Ween. I saw Ween. Good lord I went and saw Ween. Afterwards people came to my house seeing as it so handy to The Enmore Theatre. Spencer told me he is now Artboy's Fspazbook friend. This is fucked. I wish Artboy was dead. This is drunken thinking. I think. It would be handy if he actually was dead. Dear Artboy (mental fucktard), Please go and die now. Right now or alternatively you could do it retrospectively so that when you went completely mental you died then. Much better that way. Regards, Dale (the person you fucked over). Yep definitely drunk on 70's rose. Mateus. Spell? Matuese? I don't care how you spell it. It is in a roundy sort of bottle, or it was, now it is in my roundy sort of belly. Some of it is in Spencer's belly, also some in Rita, her friend's belly and maybe Ron, no not Ron and not Madam Squeeze. They be too high classed for 70's rose.
Oh lord I don't know what's going on. I have the house to myself. It was good before. I sat in the loungeroom and read books. This can not happen when other people are here because they always watch television. Always! Bad. Television is for sometimes watching and sometimes turning off. Not for always watching.
There was a man in the upstairs bar at The Enmore who would not leave me alone. I stood next to the security guards until one of them said "Do you know him?". I said "NO!" then they spoke into their radios and people came and took the man away.
Typing is ok to do if you are by yourself or sometimes if you are not by yourself. Madam Squeeze told me her conception story. Remarkable how many people are conceived whilst parents in fancy dress costumes. If I had to choose fancy dress costumes for my conception story, hang on, not sure about this. One combination that produced a child was Lucille Ball and Groucho Marx. Perhaps my parents were dressed as a fucktard and a spaz or as neurosis and unattractiveness or a train crash and an imaginary alien invasion. What about a tidal wave and a drought or a dead woman and a pointless existence. Maybe 70's rose a bad idea. Maybe I'm a bad idea.
Oh dear. Drunk bad. Usually drunk fine if not excellent but tonight suddenly typing about fancy dress parents of doom.
Ron has suggestion if ever find self fucking Tex Perkins. Obviously is a man that needs double bagging. In order to detect if one of the bagging layers has been compromised simply smear an amount of tiger balm between the two condoms. If top layer compromised then immediate detection possible. My idea is to not shag Tex Perkins thus avoiding serious tiger balm related lady injury.
1:37 am and all is well. Friends all gone home to their houses of anti-doom. I am sitting in blankets typing about fancy dress parents of doom and seriously wondering if I should get up and visit the tinkle palace. My brother said tinkle palace the other day. Very stupid indeed. Who walks around saying tinkle palace.
The Cowboy Book of Etiquette says "Don't say where you are going, just say Excuse me and then go".
Oh lord I don't know what's going on. I have the house to myself. It was good before. I sat in the loungeroom and read books. This can not happen when other people are here because they always watch television. Always! Bad. Television is for sometimes watching and sometimes turning off. Not for always watching.
There was a man in the upstairs bar at The Enmore who would not leave me alone. I stood next to the security guards until one of them said "Do you know him?". I said "NO!" then they spoke into their radios and people came and took the man away.
Typing is ok to do if you are by yourself or sometimes if you are not by yourself. Madam Squeeze told me her conception story. Remarkable how many people are conceived whilst parents in fancy dress costumes. If I had to choose fancy dress costumes for my conception story, hang on, not sure about this. One combination that produced a child was Lucille Ball and Groucho Marx. Perhaps my parents were dressed as a fucktard and a spaz or as neurosis and unattractiveness or a train crash and an imaginary alien invasion. What about a tidal wave and a drought or a dead woman and a pointless existence. Maybe 70's rose a bad idea. Maybe I'm a bad idea.
Oh dear. Drunk bad. Usually drunk fine if not excellent but tonight suddenly typing about fancy dress parents of doom.
Ron has suggestion if ever find self fucking Tex Perkins. Obviously is a man that needs double bagging. In order to detect if one of the bagging layers has been compromised simply smear an amount of tiger balm between the two condoms. If top layer compromised then immediate detection possible. My idea is to not shag Tex Perkins thus avoiding serious tiger balm related lady injury.
1:37 am and all is well. Friends all gone home to their houses of anti-doom. I am sitting in blankets typing about fancy dress parents of doom and seriously wondering if I should get up and visit the tinkle palace. My brother said tinkle palace the other day. Very stupid indeed. Who walks around saying tinkle palace.
The Cowboy Book of Etiquette says "Don't say where you are going, just say Excuse me and then go".
Comments
I quite like the Cowboy Book of Etiquette it reminds me of my father's maxim - never tell anyone anything they don't need to know. He usually mentions it in regard to authority figures though.
And "Tinkle Palace" is up there with "Lavender Cheeks" in your brother's vocabulary.