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[21 Nov 2003|09:28am] |
Yesterday i decided to break up the monotony of my life by going to the New Inn after work. It worked, Zoe came in about twenty minutes after i did, Ollie in tow.
She hugged me, kissed me on the forehead, and engulfed me in her hair. Lovely stuff. We sat there having a good old chat. Ollie seems alright, although being thesps they spent most of the hour launching into bloody song.
I had a staring contest with Zoe, which i won despite her despicable attempts to put me off with flirtation.
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[21 Nov 2003|11:05am] |
THE JOB CENTRE
PA: So you've not had a job in six months, Mr Peters?
Peters: That's not my name.
PA: Sorry, i was looking under the file for "Wankers". You're a cunt.
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| The Job Centre |
[21 Nov 2003|05:40pm] |
PA: So, Mr Barney. How do you feel about this job?
Barney: This is...this is absurd! I'm not stuffing fag butts down a toilet for a living.
PA: BIG NEWS, CIG BOY! YA GOT NO CHOICE! NOW FUCK OFF AND STUFF ASH! NOW!
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| Boulder of the Day. |
[21 Nov 2003|05:43pm] |
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Jutting out under an overhanging cliff ledge in Portsmouth. Possibly near the harbour.
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| The Job Centre |
[21 Nov 2003|05:46pm] |
PA: I've had a look at your CV, Mr Henderson. And i find it incerdibly offensive, personally.
Henderson: What? I'm a building contractor by trade, i spent six months in the army...worked as a shelf maker, what the fuck....what the hell is offensive about that?
PA: THAT'S NOT WHAT IT SAYS HERE. TAKE A LOOK, CV BOY
Henderson: EH? (Looks at the CV, with his name at the top)
Curriculum Vitae:
"Paul Henderson
12 Knob Terrace
Pokasville
Cunt town
In a fucking hovel, you Job centre CUNTS
School Attended:
Dirty bums Borstal, in the naughtiest cell of all. Named "Big Hippo Willy" 1986 - 1991, for my being able to masturbate in seven different colours.
Work Experience:
1992 - 1994
Work as a testicle exploder
I rammed dynamite down the dirty pants of various men during this time, getting paid mountains of money for fucking up reproductive systems the world over. I hate JOB CENTRES, fucking explode your nuts, you cunts.
CALLING PEOPLE BY THE WRONG NAME, DELIBERATELY
1993-1996
POO POO POO BUM POO. That's what i called a man for most of this job. It was my job to scream jeuvinile words in place of people's actual names merely to irritate and alienate. AND I HATE JOB CENTRES. POO WEE BUM WILLIES."
Henderson: What the fuck? It's got my name on it....you've made this up!
PA: No i haven't, you dirty rotten scoundrel. Why you gotta badmouth the JC? EH? What we ever done to you?
Henderson: YOU! You DID THIS!
PA: FUCK OFF AND GET OUT OF MY SIGHT, You filthy fuck. And take this nasty solecism with you. NEXT!
Henderson: Buh....buh.....BUH.
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| My mum the turnip |
[21 Nov 2003|06:00pm] |
Sam: Mum! You've got no mouth! SAY SOMETHING MUM!
Mum:.............................................................
Sam: Oh god! WHY. Why was my mother born a turnip. Without a mouth. In fact, this is just a turnip.
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| "Now that's self pity" Vol 1. |
[21 Nov 2003|06:03pm] |
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The best of self indulgent emotions. Indifference, narcissism, nihilism and bitterness. With a foreword by Gene Wilder. Fuck knows why.
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| The dating page for problem cases. |
[21 Nov 2003|06:05pm] |
Name: Sarah
Age: Older than burgers
Occupation: Stealing rain form the clouds and making balloon animals out of actual animals
What i'm like:
Bouncy, like a ball of elastic gristle. In fact, the gristle can be identifed as part mouse, part ostrich. The rest is pure dementia. And i have a spoon. A fucking spoon. I thought it had my face, but that was just a reflection. So, if you're looking for a sphere of David Cronenberg influence wiry fat, i'm you're woman, sphere, spoon collecting fat ball.
Hobbies: Crossing powered train tracks, rolling shrew cigarrettes, laughing with boils of the world, and dressing dead dogs in frocks and smocks. And YOU.
Method of cholorforming reluctant dates.: Sneakin' up behind. CLASSIC.
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| The Dares from the bear who cares. |
[21 Nov 2003|06:11pm] |
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132: Disguise yourself as a mountain.
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| In a funny mood. |
[21 Nov 2003|06:13pm] |
As you can possibly ascertain. I've been writing loads of little mad things, to make myself giggle, and anyone else as demented and possibly lacking a few screws.
But fuck this, i've sold my decks! They're only really practise ones, and i've managed to do a deal with Dan to sell them for a hundred squid.
Spin me.
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