I don't know why, but I felt the need to sing an ode to brocolli this afternoon. Or was it the mince? Actualy, it was. The mince received a rather jolly reggae timed skank in honour of its versatile meaty nature, and broccolli got bigged up in a scottish accent, which slowly began to drift into Newcastle. It was an average meal, to be sure. But the mince was king.
Almost as good as this here coffee which sits begfore me, which is rather good too.
PLayed for too long on Panzer Dragoon Orta, but it is rather good, so it isn't a sin. NO IT ISN'T. It ain't no sin. Unlike Pride which is, according to some books. The dictionary I think lists it as, erm, a group of Lions. Which is true. So the bible lied to me. It LIED. LIIIIIESS. It keeps doing that. Almost on every page. Its like a three year old who has just discovered that the truth can be distorted through deliberate false reporting. Okay, so I don't have a bible. But I do have, erm, the entire Transmetropolitan series in book form on my shelves. Which is much better. Infinately better, in fact.
I had it brought to my attention today, by my own mind, which interrupts all the time, that I haven't bought an actual cd for awhile recently. So i should remedy that. But not yet, for the ex-box has drained me funds. Must refraim for a while. I can always watch the rest of excel saga, or chew att he corners of the Mad capsule Markets. In fact I should do that now, although with headphones on, for the walls in these terraces be thin. And it be gettin' late. Yes it be.
Roger, over under out.
