Too much to do


I can’t be arsed with blogging this morning so I apologise in advance if this entry is riddled with errors. I’ve got just too much ‘shit’ to deal with today and so I’m just going to bullet point a list of what I absolutely have to get done.

• Go to the farm and start up one of the tractors. This is one really grinds my shit. We contract out the crop spreading aspect of the farm business. You’d think these guys would know how to start a bloody tractor. I mean, they drive them for a bloody living! No, that would make my life easier if they could do that. Apparently our tractor is ‘temperamental’ and can only be started in a particular way. This is bollocks. I just turn the fucking key. Retards.

• I have to be at the farm to take delivery of six tonnes of poultry feed. I called up this morning to ask what time I could expect the delivery and was told it could be some time between 1pm and 5pm. So basically anytime this afternoon then? Wankers! I’ve been up since half past six already – because that’s when they usually come in.

• I am expecting a delivery at home today too. This one will definitely need signing for and wouldn’t you just know it? It’s coming this afternoon. Now I need to figure out how to be in two places at the same bloody time.

On top of all this, I had planned to write around 4-5000 words today. It was meant to be that all of my farm duties would have been completed before 8am as that is what usually happens. Typical that today, when I really needed things to go to plan so that I could sit down and write, that it all goes to hell. I fear this blog entry will be all the writing I actually get done today. Bollocks. I’ll try and find the time to bash another entry out tonight and let you all know how I got on.

Later,

M.

Freewriting…


Free writing

The spontaneous and unfocused vomit of words upon a blank page. Sounds awesome! So how does it work?

Apparently I just stare out of the window or something and write whatever comes into my head. I’m not to think about it though. I am finding this a tad hard this morning as a there is a cat hopping all over my lap, kneading my legs and arms. Occasionally he’ll slip and drag his razor claws down my thigh. If I put him on the floor he sits under my legs. This is bad as I am only wearing a robe, which by the way is my name for a dressing gown. I worry he may look up and see something temptingly dangling and take a swipe. I can picture the blood dripping now, red and wet, warm perhaps and congealing quick. I’ll have to bandage it and clean it myself because there is no way on earth I’ll present myself at the local emergency department with a lacerated cock. I work there for Christ sake.

 

Yummy… a sausage!

What the hell was that? Its not quite what I thought it would be, this free writing thing but I am surprised how quickly the words flooded out. I may do this again, without the cat. Tomorrow perhaps. The point is, I have only been up for maybe twenty minutes, and here I am tap tapping away at 7am. Usually I would be up for at least two hours before finding the strength(?) to sit down in front of my computer and start writing.

 

One of the things new writers will struggle with is the fear that what they write will be utter shite and that any effort is only ever going to be a waste of time and energy. This is a daemon of your own psyche and needs to be shot in the face the moment it rears its ugly head. The dreaded white page of emptiness, writers block, call it what you will, there are treatments for these maladies. Free writing is one such treatment, and although it might not allow you to keep going with that story you’ve been struggling with for weeks, it will begin to free your mind and let the words tumble out. I cannot describe how good it feels to pour words out onto a bank page and watch it fill. Think of it as a kind of therapy whereby the physical act of pumping out words helps you get back into that zone in your mind, you know the one. It’s the one that makes you feel like a real writer. Sometimes I have absolutely no idea what crap is coming out but I don’t let that bother me. I know there could be some hidden gems within that mound of raw material, and I’ll dig them out when I come to re-write.

 

I am the Aladdin of the blank page!

Freewriting is worth having a pop at. Try it for just two minutes – you’ll be surprised how much you can put down in just 120 seconds and even more surprised to learn a bit more about how your mind actually works. Don’t think about what it is your writing, just stare out of a window, into a guttering flame, at the bubbles sending you morse code in your coke, it doesn’t matter. Let them out however they come and you’ll be amazed at what happens.

 

 

Is that grass over there greener?


Danny threw the response bag down and slumped heavily into the attendant’s chair. He looked bitter and thoroughly pissed off as he swung his booted feet up onto the stretcher. I sat down in another chair and waited. I could sense a rant coming on and knew Danny well enough to know it was imminent. A long sigh cut the silence like a knife as Danny finally lost his rag.

‘Dude, I’m so sick of this job. Today is the first day in two weeks that I’ve actually been put on a shift with a paramedic. I’ve had nothing but drivers for eight shifts!’

‘Really? That sucks.’

‘Tell me about it. It’s just shit at the moment. We get sent to crap all day long, then I have to do everything because my driver is just so useless its offensive, and when I get a sick patient and I ask for paramedic backup I get told there aren’t any available.’

I nodded without saying anything. I knew there was more to come.

‘It’s just not fair. How am I supposed to develop as a clinician in my own right when the only two people on this bloody ambulance are the driver and me? Who do I learn from? Or am I just supposed to make it up as I go and learn from my mistakes, because I’ll tell you this… patients don’t like mistakes.’

I smiled. ‘You’re right there mate.’

‘Yeah! I know!’

‘So why are you so upset now? You’ve got me today.’

He sat and thought, a confused look etched on his face. ‘I don’t know really. I guess it’s because even though you’re here and you can deal with the sick patients, it’s still going to be me doing everything, all the dog’s work I mean.’

‘I see. Well, I don’t mind doing everything mate. Seriously, pop your feet up. Actually, you just drive me around and I’ll sort the shit out as it comes.’

He sighed again. ‘Thanks mate, but you know me. I won’t let anyone shoulder my workload. That’s not me.’

‘Things aren’t going to get any better you know, what with the cuts coming.’

‘Easy for you to say mate. You could drop out of here anytime you want and go and work on your farm instead. I’ll be here till I retire.’

‘Bollocks mate. What did you do before this?’

‘I was a pharmacist. Well, I worked in a pharmacy, as a pharmacist’s technician.’

‘So you could go and do that again. You’re not trapped mate.’

He started to pack things back into the response bag. Where things were date stamped, he’d check it. I couldn’t remember checking a date on any consumable in over five years. He found a number of cannulas and needles that were out of date, and I’m guessing, no longer sterile. He threw them away and went back to his systematic check, pack, check, pack routine. Danny was good like that, dependable. You knew if you took over an ambulance from him it would be spotless. Nothing would be missing. No patient would suffer because a piece of equipment wasn’t available or it wasn’t cleaned properly. Nothing got past Danny. His movements slowed and he stared off into the distance as he spoke again.

‘The thing is,’ he said, ‘you forget the reasons you left in the first place. I feel like it would be taking a step backward if I was to go back to working there.’

I thought about that for moment and then, with a smile I said, ‘Not unless you’d taken a step forward into a hole. It would only be right to extricate yourself in that case wouldn’t it?’

He laughed. I laughed.

‘I see what you’re saying. Thing is though, the grass isn’t always greener on the other side.’ He looked sad again. ‘For me though, it’s a case of old grass or no grass.’

If I had the power…


Today, whilst being chauffeured about in an ambulance by my ‘driver’ I took in the sights as we drove through my local town centre. Some of the highlights included:

  • A queue of people waiting outside the job centre, not looking for a job, but collecting their dole money.
  • A queue of people (well, more of a disordered rabble really. Well, actually they looked more like swaying zombies to be truthful) waiting outside a premises to get their methadone fix.

Does this look fun to you?

  • Several groups of eastern Europeans dancing in the street, chugging on bottles of cider and whiskey. Note: this observation is not specific to eastern Europeans. The English are just as bad, only they tend to only come out at night or else they stay behind closed doors and drink themselves stupid.

A typical ‘Benefit’ party.

Now, I may be about to get controversial and so let me state that these are only observations of a few people, and do not reflect my views on entire cultures, ethnic groups, race etc. That is to say, I am not intending to tar a group of people with a large brush, only a minority who for all intents are shit bags.

So, I got to thinking about how I ‘if I had the POWER’, would deal with these problems. This is what I would do:

  • I would make every single person claiming dole, benefits, job seekers allowance… whatever, provide a urine sample on the premises. If you’re drunk, or under the influence of drugs, you can bugger off until your clean. There are people who work certain kinds of jobs (on oil rigs for example) who cannot work and therefore cannot get paid and thereby pay taxes unless they provide a clean sample of urine. If they have to be clean to earn it, so should every other fucker be.
  • Ah, the heroin addicts. What to do with them? I say, let them have their drugs. But… add a little something to it. Something that will give them, I don’t know, a severe groin itch that lasts a week. They take these drugs because of the hit it gives them. Trying to block drugs entering the country won’t work. A real addict will only turn to crime or seek his drugs from dubious sources. In my view, the only way to combat this is to make the drugs undesirable, and I think an itchy groin will make a few think twice.

  • Also, cigarettes… I’d add something that makes their head glow fluorescent green. (Oh, I used to be a smoker, but now I am cured. I’ve seen the light.) I think many would give up immediately if they had go round looking like a Martian for the day. Thinking about it, I’d add this head glow thing to all drugs. I know drug addicts are fairly easy to spot anyway but I say shame them. Make them glow. Make doing drugs so un-cool that its cooler to avoid them altogether.

Well, I think we can all agree that none of these things will ever happen. There’s probably some mad law that would mean this sort of thing violates Human Rights or something. Almost as mad as say, paying these people benefits and handouts so that they can go out and buy more drugs.

What a crazy world.

M J

And the winner is… Me!


I found this post in draft form on my hard drive today whilst wondering what on Earth to write about today. It goes like that sometimes doesn’t it? You have to write just to get the words out but know that you might write utter shite in that same effort. Me’h, I don’t care. The fact I’m sitting here pumping the words out and not playing with my urethra tells me I have chosen the more productive of options.

So, what have I won? Well, it would appear I am in possession of a golden ticket for the upcoming Black Library Weekender…

Clicky clicky…

… to be held in Nottingham later this year. I think there were only eighteen of these bad boys on offer and so I feel justified in my glee. Having been a fairly big fan of the Games Workshop and more specifically its publishing arm, the Black Library, for many a year now this event to me is a big deal. Seriously, when I knew I had won a ticket I was as happy as this guy…

The fart decimated the area around him for twenty yards and blew a hole straight through his underwear, but everyone agreed it was worth looking this pleased about.

 

The weekend promises to be crazy fun and I know I’ll enjoy it but there’s two main reasons why I want to go:

  1. I get to meet the authors, poke them and see if they really are human.
  2. I get to have a twenty-minute chat with an editor. This is the big one for me. You spend your whole writing life trying to get your shit in front of editors and so this is just too good to pass up. The total expense of buying the ticket, booking the hotel and estimating the amount of booze I’m likely to get through is going to be a tad on the heavy side but I’m hoping it’s going to be worth it. If nothing else, maybe they’ll take a look at my stuff and tell me to try origami instead. I could argue that I’m pretty good at the ‘paper ball’ already but doubtless they’ll show me how to make an even more aerodynamic one using my own manuscript. Awesome.

I made a total arse of myself the other day when I called to book the hotel. You know those moments where subconsciously you’re saying to yourself, nay, shouting to yourself ‘DON’T BE AN ARROGANT ARSE’, but you just can’t help it? I had a moment.

‘Hello. Is that the Belfry Hotel?’

‘Yes sir, it certainly is, what can I do for you today?’

‘I’d like to book a room please. I arrive on the Friday and would like to stay for three nights, leaving on the Monday.’

‘Okay, let me see what we have available.’

‘Oh, I should mention that it’s for the Black Library Weekender.’

‘Oh right? Do they have a corporate rate here at the Belfry?’

‘Err, yes. Did I mention my golden ticket?’

‘No sir. What ticket is that?’

‘I have a golden ticket. There was only eighteen. I have one.’

‘Okay sir, I’m not seeing any concessions for a golden ticket.’

‘No, you wouldn’t. I was just saying, you know, that I have one… a golden one.’

‘Okay sir…’

‘There was only eighteen and I have one.’

‘That’s nice.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Will there be anything else, sir?’

‘No, I’m sorry.’

I’ve no idea why I felt the need to apologise to the girl but I don’t know, I sounded like an arse in my head. Hopefully, she won’t be working the day I check in and I won’t have to pretend I’m blind again. Pretending to be blind by the way, although morally ambiguous is bloody good laugh. I used to work as a life guard in a swimming pool and as you do, I wore shades just about all day. My colleague was in on the joke too. Every so often, especially during busy periods one of would get up from our ‘chair of sexiness’, pick up a white stick which we kept next to the chair and walk up and down the poolside sweeping the stick back and forth. Whoever’s turn it was not to be waving the stick would watch the reaction on parents face as they pointed and gasped. A blind lifeguard eh? Priceless.
Oh one last thing. Whilst running a spell checker in WordPress, I was a little dismayed to have it come up with this alternative:

 

There’s no fooling this computer is there?

 

Is scary how accurate this actually is. I don’t believe either of us got any action through sitting on that chair.

M 🙂

It’s a farmer’s life for me.


So today has been an interesting day full of many surprises and surprisingly, no lows. In my book this is a good day. Let me tell you a bit more about it so that you too can sit back in your chair, rock back with your hands behind your head and say, ‘Yes… that is a good day.’ As well as being a paramedic, I also live and work on a farm. The farm work is very much a minor side line at the moment but changes are afoot that might change that forever. The farm is primarily an arable farm and so that means we grow Barley, Wheat, Rape (I love that one, especially when you hear some of the local farmers shouting ‘Alright there Jock! Got much Rape done this year?’ ‘Not yet mate, I’m looking at getting some Rape done in the next few weeks or so. You know, if the weathers nice like.’), and we also grow beans. That side of the farm is mostly looked after by my wife’s mum but we pitch in where we can, especially around harvest time. So, the story goes that my wife and I really really wanted to get involved in the farm in a big way. Sadly, it didn’t look as though that was going to be possible because as farms go, this is only a small one and therefore can’t support more than one wage. The solution? Diversify.

We decided that livestock was going to be our route into the farm, as the site had several large buildings just standing empty. But not only buildings, no, that wouldn’t be much use would it? No, those lovely buildings are also surrounded by a few acres of grass land. Ch-ching! Sold!

The next question was what kind of livestock we should go for. My wife was dead keen on getting pigs and so we looked into that first. The thing with pigs though, depending upon breed, is that they can be escape artists and so we were reluctant to have them outside. The grassland is also shared with horses and we read that horses and pigs don’t particularly get on. Or maybe it’s just my wife’s horse that doesn’t get on with them. I’m not sure, but we moved away from the idea of keeping the pigs outside. The main reason was that they would decimate the grass and therefore starve the horses. Not really what we wanted. The next logical step was to look at having pigs solely in the barns. We even had a rep from a huge pig growing company come out and size the buildings up. He was pretty keen and really tried to sell the idea to us.

‘Yup, I reckon you can have a few hundred pigs in this here barn, maybe another fifty over there, and if you convert that there building where you keep all the machinery, maybe another two to three hundred there.’

‘We keep our machinery in that barn though. It’ll rust outside.’

‘I see. Well, what’s a bit of rust next to juicy pork leg eh?’

‘Won’t they get a bit cramped in there? How much space will they actually have per pig?

‘Per pig? Hell, pigs don’t really understand these things like you and I. Most important thing for a pig is that they don’t get lonely, which in this case they won’t because they’ll be standing ass to ass.’

‘Ooookay. Well, thanks for your time. We’ll be in touch.’

After that we decided that animal welfare was pretty high up on our agenda. The thought of being cramped in a hot smelly barn, standing in your brothers shit, in the dark, and trying not to fall asleep for fear of suffocating kind of put me off. I can remember that meeting as though it was yesterday. Not so much from the point of view that our worst fears about where that bacon in your sandwich comes from, but because our hopes were crushed that day. I looked much like this guy.

Can I be more happy?

A few weeks later when we were doing some cleaning at the farm we stumbled across these strange looking cylinder things.

‘What are these funny looking cylinder things, wife?’

‘They are feed hoppers.’

*Pause*

‘Feed hoppers for what?’

‘Chickens. Chickens and turkeys. Mum and Dad used to look after them.’

‘Here? Here on this farm? In these barns and around the farm and here on this farm???’

‘Ye…. Oooooh.’

*Pause*

‘Do you think we could do that? Saying as its been done here before and we have all the equipment right here?’

‘Don’t see why not.’

I could have kicked myself. No, that’s not true. I could have kicked my wife.

So we started to really look into how exactly her mum used to look after turkeys on the farm. As it turned out, the farm used to produce free-range chickens and turkeys in a big way. They’d have them from a day old and look after them while they grow fat in their own time, just wandering around the farm and living a good happy life. We felt as though we’d struck gold. It was everything we wanted and, the livestock wouldn’t suffer. It would have a good life with us. We made a few calls and a few weeks later, our new lodgers arrived.

Well this is nice isn’t it? Much better than in the brochure.

I think they are about six weeks old here. They’re so inquisitive, and highly amusing. We took on 1850 in total last year. When they’re small they’re no trouble at all, and didn’t really eat that much either. But then they get bigger, and they look more like this.

Listen up Bitch… I’m top dog in here. You’d better watch yourself or you’ll get shanked!

Near the end they were eating close to 750kg per day. The wife and I would move that by hand in bags we spent ages filling. You can’t imagine how time consuming and back breaking that is. In fact I can vaguely remember saying, once it was it over all over and they were off to the factory that I couldn’t see myself doing that again. But you do don’t you? It’s just as well really as we are about to take on 3100 this year. I was expecting numbers similar to last year but I almost fell off my stool when they told me that figure. It became apparent that we would need another feed silo and fast and so that’s where me and the wife have just been, trying to find one. As luck would have it, there is a guy just up the road who has a feed silo for sale. Wife and I went to have a look and found to our horror that it was set up as part of an automated feed system. We were about to thank him for his time (as we don’t have an automated system remember) when he said he’d sell us the lot, the silo and system altogether and not only that, he’d sell us whatever else we could see, pack it all up for us, transport it to our farm and install it too. I mean, has Christmas come early or what? If this works then not only will our output be doubled but our labour will have halved. Now, in my book, this is a good thing, and therefore a good day.

50 Shades of Chav (shamelessly pinched from someone else)


Shamelessly pinched from someone else….

“As he approached with those pasty white arms hanging out of his Gola vest, his smile told me it was benefit day and I knew my velour tracksuit would be hanging off the lampshade tonight” “ It was Wayne’s birthday. I was preparing his special tea of Findus pancakes and pot noodle. I would let him take me any way he wanted tonight. His favourite position was what he called the dogs of war. Where he took me from behind and played call of duty at the same time” “our 6 week anniversary was approaching. This would be my longest relationship without becoming pregnant. I thought of this as he lay on top of me making love. His skinny arms straddled my head like breadsticks either side of an orange. As I rubbed his whiter that white back I imagined every mole I felt was spelling out Braille for “ I Love You” As I stood in line at the job centre thinking of reasons I couldn’t work, a sweet smell drifted past my pig nostrils. It was a mixture of weed, BO and Lynx Africa. I turned around and there was Dwayne. Our eyes met and he was soon lifting me onto the wheelie bins behind Iceland. He had tied up his staffy to block the ally way so we wouldn’t be disturbed. There was a tramp watching but it just added to the mystery. I knew it was love and my life would never be the same.” “My mum told me to leave Dwayne many times due to violence but I knew he loved me as he always took his rings off before he hit me. Tonight though he was in a foul mood, I had **** his tea up after failing to de-frost his prawn ring I had nicked from farm foods. He picked up a power lead from my kids mega drive and whipped it across my doughy ****. It stung but I liked it. I shouted again and again so he carried on. I thought my shell suit would rip into a million pieces. As I looked over my shoulder I saw his Weetabix toothed smile. He even had a semi-on which is rare as crack normally played havoc with his erections…………………..”

Iron Man faints at the gym!


A bizarre title you might say but it was a bizarre series of events if I’m honest.

I’ll make this a quick one as I have already blogged today, but this made me laugh so here you go.

I have a suit of armour in my front lounge. I say front lounge as though I have more than one but I don’t. I have a tiny lounge, and my knight stands in the corner glaring at people as they enter the room. I’m seriously thinking of fitting a little microphone thing inside his helm and saying ‘NONE SHALL PASS’ to whoever comes to visit me.

He was almost menacing. Almost… until you spot the rubber gloves.

That would be cool right? But I digress.

A friend and his autistic son came and visited me today to drop off some goat food (Yes, I have goats.) and the young lad was in awe of my suit of armour. He kept poking it which causes my eye to twitch in what I presume is irritation and barely restrained gorilla rage. He keeps poking until it starts to sway at which point I feel the need to ask them both to leave. The father was somewhat embarrassed and I kind of feel bad, but hey… nobody pokes my knight in the groin.

A little while later I receive a text message from the father, firstly apologising and secondly telling me that his son thinks I am Tony Stark, aka Iron Man. Now I found this to be hugely cool. I have never been a hero before, even in my dreams. (Yes, I have been a Jedi.) To make things even cooler, my wife also bumped into them and the son asked her if I was a superhero. Ever up for a practical joke she simply replied, ‘Oh I wouldn’t be allowed to answer that. Superhero’s need to have a disguise, don’t they?’

She said his face lit up as though he were the only one in the world to know my secret. Priceless.

So, I am now a superhero in the eyes of an autistic child. Now, superhero’s need to look pretty super. They have to look all muscular and strong so that the baddies know they’ve picked on the wrong guy, and so I went down the gym. Now it’s important to remember a few facts here.

  1. I am now an approved superhero.
  2. I have not been to the gym in at least six months.
  3. The Olympics is on and they play it on huge screens in the gym, egging you on to greater feats of endurance and godliness.

I only did half an hour and boy did I feel as though I’d run for a week and lifted every rock and stone of Hadrian’s Wall. I left the gym and I have to say I was feeling pretty good until I stepped outside. My wife met me (as she had been swimming) and said that my lips were grey and that I had less colour than paper. I have to admit to feeling rather ill. We drove home as quickly as possible where upon getting in the house I promptly collapsed. My wife tells me I had no pulse at my wrist at this time and had it not been for my pitiful cries I could have been dead. Not a good look. Thank god the autistic kid didn’t see that.

Yes, I realise this is not Iron Man.

Right, that’s it for today. I need my rest. Hopefully my dignity will grow back as I sleep.

M J

I don’t feel like writing today.


I really don’t feel like writing today. And yet, I have to.

This is one of those creative writing advice things that you find somewhere near the front of just about every creative writing book out there. You the know the one, “Try to write a little something every day. Even if you don’t feel like it.” To be honest, I’m not feeling the love right now. It would be so easy to shut this program down and fire up a game. I’d have much more fun, at least for a time. Then my shoulder angel would appear and say something like ‘You know, if you didn’t waste your time playing these games, you could be writing the back story for them.’ This almost always happens, and how the hell do you argue with that anyway?

Then the shoulder devil appears and speaks his hard to ignore words, ‘Don’t listen to that guy. He’s full of crap. He wants to lead you down the path that sucks. I’m not. You’re doing just fine on your own. Look! You’re a level ten druid.’

This is my life. I have conversations with these guys daily.

Well, I’ve resisted the cool devil guy and here I am. This is a good thing. I feel better already for having sat here and let my mad fingers go to town over the keyboard. It could have been an ugly experience, especially if I’d had writers block. That could have led to a very grumpy and depressing afternoon. But no, this is good. My mind is working, the circuits are firing, and new synapses are growing in my skull. My mind is being charged up for a potent release of genius. I can feel it….
Hmmm. Any minute now…. any minute and genius will strike. I’ll never suffer with writer’s block again. Come to think of it, when do you start calling yourself a writer? Technically, as I have actually published a total of fuck all then I’m not really a writer am I? So what the hell have I got if not writers block? Depression? Brain damage? Hmmm. Something is going to have to change soon. I can’t go on staring at blank screens and wondering why I can’t do it.

That’s right… because the computer is to blame for your lack of talent.

It’s a damn good thing I’m not being paid for this. My boss (hypothetical) would no doubt be wondering how best to lay me off. I’ve just had the strangest mental image. I’m going to have to try to find an image to encapsulate it.

This needs no caption. Oh wait… this is a caption.

Well then. This is just getting silly now. Although, I thinks its been worthwhile. It’s a few hundred words I wouldn’t have written if nothing else.

Lets see what madness tomorrow brings.

M 🙂

eBay…. you suck.


Okay… I was mad before when I wrote this post the first time. Now I am positively enraged. Seriously. I’m like a wasp in a bottle over here.

Now that’s an angry face. I’m guessing he was just outbid on eBay.

So, you’re probably guessing that I’ve just been outbid on eBay. This would be true. Chances are the same thing has happened to you. Sucks right? Fuck yeah. Some git beat me in the last second. The LAST second! Not only that, but they beat me by exactly one pound. Now, call me a cynic but I smell a rotten fishy. I’ve heard that there is software out there that will bid for you. Some kind of sniper software that will put in a higher bid in the final millisecond so that you can never lose but… come on, seriously? Surely that would be against the rules right?

I must be upset. I’ve just caught myself staring at the keyboard with a pouty bottom lip. This blows. Right, fuck it. Where’s my Gin????

Need I say more?

I hereby boycott eBay for at least a week. Maybe a day.

Fuck it. I’ll let the Gin decide.

M 😦