argonautgod

This morning I had two thoughts one after the other.

1: Reading the Driver's Handbook on the thinking pot I thought 'Hmm, how do you cock up a three-point-turn and would you salvage it.'

This was followed by:

2: 'Hey, Ken Bigley's not been in the news for a while.'

I thought nothing of these... thoughts at the time, after all I didn't expand my idea of solar powered streetlighting.

Then as the day progress, two distinct things happened to weird me out and justify this journal entry.

1: You cock-up a three-point-turn by not getting close enough to the kerb to start with, especially on a narrow as a goldfish's puckered starfish road. Then you steer like a bastard in a vain attempt to get wiggle room before declaring you've made an arse of this and mount the kerb to escape drawing the ire of your cool as fuck instructor.

Then:

2: Those brutal motherfuckers, those perverted evil bastards, have the fucking gall to behead Ken Bigley after putting him and his family through utter fucking hell and have no real reason to do so. Fucking repugnant. That sort of behaviour shames humanity.

My thoughts are a weird morass of funkiness, coolness, depravity, confusion and occasionally prophetic. Which is funky and cool. I say so.