| Fuck off. |
[27 Dec 2004|09:15am] |
You are Beauty.
You are beautiful, whether it be on the inside, the
outside, or both. People are drawn to you as
strongly as you are drawn to the beauty in the
world around you.
What Emotion Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
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[27 Dec 2004|09:15am] |
Mould is to the "emptying boxes of chocolates into the sweets box" stage. Kit Kat orange. I can't believe this is happening...what's worse is that Tomb Raider is on today. Surely one of the worst films ever shat on celluloid.
Oh, hi! Stomach's grumblin', and the dignity is tumbling. Another sober night, didn't have too bad a time getting to sleep, and for that I am thankful...the seasonal lack of pub was making me very jittery. Never mind, back to normal today. Well, BANK FUCKING HOLIDAY normal. Two of them this week. Like a couple of pricks wearing santa hats, coming to your door. Fuck off, i'm cooking baubles in the oven.
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[27 Dec 2004|09:30am] |
Turning kids bad. Imagine it. Watching "Supernanny" recently has given me an idea. Why not REVERSE it, take a perfectly well behaved, sweet child, and turn them into a screaming, toy smashing naughty little maniac. Any jokes involving certain children we all know will be read. And possibly laughed at. If i'm in the mood.
I keep finding myself drifting off and staring over the monitor at a book called "Dresden 1945", which gives you some idea how attentive I am today.
Bank Holiday programming, made by Bolb and I....coming up...the animated version of "Ichi the Killer", blade slashing crying fun for all the family....John Carpenter's "The Thing" at teatime...cute huskies turn into shape shifting exploding organic screaming nigthmares....and one for Gran: Half an hour of people being visited by plank weildinng bayliffs. Cough that down with your brandy and mince pies.
We were talking about showing "Threads" (Banned BBC nuclear war grim-fest), at 3pm on CBBC, but that may really be taking the piss. Going to show it on Easter Monday instead.
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[27 Dec 2004|11:08am] |
Right, so Christmas has utterly shafter any enjoyment I may have had coming. I will enjoy New Year, but not out. I need all my energy for the weekend, working and er...going to London....for some reason....
Heh. So er...yes...no late night for me....sweets and booze though. Some. I should go and sort out this holiday Monday's work soon. I am hoping most are too full of debt and turkey to actually want to GO OUT AND SPEND MONEY ON LUNCH TWO FUCKING DAYS after Christmas.
Give me a cunting break, for god's sake.
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| Popular Children's entertainment turned into joyless novella |
[27 Dec 2004|11:13am] |
Arnold treaded guiltily down the street, shifting his sqashed head from side to side, wondering where it had all gone wrong, as his impossibly posittioned had remained stationary atop his frankly absurd face.
Gerald had been taken ill, and to Arnold, this was something that descended upon him in monstruous stabs of guilt through the heart, cutting ice to his very soul, freezing all hope. Gerald had a sore throat, and could not sing in the children's choir. Arnold pondered; was this a mere deep throated irritation in the tonsils? Or something more major? He'd heard, from his utterly demented grandfather, of the growings of boyhood...the changes, the voice. Could Gerald be becoming a man?
Helga hid behind a hydrant, clasping a small heart shaped locket in her blankly pink wrists....tear forming in one eye and a feeling of ambiguity of emotion wresting her heart from her.
"Oh Arnold! So worried about friends! You incredible football headed gentleman! But hang on...what's wrong with me? WHY ISN'T HE EVER WORRIED ABOUT ME? Oh..."
Helga grasped the locket so tightly it drew blood and she then conspired to "bump" into Arnold.....pushing him to the floor a little too deliberately
"Hey..uh..Helga..."
"Oh..ARNOLD..SO SORRY...let me help you up!"
Arnold reached out a believing hand, only for Helga to dismiss him by retreating the hand at the last minute...Arnold sank back, arse being soundly banged against by cold city street cobbles.
"sigh", he said, phonetically. Then went on his way, still fucking worrying.
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| "Three men and a baby" |
[27 Dec 2004|11:25am] |
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The three overtly tall men stared astonished at each other; what on earth were they going to do? They couldn't ALL be the father. There was only one thing for it: To dance around with the baby to sickening eighties pop until somebody worked it out.
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| The Tweenies. |
[27 Dec 2004|11:28am] |
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Milo looked around. The sky was fake, the slide being the only comfort to this garish lie. He gripped his head and screamed, falling to the ground as the dog spoke words of souless gibberish about his shaking person. No hope inside him either.
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| Right, i'm off, cheese beavers. |
[27 Dec 2004|11:30am] |
Thanks to Chrono Trigger on an emulator, this morning has not been a complete waste of time. I've had some sweets too. And a sandwich. And some other things, with spinach in, amongst others.
Right, bye then! Work!
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[27 Dec 2004|06:41pm] |
Well, work is as awful post Christmas as it was before. First of two bank holidays that I have to work, and a busy one at that. This is only a brief stop as i'm reasonably fed up enough to go and drink earlier than usual. If I have to wash up for another year i'll be sharpening the edges of plates, if you know what I mean.
Right then....bye for now.
If I don't see you, have a good flight. Call me, baby. I'll be waiting. Er....unless i'm not here....hey...we'll sort it..we always do.
x
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