man its so loud in here
I'm more or less blind, and I have nothing to blame but my own stupidity. I'm one of those troublesome long sighted folks, and can't type without my glasses. Sadly, the spectacles have absconded. I'm so blind. I don't think I can get any new ones for at least two weeks without paying out a load of money. This sucks bad.
Anyway, on with the story. Settled upon this water tower, I look at the submarine launching in the distance, unfold my portable lap top onto my portable lap, and begin to write you this tale. It's a bit of a movable type bloggue entry today. The scottish winds blow cold, and like an LED kept in a fridge, my keyboard is glowing red in a colour you wouldn't expect unless it was some kind of diode. You see my trouble. They want me to write about the launch of some kind of nuclear submarine.
So it started quite normally. I went to work at about half five, poured ale, made witty banter, cleaned up broken glass and specks of blood, put glasses in the glass washer, emptied ash trays. The usual.
And then once the working day was done, I filled up a lemonade bottle with one and a half pints of Espresso Stout, and strolled off to Daniel Taylor's house, where he had been entertaining with tuna steak and witty banter. I missed the steak but not the banter.
It is only one year now when my hair was all tangled up in beeswax. Happy Birthday Annie Hell. At least it's not mud.
So Daniel lives in a twisty maze with 'secret passages' and darkness. David Bowie stepped out of a dark corner with a cruel smile, but we walked on. He has the best magazine, it is all about celebrities but they edit the photo to make them look really fat and then have these pictures of fat scantily clad celebs. Like "Cake Moss" and "Belly Brook". It's amazing.
Dave took a photo of his 'man organ' on my camera the other day. It is a joke he likes to play upon finding a camera. The film is currently at Jessops and I shall put the picture on my bloggue when it gets developed. If it gets developed. I think Dave need to be an active as well as passive participant in the world of Internet Porn. I only say this because I believe he would respect me for doing so. I hope so, anyway. If you don't want to see Dave's cock, then I would avoid this page for the next week or so.
Dude, I can't believe I just wrote that. Duude.
Tom ate a whole load of chicken stock cubes. That was cool. I respect anyone who would lick a pigeon anyway, but the chicken-stock-eating is up there with the fly-powered aeroplane. Respect once again. Touch.
And then we went to ussu to get the stock cubes and then this car pulled up and it was jason and he was there in the car and there was this dead guy in the boot and he was all covered in salt and danny was there with the antifreeze and jason was just driving and driving and there's blood coming out of his ear and then the whole engine lift up out of the bonnet and its like in jurassic park and then we're screaming and you can see the car turn and then j'm lying on this tiger skin rug and this man is there and he is telling me that everything is going to be alright and he is wearing leather boots and telling me that everything is going to be alright and i feel so soft and warm and i am on the tiger skin rug and he is wearing leather boots and telling me that everything is going to be alright and so soft and warm on the tiger skin rug and I am warm and everything is going to be alright
Anyway, on with the story. Settled upon this water tower, I look at the submarine launching in the distance, unfold my portable lap top onto my portable lap, and begin to write you this tale. It's a bit of a movable type bloggue entry today. The scottish winds blow cold, and like an LED kept in a fridge, my keyboard is glowing red in a colour you wouldn't expect unless it was some kind of diode. You see my trouble. They want me to write about the launch of some kind of nuclear submarine.
So it started quite normally. I went to work at about half five, poured ale, made witty banter, cleaned up broken glass and specks of blood, put glasses in the glass washer, emptied ash trays. The usual.
And then once the working day was done, I filled up a lemonade bottle with one and a half pints of Espresso Stout, and strolled off to Daniel Taylor's house, where he had been entertaining with tuna steak and witty banter. I missed the steak but not the banter.
It is only one year now when my hair was all tangled up in beeswax. Happy Birthday Annie Hell. At least it's not mud.
So Daniel lives in a twisty maze with 'secret passages' and darkness. David Bowie stepped out of a dark corner with a cruel smile, but we walked on. He has the best magazine, it is all about celebrities but they edit the photo to make them look really fat and then have these pictures of fat scantily clad celebs. Like "Cake Moss" and "Belly Brook". It's amazing.
Dave took a photo of his 'man organ' on my camera the other day. It is a joke he likes to play upon finding a camera. The film is currently at Jessops and I shall put the picture on my bloggue when it gets developed. If it gets developed. I think Dave need to be an active as well as passive participant in the world of Internet Porn. I only say this because I believe he would respect me for doing so. I hope so, anyway. If you don't want to see Dave's cock, then I would avoid this page for the next week or so.
Dude, I can't believe I just wrote that. Duude.
Tom ate a whole load of chicken stock cubes. That was cool. I respect anyone who would lick a pigeon anyway, but the chicken-stock-eating is up there with the fly-powered aeroplane. Respect once again. Touch.
And then we went to ussu to get the stock cubes and then this car pulled up and it was jason and he was there in the car and there was this dead guy in the boot and he was all covered in salt and danny was there with the antifreeze and jason was just driving and driving and there's blood coming out of his ear and then the whole engine lift up out of the bonnet and its like in jurassic park and then we're screaming and you can see the car turn and then j'm lying on this tiger skin rug and this man is there and he is telling me that everything is going to be alright and he is wearing leather boots and telling me that everything is going to be alright and i feel so soft and warm and i am on the tiger skin rug and he is wearing leather boots and telling me that everything is going to be alright and so soft and warm on the tiger skin rug and I am warm and everything is going to be alright
posted by Rufus Moonshine at 3:32 PM
4 Comments:
dude...you're in a band? hows the band?
and do you mean you have now had dreads for a year, or that it has been a year since you took them out?
Hello. I'm in a band called Can't Snorkel. We're cool. photo. From left to right (as you're looking at us) that's Steve, Paul Pepper and me. The only problem is that I live in Brighton, Paul Pepper lives in St. Albans, and Steve lives in a thatched cottage in Northhants. So we don't play together much.
I got dreadlocks about a year ago. But then I got nits around christmas time, and had to cut the dreads off. I've still got them in a bag, but they're probably covered in dead nits.
I can't go to your bloggue any more, by the way.. it says I can't get there just from your profile...
looks cool, dude
yes, i disabled my profile, things were gettting a little hairy. my family and friends nearly stumbled on my wordy blog. this would spell disaster of all kinds. (so, just for you www.chewyshoes.blogspot.com)
was it traumatic? my best mate has dreads, and lives in abject fear of nits.
and fire. all that beeswax is a fire hazard waiting to be taken advantage of...
nice bass
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