It runs in the family - stories from my grandpappy.

Whilst at secondary school in Switzerland, he often invented illnesses to avoid the less desirable elements of secondary school. His proudest of these inventions was in order to avoid german homework, whereby he suddenly developed very sharp pains in his lower abdomen, which grew worse and worse as the homework deadline loomed. He was eventually taken to the school nurse, who recognised it as appendicitis. An ambulance was called, and he was rushed to hospital, where he was quickly rushed into surgery, and his appendix pulled out by a nonplussed surgeon, who'd never seen such a healthy appendix cause trouble before. Being aged only about 14 at this point, he asked the surgeon if he could keep the appendix as a souvenir. The surgeon obliged and gave him his very healthy appendix floating in a jar of alcohol. The alcohol, eventually evaporating, left his appendix somewhat shrunken, and, as he describes it, soon "resembled a piece of bacon rind". He recalls "it probably wasn't worth it, as I was expelled a few months later anyway".

Prior to this expulsion, whilst still at the school, he took a dislike to the fish served on Fridays. In an act of devious rebellion, he began to scratch uncontrollably throughout Friday evening and Saturday morning, until a doctor finally worked out that it followed a pattern, and was probably the fish that was causing his "allergy". From that point on, he was given baked potato and poached egg on Fridays instead, and never had to tolerate the fish again.

His mother, Olive, was an animal lover, and was especially fond of Golden Retrievers. She had owned a few of them, and eventually ended up adopting one which never barked, to her annoyance. She was keen for it to bark when the postman came - which it never did. She took it upon herself to train this dog, and decided the best way to teach it was by setting an example. Needless to say, the postman was a little suprised to knock on the door and be greeted by an equally perplexed dog and a woman on all fours, woofing and the top of her voice.

Aliens vs Zombies

A corpse-filled nightmare in the cities,
The aliens and zombies are at war
The heroine is screaming suicide, stand aside,
I will protect her from the fiends and zombie hordes

The spiders crawl inside the laughter
Their webs are ringing in your ears
The eggs begin to itch as I reload, your head explodes
In a mist of red and hatching spider eggs

A thousand eyes are watching, pleading,
This genocide has left our number small
Just one more death and we'll rebel, against this hell,
And we will rise, and burn them to the ground

Buildings lie in ruins all around us,
The zombies are extinct, the martians won.
Our little human tribe has a suprise, this atom bomb,
You're fucking done, and I blow them all to hell.


I've been listening to a lot of Newfits lately.
So expect lots of very distorted guitars accompanying this in the near future.

Halloween 2010 (or Why There Are Scarier Things Than Costumes)

I went out in Cambridge with my sister on Halloween this year. She's lived down in Brighton for three or four years now, so it was a bit nostalgic being back around Cambridge together. Started off fairly normally in The Run, then we tried to go to a party with Antony. Antony tried to make us walk fucking miles to some 15 year old's free house party. Not cool. So we ended up (at this point, it may be worth adding, highly inebriated) going back to Lee and Paul's place. Had a few more beers and a little bit of drugs. At this point, I decided what I really wanted was a hot dog. For some reason, I convinced myself I would be able to walk several miles to the town centre, find a hotdog, and return before anyone missed me. Here's what actually happened.*

I walked (staggered) for several miles, and eventually reached Cineworld. At this point, I sat down to roll a cigarette. I was then approached by a guy who grabbed my crotch and asked if I'd like to go somewhere with him. I declined. He tried to kiss me. I further declined. I began to walk off in the opposite direction, but he continued to follow me, grabbing at my arse/crotch and trying to kiss me. For some reason, I decided that I didn't want to seem homophobic, so told him "I don't have a problem with it at all, just not tonight".
Now, this is flawed on a few levels.
Firstly, it suggests that I am, in fact, open to gay cruising opportunities. Secondly, it suggests that it was just that night in particular that I wasn't in the mood - therefore giving the impression that my mind may changed by crotch-grabbing persuasion. This didn't help in my attempts to escape his attention. Luckily, I was 'rescued' by a little Chinese guy, who came over to me and pretended to be a friend I was meeting up with, to discourage this guy from continuing to follow me. That, paired with me screaming "FUCK OFF! You can't just follow people, it's not right! I've said no, you know the rules!" seemed to do the trick. What rules I may have been referring to, I'm not sure.

So I lose one gay stalker, and pick up a Chinese guy I can't get rid of. I keep telling him I'm going here, I'm going there, I'm going miles away, and he keeps insisting he has "nothing else on" and will escort me. After walking around in circles with him for a while, I get a call from my sister. She's noticed my absence, and has gone out looking for me. Unfortunately, her sense of direction is a little flawed, and rather than heading towards Cambridge centre like I did, she set off towards the airport on the periphery of the city, in the opposite direction. This is about three miles away. Whilst I'm on the phone to her, I have my back to the Chinese guy. I'm thinking what a great excuse it is to finally get away from him, and feel victorious in the way things are coming together, despite never having found a hot dog. Well, not quite, anyway...
I turn around to tell Chinese guy the good news, that I am leaving and don't need his company. And he's standing there, trousers and Y-fronts loose around his ankles, penis in hand, wanking furiously. He begs me to stay, and whisperingly assures me that he's "almost there". I realise this is probably quite a good time to get going, as his ability to follow me is somewhat hindered. I run.

A few hours and miles later, I'm reunited with my sister. We catch a cab over to my dad's flat, and proceed to have an argument outside. She goes inside. I walk off to cool my head. It occurs to me that the last time this happened, I got sexually assaulted twice. I walk back to the flat. My sister has gone to sleep. I can't get inside. I curl up and sleep on the doorstep.

I'm awakened a couple of hours later, in the grey light of morning, by a police woman prodding me. She's curious to know why I'm sleeping outside.



*A few elements of this story have been left out, but I can confirm it includes no sexual activity, hetero or otherwise.

Everything left in is true.

Drink Driving

A few years ago, back when I still had a car, I used to often go and drive into the middle of nowhere, either with someone or just on my own, and drink heavily. It's amazing I never got arrested, really. The rozzers really missed a trick there. They did come close though - the time I got breathalysed outside Hugo's was pure luck I'd only had one snakebite...But the copper let me keep the little plastic blow tube as a souvenir. So overall a plus. I often slept in my car as well, if I was too drunk, even by my own standards, to drive. One of these nights, I left the pub, and decided to pick up a cheeseburger, and go and stuff my intoxicated face full of beef in the comfort of my car, followed by a long sleep. But alcohol has a funny way of ruining all your best laid plans. On the way back to the car, I walked past half a dozen homeless teens busking on the street. Did I ignore them? No. Did I give them some change? Hell no.
I decided the only sensible thing to do would be to give them my burger and fries to share between them, whilst I maintained their busking attempts by (maybe a little too) enthusiastically singing Twenty Flight Rock to the drunks coming out of the pubs and clubs. It was cold, but hell, I'll admit, it was a little fun.

They finally decided to call it a night, and I decided that although the car would be the warm(ish) and safe and, for all intents and purposes, only sane option, I was far better off going with them to share a two man tent set up in one corner of the Mill Pond. I spent three hours rolling them each a cigarette out of guilt every time I wanted one, and sharing beers. Eventually it occurred to me that I would have to leave at some point, and give a sound excuse why. So I told them I was going to find beer, but wandered off to find my car instead. It was fucking freezing. I didn't get kidnapped or anything, if you guys are reading this.


But that's a digression really. The snow recently reminded me of a story from a couple of years ago, on a night when it had been snowing, and I was driving back to Haverhill from Cambridge, not entirely soberly. My windscreen wash was completely empty, and my windscreen was smeared left to right with shite off the roads. I couldn't see a thing. So I pulled over, and searched my car for any kind of liquid to wash it with. Turned out the only liquid substance I had was red wine. I hate to waste alcohol, but in this situation I feel it was justified. So I washed the windscreen down with the wine.
Worked quite well.
Smelt a bit strong, but worked just fine. So I drove home, passed out, and promptly forgot about it. The next day, I'm driving around Haverhill, and get pulled by the coppers.

*tap tap*
"Morning Sir, do you know why I've pulled you over?"
"...No?"
"Alright - have you been involved in an accident in the past 24 hours?"
"What? No!"
"Okay Sir, would you step out of the vehicle please?"
"Okay..."
"Just come round the front here, Sir."

I walk round to the front of the car. There's still snow all over the front of it from the cold spell.
But this isn't lovely virgin white snow. Or even grey slushy road snow. No. This snow is bright fucking
blood red snow.

"Would you care to explain what's happened here then, Sir?"
"..."

Fragments from the night before begin piecing them together in my memory.

"Oh...right, yeah, that'd be red wine."
"...Red wine?"
"Yeah, I had nothing to clean my windscreen with, so I cleaned it with red wine."

I scoop some of it up in my hand, and sniff it, partly for show, partly to set my own mind at rest
that I didn't kill a deer or a child or something.

"See? Smell it, it's wine."

The younger copper looks at his older copper mate, who shrugs. The young copper takes a whiff, and
turns back to his mate.

"You know what John? ...That IS red wine."

John doesn't look impressed. I bet John's washed his car with alcohol a whole bunch of times.
They advise me to wash it off in the very near future, and never to do it ever again. On punishment
of John's old balls being rubbed around my face.

I always thought it was a bit strange that they didn't breathalyse me.
I mean...Seems like a bit of a no-brainer.


The only other time I had a problem with alcohol and police in Haverhill was when I was unwittingly walking through a NO ALCOHOL zone in the middle of the day, still drunk from the night before, finishing a can of beer. Luckily for me, I'm quite witty. So a panda car pulls up next to me, and the bloke shouts (quite aggressively, I might add)

"Excuse me, mate, you can't have that drink with you, this is an alcoholic prohibited area."

"Hey - I don't come to you with my problems."

They didn't like my wit, my beer ended up in the drain.

Thank you, good night.

The "Coke-A-Cola" test pt. I

4:57pm
Can #1

Warm and sticky. Subsequent cans will be refrigerated prior to consumption.
Not too difficult to get down. Burped five times. Wish I'd waited three minutes
for a nice round start time.

5:12pm
Can #2

Fifteen minutes just isn't enough to cool down a can of Coke. You can do that trick
with salt and ice and stuff to make it cold real quick, but last time I tried it
with beer, and it worked fine, but it had been in salty water, so when I opened it
and started to drink it, it just tasted like salt. And salty beer is fucking horrible.
Only four burps this time.

5:20pm
Can #3

Whoah, starting to feel a bit kinda bloated now. I shouldn't have got through that last
one so fast. I was thinking about the aluminium the cans are made of, I wonder how many
I'd have to drink before I got like...aluminium poisoning.

"The principal symptom of aluminum poisoning is the loss of intellectual function;
forgetfulness, inability to concentrate, and in extreme cases, full blown dementia."

As I'm mass drinking Coke for the sole purpose of writing a blog, I'd say I'm starting
to show early symptoms already. Jeez. Holding steady at four burps per can.
Oh, one thing I should mention is that I'm very sensitive to sugar. Once I ate half an
apple pie in one sitting and spent the next hour sat on the floor shivering like a rape
victim. And this ain't no Coke Zero.

5:35pm
Can #4

The burping has subsided! The six year old deep inside me is a little disappointed, I'd
half made a deal with him that he could try burping the alphabet on the next can. He'll
get over it though. If six year old me can deal with being locked in a coal shed for days,
he can deal with being lied to about his alphabet-burping prospects.

No, I joke, I wasn't locked in a coal shed. What, because I lived up north you assume there
was coal everywhere?

My stomach has become carbonated. It has dimples like a basketball.


5:46pm
Can #5

Heh, I'm getting kinda giddy now. I keep wanting to just got HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEH really loud.
Occasionally I do. The burps came back, so I tried the alphabet thing. Got as far as nearly
vomiting on "A" and gave up. I'll annoy people by posting lots of stupid videos on Facebook.

"Sonic 2 can be used to clean up stubborn stains! Cover bald patches! Cut vegetables Julienne!"

heeehehe. I'm also getting quite warm. But that might just be the shed. First pee break is
coming up very shortly. I wonder if breaking the seal is the same with drinking cola?

Man that was some bright yellow pee. Any more yellow and I swear it'd have been lemon
flavoured. Though that kinda makes it sound like I drank it and it wasn't lemon. I didn't.
Definitely got the Coke sweats. Eesh.

Next can!

5:59pm
Can #6

Right, an hour in! It's fuckin hard keeping up this pace. that's like, one every ten minutes.
It scares me that there's another two in the fridge. And then a whole other pack of ten.
This could really go downhill. But for now, I'm on top of the world! Kinda sick of the taste
of Coke though. Really sick of it. It's almost like being drunk, actually! Handy, I'm running
low on beer. The burps are back in force! I'm getting quite good at it. Can't do the alphabet,
but my Smoke On The Water is second to none. Hands are getting a bit trembly.


6:18pm
Can #7

Yes, breaking the seal happens with Coke.



From: james_porphyria@hotmail.com
To: ccgb_cic_team@eur.ko.com


Dear Coke-a-Cola people,

If I were to drink like, 15 cans of coke for the purposes of writing a vaguely humorous blog,
what kind of health consequences might there be?

Any tips on ways to make Coke more interesting? Like adding lemon or something?


Sincerely,

James







From: ccgb_cic_team@eur.ko.com
To: james_porphyria@hotmail.com

Dear James,


Thank you for contacting us with your enquiry.

Our products are safe to consume as part of a balanced and varied diet. We would therefore not recommend
drinking 15 cans of ‘Coca Cola’ in a day. ‘Coca Cola’ contains 139kcals per can and so this would amount to
over 2000 calories which is the majority of the Guideline Daily Amount for energy intake for men.

‘Coca Cola’ also contains caffeine and so you would consume a reasonable amount of caffeine (equivalent to
5 mugs of instant coffee).

You may wish to try one of our other varieties of ‘Coca-Cola’ such as ‘Coca-Cola Zero’, ‘Diet Coke’,
‘Coca Cola’ Cherry, ‘Diet Coke’ Cherry and ‘Diet Coke’ Lemon Zest.

Kind regards,



Laura Tomsett
Consumer Information Centre
Coca-Cola Great Britain





From: james_porphyria@hotmail.com
To: ccgb_cic_team@eur.ko.com

Ahh man, I've just realised I spelt it "Coke-a-Cola" in my intial email! This is clearly wrong, and should
be ignored. I was thinking of Be-Bop-A-Lula. Thank you for not drawing attention to my error by using
speech marks every single time you write the words "coca-cola". That would have been tactless and humiliating.

Sincerely,

James.

Emails to and from shell hell

From: james_porphyria@hotmail.com
To: feedback-uk@shell.com
Subject: Newmarket Road branch

Whilst trying to fill up with fuel yesterday, myself and two other motorcyclists with me were all refused service at the Newmarket Road Shell branch in Cambridge. We were asked rudely over the tannoy to remove our helmets and to get off our motorcycles. Whilst my companions remained on their bikes, I went to enquire why this was the case. I was told impolitely and
unhelpfully only that it was "company policy", and was for "health and safety" reasons, neither of which is even close to being a satisfactory answer. Filling up a motorcycle whilst not astride it is a bigger risk, and how removing a CRASH HELMET can be an aid to "health and safety" is beyond me entirely. The only reason I can assume is that because we are motorcyclists, it was assumed that we would attempt to steal the fuel, and removing our helmets was for the benefit of security cameras. This is purely nothing but discrimination against motorcyclists. Does "company policy" require the removal of religious face coverings for "health and safety" purposes?

I have never had a problem with a Shell garage before, but a chain is only as strong as its weakest link, and so with this useless branch representing Shell as a whole, I intend never to use a Shell garage again. Luckily I found a Jet garage further down the road, who were very happy to trust us to leave our lids on, and take £40 of our money - not to mention agreeing with us that the unbelievable lack of service at the Shell garage was appalling.

Extremely poor.

James



From: cim-noreply@shell.com
To: james_porphyria@hotmail.com
Subject: RE: Newmarket Road branch

Thank you for contacting Shell.

Our dedicated Customer Service Professional will respond to you within 24 hours. [Excluding weekends & public holidays]
Please note that you can also place orders online with Shell. To access this online order placing service, please go to:

www.eserve.shell.com.

This email has been automatically generated.
Please do not reply to this note.



From: james_porphyria@hotmail.com
To: feedback-uk@shell.com
Subject: RE: Newmarket Road branch

"Thank you for contacting Shell.

Our dedicated Customer Service Professional will respond to you within 24 hours."

Three days later, and it seems your customer service 'professionals' (I assume you intended for it to be plural, or is it just a single person working for you? I guess it'd clear a few things up) are as useless as your petrol station staff.


From: cim-noreply@shell.com
To: james_porphyria@hotmail.com
Subject: RE: Newmarket Road branch

Thank you for contacting Shell.

Our dedicated Customer Service Professional will respond to you within 24 hours. [Excluding weekends & public holidays]
Please note that you can also place orders online with Shell. To access this online order placing service, please go to:

www.eserve.shell.com.

This email has been automatically generated.
Please do not reply to this note.


From: james_porphyria@hotmail.com
To: feedback-uk@shell.com
Subject: RE: Newmarket Road branch

It has now been FIVE days since I first contacted you. Even taking into consideration the fact you are helpfully closed weekends and bank holidays, it is now the third day I've been ignored. Would you rather I made my complaint through the Shell Global Helpline? I know that's not what it's for, but it may at least generate a reply. Please respond to my complaint today.

From: cim-noreply@shell.com
To: james_porphyria@hotmail.com
Subject: RE: Newmarket Road branch

Thank you for contacting Shell.

Our dedicated Customer Service Professional will respond to you within 24 hours. [Excluding weekends & public holidays]
Please note that you can also place orders online with Shell. To access this online order placing service, please go to:

www.eserve.shell.com.

This email has been automatically generated.
Please do not reply to this note.


From: james_porphyria@hotmail.com
To: feedback-uk@shell.com
Subject: RE: Newmarket Road branch

Do you ignore all criticisms and complaints, or just mine? I can only imagine this is just a continuation of the discrimination I recieved at the Shell filling station. Respond to my complaint. I want to know what your policies are on motorcyclists, I want to know the reasons for them being in place, I want to know what possible "health and safety" rubbish requires me to remove my helmet and dismount my motorcycle. I want to know why Shell is a discriminatory company. I want to know why it's taken (so far) six days to receive any form of non-automated reply. And I want to assure you that I will not give up, and will spam you with emails if necessary. I have a lot of free time, a fast internet connection and a full jar of Kenco. I could be your worst nightmare.


From: cim-noreply@shell.com
To: james_porphyria@hotmail.com
Subject: RE: Newmarket Road branch

Thank you for contacting Shell.

Our dedicated Customer Service Professional will respond to you within 24 hours. [Excluding weekends & public holidays]
Please note that you can also place orders online with Shell. To access this online order placing service, please go to:

www.eserve.shell.com.

This email has been automatically generated.
Please do not reply to this note.


From: james_porphyria@hotmail.com
To: cim-noreply@shell.com
Subject: RE: Newmarket Road branch

They totally won't reply. That's a complete lie. At least you respond to me, automated reply script.






More to follow soon...

Money saving tip #79

The post office give out free Special Delivery bags. These can be used to carry fruit.

Money saving tip #53

Use a pair of scissors to cut your Swan Filters in half for double economy.

"Revolution From Beyond All Them Planets"

Doing a photoshoot with Charles Manson hair/makeup, wearing a dodgy indie kinda suit.



Today, I have this to share. It has no redeeming qualities.

Sarah: "With you two fighting for our cause, there's *no way* we won't succeed!"
Paul: "Anytime, dollface." [Paul winks and flexes his biceps]
Sarah: [swooning] "Oh, Paul!"
Randy: "Put it away, Paul. We still need to recruit one more member for our team."
Paul: "Oh...Oh no...You don't mean..."
Randy: "Yes, Paul. I'm afraid so. We need Harvey Moon."
Paul: "But I hate that puny sack of crap! Always complaining and stuff. Fucking nerd."
Randy: "I know, Paul, but it's our only hope."
Paul: "We need MUSCLE! Not that brainy motherfucker." [Paul winks and flexes his biceps]
Sarah: [swooning] "Oh, Paul!"
Randy: "Sillence! Let's go to that cave where Moon lives."

- scene -

Moon: "H-Hello? Is somebody there?"
Randy: "Moon? Moon, is that you?"
Moon: "No."
Sarah: "Paul, I can't see the door."
Paul: "How'd you like to see the back of my fist?"
Randy: "There's no need to get angry - this is a cave, apparently. It has no doors."
Moon: *snigger*
Paul: "Fuck you, you skinny bag of shit."
Moon: "Randy, you brought PAUL here? For christ's sake. He's made of meat."
Randy: "Meat?"
Moon: "Paul, you're made of meat."
Randy: "THIS IS ABOUT MORE THAN JUST THE MEAT! There are bigger things at stake (Haaaahhh! Get it?!" here, guys."
Sarah: "Randy's right. Moon, we need your help. We're on a quest to find something...or something."
Paul: "Yes."
Randy: "Can you help us, Moon? It won't be easy...But you'll be a hero."
Moon: "Well...Okay, I guess so."
Sarah: "Yay!"
Randy: "Okay then, you go get on with killing that wormy monster out there, and we'll stay in here."
Moon: "That doesn't sound safe."
Paul: [threatening] "Safer than in here with me, fag."
Moon: "Point taken. I'll get going.
Sarah: "Yes. Go kill the bear thing or whatever it was I said you had to go kill earlier."
Moon: "Fine. Well...No, hang on...This is a quest, right?"
Randy: "A *mighty* quest."
Sarah: "Yes."
Moon: "Well don't I get like a...I dunno, a special gun or a magic sword or something?"
Randy: "Uhh...No. No goodies for you. Buh-bye now."
Moon: "It might be helpful for beating the beastie outside my cave. Which actually wasn't a
problem until you guys showed up. I'm starting to think I'd be better off just squatting
in the corner drawing cave paintings with my own faeces."
Sarah: "GOD!"
Paul: "You rang?" [winks and flexes biceps]
Sarah: "Oh, Paul!"
Randy: "Look, Moon, if it'd really make you feel better to have something, you can take these."
Sarah: "Randy, No!"
Moon: "...Your keys?"
Randy: "These are no ordinary keys. These keys have been sharpened into miniature shanks."
Sarah: "But how will we start the SpaceVan to get home?!"
Randy: "Oh shut the fuck up, Sarah. Paul - You know what to do."
Paul: [slaps Sarah down to the floor] "You disgust me, Sarah!"

Sarah: "Oh, Paul!"

Great British Menu

Oliver Peyton. Oliver fucking Peyton. He's the kinda guy that'd be your best buddy, be really lovely to you, buy you drinks, take you to the theatre, then just when you think "yeah man, we should get a flat together!" he takes you on a road trip in his beat up Chevy Impala, pulls up in an empty industrial estate somewhere, tells you that you were never his friend, that he was laughing at you the whole time, laughing at your problems and your pathetic love life and your tiny little penis. And then he'd shoot you. In the face. Blood and brains and bits of skull all over the dusty old interior. Then he'd get out, throw his (camo?!) jacket over his shoulder, smile, and walk away into the night. And then he'd find someone new, and do the same thing all over again. Oliver Peyton? Fucking mad man.

SURELY THIS IS NO HUMAN BEE?!

(Picture spewed up by the talented Mr. Scolex.)

Filthy Deceitful Leprechaun

Pink hearts, blue diamonds, orange stars and green clovers! I was thinking about this stuff the other day. Why can't I buy it any more? Apart from the fact that it's disgustingly unhealthy, I mean. But I miss the taste. I can still taste it now. In my head, I can still hear the desperate screams of the whole grain oats as they swirled, unwanted, down the plug-hole.
Hey, remember when milk came in proper glass bottles? It'd be all creamy on top. If I was on death row, there'd be none of that hamburger and fries crap for my last meal - it'd be gold-top milk and lucky charms. And I'd eat enough of it so when I was sitting in Ol' Sparky or being pumped full of potassium chloride and sodium thiopental, I could vomit a marshmallowy rainbow at my executioners. They wouldn't be expecting that.

The one in pink isn't actually a midget, she's just further away. Despite the fact that she's clearly sprinting and the others aren't. Which is odd. And the one on the left looks like one of my ex-girlfriends. She had a PVC top as well. But no space rifle. She thought Alice Cooper was a woman. And ate a lot of Popcorn Chicken. Which is pretty good, to be fair.
Cap is from Star Runners, and it's an appalling fucking movie. Don't watch it. You might shit yourself with rage. I did.

Pale Blue Dot

James Dark blog. Issue 1. I don't understand blogs. I will share all the things that go on in my brain meats. See the dot? That pathetic little pixel? That's Earth from 3.7 billion or so miles away. It makes me feel better about things. Thank you Voyager 1. And thank you Project Paperclip for taking Nazi scientists to New Mexico. Without their valiant efforts, there would be no NASA really. You could argue that without Wolf, this picture never would have been taken. Go Hitler. But you also got Ferdinand Porsche to make that dreadful fucking car. So it works out about even? I s'pose you did worse things in your life.
Well, not you personally. Like Charlie. Who did Charlie ever kill? But it gives the wrong impression to compare the two of you. Love and Terror. I'll keep this first blog short. Or is the whole thing the blog, and this is a post on the blog? Or is each particular thing a blog in itself? Hm, tough question. Here's a different one - Why couldn't the Mccanns come up with a story as good as Lindy Chamberlain did about the dingo? I mean, obviously there are no dingos in the Algarve. Unless one snuck in with false papers to abduct her. But that's a little far fetched. Maybe it was aliens.





Maddie - forever travelling the universe in search of alternative fuel sources.
Good luck and goodnight.