Good Morning.
First off, i am mad. Not mad in a - "look at my hilarious Garfield tie, i'm really wacky and zany but most of all mad as a hatter...please talk to me...someone...anyone" - kind of way. No. I am mad in the - "I'd like to come round your house smash your c***ing teeth in with a hammer, insert a high-school marching band up your hairy fundament before sautéing your testicles on the hob for 15 minutes, serving them to you on a bed of cous-cous with an exquisite sauce of caramelised spite and shavings of 'I hate you'" - kind of way. In short i am a little ticked off.
"But what in the world could possibly have made you so mad? Is it the ongoing war in the Middle-East? Is it the turmoil nascent in the world economy? Is it, perhaps, what that hideous woman said about the size of your.."
Can i just stop you there. I shall tell you it is none of those things. No, not even the last one.
The reason i am mad is that last week, after a short period of illness, my loyal friend, let's call her "Mousey", passed away after a short period of illness. Needless to say, i was heartbroken. Being a hulking stereotype of a man i never told her this, but i loved her dearly. And now she is gone. Gone forever.
IN MEMORIAM - Dearest Mousey (2005-09) Friend, Confidante and Lover, RIP.
As you can imagine my face was awash with tears (oh, yes) but, with a heavy heart, i ordered her replacement from the online mouse shop which wasn't Amazon. Today she arrived. Well, she was supposed to arrive but instead of the fruity young mouse i was looking forward to gently fingering in a darkened room, i received...a fecking packet of CD-R discs. Bastards.
Will they answer the fecking phone? Will they buggery.
So Mr. Play.com, if you happen to be reading this, i'd like to take this opportunity to say that you, sir, are a stupid-ugly-bastard-face fascist. Thank you and Good Day.
'I Wouldn't Be Like This If You Were Here' - The Futureheads