Today I was the Marge Proops of Eastwood Park, listening intently and offering my loving words of wisdom to a man with a problem. When Chris has a problem, he likes to talk about it. I don’t just mean the odd discussion here and there, I’m talking about conversations that span hours, albeit stopping and staring when interruptions occur. In short: the motherfucker can talk the deaf into submission . Chris if you’re reading this: of course, I merely jest.
I don’t mind listening to problems, although at times I’m the kind of arsehole that stares into space pretending he’s paying attention when he’s actually thinking of something completely arbitrary instead. It’s total hypocrisy on my part as it’s the type of thing anyone else doing whilst I’m trying to bare my soul would cause me great fury. Without going into the personal, in depth details of his current dilemma; he is torn between emotion and the cold light of day and he’s opted for the latter. A brave choice that he has to stick with, and I intend telling him so as much as it takes. In other work related notices: Chris single-handedly cleared most of the washing up himself today - if you know his working practices; this is about as regular an occurance as seeing a pink Baboon eating Curry - so I’d like to congratulate him for his outstanding efforts.
With that topic done and dusted, things veered toward the no-go area of anal sex. Is it a gentlemans pursuit, or the most debauched act consenting adults can partake in? Me personally I don’t get the idea; why would anyone willing want to thrust their *insert popular penis euphemism here* into what is strictly an exit hole? I’m the first to appreciate the curvaceous charm of a fine ladies bottom, but I’m repulsed by the notion of sticking anything foreign into it as it surely can’t provide the owner with any pleasure, cant it? Answers on a postcard please……
I’ll finish with how much I enjoyed making sandwiches today. OK, so I don’t mean the actual process itself, I mean the quiet period it allowed me to enjoy my music and my own company. After attempting to place young waitress, Kirtsy into the bin I headed back to the kitchen to sooth myself via the sounds of all things French and dancey. I’ll finsh my little update my by thanking both Alan Braxe and Phillipe Zdar for making such crazily infectous records.
Merci guys.
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