Handyman
Well, after cleaning, de-blue-tac-ing, spak-filling, sanding, vacuuming and prepping, I laid on a coat of 'Memory' colour. I truly am a big man-ey man-ey waan. Tomorrow I shall do another coat. The room looks good, actually. I used a roller and made sure to minimise any extrinsic brush strokes. A professional job? No, that would plumb the depths of verity should I call myself out on that tallow limb and tar me a liar. Like Apollo my aim was true!
Second and perhaps of more note, I have contacts! Not of the eyeball variety; rather, of the Mike Djukic in Ikea variety who scored me sweet merchandise. Thus, a $198 CD tower (two Bennos joined together with a glass door) for $100. That thrift runs in my gizzards I cannot attest, though one may mistake me a mercantilist.
Third. My hands ache and I moisturise. This detracts from the masculine air I have cemented for perhaps the remainder of this eve. Whence I wake that sadly will be all but evaporated. However, I have broken the camel's back. That sanding was the death of me! Frenzied strokes? Some may regale with back turned to be almost eponymous when my name is spoke - that I may grind the great mortar and pestle of onanism! No. There were frenzied strokes, yes, but of the sanding variety and by Christ, may He attest to the supporating cyst there on my palm!
HBO came to my rescue again. I just watched episode 5, season 3 of Deadwood. My goodness! After seeing the episode 11, season 1 deathmatch in HBO's superlative 'Rome', I thought a televisual melee could not exceed that level of graphic violence. Not so! Suffice to say after five episodes of simmering tension, we were (in our viewing capacity) rewarded with a brutal five minute punch up. Shows like Deadwood remind me how good television can be. It is a shame Australia has produced 'The Wedge' and 'Torvill and Dean's 'Dancing on Ice''.
Second and perhaps of more note, I have contacts! Not of the eyeball variety; rather, of the Mike Djukic in Ikea variety who scored me sweet merchandise. Thus, a $198 CD tower (two Bennos joined together with a glass door) for $100. That thrift runs in my gizzards I cannot attest, though one may mistake me a mercantilist.
Third. My hands ache and I moisturise. This detracts from the masculine air I have cemented for perhaps the remainder of this eve. Whence I wake that sadly will be all but evaporated. However, I have broken the camel's back. That sanding was the death of me! Frenzied strokes? Some may regale with back turned to be almost eponymous when my name is spoke - that I may grind the great mortar and pestle of onanism! No. There were frenzied strokes, yes, but of the sanding variety and by Christ, may He attest to the supporating cyst there on my palm!
HBO came to my rescue again. I just watched episode 5, season 3 of Deadwood. My goodness! After seeing the episode 11, season 1 deathmatch in HBO's superlative 'Rome', I thought a televisual melee could not exceed that level of graphic violence. Not so! Suffice to say after five episodes of simmering tension, we were (in our viewing capacity) rewarded with a brutal five minute punch up. Shows like Deadwood remind me how good television can be. It is a shame Australia has produced 'The Wedge' and 'Torvill and Dean's 'Dancing on Ice''.