Part One
After reading people's comments on various blogs today I've decided I'm sick of fuckwits on the internet that make retarded, inflammatory, pointless comments and think that grammar is the lady their grampa married.
Yes my grammar's not perfect, but I don't paint it orange, tie it to a balloon and tape that balloon to a seagull bound for some place where the WHOLE WORLD CAN SEE IT. Like the internet.
You will never see my bad grammar, painted orange, tied to a balloon and taped to a seagull bound for the internet.
What we need is semi-sentient keyboards that can tell when someone is being a tool and simply melt their fingers.
*Meanwhile back in less-angry land*
Part Two
I got the call centre job. It's for a charity, it's on evenings and Saturdays and I call old people, convince them to give me money, then get their bank details. This is how I spend my spare time anyways, so no big changes there.
I also get to wear one of those cyborg headset things, which basically makes this like the best job ever. I wonder how long it takes before people get sick of me yelling "HEY GUYS, GUYS! LOOK! I'M A ROBOT" whilst dancing in a way which resembles the fashion in which a robot would dance. Probably not long.
I think I may try to take the job to the next level and turn into my alter ego which is '80's Sales Guy'.
80's Sales Guy is just like me, except he has super gelled down hair, wears one of those blue shirts with white cuffs and collar and has suspenders. He shouts things like "You got it!" and does 'gun fingers' heaps.
That's how I'll be rollin'.
* Fast Forward to a small town called Banality*
Part Three
I caught the bus home from the interview last night. I sat at the front, on the top level of the double-decker.
Somewhere near Liverpool Street station, the bus turned a corner and in front of the bus, four dudes on rollerblades came skating down the road.
At the time, I was listening to some Alexisonfire, which was lucky. I mean if I'd had Ace of Base playing through my iPod, then I would have totally thought it was 1993.
Mainly because 1993 was rollerblading's equivalent to punk's 1977.
And 1993 was Ace of Base's equivalent to rollerblading's 1993.
It could be said that 1993 was a good year for both Ace of Base and rollerblading.
Conversely, not one single year has been a good year for this guy:
"What the hell are you meant to be? Surprise Roller Elf? There's no Surprise Roller Elf in the fucking nativity scene. Once again you've ruined Christmas, Dad."Blegh... It's time I went to bed. The Stupid is stirring inside me.
