Tuesday, 23 June 2009

NOT

I AM NOT DRIL BOY - I HAVE JUSST PINCHED HIS INTERNET TO GET AT SOMEMORE MUCKY COMPUTER STUFF. I DRANK A LOT OF WISKY AND AM GVERY DRUNK.

SO YEAH. DRIL BOY IS ALWAYS TIPING STUF OUT TO YOU LOT, BUT I KNO HES JUST TYPING TO HIMSELD. HA!1 YOU LOT DONT EXST! I KNO THIS, BECUZ I KNO A LOAD OF STUFF AND I KNO YOU LOT DONNT REALY EXIST. LIKE THE POLISE OR A WOLF. OR MICHAEL MAK ENTIRE.

I OFTN WONDER WHAT ITD BE LIK TO HAVE A PROEPR SHIT LIK A DOG OR A DONKEY. SO I GET SOME SOSAGES AND PUT A LITLE BIT OF SELOTAPE ON THEM AND I PUT THEM ON WHERE MY BUM WOOD BE, AND I WAIT FOR THEM TO FALL ON THE FLOOR. SOMETIMES I VIDIO IT AND LOOK AT IT LATER. DONT U TELL ANYONE ABOT THAT THO

BABIES ARE STUPID. THEY CANNT EVEN DO REEDING OR ANYTHING! I GAVE A BOOK TO A BABY AND IT DIDNT EVEN SAY 'THANKS GRIL' OR 'HAVE FIV POUNDS'. IT JUST SAT THER AND AFTER A BUIT IT CRYED REALLY LOUDLY!!1! STUPID.

I'M BORD NOW, AND I WANT MOR E WISKY...

I WANT A FITE NOW... NEFIUNFDSALK' 'F[NJEPOQP HWER SUKD ......................................................................................................... ......................................................... ......................................................................................................... .... ......... .............................................................. .......................................................................................... ........................................................................ ................... .......

OH FUK.THINK i feeel asleep on the kebord.

Shal I delete that? No! Ha HA... And everyonde wil think it's Drill Boy!

Oh shit! I said Im not him already WHY AM I TYPING THS INSTED OF JUST THINKING IT?!

BALLS! fuking HANGOVERS!!

Saturday, 25 April 2009

TERMINAL

Went to the doctor in the week, and he told me I've only got about another 65 years to live. I don't know how to feel, right now... He says there's nothing they can do about it. Other than give me a load of drugs for it. And an eyepatch...

I've talked to Grill and when he finished laughing, we worked out some arrangements. I've asked to be buried. Or cremated. One of the two would be good... Grill's option of tying me to a plane and crashing it into Jude Law's face didn't quite make the cut, but at least he's making an effort. It's better than the mocking dance he normally performs whenever I try to talk about anything even remotely of importance.

There's also the issue of telling Mum. Preceeded by the issue of finding Mum. And Dad. To save time, I've decided to have myself adopted by someone nice, and break them the bad news. Bill Cosby, I thought. Or Judith Chalmers.

So a dark few days recently, but I still... I found a Caramac the other day! Hope will out.

Incidentally, I don't know if you caught that thing on the news the other day, about the man who stole that dog's face. Well... Guess who went to school with him! That's right! My boss! Small world, eh?

Anyway – I'm going into hospital next week to have an extra knuckle implanted, just in case one of the others goes balls-up, so I probably won't be up for typing much. However I'm on the Stephen Fry thing now, what's it called?...Twatter or summat. So you can follow me there if you too are a Twat (as I believe they're called)! Especially if you're trying to sell me stuff. I love that!

Stay warm,

Thursday, 5 March 2009

SLOW

It's been a quiet one, this week....

I spent most of it waiting for a parcel that never arrived. Turns out Grill stole a load of those little red cards that the postman leaves when you're out, and filled it in, claiming each day that the parcel would arrive the following day. It took 4 days for the penny to drop.

You can tell when he's bored, because he does stuff like that. Must find something to occupy him. Chessington World of Adventures might suit. Or a really big pond.

Been on down the shops, earlier. Grill ran out of Kong Lager and I needed to get a new thingy for the thing in the kitchen that stops the water draining out... What they hell are they called? Oh never mind, it'll come back to me... Anyway, it looks like the recession's hit hard. World of Wrists shut down. There's just this big empty shop now. That old dosser who claims he was tarmac-ed as a baby lives there now. I'm not sure if he's telling the whole truth, but he does smell a lot like a road. A road that someone made an awful mess on.

So that's World of Wrists, God Hut and Teeth (the Booksellers) all folded in the last month. Christ knows who'll be next.

Ah well. Sorry not to have a lot to tell you about. It seems sort of like the time I drank a whole case of Night Nurse, and a single blink took two hours.

PLUG!! That's it...

Friday, 27 February 2009

SLEEPY

Have to confess, I haven't slept well lately. And last night I found out why.

Every night for the past week, just as I get my head down, just as I close my eyes and am on the cusp of sleepydom, I hear a bell. A tiny little bell. I wake up, go downstairs, look around the house, find nothing and head back up. As soon as I'm about to drop off again, off goes that dratted tinkling.

Now I know it wasn't Grill. If he wanted to stop me from sleeping he'd do it blatantly, like the time he welded my drillbit to the back of a moving train while I was asleep and I awoke, in only my night-pants, on the track somewhere between here and Newcastle.

Something else was at play here. So last night, I took some flour from the kitchen and scattered it all over the floor, so that anything creeping about would leave tracks. Off I went to bed, as normal, and I waited for the bell. Duly, it rang, but I waited further still. When I was sure it was safe, I hopped out of bed. In the flour were tiny little footprints, like those of a bird, leading towards the bathroom. I followed them along until they stopped at the airing cupboard. I heard a stifled giggle from behind the cupboard door... and then the penny dropped...

'Out you come, Piers...' I said

The giggling shifted from stifled to full-on flob-splutter, as Piers Morgan fell out of the cupboard. On his feet - a pair of Finch Stilts. In his right hand, a tiny bell, and in his left - a bottle of Brasso.

'I got you didn't I?! Eh?' He roared, rolling around on the floor, quite tonto on metal polish and childish glee. 'Now you have to tickle my tummy! 'Cos I'm ever so clever!'

I wasn't in the mood. That was the 4th time this month he'd broken in. I should probably put some steel wool in the skirting board. That'd stop him tunneling in. Him and bloody Ken Dodd...

'If you don't leg it in 10 seconds, I'm going to wake up Grill...' I told him sternly. 'And you know what happens to people who disturb his kip, don't you...'

Piers gasped - 'Sonny Bono?!!'

'Yes...' I replied, 'and it could happen to you...'

That seemed to do the trick. Piers picked himself up from the floor, put his Brasso back into his bumbag, and shuffled out the door. I confiscated his bell and the Finch Stilts. He can have those back when he learns to behave...

Thursday, 19 February 2009

MICE

We have mice. Big mice...

Grill has taken to trying to kill them by dressing up as a skirting board, then lying on the floor with his mouth open. The stench of singed rodent fur still stings the nostrils as I type... Still, it keeps him amused for a while...

I can't for the life of me think where they come from... I'm fully aware that the whole mice and cheese thing is a misconception, which takes the blame off of the wonderful Gouda Viaduct I got from Uncle X last Chrimbo.

I'd get a cat, but that nasty tom next door unnerves me so that I don't think it safe to put a kitten through that constant terror. Something about its hangdog expression, tinged with threat. As if it means to force itself upon you, doesn't relish the prospect, but that the hunger is too great to resist. This is what it must be like living with Michael Barrymore...

Anyway - enough about me... This whole blogging thing is quite new to me (that would make me a... oh what's the net-speak term... that's it - a n00bile). Feel free to leave comments below for me... It'll make a change from listening to Grill listing things that he claims don't exist... Last night it was otters, George Burns and macrame. I'll spare you the detail...

Best,