Dutch. In case you're wondering...
There's a lot of drama here in Lancaster. We had none in halls at Edge Hill. Biggest drama was when two chavs from another building infiltrated our flat for 5 minutes. Or the time the door broke and people were locked out for an hour or so. Or the time the flatscreen TV in the kitchen nearly came off its hinges. There's no flatscreen TVs here. It's like Kosovo. Slightly insensitive but that's how I feel. I'm having to use a broadband wire and a laptop that I had to pay for myself. What the fuck is the deal with that? Cumbrian FASCIST BASTARDS. I hope they can't read this. But yeah, a lot of drama here in Lancaster with the housemates and just in general really, not that I don't get along with any of them, or it's not fun watching, they probably hate my guts due to post-punk albums played incessantly and calling Luke Woods "a FUCKING JUDAS BASTARD WANKSOCK" really, really, really loud, for no reason in particular, just because he's going to see some guy that looks like Bung...(self controlled *snip*)
Took a tablet two days ago, heard a bit of bad news about an old friend of mine from the rugby days, got a bit upset and popped one.
4 weeks work down the drain. I can get off them I know I can.
RANDOM WIKIPEDIA ARTICLE TIME
Upper Woolhampton
A small village in Berkshire. I love the word berk. I hate wool. There's just something disturbing that I don't like about wearing knitted items, I know a lot of clothing I have come from the hair of sheep, but I don't mind it if it looks like a synthetic material, or its been wound into tight threads. Anything that looks like it's been ripped off a lambs back, dipped in good soaking of grey dye and hastily fashioned into a 40 quid winter v-neck and I won't wear it. Not for a political, social or cunty Morrissey-esque reason, it just itches like a bitch. Give me cotton any day, bitch.
Celeste (film)
Does any, when thinking about space, or celestial matters, and thinking about the grand scale of it all, get a little bit freaked out at the fact we're suspended, but no-one reeeeeeeeeeeeeally knows why the fuck we are. Or reeeeeeeeeeeally knows if (when) we could die by a "Third Rock From The Sun" opening credits style snooker style knock from Mars, potting the Earth into a black hole, making it the Milky Ways equivalent of a John Virgo "Big Break" style trick shot? Just me then?
Sing along, "Its only a game show, you better believe I'm right! We will be snookering you, snookering you tonight, BIG BREAK!"
The Sea Beggars (book)
There's an awful lot of tramps in Lancaster, we get the odd few in Blackpool, none ever in Fleetwood, but in Blackpool they make no effort whatsoever, a mumble under their breath, stroking their little dog every so often. Why don't hobo's ever have big dock-off massive dogs, like a Daschund or a big fucking Rottweiler, the nice Rottweilers before the chavs turned them towards the dark side. The chavs have took over so many things, we can no longer where tracksuits for general 'dirty work' wear, we can no longer wear checks for fear of being called a 'Burberry wanker' and we can't buy low-cost top-quality 4-litre bottles of cider without looking like I'm going to drink it all and then twat a grandma then piss on a war veterans grave. Just because I enjoy drinks that come in a large plastic container and have names that contain meteorological or geographical words, (for example, 'White Lightning", "Blue Thunder", and my favourite "Frosty Jacks") doesn't mean I'm going to harm OAP's. It just means I want to get drunk and save my money for pub quiz machines and a 16" Bellybuster pizza from Golden Star, Lord Street, Fleetwood (telephone number 01253 772773, you know you have a problem when you're on first name terms with your local takeaway).
Love and "Could I have Chicken Tikka Chicken, Pepperoni, ermmm do you still do that spicy salami? You do? Awesome I'll have that, how many do I have left? Right. Make it double Pepperoni then. Thanks Bill"
Jc
0 comments:
Post a Comment