Today is January, my favourite month. You know why Januray is my favourite month? Because shut the fuck up and read what I have to say, that’s why.
I’ll be asleep soon. When I wake up it will be a beautiful morning, and if it’s not, I’m going to leave the house with a mouthful of toothpaste, just in case.
I have a collection of phallic objects scattered around my room. You know why I have them don’t you? Yes, you do. But that’s no reason to jump to that sort of conclusion. You’ve got a disgusting mind and to be frank, you sicken me.
Anyway, my most favourite phallic object is sitting right in front of me at the present moment of my typing this. It is of course a spray can of ‘Oust’. You may not know what an ‘Oust’ is, so let me enlighten you. Oust is the odour eliminator. Not only does it eliminate odours, it does so without just masking the smell. This means that if I should plan to cram 50 MILLION tiny little apes into my room and let them run amok, allowing them to fling their excrement around the place willy-nilly, you’re still reading this oh my God, how come you haven’t lost interest already oh baby look at my tit slippers, rub them gently with your little nipple fingers..
Anyway, it’s almost six and I’m not getting any younger or prettier, so I’m just going to post this and regret it tomorrow. Instead of typing this I could have just spent all this time sharpening a few pencils until they were all a few centimeters long - but I didn’t, and that’s what you call fate, if you believe in fate – which you probably don’t, because rub-a-dub-dub, three men in a tub.
But seriously now:
Three men in a tub,
And who do you think they be?
The butcher, the baker,
the candlestick maker.
Turn 'em out,
knaves all three.
And how do you think they got there?
They all jumped out of a rotten potato,
'Twas enough to make a man stare.”
Is that just not the most homo-erotic nursery rhyme you’ve ever heard or is the fucking Pope a sexual predator? That’s a rhetorical question.
You’d be lucky to recite that rhyme to your 6 year old and not find him pressed up against the radiator with crayons stuck in his or her ears the next day.
For those of you who are too thick to know... or indeed I have not told yet...