Monday 11 January 2010

And another thing, if oranges are orange, shouldn't you fuck off?

"...For instance, my employer forbids me from taking tips on threat of termination, but they're legally not allowed to do that. I need to check with a lawyer, but I'm pretty sure that I can sue them for the balance and toss in some emotional damage as well."

"You're a more reasonable man than I. Unless by, 'check with a lawyer' you meant, 'buy a sword', in which case we're pretty much the same."

"Ha! That's the exact difference between a Democratic Socialist and a Revolutionary Communist!"

Hello, I am enjoying some insomnia. I hope you are well, unless you are Mark Watson, in which case I hope you choke on your fecking pear cider and get the fuck off my television.

Here at [couldn't be arsed to come up with an original name/address/title so went with the Solex track that happened to be playing on Spotify when I signed up] I shall be mostly absent and neglectful of any readers I may inexplicably acquire. Other than that, expect the odd drunken rant about things that don't really concern me. And possibly (probably) some similarly drunken assertions that I don't care what you say, Fairuza Balk is lovely.

Let's seamlessly weave in a sample!

After a fortnight of worryingly persistent if otherwise mild illness I am now feeling somewhat better (as I'm sure you'll be delighted to know) after having a couple of ales and ranting at my antipodean brother about how much I hate all these phone in and tell Cat Deeley what you think about a prancing wanker shows he's missing. A bench full of degenerates saying the opposite of what just happened is only funny for a finite period. "You were great", as I helpfully explained, seems to have become Beebish for, "Dick Dickington couldn't be more of a dick on the dickingest day of his life if he had an electrified dicking machine."

So, we're on the cutting edge here at Good Comrades. Slicing to the heart of meaty issues, of course.

As for me, I like tea, and terrible little rhymes, though I prefer alliteration, most of which I'm keeping to myself. I do not like rabbits, mushrooms, or weilders of unelected authority. I am much older than I look, unreasonably skinny, and kinda a Communist. I am not a crook. I have a Dogtanian T-shirt, a nervous habit of tapping or scratching the middle of my chest (which has ruined said T-shirt), and an unexplained fondness for the Welsh. I do not have a job, leprosy, or a girlfriend. You are not surprised. Pod can explode. Pod does not understand, "go fuck himself". I have been to Ireland, Canada, France, Australia, and Bulgaria when it was still a People's Republic. And yet I've never been to me. I rode a bear. I did not ride the walrus. I can touch my nose with my tongue. I can not drive (so far as I'm aware). I plan to learn a new language. I do not know whether it ought to be Welsh, or something useful like Quechua or Serbo-Croatian. I am glad to suppose that I shall never work another day in an asparagus packing shed. I miss Melbourne, a bit. I watch cricket. I do not play. I think that's pretty much the sum of me.

Oh, and once I saw a blimp.

1 comment:

  1. [expression of gladness and much relief at sight of chiv-writing-continuancement]

    ReplyDelete