(no subject)

I've got today off because it's the athletics carnival, and srsly who the hell is going to one of those two days before Assessment 3 starts up? Unfortunately I also woke up feeling crappy (read: crampy) so I'm taking some time to sit around and whine and drink tea before doing anything useful.

I'm reading a collection of Dylan Thomas poems for four-unit English, and this one is making me giggle and O.o:

THE MOLLS

I found them lying on the floor
Male shapes, girl-lipped, but clad like boys:
Night after night their hands implore
Emetic Percies for their joys.

They retch into my secret night
With stale and terrifying camp
And offer as the last delight
A crude, unhappy, anal cramp.

Gently they sigh to my behind
Wilde words, all buttered, badly bred
And when I dream of them I find
Peacockstain's poems on my bed.

...

Okay now because he's using an abab rhyme scheme I gather that he's trying to be funny, but.

Guys, is it just my slashy mind or is that right there a poem about feeling guilty for having gay wet dreams?

War Wounds

My computer remains dead. Stan was here yesterday and did an autopsy, results: nonconclusive. That is, my motherboard's gone and done something stupid, or possibly the CPU, although there's an off-chance it's the power supply. Professional help it is then. *sigh*

Also I scalded my thigh and hand with an entire cup of hot tea, owowow. There's a red mark on my thigh in the shape of a duck. Mind you, my pain tolerance appears to have improved. I wish my cat would stop treading on it, though.