway, I set about 90% of my hair on fire, and managed to pat it out. Hair's really flammable. My mother, who normally deals with my burns and scalds with stern looks and tutting, shrieked like a fruit bat (Yay! I've started watching Invader Zim again! Catharine - the AOS - calls it Invader Dim. Oh, the height of wit! Her head is a cavern of fluff) and then made bookings to the hairdressers to get it cut in a nice uniform shape again. So now it's shoulder length.

NEW NEWS! A new boy has joined our class. This is good. He sits next to me and I abandon the misanthropy and try to be nice. He's really funny actually. And because he transferred from a Sixth Form College, he doesn't know that the others regard me as 'pyro psycho' yet. New friend alert! He's called Johnny (hopefully not a homicidal maniac or a psychic) and he likes Invader Zim too. And he's pseudogothic. Yays all round.

By the way, I thought you might want to see a picture of Catharine I drew. This is one of the more flattering ones... I have more caricituristic ones but this is the best I can find at short notice.

Will it blend?

I have been on Will it blend? And inspired by the Bic lighters on don't try this at home... well you know what that means.

For my bigger stunts I stole a fireproof suit from the fire station. Fires are good, being on the receiving end of medical staff considering your recommendation to the mental home is not.

So I put on my fire suit, took the blender and a Bic and put them in the blender in the back garden. Awesome. Flames were spurting out the top... even mum was impressed, but she told me never to do it again. She was watching from the window. There ya go, they're scared of their own daughter. Mwahahaha.

The trampoline came off worst, so we wont be using it this winter, not that we would anyway. And I have singed hair... not that that's unusual. But I didn't get burnt! GO FIRESUIT!

I do not fancy David Tennant... and if I do, well...

Oh sh*t.

My lovely charming cow-slag of an older sister has decided to write "SAMMIE W. <3 DAVID TENNANT" in big letters in permanant marker on one of the girls' toilet-stalls. But I'll handle it. I'll handle it. I mean, it's not as if the Union of Evil Dumb Bitches have been teasing me about it. All day. In loud voices. In front of EVERYONE.

OK, they have. But I can handle it. I'm mature enough not to seek revenge. I am.

I'm not. I've burnt her favourite picture of her and faeces-features (it has pride of place on her bedside table) and will paint a comprehensive list of all her current boyfriends (three) on the toilet wall using the ashes and turpentine. It's a big picture. A4-sized. Told you she loved it.

I'm back with healed hands!

Well not quite, but I have operating fingers, so that's a plus.

1. I take back my "wonderful older sister who is perfect and beautiful and wholly unsluttish in every way" comments now. SHE MADE ME in return for typing it up. I have also had to change my password to prevent infiltration... but she hasn't, which is a plus, I must say. Anyway, she's on a date/orgy so she can't bother me. Yes! And it's Friday, which can only be a good thing (see part 2).

2. Well, I have to say, skool. Skool, school, house of hideous verbal torture, whatever you want to call it. To day, one of the satanic whorde, they who wear pink and have blonde dyed hair, decided that it was not OK to be a sarcastic, creepy (I admit that I can be), redhaired, Buddy Holly-glasses-wearing, slightly plain, unslutty, psuedo-gothic, slightly misanthropic , pyromaniac bibliophile. Or, as this charming example of humanity put it, "OMG look at the ikky freak!!!" I'm reluctantly impressed. "Ikky" is a new one on me, I admit. There is imagination in there... somewhere lurking. Like a girder in a quagmire, I imagine.

3. We spent half an hour shivering on the playing field today.

4. Lets just say that if you call me an ikky freak and don't lock your locker, expect to find your stuff slightly more... carbon-based... than it was when you last saw it. I torched her stuff. I admit it was the reason for number 3. We got to see some pretty blue lights attached to large red trucks with ladders on them, and lots of "well fit" firemen.

5. "Well fit" firemen couldn't hold a candle to David Tennant.

6. What? I may be what I am, but I can't have a little crush?

7. If you're looking for pictures of David Tennant, forget it. I don't do that sort of thing. Ever since AOS found pictures of some "cute" boy band member I had in my room because I found him cute. And wrote "Sammie W. luvs whatever-the-hell-his-name-is" all over the girls' toilets. And got some guy to write it all over the boys'. Cow.

Trashcan Girl, signing off.

PS. I will gets some pictures up here - like cartoon.s Give me time, they will go up!

Why posting may be sparse

Unable to type, so posts may be few and far between. I am only posting because my wonderful older sister who is perfect and beautiful and wholly unsluttish in every way has agreed to type up my post. If I can get her to do so again, I will.

Um... well, mum didn't go too nuclear after the flaming sink incident because nothing was burnt (OK, the towels got a little singed) but everything's OK. Thanks to my amazing sister, who has calmed things down.

Anyway, yesterday, I built a home-made bomb from a Bic lighter, a pressurized oxygen tank and a CD player (for atmousphere). Put on my all-time favourite track, and in the back garden, flicked my Bic, so to speak. Evidently there was a leak because the tank blew up before I could light my fuse. I discoved another meaning to the phrase 'burning a CD'.

I spent another fun afternoon down A&E and cannot type because I have bulky burns dressings on both hands and all over my upper body. Oww.

i am retea4ting my grovelloijtgsister statements she wrote themnduring my dictation i qkb2r4i8tijhgbwith my nosebibhave donebthis namy times befe and am exprty

A brand new form of contraceptive

Well, my parents went out today, leaving me with Annoying Older Sister. And AOS's boyfriend, Faeces-Features. Which was fortunate for me, because it gave me time to look for my Bic. Annoying Older Sister and Faeces-Features were trying to suck each other's faces off... so I took the advantage. I also did not wish to witness such a gross and de-disturbing sight. I advise you to get ye olde puke pail.

So I found my Bic, and decided to refill it over the sink in the utility room. Then I gave it an experimental flick. Next think we know, the sink's on fire, including a bucket of water (hey, it got butane on it, m'kay?) which I thought was quite cool. But the smoke detector went off and sis and Faeces-Features came hurtling downstairs in their underwear. Now use the puke pail.

Sis called the fire brigade to spoil the fun. And our parents. So I now have to face the music, so to speak. Mum's gonna go nuclear.

I wonder if I can mitigate the chain reaction by saying exactly what the flaming sink prevented Annoying Older Sister and Faeces-Features from doing in the en suite?

Actually Bonfire Night.

Tonight, I am being locked in. My parents think it is the best way to prevent 'accidents'. They have also removed my Bic lighter. Hmm. Ah well, I have a blowtorch somewhere. Anyway, I have gone two days (including today) without setting fire to something or blowing something up, so that's a bonus. Maybe it's because all the neighbours are in the name of public holidays.

Remember, remember

The 5th of November

Gunpowder, treason and plot

I see no reason

Why gunpowder treason

Should ever be forgot.

Damn good fun, anyway.

I remember the last time I tried to give up firestarting - for New Year's. And like most New Year's, it failed. I torched a grassy verge, then a flowerbed...

But I am giving up now. I have a problem. Admitting that you have a problem is the first part of the cure, n'est ce pas? What does that mean, the French bit? Meh.

Trash.

Trash's first post

OK, hi. This is my first - yes, very first - post.

I am Sammie, AKA Trashcan Girl - after a character in The Stand called 'Trashcan Man'. He's kind of my idol. I start fires.

Never started one in a wheelie bin though.

Well, today I started a small fire in my backgarden. Tonight my parents will be holding a Bonfire Night Party (apparently, to hold it actually on Bonfire Night would be wrong - something about it being a school night) and there was a HUGE pile of crap and dead leaves and... well.

I'm grounded. I also set off one of the Roman Candles too, into the plants. That's probably what did it, because the rhodedendrum caught fire. Mum loves rhodedendrums.

Anyway, I started a small fire in my wastepaper basket, and I probably should be keeping an eye on that.

All my love,

Trash.