
1. I love football...i really do...put me in front of a game with a pizza and six pack and I'm as happy as I'm likely to be, but of late its all leaving a rather sour taste. Sometime in the next week,
twud appear that
Dimitar Sweet-cheeks
Berbatov, shall be hitting the proverbial road Jack and not be coming back no more, no more, no more, no more.
Dimitar was like that girlfriend you become infatuated to the point of obsession with but know that they could do a whole lot better and so have to pretend the strops are justified and sit idly by as they makes doe eyes at more attractive suitors. Then they leave and there is a certain air of inevitability about the whole thing and yet you still feel like you've simultaneously had three of the most important five organs ripped from your body.
The only thing that can get you through this is that you still have that other girl to fall back on, sure they're slightly less attractive, not quite as smart or interesting but they still satisfy all needs in an unspectacular fashion and there isn't that impending doom that they're about to take off at any moment. But then just as you think
itl be okay they leave too and you're left scrambling to find any sort of replacement(for this part of the analogy see Robbie Keane's reported move to the hub-cap thieves). When you're consolation prize bolts as well there is very little left to do bar become an emotionally crippled shell of a man who never warms to another girlfriend and mumbles about how the wind whispers
Dimitar.
This was
raaather long and rambling and the last time i tried to explain how strikers were like woman everyone got very confused so forgive me. The fact that
moany Scottish
coont is going through exactly that same thing as he loses
ronaldo does not make me feel any better. Hell hath no fury like a football fan scorned.
2. I've started to review everything in my head, i started to do this with albums and gigs awhile back but now i find myself doing it with things like social gatherings, peoples outfits, dinners, so on and so forth. Cant be healthy, the life of a perpetual critic is a strange albeit witty one. The real problem is gonna be when i start to vocalise it...i so frequently find myself disappointed with everyday life, people are gonna be
pissy when i say things like that conversation was sub-par and lacked anything to hold my attention.
3. Harrison Ford is an arrogant jerk-off. Or at least i assume he is, he always plays an arrogant jerk off with the poise of a man who has been doing it all his life. Jane
Everygirl that is always the object of his affection is frequently repulsed by him seemingly to the point of actually vomiting. When this feeling reaches its apex she kisses him. This is odd...when i repulse girls they tend to stay repulsed...am i too much of an arrogant jerk-off or not enough? That my friends is the question.
4. Although Saturday produced the phrase drunken wanderer literature inspired by me talking at length about Fiesta, the fact that it was to a largely uninterested audience meant i got nowhere with my musing, if the book is the 1920s version of ones life(not entirely...
I'm not impotent...i
don't think) then is it not just downright irresponsible of
Hemingway to leave it there? I've reached the conclusions(
admittedly very belatedly) reached by Jake at the end of the novel but unlike him i
don't have the good fortune of being a literary concept. How am i meant to go anywhere from here? I needed an epilogue Ernest.
Jay,
i can taste your lipstick on the filter of my cigarette,
{o,o}
)__)-
"-"-