So at the moment I’ve been spending all my free time on the couch watching DVDs. Makes for a good time, does not make for good conversation. I watched ‘Jennifers body’ on the weekend, starring Megan Fox and written by Diablo Codi. It was actually pretty good. Thoroughly entertaining even. This is where I should probably do a proper review off all the things I’ve been watching, but I am too lazy and unmotivated.
(So as a quick side note I was serving an African-American lady the other day and we were talking about how Jesus is quite often young catholic girls “wank material”. A guy who looks like Jesus just walked in, I’m so tempted to tell him that catholic girls around the world are flicking the bean to him. Anywho).
I also watched ‘Mary and Max’ by Adam Elliot. I hate it when animated stuff makes me cry ie ‘Up’. Those fucking animal rescue shows and animated characters, they’re the only things that will make my eyes spring leaks. You know those documentaries where the mother elephant rejects the baby elephant only to then accept it and show it genuine affection? Gets me every time. I am beginning to wonder if perhaps my estrogen levels are too high or something.
Also, what’s the deal with all this crazy indigestion and heart burn at the moment? Does everyone have it or is it just me? If it’s just me then it fucking sucks. Go away.
Oh yeah, it’s Christmas. God I hate this season. I can’t wait until it’s over for another year. I really do hate it. At least this year I’m not battling suicidal depression, which is nice. It’s retail that does it to me I swear. I know I was never a fan of it as a kid but 9 years of retail and 9 years of having to be nice to people who are frankly, arse-holes, has killed any excitement or mystery for me. It was Borders that did it, I think. I remember one year working all Christmas at those banks of registers, one customer after another, never ending, having one day off, then back to it, then being told off for going home early on new years day. Fuck you cunts, at least I turned up. That Robbie Williams look-a-like with his short man syndrome. Anyway, where was I? Yeah, hating the world. That’s right.
This Christmas I will be spending with my cousin at her house. She is cooking what I think will be a feast. I am excited. I have some valium incase it gets a bit ‘much’. It is not advisable to call me unless it’s been a while since you heard someone mumble and not make much sense. It looks like it will rain Christmas eve, which is how I always remember it as a kid. A storm the night before Christmas, clearing all the foul air and replacing it with the fresh stuff. Something like that anyway.
So we had my work party the other night. Wow, what a waste of time that was. I turned up to show my ‘enthusiasm’ for the company and my cunt of a boss was just a cunt to me. I swear, she is addicted to bitch pills. One of the other managers got wasted to the point of being gross, a couple of people threw up in the garden, someone threw up in the toilet but managed to miss the actual bowl and instead concentrated on making sure the floor was of an even coating.
Of course, I kept myself clean and respectable. Stoners are generally not known for their outrageous behavior. Sure, they can be pretty boring conversationalists, but that’s it. Saying that though, have you ever been sober and tried to talk to a drunk person? Yeah, that’s right, even worse. They have no obvious train of though, they repeat themselves, they smell and they lean in FAR too close. And their breath stinks like shit, and they touch you all the time. All the time with their touching.
I don’t like touching. I really don’t like it when people touch me. I especially don’t like it when they touch me for too long. I fucking hate it when they are drunk and gross and kind of going in for the kiss but not really and their face just ends up in your neck. Oh it’s foul. It makes me want to scream “Just back the fuck up!” but then I’ll be the weird one. Because I don’t like being touched by drunk people. For fucks sake, or, conversely Mr Internet, FFS.
Were you the one that bought a gun to a snowball fight?
I just read over my posts from the same time last year. Say what you will, crippling depression makes me a much more interesting writer. Why is that I wonder? It also makes me talk about sex incessantly. This one I understand. It’s because I’m horny.
This post is angry bitter and lonely. So in essence, a perfect Christmas post. Merry Christmas, or perhaps, go fuck yourself. Your call.
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