I Got By In Time

"Oh, Rod 'The Mod? My Arse', his face was on one too (hurrah)"

Yes, Comrades

What up? Well, red alert's over. Our hero was informed by a person with glasses that knew better than him that he had an infection in the upper tract. For those who don't know where that is, neither did I. When the good doctor sheila said we should investigate the tract, I said "Certainly". It was expected that I'd be taken to a room next door to have a look at some funky machine called a T.R.A.C.T. or something along those lines. But of course not. Ship shape again now.

Caught Wossy at the weekend. Mad. I turn over and plates with Ray Davies and Roger Daltrey's faces are getting smashed by cricket balls. Oh, Rod 'The Mod? My Arse', his face was on one too (hurrah). A bit disconcerting to say the least. It's also revealed Oscar Wilde's doppelganger (Woss) has become a Lord by buying a square foot of land next to 'Lord Dappy of Daggenham's little patch, apparently. This gets a fellow thinking, "If a man who drives a bubble car can do it, surely I can?" Imagine it droogs, Lord Dread. I wouldn't be like Elton John "Oh just call me Bunny, everyone does," no, LORD Dread! The lads in the office would HAVE to refer to me as Lord Sergeant Dread, I'd insist upon it. "Good morning, Lord Dread" "Hello there, how are you?" "Would you like tea or coffee?" "Yes please, thank you very much" I'd fucking suit it. We all know it's coming.

It only remains for me to address some brilliant nonsense I've stumbled across on my travels across the world wide web. There have been many events to report on outside 'the devil's window' as some refer to the internet, however, such as the following exchange: Me: "I'm going to guess that's that Bulldog cunt" Bemused colleague: "Who's Bulldog?" Me: "You know, he does that International Love thing?" Amused colleague: "...Pitbull?" And there I was, thought I recognised a voice of pop and was very excited. Fucking shameful. Pitbull by the way - for the record, people of the internet, is dog shit. Anyway, two simple things said by two very simple people who shall remain nameless but never shameless.  
"Am going to a place full with hot naked girls and women" - This chap has said many, many bronze droplets of socket wisdom in his short but fruitful life. Bound to be more to come. 
"How Mutch it too camp from Friday too Sunday sounds good Jessie j and tiny tempah" - There's your fanbase, Jessie and 'Tiny'

Lastly, what is with that Nicki Minaj bloke? American but speaks in a British accent, and has been known to switch accents mid-sentence. I think you maybe have to be proper monged to get it, I don't know. An arse that could squeeze snot out Her Majesty's face on a pound coin too. Role models for dole fiends. Dole models. "Starships were meant to fly" So this is what it's fucking come to? I mean, I'm no expert on lyrics, but when she sings Stupid Hoe, am I to feel like I've learned something? I do hope so.
 
In a bit.


SD


The following is an excerpt from my Australia Journal 2008-09. Warning: terrible namedropping and talking rubbish ahead. All ye faint of heart, turn back.


Sunday 14th December 2008

From Dubai to Singapore to Oz. Writing and fighting sleep, hard. 2pm and struggling. Sandra is class, more like me than her double. So far Freddy has been out the game and hasn't spoke too much. Mark plays Warcraft. But he's a real geezer. Just unpacked, sort of? Very classy here, hot, pool out back, room has its own PC, top draw. A swim will be in order later on I reckon, if I can be arsed. Watched the new Mummy on the plane, it's onto something I think. Loses points for the absence of Ms Weisz mind you. Jetlag is all the bad things of being pissed and that's it. Not my cuppa. No TV in my room, oh well.
"I'm so tired, my mind is on the blink"