Boo Hiss! Damn you and your progressive new wave!
What-up rat fans? How goes the shiznit to the double-G? Nobody seems to post on here these days which is a crying shame. I have just read through the back catalogue of my journal posts and had an enjoyable trip down memory lane. I did seem to post an awful lot about Liverpool, and hope that that did not lead to this exodus rom these pages. Often I would tell stories, or lament at my lack of appreciable sexual activity and more than once use it as a platform to strike a mighty blow at those holders of the reins of power who fail to match my exacting standards. What highs. What lows. What precious sweet release. Now I see that we are all too grown up to write. Like Norwegian whalers we pass by wistfully searching, knowing we have lost something but not being certain what. Let us show our Norwegian brothers the way back to the fold and not stand ofr this nonsense.
Since I last wrote much has changed. I killed a man. In Reno. Just to watch him die. Sailed the wide sargasso sea in the company of transgender Phillippino pirates. I worked in the kitchens at the musee d'Orsay. I became one-fifth of multi-award-winning comedy collective The Penny Dreadfuls. I played Short-stop for the World Series winning Chicago White Sox. I shared a cell at Guantanamo bay with an animatronic bullfinch. Good times. But none better than the other. Let us live now before we die, and cannot.
Since I last wrote much has changed. I killed a man. In Reno. Just to watch him die. Sailed the wide sargasso sea in the company of transgender Phillippino pirates. I worked in the kitchens at the musee d'Orsay. I became one-fifth of multi-award-winning comedy collective The Penny Dreadfuls. I played Short-stop for the World Series winning Chicago White Sox. I shared a cell at Guantanamo bay with an animatronic bullfinch. Good times. But none better than the other. Let us live now before we die, and cannot.