Thirty minutes in. I think I might be drunk. A tad tipsy. High as a kite. On my way to skunks who are drunks town. In the non-literal sense. Obviously. Literally, I’m 45,000 feet in the air on the way to Miami. High flying. Fly in the sky. It’s early. Half seven or something. One hour earlier I was in bed. Two hours before that I was watching the end of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Mighty movie. Sidetracked me from packing though. And also meant I stupidly only had two hours sleep. So it’s early. I’m drunk. And I’m on a private jet. Oh yeaaah.
For reasons unknown, all names shall be culled from this blogaruu. Except for mine. I’m going full on narcissistic. Tropical Hayes all the way!
So it’s the day after Halloween. Actually, the night. Limo pulls up outside my abode. It’s time. Put on my private jet pants. Grab my bag. Scuttle out. Hop in. High fives. Hello’s it going. And we’re on our way. Bob Hope airport. Here we dumb. Get lost en route. Find it again. Arrive. Punch in a code. Drive through a gate. Get out of the car. Look at our jet. Say hi to the pilot. And just walk on. The mightiest way to travel. No lines. No queues. No security. In. On. Out. Mighty!
Must say, this jet was the best I’ve been on. Leather here. Plush there. King size bed in the back. Pardon? What do you mean? A bed? In the back? Yes. A big old bed in the back. Mile-high-ty! We sit down. Hostess brings us a round of champagne. When in a Rome… Cheers! Wheels start rolling. You’re getting comfortable. And then suddenly you’re up, up and wahey! Way faster than a regular jet. Almost goes up like an elevator. Shwooop. Air born again. New beginning. On our way to an island in the Caribbean. Pants off. Caribb on! Continue Reading »
So I land. Collect my bag. Walk out the airport doors. Cross the zebra crossing. And hear a guy stuck in traffic shouting at me out of his mini van window. “Welcome to New York, you’re going to rock it in this city, am I right?!” Before I get a chance to reply Why yes sir, I certainly hope so! he adds on… “And I hope you get raped!!” OK? Thanks? Oh Jesus. I’m in New York. Continue Reading »
(This shall be the first part of a however-many-parts-it-takes-parter series about my recent mighty adventure to Heaven and Hell. Split it up. One blogaruu all on its own could be a tad long perhaps indeed. Read. On!)
This Sweet Love (Prins Thomas Sneaky Edit) – James Yuill
Like all mighty trips to heaven, I didn’t sleep much the night before. Packing. Shaving. Showering. Procrastinating. You know, the usual. Gibber. Maybe an hour and half worth of kippage. Woke up. Freaked. Oh dear God: Did I sleep in? Miss it all? Again? Phew. Nay. And then you hear the horn. Honk honk. Car service. At your service. Outside the door. Here. Ready. Let’s do it. Let’s go. Adventure. On!
Sweet Lord. Just found out someone’s leaked part of my new book, RanDumber. No clue who? Or how they got the file? Hmm. Must’ve broken in. Swooped the chapter. And now it’s all over the web. Shared on Pirate Bay. Mediafire. BitTorrent. Twitter. Facebook. Myspace. Even Bebo! How did it end up on Bebo?! Ah well. Not much I can do about it now. Authorities have been notified. We’ll catch the feck who leaked it, don’t you worry at all. Until then, I suppose if it’s out there and people are sharing it, feel free to share it too so then we can all: Read on!!!
Sweet. Lord. Betsy. She is a real thing. And feels mighty! Big fan of the rear…
Only a pre-order, so not available yet to the public masses. Soon though. She shall be set free. And then. Demented. Headless. Chicken. Run. Dumb. Er. On!
Until then, I am off on a little adventure. Going to the Island of the Unknown down by the sea of sun, sand and rum punches. On a mighty device called a jet. Which are particularly mightier when private. If you know what I mean. Wuu. Clothes off. Carribe. On. Duu!
Here’s a mix to keep you company while I am gone. Made it in the back of my car today while stuck in traffic. Kind of odd. But. Dance. On. And on. And. On!
End of the year. Wuu. Great time. People copying and pasting inspirational quotes all over the place. So that’s deep and profound. Also a wonderful time of year for people feeling an immense desire to give you their Best of Year Lists. Top 100 Moments of 2011! Top 84 Songs of the Year! Top 34 of Nothing! Thankfully, I shall not be doing this. Nay, nay. I’ll just be doing the tip, I swear…
My list shall consist of mighty things that happened in 2011 that I can think of off the top of my head right now. In absolutely zero order. Pure. Gibber. Mayhem.
Car services picks me up. 9 bells. Slightly late. Balls. Farewell to Bob. Out the door. Back to London. Single parenthood over. 9.15. Good to go. Off to Van Nuys. Private airport. Same one in Entourage, I’m told en route. The Man. The Jack. Chowder. Charlotta. And a late ape. Weekend break in Miami. The Man’s generosity knows no boundaries! Giddy up! Flight leaving at 10 bells. Are we going to miss our time slot because of the late ape? Nay. No check-in. No security. Nothing. Drive up to a gate. Press the buzzer. Stay in the car. Drive through. Drops you off at the jet. Hassle free. Private on. Nice jet? Unreal. Like a G6? I think so. Oh Jesus. Jump out. Driver takes care of your luggage. You can just admire the view. No ID check. No shoes off. Belt off. Pants down. Nada. Just stroll on. Sit down. Stewardess says hi. Champagne? Bloody Mary? Cup of tea? Ehhh. All three? Oh Betsy!! Drug barons must be zipping to and fro? Miami on!!!