Ahhh, now I feel myself.

Raw shark?

Kronenbourg. Should have been the name of a prisoner of war camp where the inmates feigned madness by brewing, and drinking, a mix of diesel oil, air freshener and turps.
Trouble is, it tastes too good, for what it is, and it shouldn’t. Like Pineapple petrol, Peach napalm or battery acid and black, you shouldn’t be drinking it. No, no, no, no, NO!

So I did.

On the way to the second pub, I did a “Professionals” style jump, roll and up into shooting position and shot Dave. In the arm. Jarred my bad hand badly, and didn’t get much sleep at all. Could have been the heat. Or, the sign of a definitely pissed person, the Southern Fried Chicken from the chippy by the bus stop. MMmmm! Chicken fat sump pit mouth, deeelishh!

Am posting this as an attempt to a) get brain man working, b) prove I am legally awake and c) concentrate on something other than washing machine stomach.

I will be online again later, if only to order an ambulance.

Cut and pasted

That was my hand that was, 2 weeks ago today. Now, I am a fully qualified concert pianist and a hit with the chicks due to cool scarring and the fact that my bruises are exactly this seasons colours, darling.

Really thirsty and constipated at the moment, worried that I'll start sweating plasticene if my dumpological rhythm doesn't get back to normal. I haven't had a good curry sweat for a while, like balti fingers for the committed professional. When you wake up and have stained the sheets with a shashlik(?), you know you're an addict. Like giving your child a middle name like Aloo or Ghee.

I recently developed a theory that Native Americans would use hounds as a substitute for a decent turkey feather headpiece, or if they were concious of a bald spot. I came to this conclusion
after checking Reservation records of such warrior
braves as Centre Parted Terrier, Smells Like Wet
Dog and Your Hairpiece Just Barked.

Eyeball injecting with Domestos

Line from a Fall song, 'Shakedown', which I find myself humming along to. 'If you do either strong pot or ecstasy imbibe, you will end up eyeball injecting with Dommestos...'
Haven't we all, eh?
Great line from 'Touch Sensitive', which is in the Vauxhall Corsa "hide and seek" ad they've started showing again..."They say what about the meek? I say they've got a bloody cheek." Don't know why I started with that, probably because I saw the ad at the cinema. Twice.

First feature was Little Tommy Cruise in 'War of the Worlds', in which Spielberg makes a film about post 9/11 American fears and nearly convinces us that Tom Cruise can be a slobby, selfish, crappy dad at the beginning of the film and end up being a bit of a better one by the end, and it only takes an alien invasion to bring this all about.

Two points; firstly, Fathers For Justice ain't going to like the way modern dads are portrayed here, and the kick up the aris some of them need. It's one thing to end up showing a dad bonding with his kids, but what about those shelves he was supposed to put up last year? Christ! If it takes the death of a chunk of the world's population to die before he can hug his son, who'll be left standing when he has to buy a training bra for Rachel?
Secondly, at least we see a change in the character, from bad to not so bad, which was completely missing from Episode 3. Like Mark Kermode said, Lucas had one job to do in the film, and that was to show us how a confused, but good lad, can become Mr Vader. Instead? Pretty pouty boy gets sulky, legless and ends up Johnny No Mates The UberGoth, and I couldn't tell you where the change happened and how little I cared.

But Spielberg did cock some things up. Aliens coming down in the lightning strikes and getting into tripods buried millions of years before? Nah, mate. The Weather Girls "Raining Men" video was more believable than that idea.
Apart from that, there was not enough Miranda Otto.

After that, Batman Begins, confusing and badly shot fight scenes, a philosophising mentor rip off from the Matrix, a love interest twist ripped off from Spiderman and still it was the best Batman debut since Keaton. (Adam West is untouchable, in a good way, and I've never seen the first one when B and Robin fight the Japanese in a wartime propaganda flick)I tried hard to not like it, looked for faults others would comment on, so I could be ready to defend it, and I found them. A few, actually. But, overall, this was something a dog would really want to lick. Both of them. And they're hairy.

But I'm tired and rambly and I might come back tomorrow to this and change it or add to it.

Yeah, yeah, mate, try Boogies.

Arrhh, Jim lad, that hurts!

Well, since last post, been under the knife, left hand carpal tunnel, had stitches out, had lappy go crappy with the screen titting up, got in contact with, met up with ex-girlfriend from 21 years ago, had calls again from mad stalker bint, reduced medication by half, dragged pc monitor out of loft and currently sit, naked and proud, on the sofa plopping away at this.

Out soon to drop off sicknote, need painkillers and bus rides, exercising and tidying up.

Just checking in, to say what condition my condition is in.

Later!