superstylin

now for all the world to see its an online gawp at the plebian. finally that’ll be mounted onto an incan fertility statue and pointed at the wall whereby you might get interference of the idiot sort in the shape of a couple of oversized cans with a useless boom and a rather sweaty roundhead with it pumping into his cranium. if you really want to you could scrach around for the live version for a less-than-spectacular insight into the world of fat baldies leching over the parapet at students in the property agency after he’s been down the road for the evening news and a bag of McCoys. when you wake up it’ll all be over so make somebody love you while you can. it’s the only decent thing to do now.

quick, fetch me the helicopter, I’m going to crack.

up north there was little to be concerned about except for that mad girl who kept bashing the trees in the garden with long bits of wood who would probably end up working for you one day and slurping all over the UK VP but other than that it was either just working out how to get back from morrisons via hillsborough or off the train and back to hatherly via oxford street without a kebab and a dose of kevin. down here it’s different, although technically I’m back up again. I should be less concerned and just start hoping for a miracle. I can never go 17 times between now and then and so I’ll just have to keep my jacket on and hope that it’s cold which of course it will be but I’ll be inside, locked in a private hell with nice food and carpets. all work and no play.