That pure Cane Spirit since 1848.

Monday, January 16, 2006

Close to the edge, down by a river...

Maroon you better screw the nut. Your jacket’s on a very shakey nail. I believe I shall be sacked soon, my subordinates will demand it. I rise early, no credit in that, it just happens, I get in early ( the security guard [Reliance] hates me) and can finish my business by around 8:30. A monkey could do it. Then I spend a few hours trying to make a cartoon and save it on a worthless piece of shit site like that fucking southpark garbage.

If nothing’s gone wrong over the weekend, people just get on with it. I take a stroll or two around the place to show that I’m here, and that’s that.

I am of a poetic bent, so I look up Burns with the notion of perhaps learning a poem to recite at the supper in the hotel, another hour. It’s eleven now. I have read GB’s mountain post which has worried me, and am now going for tea and will speak to the Finance Director about his wife’s pelvic floor or some such. I wish I was a cartoonist for the Daily Sketch or something.

A midlife crisis is knocking on the door but I’ve put out the lights and am hiding behind the couch with a book and a plate of shortbread so fuck ‘im and his fucking scythe.

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