I was sat on the toilet, looking in a fashion magazine today, and I saw a face that was so attractive I stopped weeing. A clear thought made itself known to me: “I want to cut a whole in her lifesize mouth and stick my willy through it”. But then Esther needed the loo so I couldn’t do it.
Michael Caine makes a funny crusty:
What do I believe in? I believe in me. I can believe in you, but only when you’re there.
Actually, no I believe in cups of tea interspersed through the day. And Goldie’s wagging tail on her way to the park. And, the smell of my own farts. And the affection Esther gives me when she forgets to be grumpy.
Everything else can jog on.
I am trying to write an essay about how great Lady Gaga is. But the more I try to work out why she’s great, the less great she seems. I started off thinking she was a townie slut, then suddenly I got her last year, and I loved her. 2 things:
Telephone is the gretest video ever made.
Paparazzi is one of the best songs ever.
But her album is mostly filler, and she’s only great because Madonna and Prince are past their best, and Jacko is dead.
She’s only great by default. Until the next psycho-extrovert-pop-god. But I’m getting on a bit now.
PS this is the first post I haven’t tagged as ‘PORN’ in a desperate attempt to get lonely men to bump up my viewing figures. Let’s see what happens…