“Perhaps it is time to remove neo-liberal economists from public debates. A pleasant reservation, well stocked with monopoly money, could be set up where they can idle away their days negotiating contracts, invoicing each other and avoiding the sort of everyday cooperation and sharing most of us take for granted.”
Woot! Exam is done, and I’m never going to study ever again, until the end of the world*.
So now its time to lay in the sun and do sod all. Except, first I just have to:
do lots of stuff
Further lost txt shenanigans:
Changed my num. This is lance.
That’s nice dear. But who the hell are you?
Is ths simen
No. What are you wearing?
Hahahaha fuk that simen u sick fuk. Im wearn my spider man undies, u knw the ones that realy hug my nuts.
Sorry but you really do have the wrong number. But thanks for the entertainment, my flat mates are killing themselves.
Thanx. Haha glad to help. Gutd i had the wrng numba, i feel violated. U knw me so wel nw. And i dnt even knw ur name. Haha later.
Oh, and speaking of the training of dumb animals, No, George, No!
For those of you awaiting with bated breath, Jack & Heather will be back at the start of November.
*looks at list of stuff to do today*
When a bad thing happens, but later events render said bad thing irrelevant before it has the chance to do any damage. What’s the word for that then?
Case in point – I left my gi on the washing line, hence it is now soaked and I was wandering what I could scrape together for aikido this eve. But! I now have all the work in the world, which will take until forever, so no wet-gi-concerns for me.
Or, I could just be trying to convince myself that having all the work in the world to be done by tomorrow is a good thing.
Firm.com – broken
thingy.com – currently available! Ideal for all you producers of thingies, widgets, doodads, oojamaflips and assorted sundries.
So blagged an invite to the wearable arts afterparty. Well, I did help two of the stilters for about five minutes, so I reckon that makes me crew.
Fancy do, normally if there’s that many women taller than me at a party, its coz they’re trannies. Instead, models. I just wanted walk up to one of the six foot tall, emaciated women wearing flimsy dresses and say “so, what do you do for a living?” Or just walk up to one carying a big plate of food and say “hi, we earthpeople thought you should have this.”
But hey, free drink and food. And its not often you see Shed 6 looking all done up. We left after the speeches and before the band.