nicky wire's legs
Christ is king!
I didn't ask you to talk to me, you scraggly old croneI don’t know what you’re in such a bad mood about, rifke. Apart from that plot line
I didn't ask you to talk to me, you scraggly old croneI don’t know what you’re in such a bad mood about, rifke. Apart from that plot line
I mean, no one’s interested in what you did or didn’t ask for, either. So that’s another boring conversation that no one’s interested in having.
But in case it escaped your notice, YOU are the one quoting me and directly replying to me.
Cuckoo! Cuckooo
I think it's hot that Kate Bakingsale's boyfriend lives in LA (I imagine) yet looks pale as a ghost. I'm sure he has a big dick and a good drug connection so I don't see why she wouldn't be with him. I mean she probably already f***ed all the blond skater dudes and probably thinks this dude is deep. Wasn't her last boyfriend some idiot rapper? I mean I don't even know who she is but she has figured out how to make people care about her and that's all it takes now.
I was thinking about why Morrissey writes slower songs now, and it struck me that there's an obvious reason. He likes to perform his songs on stage and he's now a 60 year old man. He couldn't be trying to flounce around on the stage as he did in the eighties when he was the fleet footed indie kid. He was young then. As time slows him down, his music's, slowing accordingly.
When he was a teenage boy something got stuck in his throat.I think that's it.
Also I think there's some pain issue in his chest.
Dale, can you do a vocaroo of this? I want to hear it.As I was listening to The Truth About Ruth in the cemetery, just as the slow, sombre notes are played on the keyboard in the brief Instrumental part, 3 mourners emerged from a car and slowly walked up the hill to the Chapel in single file, social distancing. They seemed to be slowly marching in time with the musical dirge. It was reminiscent of the cover picture on Abbey Road. The tall, elegant, besuited elderly gent in the middle was wearing a face mask. I'm sitting next to graves of two (presumably) brothers who died in their late teens/twenties, and, again, there's a bottle of Corona Extra on one grave, half full, and a can of Stella on the other. As is the won't these days, there's a small photo of them on their gravestones. They looked like loveable rogues. There's a story to be told there, I think. The man with the grass strimmer has asked if I can sit on the other bench while he trims this area. He has a boat at Colwick which he is in the middle of refurbing and will be finishing painting the inside tomorrow. He's not allowed to paint the outside yet because the boats moored next to other boats at both sides, that are less than two metres away. I always associate the smell of freshly hewn grass with petrol, and the smell of ice cream vans.
Wow it's been a while since I was around these parts ?go on....
i can!! ask me!!!Dale, can you do a vocaroo of this? I want to hear it.
Enjoy your vibrator and your journals and your Wine O'clock kitchen towel set and your Agatha Christie paperbacksEnjoy your booze. *glug glug glug*