So, I’ll try to make this brief… There may be a few tangents, and I’m really tired.
I was walking home from work tonight, exhausted after 13 hours shared between two jobs. It was about 11.45 at night and on my side of the street ahead of me was a pack of youths. I don’t know what the collective noun for hooded reprobates is really; a gaggle of chavs, a flock of delinquents? Anyway… I call them youths; it sums it up nicely, derogatory enough to convey my meaning, condescending enough to convey my sarcasm. I don’t know what age I was when I began to refer to ‘punk kids’ as ‘youths’, but I think it was around the time I once saw a 13 year with a cigarette who was so indifferent and unintelligent, that he tried to spit on the floor, as so many smokers do, and couldn’t be bothered to turn his head to the left or right, thus combined with the forward momentum of his walking meant he spat on his own shoe. Anyway, they were youths, and I decided to avoid them for some reason. They were drunk and loud and boisterous, and I couldn’t be bothered to be near them. I figured I’d just cross the street.
This is where shit went wrong.
I went to get my ring finger sized yesterday, I won’t go into why…
Anyway! I tried on a test ring, and was told that if I had a normal ring, I would be a size R. No problems so far. However, the lady then said that if I were to get a broader ring, I’d probably be a size Q and a half. Problem encountered.
Silly Amazon. This isn’t the cat I ordered. The cat I picked out online had longer fur. Now I have to send this one back. *sigh* Where’s that duct tape?
Doc: Brace yourself, Marty. When this baby hits 88 miles per hour… You’re going to see some serious shit. Police: Doctor Emmett Brown; stop the vehicle. We have reason to believe you have stolen nuclear materials on board. Doc: Holy shit, Marty! Get in! Marty: Woah, Doc. What’s going on? Doc: Come on, just get […]
… And on a totally, absolutely, obviously unrelated note; he’s currently plugging and promoting his new book, which happens to be about an alien landing, buried in a government conspiracy. I find it astronomical the audacity, and the soulless desperation, of some people who try to take advantage of other, naive and gullible, people. Then […]
To pee, or not to pee? Well, not to pee; would be the short answer. Seriously guys, that’s a little messed up.
Still, I know people with far stranger paraphillias, so it would be inconsistent to dismiss this one. Anyway, I’m not going to examine the potential psychological reasons, or the subconscious motivations, or even the difficulty associated with brining a new partner into your deep, secret fetishes. No, I just have one niggling, little thought that bugs me about it.
Okay, guys… I’ve come up with a new section. At the restaurant where I work, we give out little comment cards at the end of each meal. Ninety nine times out of ten, they’re pretty dull and unspectacular; but every so often we’ll get some thing really stupid.
This isn’t one of those times. I mean, it’s pretty stupid… But I just felt like writing about one, and this was the best I had. So anyway, keep a look out for some forthcoming Comment Cards post, and we’ll get started with this one!