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2007-02-12 - 6:18 p.m.
I'm not one for arse licking the neighbours. In fact, they can all pretty much fuck off if you ask me.
(Sorry, I guess I should have had a 'be a nice girl more often' New Year resolution this year but fuck it....
Anyhoo, Phoe talks to 'em, gets on with 'em, knows their dogs names etc etc whereas I kinda just emanate unpleasant vibes. I don't really know why, I think it's just the falseness of it all.
Big smile 'HELLO, HOW ARE YOU?' when really you don't give a shit. Heck, I genuinely DON'T GIVE A SHIT and I make it perfectly clear. I genuinely don't give a shit that the arsehole at the top of the farm has gone on holiday. I don't care that Mr Wazzisface's dog was rescued from somewhere. I further don't care that so 'n so saw ooojimiflip in the town with thingie doing whatever. I DON'T FUCKING CARE! Keep your 'I saw a bunch of yobs in the park again' monotonous boring crap to yourself. They were young people gathered in a grouping of more than 2 ergo they were yobs. Yeah, yeah yeah, in your fucking day they had none of this did they, love? No, they just had polio, rickets and frickin bombs dropping from the skies.
I think I should stop ranting about all the old people who live in my vicinity now and tell you what I really wanted to tell you: I almost knocked the fella with the rescue dog down just now. It was all my fault, yes I was going a bit too fast as I entered the farm entrance but did you have to jump QUITE so dramatically and almost throttle your dog at the same time? I'm sorry that your eyes went so bulbous and that all the blood rushed from your face BUT I did stop.
...and in time!
There was no pensioner and little yappy type dog bouncing off the bonnet of the Beetle. No people screaming. No blood. No guts. Yeah, there were witnesses who dramatically pulled their pets out of the way further up the farm (like in a bad Western film where the baddie arrives and everyone runs in and boards up their houses), but that's their problem isn't it? I'd already slowed down and any way, I DRIVE A BRIGHT ORANGE, FUCK NOISY 1971 VW BEETLE. You should have heard me bloody well coming for a start.
No, sorry. That was wrong of me. I was in the wrong. I shouldn't be so horrible and try to blame everyone else apart from me. Go on, beat me with yer virtual birches (it doesn't hurt - it might do virtually but not in real life....
I guess I am quite grumpy at the moment. Have you noticed the pattern? When I'm happy I don't bother to write anything and then when I'm grumpy I can't stop these bloody fingers from getting carried away. It leaves me looking really rather unhinged and unpleasant doesn't it? Awww, I can be dead nice and sweet A LOT of the time - honest.
Simon the gerbil died unexpectedly yesterday. Woke up and found him stiff. Blimey. Death came a calling and left with my little friend - the bastard. I took Simon with me up to Birmingham and my Mom thought he was great too. She even offered to bury him in her garden. Of course, that would have involved me posting a dead rodent to her and knowing Royal Mail, he'd have been mush by the time she received him. Awwww, I'm gonna miss Simon.
...and finally, my violent offender is likely to kick my head in on Wednesday. I'll let you know how that goes.....
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