Handle every stressful situation like a puppy.
If you can't eat it or play with it, just piss on it and walk away.
SEX SHOCK! JOHN HOWARD ARRESTED IN PUBLIC TOILET!-ha ha ha. No, not really, just a little attention-getter. They all do it.Well now, Miss Jahteh has asked me to run her blog while she's away having her nervous breakdown. How's that. Good heavens. And so you can expect some ve-e-e-ery controversial postings. Damn right! Okay? And of course any comments not agreeing how wonderful I am will be deleted straight away. Understand? Because I ain't kidding. BIGOTRY OF THIS KIND WILL NOT BE ALLOWED!!! (Unless you're an aborigine.) Be nice, that's all, and don't offend catholics, that's banned too (unless you're "gay" ha ha ha). AND SNEERING AT BOGANS WILL NOT BE TOLERATED!!! unless you're tertiary educated. Okay? And there's more, but that'll do. Now then, we may sound elitist with all this. But we are not. All the same, it will help if you've got a cute little tattoo to show off in Chapel Street on Saturdays. Because you're the people we want -the VIBRANT! IN THE KNOW!!! DESTINED TO LIVE FIVE HUNDRED YEARS! But hey, be kind, that's all we're saying. Kindness is expensive but you can afford it.
In the wise words of The Hedgehoppers -"Someone found a way to give the rotting dead the will to live, go on and never die".
And in the wise words of Elvis that's all right mamma as zombies do the zambezi in Chapel Street. Aye. And Good Lordy Miss Claudy what a dance. Down one side back the other. Cadavers on strings. And rot, that's right: dead person but what a lovely dress, grinning head of a skeleton. Well they've ripped up the axminster polished the boards, added another bowl to the sink. But melancholia won't be beaten you have to worry. Sunday nights are the worst.
No, No, you're doing it wrong. You need to be banging HER head against the wall..........
So you've left r.h. in charge??Hmmm. Looking forward to some interesting non-comprehensible posts.
Mothballs will take that stench right out of your curtains, Robert, while the axminster was starting to cure piles in dead lab rats.Dear lord, get thee hence to Fairfield, you're contagious!
Once more unto the breech dear Robbert, I knew I could count on you.River, it was close, very close but this time the 'wolf crying' was real. She was in trouble but it's a problem that has cropped up before but she has no memory of it at all.Jayne, never encourage our resident poet to ever more dreadful heights of wordage.In the words of the megalomaniacal pipe smoking general, "I shall return".
Fair enough. I'll come back when you've finished headbanging then.
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