Tag Archives: Dancing

Monkey Free Crap Fun!

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Dancers. Islands. Yachts. Parts. Practice. Bathrooms. Some things are better private. Ehh… Numbers. Some things are not. One new addition to the better pile… Jets. Finally I can now confidently say: Private jets are the dancers of the air. Finally, says you. I know, says I. Giddy up! Assumption off. Jet on. Absolutely funking mighty. Planned on doing a blogaruu from up in the air. Unfortunately. Tad busy. Boozing. Dancing. On a plush private jet. On my way to Vegas. All on a Monday morning?!! Nay too shabby. Bloody Mary all the way! Literally. Go on the ape. Did manage to get a bit of mental bookaruu scribbling in, at least. Le sequel could start a bit like this… I’m on a jet. Private kind. En route to Vegas. Disneyland. Doused in acid. The land of whures. Heat. More whures. Monkeys. Mind wobbles. Crap fun. And depression. Wuu! Can’t wait. Vegas on… Continue Reading »

Drowning Clowns And Gay Bears

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Three things you may or may not know: Clowns run comedy stores. Gay bears are actually a good laugh. And. Not all jokes are funny. Last one might be a bit too obvious. What else have I discovered in the last 24 hours that you might not know… A bottle of Absolut vodka costs $15 in the shop down the road. Whereas one shot of vodka costs $11 in a bar down the road from me. Amazing. Mango vodka may also be the way of the future, by the by. Pretty tasty. Any other gibber. Yes… Before I go to sleep, I try to just lie there and smile for a while. Like a freak. Not sure why. Read somewhere before that it’s good for you. Somehow. Not sure why I told you that either. But you can quote me word for word on that fact and reason if you like. Finally. Hitting yourself in the head with a weight at the gym is not fun. It hurts. As in you will make cat raping noises. Again. Amazing. I know. Alright. Enough from my gibber dish. Serious time. Back to drowning clowns… Continue Reading »

Singing The Booze

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Last week. A boot. Changed my life. Hopefully you just sung that to the tune of DJ and last night. As I have been doing all day. Its true though. Last week a boot changed my life. Boot as in boat. Changed as in changed. Life as in outlook. Holiday time. Giddy up. 10 days. Short but long. Not even 2 weeks. Almost 2 weeks. Mighty stuff. Couldn’t wait. Pumped! Although. What do you do for 10 days on a big old boot? Is what I was asked. Which is what I was mulling. As I packed my bag. 10 days. In the middle of nowhere. No phone. Sans internet. 10 days. Jesus. Barely go 10 minutes without checking one of those. 1 day was an unreal laugh before. 9 more? Too many more? Might it be spreading the butter a tad thin. Might be stranded. In the middle of the Caribbean ocean. Not actually sure who’s going either. Ah no. It’ll be dancing. 10 days. Wonder what we’ll do. Quickly found out. 10 days on a yacht. What do you do? You, ehh, have… Continue Reading »

Umm. Yeah. Yum.

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Use it. Or lose it. For the past week, I have definitely lost it. Gym. Shave. Blog. Not much of any going on. Lazy. Ran out of shaving gel. And more laziness. Blog has been a dry empty barren desert. Which is surprising. Seeing as a fair old whack has been chugging along. Such as sparks flying out of my phone. On fire. Mighty. Out with the old. In with the Blue. Berry. Re-learning phone basics. Typing in slow motion. On a new style Qwerty keyboard. Texting and walking. Near impossible. Two handed texting. Like a senile dog begrudgingly learning a new trick. Given up on texts. Too much effort. Confused. Lost. Head buried in the phone. Walking aimlessly along. Surprised I didn’t walk into a pole. More surprised when I did walk into that bush. Yelping. Realising. Looking. Coast clear. All good. Yelp on. Bush off. Few scrapes. All good. Not that that was the worst of my new texting while walking problem. Continue Reading »

Dancing With Leperchauns

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Maybe I’m just a wee bit of a funking idiot. Maybe it’s just because I had an average day and night. Maybe I just didn’t celebrate it the right way. Maybe it’s because I didn’t get to go to a parade. Or. Maybe. Perhaps. Paddy’s Day. Is. Quite over-rated. Ridiculously so? Maybe if I was American. And needed to feel more Irish. As it is the cool thing to be. To be true. Perhaps. Or. If I worked a 9-5 job and got the day off work, just to celebrate. Then. Perhaps. Paddy’s Day might live up to the hype. However. I am not. I do not. Instead. Tried too hard. Thought too much. Hype machine. Overload. Hyperventilating. Brown bag. Hi Pip. Meet ape. Continue Reading »