The Pact

Yesterday: Zoe and me went shopping, rented and watched My Big Fat Greek Wedding, did some Lego for George, got Elliot and John, went down Gee's and That was about it. It was ok.

I am sure you know that in January 2002 I promised a tramp I would never be like "them". The normal people. The suited and booted. The people who have abandoned their dreams, and fed themselves to The Machine. I broke my promise. Sorry. I wear a tie to work. I read a broadsheet (yeah it's the Guardian but still!), and I have stopped giving money to the homeless. In other words I am no different to most other people who have a half a brain.

But now I really do solemnly promise this. By January 2004 I will live in my own place, I shall not have any debts and I WILL be happy. Better late than never huh. So no more broadsheets. No more news, or normal stuff. And one day I hope to be like Peter Tatchell. A taller version who can whoop Mugabes fat arse back to the 20th Century where it belongs.

Stay away from those people who have cotton wool between their ears, chatting to them lowers your IQ don't you know?! You know the ones, they have no light in their eyes, and believe David Beckham is actually a meaningful conversation, instead of just being a nice piece of arse. Hmm...

In fact I am in one of my "Better get the gun" moods. Rebekah Wade of the Sun.... bam!..... Rupert Murdock... bam!.... any Christian who hasn't read the Bible ("The meek will inherit the Earth" listen up!)... bam!.... and also any wimpy person who is homophobic.. this is because we gays are supposedly an easy target... BAM! Target that.

And who said murder isn't an art? Note to self: am still ill.