an excercise in narcism, not bordering on conceit
It is amazing the fashion people treat you when you become ostensibly single and quite desperate. The propensity to adore me in all sense, is really chicken soup for the ego. Apart from my pipes bursting in the toilets yesterday, (hence) extenuating my tardiness for a gratia movie appointment that evening, I find no greater gratification when Sherm (my new date) called me "sweet". However incoherent the above sentence might sound...
...recently, Terence of Wretched Blues fame came on messenger and asked, "Would you want to be my boyfriend"
Of course, I would be startled if I were vaguely heterosexual, but I just couldn't keep from riposting, "What!? Eh, I mean I might have considered...if you did something about your face."
And also, I love my name being featured on the blogs of others. Makes me feel important.
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Germany, land of exorbitant toilets and carnivores. I just returned from Munich and I am still much debilitated by that engulfing jet lag and to a certain extent, constipation(the witless result of a fruitless diet).
Meet my friend, Sloman (see big blue book above in an attempt for a blog of less insipidity and enhanced polychromaticism), who also happens to be an inadvertant friend of many others. I BLOODY HELL SHIPPED HIM ALL THE FUCKING WAY TO GERMANY AND BACK WITHOUT EVEN THE SLIGHTEST HINT OF PERUSAL.
As such, I think I will stay home and sleep through the economics blocks, at least until my jet lag wears off and render me fit for any exams or so. God, I should take a MC.
cuRRent...jer
