Here it is:
I am going to be the next Dylan Thomas.
Make of that what you will.
What do you make of it?
Also, I have cooked the greatest spaghetti Bolognese you will never taste. I cooked it for Keith and I. Keith deserves it because even though he’s a selfish swine who drops his mates at the merest hint of a vagina, he’s a fucking talented artist. I mean, just look at this.
Oh, and he thinks my brand new muscles are sexy.
And he’s right.
In fact, now that I think about it, I might get a tattoo. On my burgeoning bicep. Or elsewhere. I’m not sure where actually.
But wait! What joy! I can whore it out. Oh, I really really love being drunken.
Splenetically Moderated Comment Whore :: What tattoo should I get? And where on my sexier-by-the-day, soon-to-be-drop-dead-gorgeous, oh-my-God-what-have-you-done-turning-down-this-divine-hunk-of-meat body?
Thursday, 9 October 2008