Arsebiscuits.

I got my car back last week after a lot of expense and waiting around at the lot with a truck driver I was paying by the hour. It's done now.

My sister and her husband were in London for last weekend and on Saturday we met up in Soho for drinks and had dinner.

I noticed my sister was on soft drinks and she always said she was going to have five kids, so I guess she's pregnant again and I am willing to lay money on a third girl

I'm not working anymore. Well, I have not needed to for six months anyhow - but I make more money in an hour of blackjack a few times a week than I could in months working, so I figure why not see where this leads.

I don't tell people what I do though. Not in real life, at any rate. I just say I'm a student or a waiter or not working. None of them are strictly untrue either.

I don't have a valentine. I mean, if I were a wanker there could be one or two, but I would just fuck them around because it would be meaningless.

So a few of us shall leave the house half an hour before closing time on Saturday to find all the jilted women of London and give them sweaty comfort-fucks

I'm pretty drunk and a bit stoned and it's almost 3am. And my keyboard has a wave in it. Time to stop.

 

First of all, I had a good chuckle at arsebiscuits. Great word that.

Second, who the hell needs five kids? Seriously.

Third, fuck Valentine's day. Comfort-fucks are great and all, but why would you need a special day for them? They're good year round!