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[28 Dec 2004|04:31pm] |
Afternoon. I have an arrears to make up, as I managed to destroy my head with Guiness last night, and so was in no mood to stare through a thumping headache at a a gleaming rectangle at eight in the morning. It was worth it though; pretentious cockface Nathan was playing "barman" whilst on a holiday from training as a doctor.
I spent most of the evening getting a small toy bear to skin up, smoke cigars, and breathe smoke into the water jugs. Most were rather amused, apart from Nathan, who asked what I was "on". I could literally say "a stool, you arrogant little prick", but I simply remarked I was on cigars and Guiness. A heady combination. Poor Nathan also incorrectly assumed I was drunk...as joyful malarkey is rarely seen in the Bell without some kind of alcoholic lubrication, and even then it is contrived. I was merely trying to provide some comic relief to others and myself of the dead wasteland in between Christmas and New year. It worked too, some laughs were truly had. Got George to drink from a water jug, and swapped it with Ian's, just for good measure.
Of course I had to swap them back. Nathan being an unctuous little prat would no doubt tell him about it. I intend to bait the offensive little cunt tonight. There's not many who rile me to the point of nailing them to the cash register, but this provocatively dull boring picky little shit demon is one of them. It's like being served booze by a haughty butler.
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[28 Dec 2004|04:58pm] |
Now then. Work. Forty seven on Bank Holiday 2, a cheekily placed fucking extra hard day's work slung arrogantly between Christmas and the New Year. Didn't enjoy it, but I didn't hate it either. It was just what it is...work.
Never mind. My kitchen (or rather, Whitbreads) looks stunning again, even after the best efforts of two chefs to turn it into a pig shelter. Hopefully it'll be MAINTAINED at least reasonably well until I am back to work on Thursday.
Not happy with writing today. But i'm usually not, so this is hardly a new experience. "Small Soldiers", a dreadful bank holiday kid's film featuring plastic midgets and whining bike riding kids probably saving a small community from demolition, or something. I don't know..it's just so Bank Holiday. Like late licenses and "It's a knockout."
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[28 Dec 2004|05:05pm] |
Ooh, "The Office" specials....i've not seen this, ever. Now I will, so shut up and get me some tea. Where's my fucking cat? I haven't stroked ball headed furred FREAK today.
I demand much, but think little.
Thought of a new play, "Inventing the abacus", but I haven't a fucking clue what it means.
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[28 Dec 2004|05:17pm] |
Well...another few tens and i'll have five hundered for the week, not bad for the scribing of a twenty eight year old kitchen porter, drinking Guiness and casting hateful glances towards idiotically arrogant rock headed part time barmen who think they're it because they know that fucking smoking will kill you.
NATHAN. It spells cunt, it truly does.
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| Well... |
[28 Dec 2004|05:24pm] |
Are You Gonna Be My Girl by Jet |
"So 1, 2, 3, take my hand and come with me
Because you look so fine
And i really wanna make you mine"
You impressed almost everyone in 2004 - and surprised yourself.
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I would have preferred The Libertines. I'm a mop haired angry prole.
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| More real life children's entertainment |
[28 Dec 2004|08:32pm] |
Mona the Vampire is clearly experience some sort of collective delusional illness experience largely by herself, and also infectious of her various friends. This can include: Seeing big nostrilled aliens when all that is apparent is a small green toy that emits a cloud of dust when squeezed. A flu bug going round causes a coincidence in Mona's mind that cannot be reversed. Thusly, she believes that humans are being abducted by a race of sneeing aliens, transported in bubbles to another planet, and used in the maintenance of a huge alfactory organic world, a bit like that one in System Shock 2. Mona is clearly a demented girl. Last week she was in a play and almost ruined the entire thing.
I'm also deeply worried about Basil Brush, seen continually laughing and telling jokes. Surely the work of a manic depressive. He also shares a bunk with an adult man. He never used to do that. It used to be a sort of quasi panel show, with Basil as omniscient overseer, directing things. Now he's largely in a sitcom atmosphere, surrounded by children, chairs, and american students.
"My fairy odd parents", I don't even know where to begin. The titular stars of the show can immediately be assumed to by Timmy's biological folk, being as they are the ones he is under the charge of; however two such characters as abrupt and deranged as a cat with it's tail being pulled by a loud drunk would have social services at their door within seconds. It is later apparent that the actual adopted guardians of Timothy, are two brightly coloured tiny fairies, but as they've before managed to completely fuck up everything by granting the wishes of a boy with the same grip on reality as a bag of hedgehogs, they're not altogether the best choice either.
This show is a mindfuck. It's so fast the next episode starts halfway through the current one.
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[28 Dec 2004|08:47pm] |
I mean once Timmy got himself turned into a fucking mummy, for Christ's sake. How was he still alive? His head fell off.
Arthur has largely andoynely drawn animals, some of which cannot even be identified without close inspection. That's a rabbit with glasses, that's a mole or something. Why are they playing marbles?
Hey Arnold has always had an urban quality to it. I like the wild diversity of characters and backgrounds, and in some cases the intelligent moral stories displayed. I don't however understand why Arnold's grandad looks like a stringy malformed jacket potato.
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[28 Dec 2004|08:50pm] |
I'm going out now. Not too many tonight, I have to get up semi early to go to Canterbury with Mr Burton and get tooled up with shoes. I need footwear. I have one pair of trainers and they've more holes in them that a balsar wood boat made by a drunk seal.
Bye.
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