Dearest Frankie
Despite my tired, battered condition, I felt it amiss not to blog and applaud your bucket list for Friday evening. I don't often get out, but it only takes one bar of "Sweet Caroline" for me to want to ram an entire roast chicken up my arse.
"I am, I said" makes me want to include the roasting tray.
Same old, same old, same old. We had a meeting where we discussed 'email etiquette'. Basically Big Brother is watching and he has a severe case of passive aggression. In case any of us hadn't worked it out, "sending an email in haste is not good". Apparently we have to |talk to the person face to face. Don't cc in anyone important." Thanks for that. Next week, bring an egg and your nan. Take her teeth out.
I took the minutes and to be honest I had to resist with every fibre in my body not to just draw big willies with cascading cum erupting out of the top. (Like you used to see graffitied into RE books at school). Amongst my phallic masterpieces I would write like a cartoon character with Tourettes. Then just add in some education speak and, volia! A document which sums up perfectly my state of mind during those long 40 minutes ,which I will never get back. Probably educational too.
On the plus side my pisshole eyes are shifting towards my nose thus creating one big eye. Like a minotaur. Or Mike Lebowski. Depends on my mood.
Later Skater.
Love
Dobson x
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