Saturday night!

11:27 p.m.
I spoke to someone rich about presentable men who are single, hopefully due to having had a partner demised in a tragic accident, but he was not very helpful. He said with a six figure salary joe, women invited themselves to the funerals of the demised and took it upon themselves to offer solace to the bereaved. So these joes are not on the market for very long. Hmmm?

I think that if everyone who read this bloggy thought that the josephine with the giant brain and also the other bits was going to find a suitable partner with a six figure salary then it would come to pass.

So, if for the next ten seconds you just thought that there should be a good resolution to this i.e. union and perfect synchronicity ...

We could try this with lottery numbers.

I spoke to some flatheids today. The nicest of people. Brunch. I've started eating brunch with folk to pretend I'm normal. Brilliantly bourgeous. Bourgeious. Bourgeois. Not only did they not know where you could get suitable single men, but they did not have any access to the bliss. This is very disappointing.

Is is not just selfish to want to go away and meditate on your own all the time, Hotboy? Jack, it is offensive to stick yourself into the public arena unless you have meditated for donkey's years. Wandering around with your head stuck up your backside and making frivolous conversationsal gambits ... well, they'll never get ra bliss. Oh, they'll never get ra bliss! Ee Aye Adio, they'll never get ra bliss. Non satis. Failed. Crap. Blew it. Made a fung mess of the whole gig. Died. Nae bliss. What a fung waste. What a disaster. Was it your fault? Who's fault could it have been had it not been yours?