The greater part of a bottle of red wine has found itself slooshed down my throat. This could be a pattern. Sparkling tells me if I don't get myself a fancy dress costume I'll be a pirate girl. Something I do not want to be. It's either a bunch of grapes or a scare crow. Both are cheap, the price of straw or the price of purple balloons, and it took ages to find these suggestions on the web. Rock Chick gets annoyed at me, while I am sitting quite chilled and happy. All because the girl wants some nail varnished passed to her on a table next to me. I intentionally take my time picking up various objects, crisp packet, biscuits, hand moisturiser, anything but the nail varnish. It is so good winding up a teenager. Rock said she will get me while I'm sleeping. I'm scared. Be afraid. Be very afraid. I laugh from the side of my mouth not having so much fun in such a long time. The red wine is definitely affecting my brain cells. Last night Rock told Sparkling if you whack someone across the head you are supposed to say "500" because each time you do it 500 brain cells are killed. I think, Sparkling knocked off about 20,000 off my brain cells. It's had no effect. I'm still as intelligent as I have ever been.
Except for this very moment I have to endure America's top model on TV. I must of lost about a million cells already. But it's no thinking TV. You can watch it and talk, fart or do anything you want to do. I'm inhaling the odour of drying nail varnish, heavens knows how many brain cells I've lost now. This is trash TV if I have ever seen it. Fortunately celebrity Big Brother has finished. Why is it there are so many nutters saying they are Christians, and they then go off into verbal diatribes about God and shit. Poor little lambs, looking for something and so lost, speaking about it is a way to try and state they are at peace, in reality you don't need to talk about something at all if you're at peace. Your just scared. Rock has corrected me saying we are now waiting for some mind numbing Big Brother to come back on the telly. I think, I'll just go and cut my toes of then fry them in butter and garlic. I'm sure it'll be more interesting. Except for the pain, maybe I'll handle.
Tomorrow it will be me and Rock Chick. Her foot is still healing. She's preparing for her theory part of the driving test. Ouch. the last top model said she castrated cows but I thought cows were female and bulls male. She could castrate 100 in a day. Poor things. How come all these top models look so anorexic, they could be extras for some second world ward death camp scene, and they are so shallow. Someone find me one of those castrated bulls to kick me in the head. Rock says she's not spoilt, just well taken care of. I hope she never goes on top model. It would kill me.
Well I'll never be a male top model. I'm too short, too fat and too ugly. Hell lets have a new model agency for those who don't quite fit the bill. Yeah, The too fat ordinary models. Then the rest of us can refuse to purchase any product where skinny skeletons have fashioned them. Together we can do it. Come on everybody. Join now. All fat people gather around, lets hold hands and say "we are beautiful" hell we are. Get out the burgers baby, a glass of red wine we do nicely as well.
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