It takes two days for a centipede to die under a mug. I thought it would take longer. I'd intended on rescuing it. And now it's dead. It will never again be able take a peaceful stroll through the park, talk to its friends, or check its facebook. I am ashamed of myself, but more so I'm ashamed of Ginger Beard, for trapping it initially. A life for a life?
Let me know what you think, and I'll slip some chicken in his soup, should kill him off.
In other news, I commuted into work this morning and walked around the office for an hour before realising - my trousers were open. Now I don't mean undone. I don't mean the fly was down. I mean they were open, unbuttoned, zip down, exposing the clear outline of my huge member. MORTIFIED.
Does anyone else have a problem with pronouncing 'Salsa'?
Is the long road always the hardest road?
Where are all my socks disappearing to?
Please submit all answers on a bright pink sheet of A4 to be entered into a prize draw for liposuction.
The Guardian are running a Q&A session later today on writing a will. I reckon it's about time that myself and my fellow peers got round to dividing up our possessions and self-worth amongst the fans/parents. Just in case I don't get round to it due to a speeding bus, a flair up of Malaria, or Ginger Beard, please find my final will and testament below.
All of my writing - Jo Shipman (he will get me published and famous like Anne Frank, with slightly less previous persecution).
My Ipod - Ann Rutter (A.K.A Stan, St Ann, Stanley, Mop, Mini Mop, Mop Head, Moped, Mop-it-up, titch, tiny tot) How to identify her? Stutters when swears, highly emotional on subject of Christmas Trees, cries at The Lakehouse, will be searching for my Ipod three minutes after death announced.
My clothes - Amy Yamazaki (but she will have to get immensely fatter and taller, so start eating and stretching. Don't be ungrateful.)
My Money - Lee Rutter (to spend on fulfilling his dream of becoming a ballerina. Should be enough for a few tutus and lessons. Best of luck champ.)
Ginger Beard - Nada, Nilch, Sod All. He's already stolen my joy and time in life. God does not reward thieves. Okay, I've changed my mind. He can have my No7 moisturiser, my socks, and my flowery travel bag.
This list is provisional. Please feel free to make requests re: specific possessions. All will be considered. Except for you Gingervitous, what you see is what you get.
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