I've been musing on the greater evil: Brian McFadden or Paddy Casey?
Anyway, here we are, together again waltzing through my thoughts on the cybercomic plane. How the devil are you?
I'm stuttering, finding my true form only in bursts but spending increasing time stuck inside my own headspace. Doesn't make any sense? Tell me about it. I'm Joe Cole - short spates of creativity, put-downs and pick-ups before lapsing back into the shadows of the great football game in my skull.
I blame it on last Saturday night. There's something about the Hell that is Flannerys that makes me lose part of my soul for days after frequenting it. It's an uncomfortable meat market with lousy access and all sorts of posers in shirts. Even I wore a shirt. I gave up temporarily and to what end?
It's a pox is what it is.
Still, yesterday was Wednesday and restored some consistency to my swagger. Watched The Godfather you see. My own favourite scene has to be when Sonny finds Connie all beaten to shit at the hands of her husband Carlo Rizzi. He seeks Carlo out and unleashes unholy hell on his person, culminating in the patented 'bin-top to the skull' move. Now I'm not the most bloodlustful of men, but that scene's a dinger...
Speaking of bloodlust: This is a long shot, but if any of the builders working on our office at 3A Sth Princes Street are reading, please shut the fuck up with the drilling and the banging and the...
Just do one, lads.