It's Friday, and I have let the mental processes run amok. I don't know where I am, who or what I might be. If any of those.
Yasser Arafat. The Fat. Yasmin. What do I think about his passing? Not much. I defended and condemned him in two separate arguments with two or three (maybe four) different people in the last 24 hours. What does that mean? Two things:
a) I don't really have an interest either way. To be brutally honest, I could care less about Israel and Palestine's commitment to kill each other. To paraphrase some rapper guy, "I'll see you when you get there". But he said, then I said, then he said, then I threw a rock, then he called me a cunt, so I called him a fucking, fucking cunt and it was on. Where's the entertainment?
b) I like to argue.
And then what? Huh? You don't know, do you? You are expecting some kind of witty, well-written political rant with copious links to other sites and holier than thou, the pope and techno union cyber sloths attitude mixed in with some cutting insight into the nature of navel lint. This is a blog, after all. Well, give up your expectations, remove your attachments, run naked through city hall 'cause it aint gunna happen here, folks. Not on my watch, even if it is analogue. This blog plays by no rules, follows no leader and is less an aim. In fact, if it wasn't for the 18th Armoured Batallion of Angel Ants, this blog would have been torn down and shredded by now.
Who? Not you, I can guarantee that! This blog is the all singing, all dancing, plastic coated, digitally enhanced, cyber walled, automatically generated window into the portal into the viewing hole of your formatted, reinitialised, booted into a linux/windows NT hybrid created by Dr. Frankenstein's love child with Bram Stoker soul.
Lunch time.
No comments:
Post a Comment