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[22 Nov 2004|09:05am] |
The yawning count hits one about every thirty seconds this morning. It's so annoying, I can see myself making a balloon animal out of my throat to get rid of it.
After leaving for the night this past evening, I went to the Bell as usual, briefly saw Anne Byrne, who I greeted with a kiss on the cheek, before she said:
"Oh, I thought a young lady had just walked in"
Yes, the hair is getting longer.
Found Bolb with Vince, over in the back of the bar..next to the speaker and sat with them, Vince seemingly quite taken with the idea of taking photographs of Bolb and I on his phone. Quite amusing. The stereo blared scratchy musicals and choirs, and old fifties crooners as if the world was to end and there was no time to pack 'em all in.
Bolby and I left the pub, and went on the catwalk. If some of you don't know, our method of greeting the best animals in the world is something like this:
"I fucking hope that the Ginger D's are out.."
"Yeah, they better not let us down..fucking had be....."
"SHIT!"
"YES!"
Then it becomes quite chortlesome. We are greeted, in this case, by GD1, whose ginger face appears from shadow, little paws trotting like pistons, face lit up in artificial light. Bolb takes the initiative, which if you're familiar with goes something like this:
"You FFFFUCK! What a PRICK! Fuck!"
In simple meaning, we insult the shit out of them. Not because we hate them...more because they're so BLOODY FUNNY, that they elicit some kind of exclamatory response. Which with us is random swearing and shouting.
After slagging off GD1, we walked on...he skipping along behind us...occasionally running ahead, purr-meiowing, running over roads, or simply stopping at a driveway to investigate something he's seen a million times before. On the way leading GD1 out of his territory, we found another new cat. His name is....
Blood Clot. As Bolb has given him, it shall be so. He's a proper cat, big eyes, massive refined fucking paws.
We led GD1 all the way to our house, at which point he gaped about the garden and attempted to climb a tree. Cats tend to do things that provoke one to exclaim "What the HELL are you doing?", and this was no exception. As we thought he may not remember the way back, as this was the furthest we'd ever led him...we picked him up and took him back at the last point he'd got home from, set him on the ground, and fucking pegged it. Luckily, he didn't follow us.
You make your own fun around here, folks.
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[22 Nov 2004|09:38am] |
Rather than doing that which I want to be doing, at which you could only hypothesise (Unless you are that which I speak of), i'll have to concern myself currently with the altogether less glamorous pursuit of eating a tuna sandwich, brushing the crumbs off my stretching body, and playing Doom 2. I shall provide more obnoxious scribbles before work.
The morning sun falls with a guiltless blanket, with no humidity to cloud it. Windows of the house opposite are like shining white square faces, against an aged rusty orange brick.
I will be back soon.
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[22 Nov 2004|10:22am] |
http://www.somethingawful.com/
Go here for a terrific fucking review of the "asshole physics" in Half Life 2. It's so funny it made me laugh like a bus fall of dead thieves being kicked around a universe by giants.
They are good.
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[22 Nov 2004|10:39am] |
Doom 2 decided to lock up on me. Three dimensional cunt. Plus, the blood was blue, and the floors were too. I think i've fucked up the update royally. Back to the patches, then.
Going back to the past, the DOOM playin' days..when I was unemployed and ate noodles for a living:
"My soul is dying, but I must shoot more"
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| Would you 4-king believe it. |
[22 Nov 2004|11:09am] |
You Are the Individualist |
4
You are sensitive and intuitive, with others and yourself.
You are creative and dreamy... plus dramatic and unpredictable.
You're emotionally honest, real, and easily hurt.
Totally expressive, others always know exactly how you feel.
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For once, they got it right.
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[22 Nov 2004|11:10am] |
Well my friends...it is time. For me to do what causes me so much weariness and yet......provides me with that which I may fritter on alcohol and fantasy dvd's.
I'll go and do that now, after washing my hair and sweeping it into a straightness as much as is possible at this stage in its growth.
Cool. It's starting to resemble Dave Gahan's.
See you fractoids later.
Hey you.
xxx
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[22 Nov 2004|03:26pm] |
Well, here I am for a short hour....as is the trend these days. Work was a small pain in the arse, apart from a distinguished earthquake. Whatever that means. I did still feel happy with my work, which after three years has got to be a good thing, if not great.
Next up, college. We'll see if my essay was a completely misguided approach, or roundly ace. I'm betting a mix of the two.
That's really it for now, growler bowlers.
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| 5100 |
[22 Nov 2004|03:56pm] |
The Cockney Rhyming Slang that never made it:
No 23342:
Slate that Jackdaw/Found dead on the moor
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[22 Nov 2004|04:34pm] |
Toodley Doo, to me and to you. That's right, i'm saying goodbye to myself...that part of me that's wearing no shoes..because right now i'm off to put SOME ON AND GO TO COLLEGE.
Yes. Time to ride the chav express, see the night centre of learning, then return to the wooden bar with Guiness sitting atop it. I take my leave now, in the hope that I will not be fucked over by transport seemingly run by a starched skeletal crew.
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