Life does not cease to be funny when people die any more than it ceases to be serious when people laugh.
Scotch on the rocks.
Straight up.
It ain't easy being two-and-a-half.
So there I was, arm hooked up to the machine, watching my plasma swirl away into a bag while the morning news dribbled across the screen like a bad fever dream. And what were they showing? A "riot" in Melbourne, allegedly. The sort of riot where the real thugs wear body armour, carry pepper spray and look like they just walked off the set of RoboCop. The people they were beating? A ragtag crew of teenagers and old hippies—probably fresh out of a drum circle, still smelling of patchouli. But sure, let's call it a riot. Now, here's where it really gets good. I mentioned this spectacle to a few people later, thinking maybe they'd share my outrage or, at the very least, give a damn. But no. What did I get instead? A smirk, a chuckle, and—oh, the pièce de résistance—"You should really just let it go." Let it go? Yeah, let me uncork a nice, overpriced cup of coffee, sit back with my legs crossed, and soak in the latest reality TV trash. Why bother caring when ...
Comments
Yep, scotch-on-rock in a hockey-ship cup wearing the English-cricket team (almost) jersey..now that's a life :-D.
My receipt for the tea - one bowl of sugar and a bit of hot water and a tea bag.
I got to hand to you, the titles that you come up with for your blog posts alone, make it worthwhile in stopping by.
What else do you feed him in that cute mug, by the way?
Henry's mop of hair is getting darker now, or is it just the light?