…I always wanted to have a shot at some of that inner dialogue speaking to me.
You know the shit that I’m talking about; the ‘Sex In The City’ voice, ‘True Romance’ and me hearing Alabama, or even I suppose, John-Boy from The ‘Waltons’. Any of them would have done and I wanted it to be from me for me.
It nearly happened. Once.
So, it’s me!! Well partly me and partly the chaps!! This post is a bit tongue in cheek, but it was sparked by a serious issue so, bear with!
Every four years the world holds its collective breath as teams from across the globe battle it out to be crowned the champions of the world.
Skill. Power. Precision.
It’s got the lot.
Sadly the Rugby World Cup is another 15 months away and so for the next month we’ve got to put up with a bunch of overpaid whiners kicking a round ball across Russia.
I met Libby through an online dating site after I graduated college. Our “In Tune” rating was exceptionally high. I tended to get nervous and tongue-tied around women, but it was different with Libby. We had so much in common we finished each other’s sentences half the time. I was so taken with Libby, I found myself growing more and more concerned about her spending time with anyone else.
Hello there folks! Here we are at week 169.
I also see that we are close to 183 000 hits. C’moan guys, it will be brilliant to get to 200 000 as quick as possible. We could get there quicker if any of us had a kitten doing cute things or a fucking idiot singing ‘My Boy Lollipop’ at a graveside’ (Check it out on Facetube – It really does make me proud to be Scottish!
…Sarcasm is so under used these days!!!)
I think anyone who has read any of these posts will be aware that I don’t have much regard for romantic stories.
Pale Rider needed a good sweat. His body craved the release of toxins and his mind felt clogged with civilization. He needed to sit with People of the Earth and chant, allowing the free flow of culture and wisdom to pass between and fill the holes in his life. It didn’t matter if his sweat brothers were Apache or Shoshone or Lakota as long as the tent held steam enough to clear his mind.
Gary still had some paper to use up. He didn’t want anything to go to waste. He had ordered personalized stationery for years and relished any opportunity to use it. This particular batch featured a thick black line across the top of the page with his name standing out in the most powerful font he believed to have ever existed. He had decided to hand write it, Gary was quite proud of his penmanship and had received countless compliments about it over the years, along with decorations from his school days. It went as follows…