where you are right now (you seem to have somehow dislodged the tracking chip I had implanted in the back of your neck) but where I am IT IS Cold! Cold War Cold. And I don’t mean bullshit nancy-pants Vladimir Putin bitchin’ and moanin’ about missile defence cold war cold. I’m talking Margaret Thatcher’s underwear cold war cold. (Now there’s a woman who never had to ice her nipples I bet. Desea vivo la señora del hierro)
My point being: It’s cold. And I’m suffering. Not Paris Hilton in jail suffering (that poor wretch. Why has life been so unkind to her? All she ever wanted to do was make people happy) but suffering none the less.
Being the globe-trotting sun-chasing playboy millionaire that I am, I am unaccustomed to having to deal with such mundane and banal discomforts. Usually, if I’m feeling a little chilly, I just say: “Jock, warm me”, in the general direction of one of my trusty manservants. And they do, often displaying an ingenuity (not to mention agility) that I sometimes wish they could summon when faced with their other duties, primarily, tax evasion.
However, today it is soooo cold where I am (where I am, not where you are. Please do try and keep up) that even the best efforts and combined body heat of my obliging attendants have born no fruit (so to speak) and I have dispatched them post haste for suitable accouterment (something fierce in ermine was my exact instruction though, I suppose, only Manuel will have truly grasped my meaning, he having always been a bit euphemistic himself).
And now I await, cold and alone (again not unlike Margaret Thatcher’s nipples), the return of warmth, of joviality, yea the restitution of life it’s very self to warm my bones and ease my passage through these caliginous foreign waters. Woe is me.
My point being: It’s cold. And I’m suffering. Not Paris Hilton in jail suffering (that poor wretch. Why has life been so unkind to her? All she ever wanted to do was make people happy) but suffering none the less.
Being the globe-trotting sun-chasing playboy millionaire that I am, I am unaccustomed to having to deal with such mundane and banal discomforts. Usually, if I’m feeling a little chilly, I just say: “Jock, warm me”, in the general direction of one of my trusty manservants. And they do, often displaying an ingenuity (not to mention agility) that I sometimes wish they could summon when faced with their other duties, primarily, tax evasion.
However, today it is soooo cold where I am (where I am, not where you are. Please do try and keep up) that even the best efforts and combined body heat of my obliging attendants have born no fruit (so to speak) and I have dispatched them post haste for suitable accouterment (something fierce in ermine was my exact instruction though, I suppose, only Manuel will have truly grasped my meaning, he having always been a bit euphemistic himself).
And now I await, cold and alone (again not unlike Margaret Thatcher’s nipples), the return of warmth, of joviality, yea the restitution of life it’s very self to warm my bones and ease my passage through these caliginous foreign waters. Woe is me.
3 comments:
Oi, achei teu blog pelo google tá bem interessante gostei desse post. Quando der dá uma passada pelo meu blog, é sobre camisetas personalizadas, mostra passo a passo como criar uma camiseta personalizada bem maneira. Até mais.
Hi Rodrigo, thank you so much for your comment. Sadly my Portuguese is a little rusty (I’ll have to have him oiled) and I fear your precise sentiments are lost on me. Babelfish assures me that not only were you writing to praise my physique, virility and intellect but also that you are the purveyor of fine quality “proper” t-shirts via your website which itself poses the profound philosophical questions: “What you find of being only?” and “Why to be dressed as everybody?” Indeed. Same website generously offered me the opportunity to “mount the t-shirt of my favourite band”. Regrettably, I will have to refuse your kind (and no doubt personalised) offer. I have mounted the t-shirts of my favourite bands in the past and am now persona non grata at three separate Hard Rock Cafes (despite their alleged Hard Rocking ways). I say, “If you can’t handle the hard rock, get of out of the cafe”. Actually, could you put that on a shirt for me? Much Love, Jarad.
You're really funny! Thanks for stopping by my blog and praising my hair and good looking boyfriend. As kind efforts do not go unnoticed, I have decided to bestow you with a link on my website. I'm sure you realize that this is an honor only granted to a select few, and hilarious, individuals.
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