Well this is something I haven’t done for a while, eh? I’ve been busy though. I was working full-time selling wine and it kind of sucks the life and creativity from you. Not like when I use to spend all my time drinking wine. Those were the days. You might be pleased to know I don’t work anymore so I can get back in the swing with this gibberish I spew. I’ve also been planning out my life. Trying to make it less shitty.
So Muslims don’t like satire much, do they? I can see why though. It took me a while to get into it. I wasn’t a fan of either Have I Got News For You or Private Eye until I was well into my teens. Still though. When I didn’t like it I never shot anything up. Maybe because I never owned a gun, maybe because I’m not a fucking nutter. Who knows?! God. God knows. That’s who.
So there we go. That was Christmas. How was yours? Worth it? Probably not. They never are. I woke up in a cold house on my own and all I got was a convection heater I bought myself, so I guess you can say it might have been one of the best Christmases I’ve ever had. Also, as I wasn’t in my mothers house I didn’t have to listen to a single bit of shit music all day. Christmas is so much better when Adele is out of the equation.
A self-help book, by me, Miles Lloyd.
Words. What are words, anyway? They are just bits of letters really. Bits of letters all joined up to make a word. But some words aren’t words. Like nine. Nine is not a word. Nine is a number. Like 4 or 8. Or 48? No! 48 is not a number. 48 is not a word. 48 is a very naughty boy. 48 stole milk off of a woman and accidentally knocked a child of his bike whilst fleeing on foot. He should have fled by car. Not only is 48 naughty, but 48 is an idiot, too. Whenever you commit a crime, you must always get away in a car. It’s quicker and if you do happen to hit anyone, they were potential witnesses anyway, so you are better of for having killed them.
Before we begin; an open letter to the recorded music business. Another one. I know I’ve done it before (see Kanye, Kim & The Poor Little Lesbian, The Curious Case of Nikki Minaj and her Skin Colour or; Burn it All, Two Cups of Tea & I’m Still Not a Belieber) but I want to do it again.
Dear The Recorded Music Business,
Where the hell do you get off? Huh? How dare you keep allowing these inconsiderate pricks to release songs? You know the people I’m on about. The ones who don’t care about me, the listener, they just care about releasing whatever is going to make them money next. Some of us are going through a Morrissey-esque I’ve-never-been-loved-and-nobody-wants-me phase and yet you continue to allow songs that invoke real feelings to be played across the airwaves. Where are all the Nikki Minaj’s? Where are all the Little Waynes? Nobody wants to hear songs about real emotions, you fools! There is no demand for it any more. All you’re doing is making people feel and that is not cool. People just want to hear songs about how good someone elses life is compared to their own. I want to hear songs about how many cars someone has or how many women they take home every night or how someone is more talented than “all you other bitches”, etc, etc, not songs about love lost or bridges burnt or the realities of having to live in a materialistic world where we are all consumed by the little things that don’t matter as opposed to the big things that do. You are destroying society. Nobody wants to feel. Feelings are gay. Anyway, rant over. Now on to the good shit. The real shit. The important shit that actually means something.
Hey! Want to learn about airports and shit while watching my first proper acting gig? I’m so versatile I have three parts. At least I think it’s three parts. they could all be the same person. I didn’t really ask about the characters background/backgrounds. if they are all the same person though that does mean I stole an airport off someone who was previously my mate, as we can be seen drinking near the start. I don’t know what he did to piss me off to the point where I strike him to the ground before stealing his airport, though. He probably slept with my smoking hot wife, Bernadette. I always had a sneaking suspicion that she was cheating on me with someone, or someones.
*Editors note – I apologise for the title. There is no right kind of raped and I don’t mean to imply that there is. It’s just a catchy title and related to the post. Rape isn’t funny or cool. It’s harsh and selfish and you have to be a different kind of cunt to do it. The kind of cunt hell wouldn’t even want. Can someone let the professional footballers know that? They seem to keep missing the memos. But anyway. To the post!
Well, that’s it! It’s been decided. Come the end of January next year I am leaving London for the last time. As I’m moving to Canada next September I thought I might as well spend my last few months in this god-damn country in a place I love, as opposed to a place I love to hate. Don’t get me wrong, London has some of the best people I’ve ever met in it and it has been home to some of my fondest memories these last four or five years.