Sunday, 23 November 2008

Itchy Teeth

I have a sudden, almost violent urge to proclaim temporary insanity and grab the duffle coated moomin by her vinegar tits and dance a merry dance with her. In a scissor motion, I cross my arms like two Wilkinsons and gesture lewdly at my loins, same as Stone Cold. What do you want! I taught a Spaniard the meaning of popping a sprog from a faff, and blushed scarlet in the process. Head bursting with spiders, take aim me lads!

Sick and tired of people wasting my time, coming in from the cold. Want a giant mallet made of jelly that I can liberally belabour them about their cloth ears and tell them to make some purchases. If they were any slower...the image of a giant iron spoon mixing a bowl of molasses and treacle.

And yet.

No comments: