It's called"No No" but it seems more like "NNOO" as the letters are arranged to look like a palm. Once again it's not for internet whack fests. It's been on the table since my girlfriend opened the package in which it arrived (notice how I have said I have a girlfriend. This is to prove that I in fact have a girlfriend. I'm being casual and just throwing it around. Many of you may think I'm a lone wolf, a young man with no time for the fairer species, a man that spends every waking hour honing his skills and bettering himself and those around him. This is not entirely true. I have made time in my schedule to fit in the companionship of a femal human. Where I find the time I just don't know. Lord knows my ranking on a certain online surfing game is starting to suffer, but sometimes you need to forget about business and concentrate on family - also, she's not my sister).
Anyway, I have just eaten a lamington.
"Satisfactory?" you ask.
"Not really" I reply.
"Why did you eat two?" you ask.
"I had to make sure. I'm a forgiving man. Like Jesus."
"You know what would get that taste out of your mouth?" you ask. Questions. Lots of questions. You're asking them.
"A drink?" I say. Answer a question with a question. That's how you win an argument.
"Not exactly" you say. "Hand cream. That hand cream that is sitting there. It's wasting away. GET THAT HAND CREAM AND SQUIRT IT IN YOUR MOUTH. DO IT NOW. DO IT FUCKING NOW!!!!!!!"
And so I do. It tastes like shampoo. It kind of burns. Now it's all through the pores of my tongue. I've got a soapy slick irritating the back of my pallet. You are not a nice friend. You do not have my best interests at heart. I would do anything for your affection and you know and exploit this.
Actually, lamington taste gone. Good advice.
If I die in a few hours/minutes - you know why. Please play a sweet song at my funeral. One that will make everyone cry and remember how cool I was.
That is all.
2 comments:
i just got back from four weeks holiday, on which I watched a combined 50 odd minutes of supreme master tv on cable telly and we both know who's fault that is....you owe me 50 minutes of holiday!
For this I apologise profusely. I'd have probably packed my bags and returned home. The leery grin of the Supreme Master would have crept into every waking moment of my holiday. You are obviously made of stronger stuff.
As for remuneration the 50 minutes of your holiday? I'm broke. Well broke in human terms, in whale terms I'm a krillionaire! *
Yours sincerely,
ES
*haven't worked out a context for this joke yet
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