Saturday 8:15 p.m.
My wee brother Popeye sent me a cheque today for £60. What a surprise! He said it was for all the birthdays of mine he'd missed. I think I'll spend most of it on running shoes, which I would have bought if the offer to publish the BBBW had come with a cheque attached. If anyone else would like to send me a cheque for all the birthdays of mine they've missed, go ahead. Doesn't have to be a cheque. Could be jewels, or drugs, luncheon vouchers, airmiles, anything. Anything good.
Hotboy, it would make those folk feel more generous and less attached to their filthy lucre. Yes, it would, Jack. Spontaneous redistribution.
I went to the allotment today and dug up tatties. Then I ate some. I also set some fires and tried to sit in the hut after scorching the bush outside, but the hut filled up with smoke. Some of the ground seemed almost calcified, still holding fast so it's not properly thawed yet.
There was this boy on the Horizon programme this week who tried and tried to become a chess grandmaster, and failed. So he became a brain scientist to try to find out why this was.
So your brain on his laptop lights up with a distribution of blue dots. Depending on how many blue dots you've got where determines whether or not you can become a grandmaster. The joe can tell with kids who haven't played chess.
I thought this might provide succour for the mentally ill people who land on this blog, the folk who are so mentally ill that they don't realise they're mentally ill, the folk who don't meditate. Though they've generally never tried to meditate, it may be that it would be a waste of time for them anyway since they might well be the ones who are mentally handicapped as well as mentally ill.
Some cats got it and some cats aint.
Oh, what a fortunate creature I am, I am. What a fortunate creature I am!
I'm just going to sit down in front of the telly with the noise blockers on and continue with moi's investigations into the bliss!
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4 comments:
The computer here has had a seizure, and I didn't even have it wired to my brain. I don't know my own psychic strength.
When Kerry Packer was brought back to life after a coronary, he said "there's nothing there". Does that help?
Albert? A friend of mine O.D.ed once and said the same thing. Be awful to be a flatheid, so it would. I knew they were doomed to the blackness. Hotboy p.s. Of course, Kerry Packer hadn't died! If I was able to pay for ten grand hookers in Las Vegas, I would refuse to die as well!
Hotters. What's keeping you alive?
Albert? Crabbitness! Hotboy
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