Sweet mother of all that is holy, it's been an aeon since I entered. In all senses. I actually tried to blog last week, but all I managed was pap and I never posted. At least this will be cheery pap.
Off work today, you see, left 5X to man the traps. Asked him to write a feature on JJ72, he refused and with good cause. He said that, had I forced his hand to up the feature, he'd destroy them through the medium of new media. Seeing as Andrew Greaney, brother of lead singer Mark, sent me the following glorying message this morn...
"It's great! Tony is back! Where are the pacifists and their placards now? Ah? Ah? Ah? Go Tony!"
...I thought it'd be a little insensitive to rag on his brother. So 5X will be doing something else, slavving to some degree no doubt.
Followed up a weekend of utmost non-activeness with merry, merry pissedyness on Tuesday night. The 25th is gonna be a dinger, we'll take Milan and rip 'em a new panino. For sure. Wednesday was more boozishness by way of Grogans - it's built out of spit, I'm sure of it - so last night saw me eschew the possibility of pints with rogue trader Nick Leeson. I would've been there, but I felt my brain and soul had gone numb, and my leg was wicked sore.
It was Fell's doing, wonder if Leeson showed??? Only Fell can tell...
What else? Nought really. There's a pall of insurrection in the air but I have to remain vague on that one. Is that vague? Can't really tell anymore.
Staying up this weekend, fuck all money and my head's still a far cry from clarity so I'll take her handy, gonna buy me Badlands on DVD. It was on the other night but I couldn't keep the eyes open. Sissy Spacek in her younger days, would you?
You would, you know.