my life as a artist
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Saturday 24th February 2007 7:16 PM
dear reader(s)... we have been experiencing difficulties in transmission this last ten days.... normal service will resume on Tuesday.
the management
Posted 7:16 PM | 2 Comments | Permalink
love is an open-ended thing
Tuesday 13th February 2007 10:28 PM
tomorrow is St Valentines day....be still my beating heart.... well, not completely still obviously, that would be dangerous......
Ah, the mysteries of love! How will the postman manage his distended sac(k) as he makes his way to my front door? What fabulous messages of love and lust will he push thru' the moist letter box... ( it's raining, OK)... How will I find the time to read them? What gentle ways can I find to let down the hundreds of admirers who will not be my beloveds?
I shall start the day by bathing in unsweetened soya milk. If the postman is not too busy I shall ask him to scatter rose petals in my bath and maybe sing a medley of Carpenters songs to me. Then I will eat a love breakfast of special muesli in cooled bathwater. The muesli, a one-off valentine mix from Harrods, is a unique blend of rolled oats, wheat germ and hazel nuts. Each hazel nut is intricately carved into one of the postures from the karma sutra. This muesli is so powerfully erotic that you have to swallow it quickly otherwise you get a stiff neck.
Then I will open my Valentine cards. I will file them alphabetically but will cross-reference them to indicate age, nationality and pulchritude. The unsigned ones will be sent to a reputable graphologist, and depending on the results may be sent for further analysis to social services or the police.
Then I will make my body a love temple, a parthenon of passion, a giant out-of-town tesco of erotic desire. First I will cleanse it within, by going for a dump on the porta-potti in the shed. Then I will run thru the fields and absorb the vital energies of the natural world, obviously, having first washed my hands. I shall return charged with a magnetic love energy generated by the pumping pistons of my fabulous thighs.
and if my love should not arrive I will do the Guardian crossword... and if still she does not appear, I might do the sudoku.
Posted 10:28 PM | 5 Comments | Permalink
England hardly any Spain a bit
Thursday 8th February 2007 8:44 PM
It was men versus their shirt buttons
Rogan Taylor explains England fans perrenial dissappointment with their team as due to the fact that they imagine, in the premier league of the world, that England are Man United or Arsenal, whereas, in fact, they're Charlton or Middlesborough....
The Spanish boys seemed to be more erotically charged than their English counterparts. Their kit was more stylish, their hair more lustrous and better cut, their jawbones more chiselled, their movement more lithe with animal grace. Even their names were sexier to say..Cap-de-vee-ya!...that's lovely isn't it?..and Ee-ban-ezz!....Mmm.. nice..and .Mor!..Mor!...Mor-ee-ent-ezz!.. where as we had Dyer, Neville and Crouch.....
its got to be.. on a perfect day.. Foster.. Richards, Ferdinand, Terry, A.Cole at the back.. Lennon, Hargreaves, Gerrard, J.Cole across the middle and Wayne Rooney and Owen up front... subs: Lampard, Ashton, R. Motion and Wobbly Bob. I'd advise Steve Maclaren to only bring me and Bob on if we we're winning really comfortably against old ladies.
These days I've become an armchair supporter... C'mon the Armchairs!.. last week we played Manchester Settee... most of the game was really comfortable because we were sitting on a two-goal cushion......
Posted 8:44 PM | 3 Comments | Permalink
seven inches of sunshine
Wednesday 7th February 2007 5:10 PM
This morning in the newsagent I was speed-reading the headlines of all the papers that I wasnt going to buy. Some were about over-friendly bombing, some were about a not-jade indian woman.. but the daily Mail was about the imminent arrival of seven inches of deadly killer snow... such was the threat to life blah blah... it went on. I rushed home immediately, my heart racing. fear melting my bowels to water, and jacked the caravan up another couple of inches. Extremities suffer most in cold conditions so I put on a wooly hat and gloves and lagged my penis. I've had a rather uncomfortable day but I think my speedy response has done the trick, as the day has turned out to be calm, cloudless and sunny. God Bless the Daily Mail.......
Posted 5:10 PM | 1 Comments | Permalink
Consider Lily and give no thought for Raymond
Wednesday 7th February 2007 12:16 PM
I am rich in spirit but my landlady refuses to accept elevated thought as due payment for rent. This irritating attitude is unfortunately very popular with many tradespeople these days and my lanladies response has made me more determined to raise the consciousness of all sentient beings.
Most of our national product is gross and I would like to refine it by tapping into the massive hidden economy of thought. Richard Dawkins, in his latest book 'Trampling on little flowers', estimates that a kind thought and a smile could be worth £3.65 rising to £4.20 depending on the whiteness of the teeth.
Last year, the managing director of a London advertising agency 'earnt' 52 million pounds. That's a million a week.... and at 40 hours a week that's £25,000 per hour. If I had that job I'd work a morning in February and spend the rest of the time in elevated thought.
Does Rio Ferdinand have elevated thoughts? Dawkin's only knows. Rio is quite tall but that's not how it works. For strolling stylishly across the Old Trafford turf Rio earns a hundred grand a week and he's got a paper round. People that earn that sort of money often have a sluggish hidden economy of thought...
Does anybody want to buy some kind words?
Mmm.. that colour really suits you...£2.58
You look nice today............................£1.64
Na'then cock!.......................................£0.72
Bless you!..............................................£1.28
All these sentiments are genuine and currently in stock so buy now while your soul still walks this troubled planet..... lend us a fiver.....
Posted 12:16 PM | 170 Comments | Permalink
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