Exhausted, is the word for this feeling right now. Yet here I am. Again. Damn you, Blog! Damn yoooouuuu!!!
Still, I can't let down my loyal readers. Make yourself known, everybody! Comment on this post, answering the following questions:
1) Why do you read this blog?
2) What's the best thing about me?
3) What would be your preferred method for my execution?
4) Who will be first against the wall when the revolution comes?
5) Shoe shopping. What's that all about?
If you don't come forward yourself, I will name and shame you in the next blog. I know who you are; a little known rider on a recent Act of Parliament allows all bloggers to install secret cameras in the internet to film people reading their blog.
And running will do you no good. They're wireless cameras. Fooools!
[I may have been watching too much Invader Zim today.]
I also went to see Julia sing in the choir of St Martin's church, Stamford, in a beautiful performance of ye olde English christmas songs. Overall it was a mellow, melodic...choir sort of event (all-female), with the occasional bit of dynamism and fun. A great mixture.
"Inspiring. Four stars!" - Me, the Internet.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
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3 comments:
1) I feel I should be witness to as many examples of failure as possible.
2) Your good friend Nick. He's awesome.
3) Boiled alive while watching Two Weeks Notice with me (I wouldn't be boiled as well, of course, just watch the film).
4) Jesus.
5) *shrug*
OK, OK, I'll comment!
1) I am your girlfriend and feel it is my duty.
2) The fact that you are, when all's said and done, wrapped around my little finger. *Beam*
3) Death by book.
4) Kitson - according to Aidan, at any rate.
5) I don't know, but it is awesome.
1) To feel a connection with a friend sadly lost, and concurrently fulfill a voyeuristic intrigue: what will I witness spawn from this familiar yet mysterious mind in five minutes of apparent privacy?
2) Too many to pinpoint but one overridingly admirable quality. I suppose I see you somewhat uniquely amongst friends as wise.
3) Overdose with barbiturate. Probably painless. Apparently peaceful.
Or, nitrogen, or, better, helium asphyxiation to lighten the occasion with squeaky last words.
4) A bunch of mindless jerks of the Sirius Cybernetic Marketing Division. The tuneful tones of Stephen Fry, with pristinely preserved intonation sing in my mind as I recall the audiobook.
Or, preferably, the Pope. Or Dell.
5) To surely enter the fiery pits of hell would be less of a assault upon the soul. A disgusting display of wanton greed and irrational desire. Female sexual selection and competition at its most nauseating public reveal.
The jabbing of hands. The manic grabbing of pungent tanned skin. The drowning eerie symmetry of totems of misfired erotic desire.
My head turns weak; a choral screech of panicked voices scream through the dark vacancy of my mind; sound is now interpreted as pain. My legs grow weary yet impatient. Some part of me leers out of my ears; shoes spin slightly; focus flicks manically from heel to heel, but with no logic or energy.
I am but now an observer. My weight sways on my feet, shockingly entrapped by two of them: a morose reminder that I too have once been overcome. Robotic protocol is sovereign. A flash of green light, a jolting beep; the violent opening of a till awakens me from my reverie. It is over.
...Yeah. I really don't enjoy shoe shopping.
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