rambling bollocks from a diseased mind
Tired, tired, tired. Due to stuff I can’t write about I’ll be working the next two weeks without a break. I really would like to write about it, but it would seem like a work of fiction. It certainly isn’t any way to run a business and it isn’t any way to use its employees either (that would be me). I now have to get a convoy of three cars to Germany and modify them, starting on Friday night. They did expect me to do it in one go on Saturday, but Germany is a fucking long way! I refused to do it in one go on my own because I’ve done it before more times than I care to think about, and it’s dangerous as it can take up to sixteen hours. The muppets driving the other cars agreed to it because they’ve never done it before and it doesn’t look far on a map. Now they’re pissed off because I’m making them stop off dahn sarf overnight. I believe we are there to engineer cars, not get ourselves killed. Death by overwork is another matter.
I’m still waiting for something nice to happen in life. Maybe I’m just a moaning bastard, but it doesn’t seem too much to have liked to happen. Not wanted, just liked. Despite what some people think I’m a fairly decent human being, if a little odd. How could I have ever thought I might meet someone? That’s just stupid thinking. I’m strange, and strange people live alone with cats and work all the time. Kind of like I’m doing anyway. Now I need some cats! Anyway, that’s enough of that bullshit, and I apologise if it didn’t make any sense because I can’t be arsed reading it again to check.
It’s only Monday night and I’m fucked already. Insomnia struck again about a month ago and I’m tired and permanently puzzled. I’ve decided I want to be the Pope though. I’m sure I can manage to wave regally at people and kiss the odd bit of tarmac from time to time. I’m even prepared to make an effort in believing all that religion bullshit too, for a nice house and my own shiny Popemobile. The only controversy would be an inability to turn a blind eye to choirboy shagging priests….they would be in for a papal twatting of biblical proportions.
Super noodles and an Easter egg for my tea. Nutritionally questionable, but it worked for me. Hey, that rhymes!
I’m still waiting for something nice to happen in life. Maybe I’m just a moaning bastard, but it doesn’t seem too much to have liked to happen. Not wanted, just liked. Despite what some people think I’m a fairly decent human being, if a little odd. How could I have ever thought I might meet someone? That’s just stupid thinking. I’m strange, and strange people live alone with cats and work all the time. Kind of like I’m doing anyway. Now I need some cats! Anyway, that’s enough of that bullshit, and I apologise if it didn’t make any sense because I can’t be arsed reading it again to check.
It’s only Monday night and I’m fucked already. Insomnia struck again about a month ago and I’m tired and permanently puzzled. I’ve decided I want to be the Pope though. I’m sure I can manage to wave regally at people and kiss the odd bit of tarmac from time to time. I’m even prepared to make an effort in believing all that religion bullshit too, for a nice house and my own shiny Popemobile. The only controversy would be an inability to turn a blind eye to choirboy shagging priests….they would be in for a papal twatting of biblical proportions.
Super noodles and an Easter egg for my tea. Nutritionally questionable, but it worked for me. Hey, that rhymes!