Five things that are making me happy right now:
1) The battle of Dixon's shoulder. The unseemly wrangling surrounding whether or not Mrs Dixon has been knocked back for her operation seven times, and whether or not Dr John Reid should stand in her living room awkwardly holding a teacup for the camera whilst she glares at him and cameras flash; have served to remind me of what good, down and dirty fun a nasty election is. Bring it on.
2) Spurs's Shrekalike manager, Martin Jol's unflappable phlegm in the face of the camera, and his ability to talk entirely in wacky Dutchisms without actually saying anything "Of corsh in fudball thish ish important, no?" What is, Martin?
3) Since giving up weed I have a life back, why did no one tell me of this "outside"?
4) Richard Branson's face. I mean it's fucking marvellous. Look at that thing! Like a weird grinning bearded baby bouncing around some airstrip somewhere in deepest bible belt for no readily apparent reason, or be it stood atop an aircrafts wing with a bunch of girls in bikinis, again for no discernible reason the grin remains intact. And for that I salute you, you scary man.
5) (This entry erased for reasons of common decency)
1) The battle of Dixon's shoulder. The unseemly wrangling surrounding whether or not Mrs Dixon has been knocked back for her operation seven times, and whether or not Dr John Reid should stand in her living room awkwardly holding a teacup for the camera whilst she glares at him and cameras flash; have served to remind me of what good, down and dirty fun a nasty election is. Bring it on.
2) Spurs's Shrekalike manager, Martin Jol's unflappable phlegm in the face of the camera, and his ability to talk entirely in wacky Dutchisms without actually saying anything "Of corsh in fudball thish ish important, no?" What is, Martin?
3) Since giving up weed I have a life back, why did no one tell me of this "outside"?
4) Richard Branson's face. I mean it's fucking marvellous. Look at that thing! Like a weird grinning bearded baby bouncing around some airstrip somewhere in deepest bible belt for no readily apparent reason, or be it stood atop an aircrafts wing with a bunch of girls in bikinis, again for no discernible reason the grin remains intact. And for that I salute you, you scary man.
5) (This entry erased for reasons of common decency)
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