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[03 Oct 2004|09:55am] |
Hey you.
Graham's last night on earth...or whichever version of it he creates in his own mindset. We went to the New Inn after work, which itself was fine. No problems for once, not even from Suzanne, who was relatively tamed.
Not much happened at the New Inn, apart from some Guiness, then I stumbled home to fall asleep. Got up at six, sat yawning here for a while, then went back to bed.
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[03 Oct 2004|10:08am] |
Watching some of my Futurama DVD's, that Stoney left for me with my father, it occurs to me that almost every line of it is funny.
Seriously....even more so than the Simpsons. There are a chocolate box of lines, and they're all soft and/or hard centres.
Which makes no sense. But check some of these:
"Every other day it's FOOD FOOD FOOD!"
"Oh...please....you give me too little credit"
"Bender! No! You'll make God cry!"
"Instead of shooting where I was, you should have shot where I was GOING to be!"
"QUARTERS! A MILLION ALLOWANCES WORTH OF QUARTERS"
And the small ones. I love the fucking thing. More dvd's....for phylly..soon.
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[03 Oct 2004|10:42am] |
More tea...just a second....scrabbling for things to wear this morning. Mould is drying my Levi's top under the GRILL, my boxers are on the slow cooker...which has lamb hearts in it.
Fucking hell.
Sunday Lunch is fully booked. Wicked. I'll be happy to see the arse end of today's servings.
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[03 Oct 2004|04:37pm] |
And so another Sunday lunch ends, with it ninety five people passed through our doors. The work wasn't too bad, although a "hilarious" piece of physical humour by myself, in which I pretended to drink a bottle of fucking Balsamic vinager, ended with tragedy, as the thing leaked it's mucky contents all over my beautiful Levi's top.
So I now stink of not only roast dinners, but vinegar too. Shower soon, then.
Lisa burst into tears this afternoon. She's being bullied at school, and she simply broke down. Apparently, it's the insidious kind of rumour bullying, which is in no way less serious or hateful than any other kind. Mental as well as physical abuse in any school is a fucking poison in this country. She cheered up after a while, and hopefully we can all support her. She's in a good place to have people to talk to.
Remember, if it's happening to you, you're not alone. There's always somebody you can turn to. And also remember, you're fucking better than they are.
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[03 Oct 2004|05:01pm] |
Gone chocolate insane......got some Cadburys for the mob and a fucking Kinder bar for me, as well as some chalky sweets.
May write some more soon. If not anything substantial, perhaps a sketch involving characters from children's fables vandalising a bus stop.
Or not.....ooh...Refreshers.
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[03 Oct 2004|06:26pm] |
Probably shouldn't have sent that e-mail. Can write some foolishly soppy things when I want to. However, it's mine, and it's what I wanted to say, so I said it.
Can't help feeling slightly embarrassed though.
There's really no point leaving the house tonight. However, i'm so irritated with being in it that being outside of it is the only real option. And save rotting with the shamblers in the Saddlers, being leered at by double necked England shirt wearing priapic foolbags in the New Inn, the Bell is really the only option.
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| Funsack of limericks. |
[03 Oct 2004|06:52pm] |
Just been writing these on the manwhofellasleep boards....thought i'd SLAM 'EM here too in a big nutcake of fun:
Kid's Party:
At the kid's party,
the children ate hearty,
foodstuffs of jelly and cream
they pulled the crackers
and pretended to be carjackers
whilst their parents cried "it's obscene!"
as the clown turned up,
the game was truly up
as he had a police officer's badge
they cried "dad's under arrest!"
as he sat outside pissed and smoking in his vest
before being dragged off to face charges of being drunken and disorderly the previous night, and chinning a bloke for calling him a big "shit pie"
Poor kids.
Billy's Bayliffs
Billy's Bayliffs,
had a smile
when they dragged your goods down the aisle
they'd crack a joke, whilst they cracked yer legs
which took that pain away.
Billy's bayliff's,
liked a chortle
whilst they were taking away your life's savings
they'd ssnigger and chuckle,
as they nicked your gold belt buckle
and the fags that satisfied your nicotine cravings
Billy's bayliffs,
who was billy?
Just a moniker for their company.
The Bear's Lost Banana
The bear and his banana,
shit, there was nothing calmer
than a bear with his banana
but one day the bear
sat alone with the banana and the pear
went off to get some crisps
when he came back
he found they'd hit the sack
You just can't trust fruit.
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| Charlie Brooker. |
[03 Oct 2004|07:57pm] |
Charlie Brooker makes me laugh more than anything else in comedy, ever. And to think: He writes a newspaper column. Read this, from back in 2000, it's the Screen Burn column he writes for the Guardian:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/tv_and_radio/story/0,,345130,00.html
It's possibly the funniest thing i've ever read in my life. His use of similie and metaphor is almost depressingly good.
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[03 Oct 2004|08:03pm] |
Okay, it's time to leave this nest of yawns, weary sighs, and the drearily familiar sight of my parents watching a cosy drama series set in the woody hillocks of the north of england, and featuring lots of flying over hedges, a police officer clearly too nice to be of any use in any crime that doesn't involve the theft of a pencil, and a soft core plot element about an old man being forced to sell his house by a shifty estate agent, later being saved from foolishness by his friends and family.
Cretinous. See you later.
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