Someone man enough to turn me back from the darkside because women are driving me nuts.
Natalie Portman; with or without clothes
Exams are imminent
I’ve totally fucked up again. What the hell have I been doing all year? I wish I had a good excuse but the truth is I’ve spent about 40 weeks googling cats, Nazis and porn. Needless to say, I have a crushing amount of revision to do and in desperation conducted a Google search for “where can I buy time?”.
Personally, I think this search page is one of the most accurate reflections of the human mind
1. “Where can I buy a timed plug? so that I can set it to turn itself off”
Lazy fucking shitbag
2. “Where can I buy brand Viagra”
I think most Viagra is branded. Is this person from North Korea? Who buys backstreet Viagra anyway? Where do you FIND backstreet Viagra?
3. “Where can I buy sextoys online, its my first time looking for them”
Isn’t the Google search bar a better place for this question? Slut.
4. “Where can I buy cake sparklers in time for sat ??”
Clearly a quote from Lucy Watsons blog…
Did you mean…
· Where can I buy a time machine?
YES. That’s exactly what I meant.
· Movie buying time
I cannot work out why this has been suggested. Unless there is a group of retards that find online stores by telling their laptop exactly what time it is.
· What time can I buy a euromillions ticket?
It’s not a Gremlin you stupid cunt. Do people normally need direction with this?
· Can t get a date
Invest some time in your written English. Get laid. PROFIT
· Can get pregnant first time
Sounds like a slogan on an imported Chinese condom.
Start life at 30, get raped up the fucking arse by an employer who pays more per hour to a semi decent prostitute. Become Doctor Wallace.
Spend 10-15K on a qualification that I might never use, but start life earlier at 27. Still get paid jack. Wish I’d done a PhD / used that money as a deposit.
Start life at 30, but this time make loads. Everybody hates you and Tesco is trying to ruin your life. Move to London where you subsequently become a victim of the gap.
Career starts at 26, paid well. Sacrifice your personality and any future friendships you might forge –you’re going to be a boring fucking cunt once you’ve qualified. As a consequence of describing forks as a plurality of spaced tines extending from the head of a member, you are promptly divorced. You find it hard to build healthy relationships with your kids, who seem to have problems communicating with an increasingly autistic mother and go on to do drugs at the age of eleven. Secretly, you’re now sleeping with Leroy from across the road in an attempt to awaken the Wallace that patent law killed. This however, doesn’t work and instead a direct debit to Sonoma Cutrer vineyards basically finishes you off. At least I’m not 30.
Wallace & the Rat Race
I’m notorious for my lack of motivation and possess an impressive ability to hibernate, so I’m astonished that I haven’t yet suffered from anaphylactic shock. Yes, I have a proper job and it’s not even flipping burgers. Like most girls my age, I was hoping to work as a secretary to a dominating lawyer; and to eventually engage is a sadomasochistic relationship with my boss, Mr E. Edward Grey. Unfortunately that is not the case, but I’m not too disappointed because I’ve managed to sort my head out and besides, I successfully predated upon yet another young and unsuspecting child to defile and corrupt.
I landed a summer job with a business consultancy and I must say: Internships are bloody magnificent and I thoroughly recommend them.
Right now I’m grazing on M&S and indulging on a delicious vanilla slice -compliments of my employer. When I’m not being wined and dined, I’m in the office thoroughly disappointing clients and colleagues, who upon meeting a small girl are immediately alarmed by the prospect of said girl handling their “business”. Not to mention that I look underage (and consequently, illegal to sodomise) I’m mostly considered a dangerous temptation or worth about 10 years in prison, depending on your perspective. It’s even more distressing when I sit for hours in their meetings, trying to look important and occasionally passing a report to my superior.
Earlier I made a latte before lounging in my ergonomic chair WITH WHEELS and wrote an email like an absolute wanker, but that’s fine, it’s totally acceptable in a business consultancy to talk like a wanker. It’s often encouraged. I get to talk endlessly about “business”, even though I’m totally unqualified and know fuck all about “business” then send more emails using a company signature to my unemployed friends.
It’s not all vanilla slices and sodomy though, I’ve also learnt quite a bit… Like what to do when Microsoft Office starts ruining your life by reformatting everything or how to secretly write a blog entry. I now know that ‘Business’ is all about finding them, fucking them… and then fucking them again, but in the ass this time… Or so my boss tells me. Working a full week does have its cons, I’ve lost most of my overwhelming hatred for world as a consequence of my summer “pretend to be an adult” internship, or more accurately the hatred has since taken the form of quiet disappointment. I read this back and I notice a lack of passion and pretty sure I’m turning into a brain dead retard. My English has gone to shit since I moved up north, but I guess it’s my fault for being complacent and giving up on books and lectures.
Well whatever. I’ve literally just noticed that the guys at the Guardian are fucking cunts. Troy Davis was executed in Georgia and leading up to his demise the Guardian couldn’t get enough. There were live Twitter feeds, a flash and prominent spot on the website and the journa-loust seemed to be genuinely upset. A couple of hours after Davis kicks the bucket and he has lost his place to an advert for the guardians music website! Davis has been demoted I’m afraid. I guess now that the guy has been dead a couple of hours it’s cold, I mean old, news. The guardian is now advertising their newly retuned music website. Whatever you fucking faggots. Talking of faggots why the hell is there a picture of five such faggots holding a surfing board? And why is this more important than a guy who was (potentially) innocent being executed in what appears to be an incredibly bigoted state? Brownie points to anyone that up to this point hadn’t immediately assumed that Davis was an African American. I’ll immediately detract those brownie points since that almost definitely means you don’t follow the news or know anything about Davis and his bucket kicking.
Today the Guardian has prioritised incorrectly yet again. Why is the satellite the last story on the home page? I couldn’t give a shit that the guardian is now “on facebook”. I want to know more about where this bus sized satellite is going to hit thanks. Though, nobody should worry because I’m pretty sure it’s going to hit Gadaffi in a “freak accident”. I wouldn’t put it pass the US to remotely instruct a satellite to crush a hidden Gadaffi and blame earth’s gravity. It’ a little disconcerting that UK householders are being told that their household insurance policies are likely to protect against any damage caused by the flying debris… including stuff from space. Surely if it’s of little risk nobody needs to mention insurance?
Well that’s enough bullshit for the moment, I’m going to make a coffee and grab a custard tart.