Things what I writ

I sometimes write nonsense about things to try and sound clever

you said 7

no you didn’t. yes I did. no you didn’t. it’s not enough that he’s parading his feline hump around berkshire but when he got a chaff off the notorious monkey boy he got the right arse and so dave has got me ringing round at nine at night sorting out the bananas from the mars bars and grinding the bats into the portal where patrick and the partridge family are clapping out bizet as they scrape their faces with brownie spatulas. we have a nice one with a mouse on from the soldering iron of beelzebub but it sometimes sticks in the clist so we have to build up the ramparts before we can go conquering

it’s not my fault

give me a 727

what’s this? why do I get the crappy K reg from here to there? it’s not like it’s a little punt up the M5 or something and I know that they always get the ones with the scalloped wings and nxtv all over the place so why am I stuck in this velour hell with a back like half a concrete pipe you get in 70s playgrounds and warm breath piping under me like we’re brimstone powered and heading to network hell on the wings of a drunk phoenix who can’t be arsed to fly straight since he lost at cribbage to a gorgon down The Feathers last quiz night. why do we stop here? I have bad dreams about places like this on crimewatch and you expect us to take a short break while you bark at the moon in your smoke cloud, garbling monstrosities at glasses man and a teenage pariah, while we stumble into saw 4 in a portuguese toilet block stuffed with ceramica and grit?

the romans built it. they also dug holes in the ground and when they’d finished they dangled peasants over the lip until they dripped into a bucket. I’d say it’s inches from catastrophe, but the council say they have a large clap magnet that will clear it all up, so that’s alright.



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