Right, here's what's happened: that wee fella that was in charge of Egypt has stepped down. Stepped down from where, I don't know, maybe he was on the big swings and couldn't get down and someone had to aid him with the force of 1million rebellious citizens. Last in the series of Big Fat Gypsy Wedding was on last night (see the cunning link), and what a fukn show it was. There are a bliddy lot of them. They visited a town in the borders, I don't know, roundabout Cumbria or some place and they brought their wives and horses (not the same thing). Some of the wives are a bit rough looking, but you still would, especially with their tits all hanging out all of the shot; four pints of milk please.
The dresses of the gypsies are flamboyant; they are lavish; they cost a fuckingwell fortune and look just like toilet roll holders. That said, I don't ever remember wanting to stick my face in-between a toilet-roll holder's breast going "wibblywibblywobble" whilst shaking my inane smiling mug from breast to breast whilst executing teasing biting motions as my mouth visits each nipple. Phew!
Anyway I just remember that seem to get a raw deal just because they live off the fat of the land and pay any taxes or fuck all. I imagine that's why it costs about 50grand for a dress. I don't if that's even anywhere near the price for a dress because it's shrouded in so much secrecy, plus I don't actually care how much they cost. In fact, I'd rather not know who much these, freeloaders we'll call them for convenience sake, spend on a dress they'll wear for just one day before spending their solitary lives couped up in a Wemyss Bay caravan. They polish in the morning, then for brunch and lunch they'll polish, and perhaps if the wives are lucky they'll get to finish off the night by polishing the old man's trumpet. It seems a hard life, far too hard for the likes of me who gets cabin fever if I'm stuck in the house for more than an hour.
Back to a bit of reality here in my home. My back is improving, but I still feel as though I have the spine of elephant man and that's the posture my body has decided to adopt. I feel like a fraud being off work as there is nothing actually "sick" with me. Although as soon as I stand up and start to walk anywhere, I am reminded of my condition with a quick jolt up my flimsy spine.
It has also come to my attention that there may or may not be some plumbing and heating "engineers" operating in Scotland that are a couple of lying, cheating cock sucking fat bastards that will deny any real damage has been done to any-one's property. Pricks! As I say, these people may or may not exist. What do you fukn think!!!!!
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