The day the pickles went away.
New post up~
New post down~
I rarely think about how public displays of affection could aid the literary world, especially Indy authors.
Or am too Lazy to follow up.
Write amazon/goodreads reviews.
Recommend the books you like.
I’m at this Priceline pharmacy on Oxford Street. There’s hectic dubstep playing inside the pharmacy. An old lady in front of me couldn’t read the price of her shampoo because she forgot her glasses. She kept saying, “I forgot my glasses”. Then she couldn’t hear the cashier telling her the price because the dubstep was too loud. Eventually she told the cashier she didn’t care.
She made a noise like, “Fohhhh” and made a non-caring hand swipe motion while giving the cashier a fifty.
I want to have lots of $$$ so I can throw it at my problems.
I Bet You’re Wondering How Everything Fits Together, Like, I Bet You Think About That A Lot
The term “road rage” should be renamed to “ the realisation that there are spastics on the road, and acting accordingly”. It’s always titled “road rage incident” on the news, as though the angered person is in the wrong. It would be good to see a headline saying “cunt doesn’t indicate at roundabout, gets spat on.”
Another argument flaring up in one of the flats outside and suddenly she felt done in, suddenly exhausted – Would you turn that down, Jake! who was slow to resignation, as if he had barely heard, which in a sense he had, because for the first time in weeks he had got to level 11 and was not quite but almost at the part he most hated, when he has to face the wizard, the wizard who he has never discovered how to beat, and no one except Kobe knows how to beat, and Kobe won’t tell except for a 50, because Kobe’s a cunt, moreover a cunt who doesn’t need money because his parents are rich, and Jake’s mom is poor and his dad is a cunt too but not rich