Play! Play until you can frolic no more!

See this? This is like me playing with a new toy until it's either broken, or im bored with it. And seeing as i don't think i'm going to be breaking the internet anytime soon...

I'll get bored. I always do.

It's kind of like i've got verbal diarhhea, via my fingers or something. I could talk about anything! Gnomes, (Garden gnomes are evil, by the way. I can see their little beady eyes glancing at me, plotting my downfall) Triffids (My parents have one in their bathroom, or at least, they did last time i was in their house a couple of years ago. It used to scare the shit out of me in the middle of the night. You try taking a piss next to something you think is going to jump up and tear out your throat and feast on your corpse. Seriously. Try it. It's not good for urinary flow, i can tell you.) or even something as out here as a profanibear. Or rather, The Profanibear. Mr Fuzzums, a one of a kind, bear who swears. Perhaps even.. The Bear of Swear. You see, i used to write a great deal of gut wrenchingly funny creative (read creative as twisted and quite often sick and sexually deviant) fiction. One of my creations was a bear named Mr Fuzzums, who swore a lot. He also could tell you how to pull a transvestite on a thursday night in a fairground, but not much else. He wasn't any good at getting out of hancuffs, being tied up, or making weapons out of some corn, some pit and a few grains of rice. In other words, he was no patch on Jim Kirk. (Who could do aaaallll of that.)

Mr Fuzzums rocked. Or as the youngsters say these days, (I'm a youngster! I'm only twenty seven!) Rawked.

I could rock. All day long. Sweet Suzie. If i chose to.

(Bear in mind, the above comment is an obscure Kung Pow reference.)