| That's Gingertainment. |
[10 Dec 2004|09:47am] |
Second night of the pantomime. I saw little of the people in that and seeing that as I was at first working an unusually quiet Thursday night, and then emerged to find Stuart in a rare position in the bar....Bolby turned up shortly afterwards and then...
Graham Fucking Burton, hair like grabbing blackened claws searching around the dark...yes..he's back.
"I haven't had a drink for two months", he gasped. This was a lie. And you know it.
When we left the Bell, Bolb and I notice the familiar sight...some yards away, COMBING the buildings and kerbs. "You FUCK!" was the familiar yell, as she discovered it was GD1, comin' out to greet us. Frankly, she swore at him until her larynx fell out, adopting a curious manouevere of at first coaxing him towards her with a "Come on...that's it...yeah...GD.................." then, whenever she had him under fingers or ahead of her it would change to "YOU PRICK! YOU GINGER SLAG! PUT YER TROUSERS ON!"
I think the best one this overtly furry cat recieved was "YOU GINGER SLUT!"
Indeed. I dragged a branch out of a bin, and this officially means I have three drunken items in my possesion. A road sign, a traffic cone, and a big branch.
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[10 Dec 2004|05:51pm] |
Had a nice piece of fish for lunch today, a special unsold from a previous lunchtime. Lovely it was....with melted butter, which I lapped up like a cunt.
Okay, work was fine, but for my usual lateness and creeping weariness...and the fact that my feet are itching like dust factories at the moment. Spraying hot water on the feet is almost frighteningly orgasmic. At any rate, twenty nine fuckers rolled through the doors to eat, and the kitchen was left perfect by your's truly, despite the presence of three clumsy testosterone bags shouting, banging saucepeans, chopping things and generally covering the floor in more vegetable than a groceries storeroom.
The food was worth the shift.
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