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[26 Nov 2003|05:09pm] |
The witches essay is done and dusted, i hope. Handed it in today. Next for Christ's sake, i have to form a piece of creative writing based on the accursed thing.
So i'm doing a Blackadder influenced detective scene, involving the characters from Macbeth, and a bumbling inspector. Crashin'.
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[26 Nov 2003|07:41pm] |
I'll show you my script for this GCSE assignment soon. It has a comedy element which may or may not fit into the actual requirement.
Still, it is the most difficult, and as such the most enticing of all four options for this piece of coursework; which consist of a diary entry of Macbeth and Lady Macbeth, a piece from the point of view of a minor character, and this one, which can be either a scene of the new King being knighted, or as i'm doing, a "whodunnit" spoof, using characters from the play.
That's why i'm doing this. I can twist it to suit my warped humour, and run riot with ideas. I have Macduff flossing his teeth with a sword, and a dead carrier pigeon.
Shakespeare would be rotating in his resting place.
I was supposed to visit Roy today, to pick up that fucking cd player i bought him five pints of Stella for. But he's out building gravestones and fireplaces. Roy is selling everything in his house for beer, so that he can drink until he finally gets money for his house and moves to Scotland.
Hopefully i'll see Alicia soon. She probably thinks i hate her. Not so, i was just fucking pissed off that she involved me in her immature, self righteous protests. But i'm over it now. I'm too tired of these things having a bearing on my life.
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| The Job Centre |
[26 Nov 2003|07:50pm] |
PA: So, i see here you're a clown.
Biffo: Yes, my name's BIFFO. PARP!
PA: I hate clowns.
Biffo: Why?
PA: Because when i was young....i.....i....had a bad experience...
Biffo: Which was what?
PA: My father was dressed as a clown....and...was.....fucking a christmas tree...
Biffo: Yeah...so...what jobs have you got?
PA: For you? You get to fuck off. Now i think you'll find that quite funny. I do. PISS OFF.
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[26 Nov 2003|08:10pm] |
I'm not reaching any denounments tonight. Lately i can't think of a fucking thing to say; it seems i need to have some sort of emotional upheavel to keep the ideas flowing. And nothings happening. Well, there ARE, but not things i want to talk about here.
That said, i will speak more about related things soon. Or just go and drink Guiness until the world seems a better and more blurry place.
The bright side is that Ian has his night off tonight, so won't be glaring and lecturing from his position of power. His position of power is a seat near the centre pillar of the bar, where he talks and tells jokes told a million times. I do like him immensely, but i cannot spar with him. He sees things in the most one dimensional way possible. There IS no other way to anything with Ian. Depression is just something that makes you ill in the mornings to Ian. You just have to "pull yourself together". Bollocks, and we all know it. But Ian doesn't.
So i'm going to sit in his seat and do impressions of him. Until he lurches down for his scotch and water at 10:30pm.
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