nacked

Seems everyone is jumping on my insomnia bandwagon, first Heath Ledger overdoses on sleeping pills and then Charlie Brooker starts claiming to have it –it’s not on frankly. Last night after yet another evening of barefaced abstinence, insomnia happened. The ironic thing about insomnia is that you’re not how long it takes you to fall asleep until you wake up. So last night I woke up at 5am after falling asleep at 1am, I ascertained it had taken me an hour to get to sleep but was now fucking wide awake. After waking up this morning at 8am I concluded I’d been awake for 2 fucking hours. This means I have had a total of 5 hours broken sleep. Great.

Yesterday I had a hangover; the day crawled past like an octogenarian tortoise, work was attempted but never really gelled. Today I’m just exhausted but I’ll reluctantly admit my head is clearer; I’m preparing myself for another night off. That’ll be two voluntary nights in a row. I honestly cannot remember the last time I deliberately punished myself by not having a few glasses of wine of an evening but I’m 99.9% I was still living with my folks.

After ‘work’ I trundled home, redressed and caught the tube for a few stops. I’d arranged to meet Myfwt at the estate agent for a mortgage assessment. The mortgage bloke was rather portly and as gay as window but trustworthy, succinct and decent. Just so you know I’m not displaying naivety about these sorts of fellows, myself and many of my friends (on my recommendation) used his predecessor to our immense satisfaction. We went through some stuff and I fought to remain conscious (it was much worse having to go through all this shit a second time). Myfwt was much more on the ball and we reached a happy conclusion with regard to how much we can afford without being stretched to the point of farting out blood for the next decade.

Sadly the reality of the expense of moving means that virtually every penny I’ve made on my current place will be lost in deposit/costs of the next place… I’m still secretly hoping they’ll be a few quid left over to acquire a younger Black Bitch but I’m not holding my breath.

Cunt is being a fucking cunt again, after a series of ‘testing, testing, one two, thank you’ (there is NO ONE FUCKING THERE) he’s taken to playing acoustically whilst bellowing out of tune/time into an amped up microphone, the deranged oxygen thieving cunt. I cannot describe to you the noise he makes.

On the one hand it’s toe-curlingly embarrassing because he so tone deaf and woefully devoid of any talent, yet so deluded he doesn’t even have the little bit of brain to stop him impose this honking desert of feeblemindedness on others. Why would anyone in their right mind do that? Why would you go out of you way to inform the world that you’re a fucking arsehole of the loftiest proportions? WHY?

The sooner I leave that place the better, and don’t go thinking I’ll forget all about it when I’m gone. He’ll pay for what he’s done, by the power of Greyskull he’ll fucking pay.

footy

Last night, following a few glasses, I decided to watch the football (highlights), well, I didn’t actually decide, it begun and I didn’t switch over. I’ve never been a fan of futbalz, I didn’t like playing it as a kid and it never tweaked my nipples as a spectator. My dad is a lazy Liverpool fan and my mum a Gooner, apparently she’s even been to the Gooner place, I remain entirely unfussed. Having embraced a new love for Snooker, and approaching an age where I’ll be spending progressively more hours on a sofa scratching my botty and doing wind, I thought I’d check to see if I found it as boring as I thought… Stultifying dull it was. I made it to the first half part then gave up and read.

I’d met up with Frank previously for a pair of ales and returned home to prepare supper for Myfwt and I. All was well until I began to voice my dislike for my neighbour (who was starting to cunt-up down stairs) this in turn displeased Myfwt, not Cunt cunting about I hasten, my vocal displeasure. I wasn’t surprised, frankly. I knew sooner or later that he’d cause some form of unrest between us, either by Myfwt being driven out by living within the proximity of one who perennially sniffs under the tail of the doltish, or by my losing all perspective on the situation and doing a dirty protest in the bedroom with a giggle and a bonk-on. Obviously my protestations that upset Myfwt were not that extreme, I just went on about it for a bit in a nonchalantly aggressive tone.

My partially subdued rant had resulted in Myfwt going a little bit quiet and offing herself to bed earlier than usual. Naturally I’ve shirked all responsibility for my moan, instead I’ve transferred my all of my negativity into the hate case I keep under the psychic bed.

I read with interest yesterday about that young lady in Liverpool who ripped off her ex-boyfriends testicle. Typical of those that dwell in the region, she’s now moaning her head off about how bad she feels about what she’s done and how sorry she is blah blah etc., ending her statement with ‘I’m not a violent person’. Of course you’re not, having ripped a nut out of a man’s sack, which requires some effort I should imagine, then put it into your fucking mouth as an act of bravado, you’re quid’s on for fucking canonization.

Speaking of the news, which I wasn’t, but was citing from, which justifies ‘speaking of the news’ sort of, I got a little chill down my spine on hearing the news about Heath Ledger, not having given him a second thought in my life (I’ve not even seen Brokeback Mountain) as I randomly mentioned him yesterday in the ‘gay pizza’ post.

I first saw him in ’10 Things I Hate About You’ and it was clear he was going to go far, sadly, his future has been curtailed and I can’t help feeling that his best was to come. Shit.

Back to the footie briefly, it seems that last nights playing was rather an important one and all the Spurs and Arsenal fans are ‘ill’ for one reason or another.

Frenetic anyone?