randomrabbit's Diaryland Diary
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The reason vaginas aren't made of wood
Can't we somehow skip New Year and go to bed around the 30th and wake up on the 1st, possibly to some toast and a hard-boiled egg and maybe Myleene Klass nibbling on your balls? No? Pfft.
And adding to the annoyance of a shitty night, I notice once again I�ve been overlooked in the New Year�s Honours List for my charitable works. I grew a tache for fuck�s sake. James Dyson � inventor of the overly cumbersome vacuum that shows everyone your muck � was in there. Cunt. I�m allergic to dust why would I want to see it? Rod bastard Stewart. For service to music. And by that they obviously mean bringing out a greatest hits album every Christmas so kids have something to buy their dad. Bono! He gets an honorary knighthood, but since he�s not a Brit he doesn�t get to be called Sir, which seems a shame as he surely needs some form of address that highlights his beknighted status. Maybe he could be announced as That Wanker Bono instead or Fucking Cunt Bono.
I sense that I�m going to be a bit snippy tonight and have a face like a smacked arse. Oh well.
Chris had a New Year�s Eve eve thing last night. Which as I understand it is pretty much the same as a New Year�s Eve thing but you don�t have to pay for nibbles and it's not New Year. I didn�t go, obviously. I try to avoid people mostly. People collectively, not individually if that makes sense.
Did I mention I now live with Chris and Steve? Except I�m not at the moment but should be back there next week. Steve�s moving in with his lass soon so it will be just me and Chris. That�s a fucking depressing thought. It�s a nice house and we have fun, but I really hate living with someone and I need loads of time to my self, but then I hate being alone infinitely more. I�m an enigma, what can I say? And by enigma I mean weirdo. But we have Sky, and thanks to that I now have Howard The Duck which I�ve been trying to get for ages, so it does have the occasional compensation.
And I get half shares in the cat. My little Lilypie.
And at the moment 2 dogs: Treacle and Honey. Or is that Honey and Treacle. Anyway, Steve�s Staffies.
People who abuse animals get banned from keeping them for so many years. I think the same should apply if you give them awful names. Although one of them was going to be Princess so we should perhaps be thankful. Princess is what Steve calls me so that would have just got confusing.
I�m not a dog person. Cats are far better and they never feel inclined to eat their own excrement.
If Mark ever invites you down for an evening, could I suggest you decline politely? Or at the very least take your own beer, as they�re not the most hospitable hosts in the world. Some of it was okay I suppose. We played Sensible Soccer and proved how pathetic we were by scoring really high on geek level on the Red Dwarf DVD game thing, but all the while you�ve got his wife hovering around like a stinky fart scowling and being a mardy (fuck off Word, it�s a word. What do you suggest then, hmm?) cow. It might have been better if I�d been offered a drink but Mark supped beer that was a gift, which apparently meant he couldn�t give me one (oo-er), and she drank the red wine I took down for her (I�m good like that. And it wasn�t at all because she becomes marginally more tolerable when drunk. Ahem). If I even look at red wine I get a headache so I had to drink tea. And make it myself. Bastards.
I find this rather disturbing:
It�s a pig crying, probably because it�s been cut up in to pieces. And it�s wrote a little note too. Aaah. I think it might accidentally find its way to the bin as I don�t quite like it and find it a bit sad.
I�m sure tonight will be shit and one huge, great, depressing, disappointing anticlimax for you all, but I hope your 2007 isn�t.
4:59 p.m. - 2006-12-31
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