| "You're on red alert, son! The next one is black alert...which is....wh....DEATH!" |
[22 Oct 2004|09:03am] |
Morning there. Another fun packed evening, then. The fun came at the bar last night, after i'd drifted through the plates of twelve diners.
No shakes or bakers. Easy stuff.
Stuart greeted me upon exit, with a typical "ALLO MATEY!", as I dumped my rags at the top of the stairs. After having gathered the coat and other things, I found Bolb joining him. We all sat there, these two talking...me trying to read a "Wuthering Hieghts" introduction with some added information.
Melanie was knocking about, cleaning glasses behind the bar, a wicked light in her eye, remembering a misdemeanour I had mentioned earlier. Mel+My mistake+Bolb=Judgment Day for Phylly...
"Bolb...GUESS what Phyllis said earlier...what he STOLE?" barked Mel, with all the grace of a bouncer....
"What? MY CD? IS IT PHYLLIS?", said Bolb, obtusely held half Stella glass in one hand, the other angrily playing with the same strand of hair...peering over Stuart's shoulder, eyeballs glinting with an odd concoction of anger and humour.
"Er...yeah.." I said, doing an impression of a told off schoolboy, kicking my heels against the stool and gazing downwards......fidgeting and waiting for the heat to lift.
"That......I told you! That's probably where my Final Fantasy cd is! SMASHED TO PIECES IN YOUR ROOM!"...she sad, upping the ante....Mel chortling behind the bar....
"God you back Phyllis...for all the EVILS you've ever given me when I bring washing up in", she beamed...her revenge complete...
"Snitch..", I replied...whilst Bolb moved from Stuart shoulder to other Stuart shoulder, staring out over each one like a sentry moving around it's patrol.
"You're on RED ALERT SON!" she hammered..."That's like BAD...there's only BLACK ALERT! Which is....is....is..DEATH!" I half sniggered and half shivered on my stool at the Bolb wrath.
After the Bolb bollocking we finished drinking and left the pub, seeing one of the Ginger D's on the way...this time giving us the silent treatment, running just in front of us, this cat was GIVING IT....as if he wanted us there but not talking to him...prick...we caught him up and gave him some strokes...
Odd thing with cats...once they reach the confines of territory they're anybody's again...and he was..
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[22 Oct 2004|09:12am] |
This holiday has definately lost it's childhood charm..
You Should Be a Mental Patient for Halloween! |
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[22 Oct 2004|09:15am] |
We're going to a Chinese restaurant for Bolb's birthday...an "all you can eat" buffet place, which I intend to take full advantage of by necking as much as possible, and shoving noodles, fish and all sorts into every crevice....that's a chow mein in my shoe...hey...look at this crispy duck...what's that officer? Am I not allowed to transport these prawn crackers under a hat?
What fun....that's next week...Wednesday in fact...
Later on..camels and humps...they look like cardboard that has been slightly dampened and has dried in a brittle bumpy fashion. With eyes...and a pathetic, drawling moan.
Hairy cunts.
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[22 Oct 2004|09:35am] |
Just squarely banged my fucking head on the central heating box thing whilst looking for some crisps......I retaliated to this stationary attack by whacking it angrily with a fist...so now I have a smacked head and a stinging hand.
Fuck's sake. RRRRRRRRRAAGAHGAHGHRHH! That's how you spell "Annoyance". Except it isn't.
Work is looking fine, I suppose...a mere table of two booked. Then I suppose i'll have to type some things about Wuthering Heights...at least then i'll be making some progress....not much..but some.
Okay, back into the kitchen...i'll have cornflakes instead.
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[22 Oct 2004|10:02am] |
Oh simple joys of pet ownership...clasp me to thy bosom and regail me with stories of feline woe...like the one in which Des appears at the back window..staring through as if Dudley Moore in the ill guided film "Santa Claus the Movie", at the people happily eating in a restaurant, whilst he shivers in the street, like this diseased boulder made of cats.
And how we chortle as Phylly boy shuffles bare footed and coated to the window, laughing at his face, opening the window, and letting his poor carcus into the relative warmth of the kitchen...watching him eat and going back to the computer to write about camels.
Desmond meanwhile, finishes eating, and sits in the open door behing me...licking sides of mouth, and staring at the back of my fucking head. I type, Des looks around. A scratching descends...the fucking cat is at the couch...I get up, pick up Des at the tummy....and place his listless lumpen body outside, lest he piss on the new carpet...
And to enforce the cycle of repetition...Des has now appeared at the smack bang same place at the window...do you think this could go on forever?
Let's check it out...yes, he's coming in....oh...it appears he was scraping dried remnants earlier..there was no food in the dish..okay...i've dug a good chunk out for him to put his face in...let's see what happens....
Shaking of collar, ringing of bell, he dives in.....slamming that grub down his colossal gullet...ball footed prick...like a wind tunnel with a cat's face...yes....
He had to GALL to turn and eyeball me whilst chewing! You masticating feline cunt! get back to your food and stop robbing my soul out with your planet sized eyeballs! Oh that's it...soon as he gets in here...big time yawning...i'm going to show this cat just how BORING he is.
"yyyyyyyaaaaa...........eh...something so DULL about this room...hahhhhhhh........ahh....must be something to do with you Des...."
Here he comes now....full of mashed up rabbits and jelly.
What's he going to do........oh...he's walking through...albiet clumsily and at a slight waver....as if he's veering to one side...a shake of the collar, and he's gone...
Prick.
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[22 Oct 2004|10:41am] |
There are times when I drink a cup of tea, perfectly of care...when no matter the distance from mouth, the tea will go everywhere BUT my gob.
This is one of those times. I feel like a ten stone curly haired baby. That reminds me, I must straigten it and tie it up. It's long enough now to cram into one of Bolb's girly hairbands.
Groan. Time for more abuse..
Time for a shower soon, then. After that...work.
Bye now.
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| Bear the Don |
[22 Oct 2004|11:25am] |
INT: Gangster's Headquarters
Goon 1: Hey, wassup? Seems da boss has called a meetin'....we gots some fuckin' business to sort out...see?
Goon 2: Yea....hopefully we're going to get to wack someone..like jimmy da jackdaw...an' billy the kidney...fokin' asshowls....
Goon 1: Hey BAWS! 'ow yer doin'? Whaddya be wantin' widja two favourwite sons?
Bear the Don: ROOWOWOOWOWOWOWO!
Goon 2: Why do we have a wild grizzly bear as a boss exactly?
Goon 1: I don't know.
Bear the Don: GRRGGRGRGRGRGRGGRGGARGHGH!
Ragh.
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[22 Oct 2004|05:57pm] |
I tied my hair back today, in a fucking blue band that rips out about seventeen hairs every time. Wore it to work, which was as rotten as always, punctuated by a few chuckles and thirty four people eating.
Got home to find Uncle David and dad encamped on the computer, so I made a burger sandwich and played Final Fantasy X, cursing at stupid fucking chocobos being hit by blitzballs.
I hate games of skill. I am now bored and irritable. Again.
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[22 Oct 2004|06:10pm] |
Saw Zoe today, for the first time in weeks, walking with hurried intent dressed in tiny beige coat befitting her small frame, black hair flowing ceaselessly in the wind...
"Hi!"
"Hi, how are you?"
"I'm alright, you?"
"Yeah"
"You're looking good"
Usual niceties...I felt nothing...it was like passing an estranged friend...I guess the crush is well and truly gone...
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[22 Oct 2004|06:28pm] |
Mould just saw fit to remind me of Bolb's birthday next week. For fuck's sake...this is irritating for so many reasons...she clearly does not know either of us very well, or at least birthdays are mere clinical events to her.
Of course I fucking remember.
"The Apprentice" is a job interview for post modern yuppies with excruciating voices. Deeply horrible viewing. I don't like many American reality shows. Muchly due to the "matter of fact" whining android voices of the participants. As in the prick that starred in a dating show in which he was looking for a girlfriend from bank of twelve "lucky" ladies.
He was a google eyeballed, permanently grinning robot who would simply utter every sentence with the preface "right off the bat", in some horrid metaphor for baseball. Imagine how this sounds after twenty times:
"Yeah, man..right off the bat I knew she was unusualllll..yeah....nice gall man...yeah man..."
His preference for the word "man" is hardly less irritating. I'll tell you what should be "right off the bat", mate...your fucking head, bashed out of the arena and over a mountain. You tosser.
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[22 Oct 2004|07:06pm] |
I have about a week and three days to read the rest of Wuthering Heights, formulate an opinion on the bloody thing, and then choose a question to write 1000 words about.....and then WRITE the poxy thing.
Then, and only then can I begin fashioning a presentation for the lesson after half term. I have half term off work, which should allow enough time. Frankly, work is enough until then.
Out tonight, where you'd think I would be. May have a few, or maybe less than. I don't know. Will probably buy tobacco, though i'll try not to.
I'm going to go and make myself nice soon.
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[22 Oct 2004|08:24pm] |
Oh god, i'm out of here. There are weeping proles on Eastenders trying to make some lofty denounment on fidelity and love. Pantomime morales.
Fucking hell. See you lot later. Keep bus drivin'.
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