As we hurtle into another month my mind turns to thoughts of peanut butter and banana sandwiches... life sure is strange. Still, at least I'm not Ian Duncan Smith.
A friend of mine appears to be going off the deep end, I wonder if he will pull through. Complex thing a complex. I'm scared of children, with their buggy eyes and drooling mouths and chickens. And you can never tell what the little fuckers are thinking, just like italians, but with less pasta. And whats that all about anyway? Why are people always prattling on about the passion of the Italians...Passion my arse, just a bunch of sweaty moaning twats with bad body hair and a penchant for changing sides in a fight.
And South Africans... sad bastards... always talking like they're a first world country...now they're after the world cup again, using their usual pathetic mixture of guilt and begging, fuck 'em i say, give to the English.
Elephants. There's another useless thing, big grey lumps of lard, the only thing they were ever good for was ivory and we're not even allowed to hunt them... odd.
And what about all these fucking Californians burning to death. I mean, how stupid do you have to be to see a fire tearing up the hill through the trees and then turn around and make a nice bowl of popcorn? I reckon Arnie started it to get attention.
Elvis.
And Diana.
Still dead then.