Breaking Bad, Breaking Boobs & Crazy Old Men.


Alright? How’s it going? Good. what do I want to talk about today? well, I dunno. I didn’t write any blogs in ages because I was working all the time and now I’m not really doing anything there’s nothing to talk about, but I only ever use to talk shit anyway so what’s the beef, Miles? Well, since I’ve put it like that to myself, I no longer have beef with me. I am pleased. Well done, Miles!

I’m listening to a The Strokes album I didn’t know existed called “Comedown Machine” and I’m glad I don’t have tits because this would have blown them right off.

Wait!

I remember…

I remember…

I remember there was something! there was something I wanted to write about a few weeks ago, but I was watching Breaking Bad at the time and it took over my life. It was fucking intense. And what an ending! That thing with the M60 was “off the hook”. And I loved how I liked Walter to begin with, then hated him, then liked him again. What a rollercoaster that was! And a bomb in a nursing home! Once again, it was lucky I didn’t have tits. But anyway.

I was walking home from the pub one evening. It was cold. Damn cold. God-damn, hell-ass cold. I took a bit of a shortcut over the field and as I was coming to the end of it I saw a figure laying face-down on the floor of a path about twenty yards in front of me. The figure was shaking and reaching out in-front of itself, like a zombie that had had it’s knee blown out at short rage with a saw-off shotgun. I couldn’t quite work out what too expect when I approached it.

“I don’t quite know what to expect when I approach it,” I thought to myself. I edged forward and it turned out to be not a zombie at all, but a pissed, overweight, old man reaching out for his walking stick because he had “slipped on the ice” he barely managed to slur to me.

He explained to me he had been laying there for three hours (though I refuse to believe this) and he was worried he was going to die (this I do believe), but all is not lost for our oversized, drunken human male, for when you need to lift massive amounts of dead-weight over distance there is only one person you need call for… Miles-fucking-Lloyd.

It literally took me forty-five minutes to get him on his feet, which gave us plenty of time to chat. It turned out he lives just opposite me and has lived there his entire life, which is also my entire life (Well, not entire, but you know what I mean). While I was trying to haul his drunk-arse home on the slippery ice he started, kinda, rubbing the back of my neck a bit. His fingers would be under one ear and his thumb under the other and he was running them out to the back of the neck and repeating this process. Now, before you start panicking he was very gentle. But also he kept trying to kiss my cheek. I was just laughing it off because it was this pissed old man who didn’t know what the fuck he was doing, but it was very off-putting considering I was dragging him over ice towards steps.

So yeah. weird night eh?

Oh wait! I almost forgot. The entire time he was trying to kiss me and stroking my neck he kept on telling me that he remembers me as a little boy. That’s right. He was caressing me and kissing me and telling me he remembers me when I was a little boy. All the time. Like, that’s pretty much all he would say the entire time. that’s how he was flirting. It was weird. I got him home safe and that but it was weird.

Really weird.

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