ITEM: I know what you’re thinking. Two lots of thoughts in four days. That Tennant guy will start to overheat.
But I can’t help it. My brain is abuzz with assorted idiocies and they just keep leaking out through my fingertips and onto the screen.
ITEM: Continuing with a theme from the other day, the latest spam from Enlargement Supplement has the Subject line ‘Germany shows Portugal the strength in an extra inch’.
Perhaps I’ve had the wrong idea about these spam emails all along, and they’re nothing to do with penis size, but about gaining that little bit more speed for when you compete in sport at the international level.
Other than that, I really can’t make sense of it.
ITEM: The other night I was feeling a bit peckish, and so stuck in the oven a mini-quiche that I found lurking in the back of my freezer, thinking that it would make a simple snack. Being me, I then started farting around on the computer and forgot about the quiche. By the time I remembered, the quiche was rather hotter than Iceland intended.
No matter, as my mouth is asbestos lined. I sat down and tucked in. With the very second dig in, it slipped out from under my spoon, sliding across the plate and off, falling into my lap. I was wearing my favourite jeans, which happen to be very thin, and did I mention that the quiche was hot? After scalding my thigh, it fell between my legs, smearing itself across the chair’s overhang before finally splatting on the carpet.
Real men don’t eat quiche. Too bloody right. We can’t handle them.
ITEM: A few weeks back I bought a secondhand DVD of film The Million Dollar Hotel. It starred Milla Jovovich and only cost 50p, both qualities that I find wholly admirable in a DVD. It also starred Mel Gibson, and had I known that I would have left it on the shelf in the shop as I don’t want that guy stinking up my film collection, but the sticker had been strategically placed over his name, so I didn’t realise this until it was too late.
Anyway, the regular readers of this blog will both know that I like themed film weekenders, and so that got me to thinking what films I have with the word ‘hotel’ in their titles. There’s Blue Hotel and sequel Blue Hotel 2, a couple of soft porn flicks that I picked up to reaffirm my status as a sad, middle-aged man. There’s Horror Hotel, which I recall as being vaguely naff, or naffly vague, something like that anyway. And then there’s the Mike Figgis directed Hotel which has to be the most disappointing film ever made starring Salma Hayek and Lucy Liu, and of which no less than The Times said ‘Expect Vampires, Cannibalism… And Plenty of Nutty Sex’. Sadly, and inexplicably, I wiped my tape of The Hotel New Hampshire.
Perhaps I should look into the possibility of a weekend of Milla Jovovich films instead.
Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.
ITEM: A while back I saw somebody on Facebook post: ‘It makes me feel like someone is hiding or thinks they’re better than us when a famous editor doesn’t have a twitter or facebook account.’
So now it’s obligatory.
ITEM: Earlier in the week a friend and I were discussing employment opportunities. We decided that I was too old to be a rent boy and she was too old to be an escort, but might still find an opening as a dominatrix.
As we contemplated this latter possibility, we considered that most of her clients would probably be former public schoolboys and Tories, and this made the idea of being paid to inflict pain and have them clean your toilet with their tongues even more attractive.
Then she mentioned David Cameron and at the thought of giving Call Me Dave a sound thrashing both our eyes misted over, and for a moment there it felt like a really good drug hit, or at least how I imagine a really good drug hit would feel.
Next we pondered what might be a suitable safe word for Call Me Dave – for those unfamiliar with the ins and outs of the S&M culture, a safe word is used by the sub when he or she has reached the limit of what they can endure in pain, humiliation etc – and after due consideration we settled on ‘supercallifragilisticexpialidotius’, but only because we couldn’t remember that Welsh town with the really, really long name.
Oh, how we poor people amuse ourselves at the expense of our plutocrat overlords.
Right, it’s stopped raining so I’m off round the chippie. And if you live in the UK, don’t forget to put the clocks back tonight.