Your Starter For Free (or 'One Day I Might Suss PB Formatting!!) in 2014: The Year That Was

Feels like more often than not I start an entry by announcing I’ve not that much to say? Preceding to comment on anything you could supersede with a wink and a smile. Caught a cold in summer when I felt the freeze from your smile in June. Happy go-lucky, you called me up, and said come fuck me.

So here we are again, you’re dick riding as we go at it rodeo style. In the heat of the moment with burnt toes bucking bronco on top, ‘Ave it cowgirl!’ Just then the buzzer goes, 1000 volts to your fruit and veg. Smells like prawn stir fry? Well I’m afraid you’ve not been lucky enough this time but there’s always the rinse and repeat for the night owls. rinse, repeat…My life’s on long-play, one chapter, and a billion entries so that a million years down the line I can reflect on my ‘success’, kept company by my Alzheimer’s in some cold bare room in some fucked up nursing home**

Till then I’ll burst my guts with as much as I can! Might as well get it in whilst the going’s good! In by a nose, I polished off two foot-longs Friday night basking in steak melt glory…and chili sauce….always chili sauce. Co-incidentally (well really rather not) I’ve that having eaten too much sickness that hits you on a Monday morning after a weekend without your belt. For reasons otherwise unfathomable 34 years into my life, why when I’ve eaten too much do my morning day-after burps taste of egg when dairies been MIA for at least a few weeks?

Tastes a little off. Like the way Barcelona refuses to speak English when chatting to Casanova with just the 3 of us in the room. At least the new girl thought this too. So maybe we’re in the minority? Or maybe I should have thought better of asking Tinterslut when she lived here who so obviously wanted to climb all over (the rapidly decreasingly in wonderfulness) Barca.

More sleepy indifference from the man who prays to one day be asa-si-asa Sunt bine, sunt bine. These days I try and answer the opposite of what I’m thinking if I can’t avoid answering at all. … Except for this place where I run an intravenous drip to my heart.

I brought another laser torch at the weekend for Queso*. If you pick one option you can project a smiley face anywhere you want. - If only life was that easy? I guess it kinda is though isn’t it? It’s more about what’s being projected than the anyone actually giving a flying fuck as to the thought going on behind? I could dance in front of you with all the answers to your questions but that’s not what’s being projected, so we play it safe on the surface, keeping everything nicely balanced with snarling forked tongues you use on the Sunday roast! Being projected, on the surface, keeping things on the level. Why do I feel the imbalance from slanted glances and off-shot comments?

Now it’s back to the future, concerted attempts at holding out till 90, writing entries with a twist of Danger Vaughn, taking over the world with lyrical dim suns. From the safety of my evil lair on Monster Island where humans roam out of control!

**The type that make you wonder how on earth someone’s family could allow them to live in such a place? And the answer’s usually because they have no family or loved ones which is exactly why they can be dumped somewhere no one cares.

*On a serious topic I read a really good article about the best way to use laser pointers with your pets, especially cats. It had tripped my interest about possible negative side effects? Ultimately you need to apply common sense and them a ‘win’ at the end, finish the dot on a favourite toy, stuff like that.