03 January 2006

Love is Blind, but Lust Uses Bat-Like Sonar.

And warming massage lube. You see, last night, we… no, I’d best not got there. At this moment, my European readers are having lunch and the mental image of two sweaty, bulbous Americans, slathered in butter flavoured Crisco™ grunting and grappling on a twister board, lit only by the moon and a disco ball, would surely put them off.

Especially if they heard the thumping soundtrack of cheesy disco music that was playing whilst we were getting our groove on; so I shan’t bring it up.

You’re welcome.

So instead, I shall be discussing mucous.


Crimeny, I’m a snot factory today, producing a veritable plethora of green and yellow booger ropes. I’d call off work, except that as sick as I am, I desperately need the rest.

Plus, I get to spread the plague to my hateful coworkers.


And that's the way I likes it.