Swineshead came over yesterday evening to indulge in a spot of spaghetti bolognaise and killing. We went fucking postal, we knacked cops, gangsters, drug dealers, innocent members of the public and zombies. Throughout I cheerfully imbibed and we both got intensified. By the time Swineshead left, I could see gravity.
The day at work was fraught; I’m on sodding deadline for one of my fucking projects, which results in my being stalked by the gov’nor. For me it’s unnecessary pressure but it has an uncanny effect on my colleagues, it’s as if I delegate the grief to them and I just sit at the desk bouncing farts off the tit that sits behind me waiting for the clock to hit 5 so I can jump on Brutta and fuck off home.
Once I’d arrived back at the Twatcave I kicked off my Sidi’s and leathers and went directly out to the shops to gain ingredients for the evening meal and a copy of Resident Evil 5. I popped by to see the still not-too-well IC with some Almond Slices and rushed down to the flat to prepare the food and leave to stew on the stove as I showered and made good of my habitat.
This morning I had to take public transport into work as I’m seeing my bro for a few beers this evening. It wasn’t the like horror experienced a few weeks ago when we were under the frozen fist, but it was pretty dire nonetheless. Like anything else there is a knack to getting it right, first priority is the route itself, which I think I’ve finally sussed. Then comes the best time to catch the right bus with regard to saying in bed for as long as possible, after this, preferred places to wait on the platform for the tube, ideal places to sit on the train, of course, there is vast amount of luck involved in proceedings too. This morning I was sufficiently ahead of the game to grab a coffee but I lost out due to train delays on the final leg. See? That’s how it goes.
Oh forgot to mention on Monday that, as of last Sunday, Piqued turned three years old. This means that we’re now walking, talking, riding tricycles and eating loads of fucking cake.
