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Showing posts from June, 2006
Just a quickie. Having another tattoo, this one on my inner lower lip, so once again it is only visible if I allow it etc. But, and this has been bugging me for about a week, what word/words to have? Eh?! Only enough room for one or maybe two words. So far all I have is "BOLLOCKS", "This Hurt" and "Fear & Loathing." The first because that is probably my most frequently uttered word, the second was from a friend but I doubt it shall see the dim glowing light of a day within my mouth as apparently lip tats don't actually hurt much and the last, if you have to ask, you don't know. Any suggestions you lacklustre commenting muthafuckers?!
Big night out tonight and no mistake. "Ain't that right Derek from Falkirk?!"
"Too fucking right mate. I'm gonna be right proper cunted later, off me head with biggles with a bit o' charm, eh!"
"Well, we'll see you there chum and we can all get donald ducked! Cheers." We pulled out of the carpark leaving Derek from Falkirk eating burgers from one hand and shrooms from the other. Funny who you meet at motorway services.

Busy night tonight and no mistake. "It's been an effing busy day already and we still ain't found enough extensions for all the strobes." And as Kathleen had been reminding me all effing day ,"One cannot throw a replete free party with only a glow globe and a few lighters, darling. You must have strobes!" Kathleen was my bird. We had something special even when there was no grass left, only mud, and the strobes wouldn't reach the effing scaffold.

"'Ope you brung your wellies young Hunt, …
Yes. Memories, history, regrets, un-pursued possibilities and wanton ‘what if’s. You could spend forever re-living the past in the present using your memories as some type of virtual reality existence. You want happiness, think joyful thoughts of all that sun drenched nakedness at 18 and those lauded performances on the stage; sadness can be enjoyed with the prolonged death of Floppy the cancerous rabbit or perhaps the time you let go of the rope and Peter fell 180 feet to his death. The possibilities are endless with the mixing of memories and the use of imagination for artistic embellishment. Like, how about the time you abseiled down that 1800 foot cliff in a rabbit suit and did a back flip and landed on that amphitheatre stage on the beach which had an audience of naked ladies clamouring for your soft and skilful hands to cure them of their skin cancers. Wahey!