RuKsaK

I made a choice last in 2000/2001. It worked out pretty well – I only lay claim to the good ones. I think that was the last one – before that it’d been ’97 and I'm still in some doubt.
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The problem with choices is that before you know, you’re not making the evil gits – they’re making you.
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I was sure that in ’97 I decided to become a teacher. It could’ve been fear of painting houses, or it could’ve been indolence, but I seem to recall I made that one.
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Next friggin’ thing I know I’m freezing my arse off in Russia in a flat with no fridge and a quiet, grinning flatmate who had a hairy girlfriend. The girlfriend asked me some muddled questions on my attitude towards Russian chicken and it's around then the choice creation gets hazy. The odd bit is that I have some recollection that I’d chosen to do that – can’t be so?
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After all the cold in Russia, I noticed my bloody nipples were on fire in Saudi Arabia – and I was wearing only shorts. Then, I was Bill Murray in a 1993 film for 2 years. I didn’t learn the piano, as I was extinguishing my tits for the most part. It wasn’t long before I was sure men in white dresses with long beards were out to get me and I was entering cars horizontally. So, the Saudi Fundies saw me off to Korea, where I haven’t a clue why I’m dining on droopy, wet and spicy cabbage all the time.
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It’s now – I’ve got singed-black nipples, chipped lips, burgundy cheeks, which are slipping under the weight of a million Asian cabbages. Too many photos, a proclivity for indifference and swearing. No time to sleep and now a fucking blog! And, I pretend that I’m making decisions, when those are the malevolent bastards making me…
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Christ – will someone make a decision for me next time please?
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Read the Diceman.

Thursday, November 04, 2004

You fucking choose!