Prattleageddon

How easy is it to get a job on a cruise ship, preferably as the singer in the lounge band? Oh and I’d only want to sing covers (not the real version) of the Police hit (not the authority, the band) ‘Roxanne’, but I’d probably take all references out of her being a hooker, because all the old and rich people on the cruise don’t want to hear about hookers unless they’re talking about them.

I’m really comfortable right now, hookered the laptop up to the TV, laying on the sofa, talking shit in my head and making the words appear on the screen. It’s relaxing. Shame I feel terrible and have loads of work to do for very little reward.

Still, got a chunk of pork from Lidl for £2, so I’m guessing that’ll be quality eats. I don’t have anything to go with it, so will probably just have a porksicle in my underpants (not a euphemism).

I like living in the future, by the way, where I can stumble in at whatever in the a.m., pick up my iPad and press a few buttons to make Father Ted come on as if by magic.

Though other than that the future’s a bit shit.

Julian Assange is a cock, isn’t he? I almost bought into his shit for a while, turns out he’s a cult of personality-loving, walking ego that thinks he’s far more important than he is. And I always find that hiding from allegations against you makes you look a tad guiltier than just going to court.

Oh, Sweden. Who fears going to Sweden? Honestly. It’s a nice place. As long as you don’t (allegedly) rape someone. Or get accosted by that bloke who’d been on Sweden’s Got Talent. Man, he was annoying.

Bye.

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