Paracetamol To The Wall
In a typical turn of events, the day I decide to be productive (e.g. write silly stuff, take silly pictures and play silly metal), my body decides to go on strike, like a true French representative of the lazy derrière.
I literally woke up feeling like Maiden’s Eddie would feel after a night of tantric yoga with Vic Rattlehead.
Stiff, dehydrated and wanting to run to the hills (and wondering why the hell I am sounding like I should belong in a band called Thunderus Goatus Throatus 666).
I, Melly The Third (I got old cousins dammit), got a full blown cold during spring time in 22 degrees weather. Sigh.
No, actually it should read “asthmatic sigh”.
Ugh. Some days I feel like there is a freaking twhost (twat ghost) following me around and sprinkling doses of bollocks dust whenever I am trying to do something proactive.
This is, of course, never happening when am stuffing my face with a two persons pizza (example today at 12:06 GMT). Couldn’t you actually be a slim fast ghost, you floaty git??!
Oh well, I am a firm believer of being a catalyst for positivity (as evidenced in this post lol) and I will keep on being positive and fat until I can get my mitts on a Dyson bollocks vacuum cleaner.
In the meantime, I believe it’s time to up the irons … and vitamin B12 by the looks of it!
Rock, Love & Paracetamol