no utewb

Last night, for reasons I really cannot be felched to go into, I watched football men. Some football men were from Italy and some Africa. They kicked a balls about and someone got a net. It was fucking really dull (apart from when a man felled over because another man kicked his foot and he had to go to the hospital because of the accident).

Following this a pleasant evening unfurled with IC like a picnic tablecloth in a meadow and food and wine happened before a double helping of the consistently brilliant Family Guy, the only reason to bother with BBC3 as the rest of its output seems targeted at lonely feeble minded teenagers who can’t understand shampoo.

It’s worth mentioning that I’m writing this drivel from home. Yesterday afternoon I noticed that my email folder was all-shitted off and I couldn’t get online to look at any pictures of screaming heads or feckless buffoons snapping arms. Livid, I stormed into the boss’s office who was busying himself with rugger and explained with toilet vocabulary what was going on. Himself now furious he thumped into the main office and prodded at wires and such like demanding IT skills from the slow girl who makes tea.

It was clear that, denied of any sort of communication with humanity outside of the archaic electronic telephone, I was going to have to go home and access my folder from the comfort of my privy. By 4pm I was recumbent with a bonk-on agitating myself into a frenzy of gentleman emulsion.

Obviously there is a downside to this situation. My regular reader (hello mum) will by now be aware that business is slower than George W Bush trying to tie his fucking shoelaces without pictures and this matter of my communications not reaching certain clients isn’t helping. I’ve lately learned that the emails sent yesterday were intermittently arriving in the inbox of potential sources of income and friends and I’ve no way of discovering who did or didn’t get what without emptying yesterdays sent items and making enquiries. For fucks sake. Oh well, I’ve already resigned myself to spending the next 2 years feeding on fresh Pot Noodles and drinking bog water.

Anyway, every cloud has a silver rim, the last of the bacon has just frizzled to a conclusion and I’m about to sate my appetite on a sandwich of near epic proportions.

After that I’m going to play with myself.