It was cool goin out an seein everyone again on Tuesday. I'll be honest, I enjoyed it pretty much right up until we headed to Toffs. There's just somethin that makes it impossible for me to enjoy myself when I cannot hear anyone and have no real interest in the music that is causing my aural mischance. These things I cannot deny. On the other hand, where is it writ that I should feel that so inclined? Some people love clubs, can't get enough of them, the dirty bastards. That's fine, they are for the most part, decent, clean-livin folks with whom I have no beef. However, I am simply not categorised under the variety of folk that find it easy to let go in a crowd wi'out fear of lookin a dick. Nor, in fact, do I feel like I know the folks who do enjoy clubbin well enough for to hang out wi'them, thus aggravatin my discothequal misery. So what to conclude? Clubs simply aren't for the likesa me. Which is a shitter, t'be honest, as that's where what gangsta rappas call 'tha honeys' is at, so to speak. And it is in precisely that category of lifestyle accesorisation that I am unfelicitously lackin. Damn and blast. Anywho, I'm under the belief that given the right circumstance, an a fair bita good fortune, some finelookin lass wi low standards shall surely come my way. An I'll probly fuck it up, but she might have a mate who's got a good sensea humour, and perhaps enjoys all variety o chinwaggery bout Kerouac an such. A fella can dream.
Might I direct you t'ord the fine site www.xkcd.com? Tis a marvellous thrice-weekly updated comic site, wi more revelations bout the geek-psyche that I can handle alone. In this, I need the assistance only you can grant. Do this...for me.