Ranother Day One!
Sunday 1:40 p.m.
The barmaid ... who was pretty beyond belief due to being about twenty and with no wrinkles at all ... asked me if the Guinness tasted any different extra cold. What a nice smile she had! I was just about to ask her to marry me when Brian Wilson came back into the bar, and she ran away. Due to drinking two bottles of the plonko collapso the night before, Brian's conversational mode was not dissimilar to that of the headhunters in Papua New Guinea. He didn't look you in the eye at all, and the words came out in huge long streams, mainly acronyms, which you knew it was pointless to try and interupt. Still, seen one penis gourd, seen them all. Brian Wilson has started to look a bit scary, like Mr Burns out of the Simpsons except much, much older. The moaning and the groaning, the clinging and the craving;old flatheids are just so depressing. They're just never going to get ra bliss!
But this is RaBlissBlog! Hello, you Masai Warriors, aliens from Outer Space, and the Holy Ghostie Men! There's been another development in ra bliss! It happened in the teenage dancehall, called Cabaret Voltaire, where Brian Wilson took me to listen to his son playing in a band contest. I closed my eyes and did the tadasana. Oh, how ra bliss arose! The entire body seemed electrified and beaming within a whole body envelope of ra bliss! It was under the feet and over the head and both sides back to front. Even the racket from the band made no difference to it! Unfortunately, Brian Wilson insisted on trying to talk to me. There's really no point in talking to old flatheids. They're too dumb to meditate and will never get ra bliss.
Lovely wintery day outside. I'm off to the allotment for further investigations into ra bliss! Despite the beers last night (bad boy!), the meditations from half nine this morning have been just superb!
11:25p.m.
Yesterday, after the shadow boxing was over, I weighed just under twelve stone. Today, after the shadow boxing was over, I was bang on twelve stone. That's a loss of six or seven pounds in three weeks. Don't pick a fight with me now, Jack. Just don't.
The barmaid ... who was pretty beyond belief due to being about twenty and with no wrinkles at all ... asked me if the Guinness tasted any different extra cold. What a nice smile she had! I was just about to ask her to marry me when Brian Wilson came back into the bar, and she ran away. Due to drinking two bottles of the plonko collapso the night before, Brian's conversational mode was not dissimilar to that of the headhunters in Papua New Guinea. He didn't look you in the eye at all, and the words came out in huge long streams, mainly acronyms, which you knew it was pointless to try and interupt. Still, seen one penis gourd, seen them all. Brian Wilson has started to look a bit scary, like Mr Burns out of the Simpsons except much, much older. The moaning and the groaning, the clinging and the craving;old flatheids are just so depressing. They're just never going to get ra bliss!
But this is RaBlissBlog! Hello, you Masai Warriors, aliens from Outer Space, and the Holy Ghostie Men! There's been another development in ra bliss! It happened in the teenage dancehall, called Cabaret Voltaire, where Brian Wilson took me to listen to his son playing in a band contest. I closed my eyes and did the tadasana. Oh, how ra bliss arose! The entire body seemed electrified and beaming within a whole body envelope of ra bliss! It was under the feet and over the head and both sides back to front. Even the racket from the band made no difference to it! Unfortunately, Brian Wilson insisted on trying to talk to me. There's really no point in talking to old flatheids. They're too dumb to meditate and will never get ra bliss.
Lovely wintery day outside. I'm off to the allotment for further investigations into ra bliss! Despite the beers last night (bad boy!), the meditations from half nine this morning have been just superb!
11:25p.m.
Yesterday, after the shadow boxing was over, I weighed just under twelve stone. Today, after the shadow boxing was over, I was bang on twelve stone. That's a loss of six or seven pounds in three weeks. Don't pick a fight with me now, Jack. Just don't.
posted by Hotboy at 1:40 PM
11 Comments:
You write so well. I wish I could write like that.
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Toyo! You probably can. You've got something interesting to write about. That's got to be in your favour! Hotboy
Is Brian Wilson related to Peter Ballocks? They seem to have so much in common, including Korsakoff's Syndrome.
Thanks I'll try to improve
Ion: The boy only thinks he's demented. He only gets drunk once a week and that's hardly even trying really!
Toyo: I hope you keep writing the blog! You'll be a hopeless addict before you know it.
Eric: 14 lbs is one stone. So 12 stone is 168lb. When I was doing boxing training, I was a welterweight. I'd settle for 154 lb these days! It's only since I gave up drinking that I've gone back to Guinness, one of the loves of my life! Hotboy
dammit i want a guinness now.
You should have told her she had a nice smile. We girls like to hear that. Just the other day, I was in the hallway at work, heading toward the bathroom, when I passed a man bringing water coolers to another office. As I passed him, I smiled and said hello. He smiled back and said quite loudly, "Hello, thank you for that beautiful smile. You made my day!"
It put another smile on my face, it was quite lovely to hear.
Have a great week Hotboy!
~xo
Keda: Jumped into my head about half an hour ago as I was passing a pub after work. A guinness! A guinness! But I didn't, so there.
Lee Ann: I couldn't believe she was being so friendly. The line about the guinness is a bit obvious. The poor girl must have terrible eyesight! Hotboy
Nice blog. Fascinating stuff.
Aprill: Thanks for leaving a comment! Hotboy
You might find the enveloping layer under the feet and over the head was just Guiness froth blown in your face by the amplifiers.
Never speak to the nubiles, I find it's less confusing just to gape. Everyone knows the score then. But could you take a camera next time?
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