good day, sir. I am Mr Wheestle.
Hello,
I decided my first entry would be a polite introduction to Mr Wheestle.
All of us have hidden natures, unexpressed and repressed, bored and flip card stored. I like to bring mine out. Sometimes hes funny, sometimes not, sometimes angry, sometimes not, sometimes drunk...but he's always Mr Wheestle.
Planets explode and apparently worlds collide, although I have never seen this for myself so how the fuck do I know it true? how do i know I exist? how do I know I'm really writing this journal? These will be my hen peckings, my seed sewings and my verbally defocated lumps of literary stool. I aim to entertain, but to entertain is to please and I'm not always that pleasing. I hate the shift key.
I drove my little car early this morning. It sang to me. "The devil in me is so lonely, I want to destroy everything that you love." A wise man once said "love is weakness of the soul" if so my soul is so weak it sags like a waterlogged tent roof. The sun is yellow like chuppachups and the birds are singing, today is a glorious day to be alive. I cant believe its this early. I had five arduous, painfull hours in the deafness pit last night. Serving drinks to face chewing freaks and serving smiles to fat titted bimbos who think that because I pass them a pink tube I want to eat their pussies, how very drole. Before that I attended a little soire at my girlfriends parents house, I was demoted from head chef to parlour boy and the quorn turned to giblets right before our eyes, some people shoudnt be allowed near a red bottle without taking a test.
There was a fun party on wednesday and a (t)art show. A friend of mine was showing work of the equine kind. It kicked the stable boy and all the other showers and ass blowers were corrupted by its giant phallus. Beautiful and elegant things in wire caught my eye, I am somewhat a magpie when it comes to art. I read the writing to understand the images and was surprised to note my initial preconseptions were atomically exploded, they sank to my feet and poured out onto the floor leaving a stain. "he has talent alright, but can he play the tuba?" - "I dont know Mr Tom, but he sure plays a mean pinball". I hope my collection will be elelated by a techno-horse at the starting blocks. If it trips on the fence will it be used for glue? I sincerely hope not. May your favour rise and keep rising till God bends his knee and says "fuck me Mr Brown thats some hot shit biatch, maybe I could buy a sampizzle my nizzle?"
I was drunker on wednesday that I have been for a long time. An old friend returned after a few drinks and I was certainly pleased to see him, as were my fellow party-pumpkins. I made a ruthless concoction of vodka, wine, purple reef and peach schnapps, it sent me giddy as hitler when the numbers came in. I made a bit of a jackass of myself as usual, but none-the-less I had a killer-whale of a time. Woke up the next morning, eyes sealed together with Queen Mabs superglue, my mouth tasted of gasoline and my hair looked like something from a post-cure convention. My head felt like it was made of glass and it was constantly being shattered by an evil fairy with a toffee hammer and a wicked sense of humour. "Detective Hangover ma'am, I'm afraid I have some bad news. Your husband had to much to drink last night and acted like a baboon" - "Is he ok?" - "I'm afraid not. His ears keep pissing wax and his eyes are sealed like bill gates wallet, could you please come and collect him from the cells. He keeps demanding porridge and its only thursday." - "that rat bastard, I should cave his fucking head in" - "No need ma'am the fairy with the toffee hammer did that already."
I drove the bass player home with vomit sitting on my throat. My tongue kept demanding it to recede like kanute and the waves, but like kanute, it drowned. I assaulted my toilet with a veritable blitzkreig of shit from my sore, dysfunctional anus. Truly the ravages of the morning after are not always worth the jovialty of the night before. I made a false oact with my liver and watched Legally Blonde 2 with a pizza and some sunny delight.
Well, I'm sure this little tit-bit has enlightened you as to who and what I am. Now I must away to put food into hungry mouths and cry over spilt milk. Until next time, sleep well.
I decided my first entry would be a polite introduction to Mr Wheestle.
All of us have hidden natures, unexpressed and repressed, bored and flip card stored. I like to bring mine out. Sometimes hes funny, sometimes not, sometimes angry, sometimes not, sometimes drunk...but he's always Mr Wheestle.
Planets explode and apparently worlds collide, although I have never seen this for myself so how the fuck do I know it true? how do i know I exist? how do I know I'm really writing this journal? These will be my hen peckings, my seed sewings and my verbally defocated lumps of literary stool. I aim to entertain, but to entertain is to please and I'm not always that pleasing. I hate the shift key.
I drove my little car early this morning. It sang to me. "The devil in me is so lonely, I want to destroy everything that you love." A wise man once said "love is weakness of the soul" if so my soul is so weak it sags like a waterlogged tent roof. The sun is yellow like chuppachups and the birds are singing, today is a glorious day to be alive. I cant believe its this early. I had five arduous, painfull hours in the deafness pit last night. Serving drinks to face chewing freaks and serving smiles to fat titted bimbos who think that because I pass them a pink tube I want to eat their pussies, how very drole. Before that I attended a little soire at my girlfriends parents house, I was demoted from head chef to parlour boy and the quorn turned to giblets right before our eyes, some people shoudnt be allowed near a red bottle without taking a test.
There was a fun party on wednesday and a (t)art show. A friend of mine was showing work of the equine kind. It kicked the stable boy and all the other showers and ass blowers were corrupted by its giant phallus. Beautiful and elegant things in wire caught my eye, I am somewhat a magpie when it comes to art. I read the writing to understand the images and was surprised to note my initial preconseptions were atomically exploded, they sank to my feet and poured out onto the floor leaving a stain. "he has talent alright, but can he play the tuba?" - "I dont know Mr Tom, but he sure plays a mean pinball". I hope my collection will be elelated by a techno-horse at the starting blocks. If it trips on the fence will it be used for glue? I sincerely hope not. May your favour rise and keep rising till God bends his knee and says "fuck me Mr Brown thats some hot shit biatch, maybe I could buy a sampizzle my nizzle?"
I was drunker on wednesday that I have been for a long time. An old friend returned after a few drinks and I was certainly pleased to see him, as were my fellow party-pumpkins. I made a ruthless concoction of vodka, wine, purple reef and peach schnapps, it sent me giddy as hitler when the numbers came in. I made a bit of a jackass of myself as usual, but none-the-less I had a killer-whale of a time. Woke up the next morning, eyes sealed together with Queen Mabs superglue, my mouth tasted of gasoline and my hair looked like something from a post-cure convention. My head felt like it was made of glass and it was constantly being shattered by an evil fairy with a toffee hammer and a wicked sense of humour. "Detective Hangover ma'am, I'm afraid I have some bad news. Your husband had to much to drink last night and acted like a baboon" - "Is he ok?" - "I'm afraid not. His ears keep pissing wax and his eyes are sealed like bill gates wallet, could you please come and collect him from the cells. He keeps demanding porridge and its only thursday." - "that rat bastard, I should cave his fucking head in" - "No need ma'am the fairy with the toffee hammer did that already."
I drove the bass player home with vomit sitting on my throat. My tongue kept demanding it to recede like kanute and the waves, but like kanute, it drowned. I assaulted my toilet with a veritable blitzkreig of shit from my sore, dysfunctional anus. Truly the ravages of the morning after are not always worth the jovialty of the night before. I made a false oact with my liver and watched Legally Blonde 2 with a pizza and some sunny delight.
Well, I'm sure this little tit-bit has enlightened you as to who and what I am. Now I must away to put food into hungry mouths and cry over spilt milk. Until next time, sleep well.