November 9th, 2003


She Was Blonde

Her tongue was smashing against mine. My hands were on her ass; kneading the flesh. The cold was ripping at us. She stopped and asked: what was that?! I poked my tongue out, exposing the piercing. She laughed and we carried on.

Her taxi arrived.
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[ now you people can't read ]

I got some more email concerning the Royal Mail post. I think it's so classy that i've decided share it with the masses:

Name: andy
Mail: doesn't matter
Website: no

'if you packaged the photos in the correct 'do not bend non bendable envolopes' you wouldn't have a problem.'

Hmmm, did you chose not to read the part that said: 'do not bend'. Or the part where I told the woman that they were photographs. Great advice though. Thanks. I'd never have thought about doing that.

'I can't blame the poor postmen for bieng pissed off with everything'

Why. Are they angsty teens.

'they're just bieng used like donkeys by the post office'

Oh, right. They're donkeys. I guess that gives them the right to be a bit miffed.

'and it's people like you who dont understand the whole picture'

People like me. Me: the paying customer. I'm supposed to dish out a ridiculous postal fee and then when my goods get fucked in the mail i'm not allowed to be pissed off. Is that the big picture? I'm expected to enjoy being stiffed by a shitty service. Enjoy it and pay over the odds for it. That's a peachy keen picture!

'how would you like to work 6 days a week in all kinds of weather humping big sacks around for a pitance!'

I wouldn't. That's why I don't do that job. It's a simple enough equation: if you don't like being a donkey then you don't work as a donkey.

'Think before you speak.'

Oh, fuck off.

Honestly, you mouth breathers make me so mad.
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