garfish

I live in a one horse town... and I'm not talking about race horses or war horses or part-time porn-star horses here, I'm talking about the warm milk and pennyroyal tea variety. Of course I'm not really talking about horses at all, it's just a metaphor. I suppose, what I am trying to get at, is that my town is very, very boring. It is so boring in fact that the art of conversation has been eroded and with its gradual decay the volume knob on the jukeboxes has slowly risen to try to mask the fact that nobody talks any more. Unfortunately what these well meaning knob twitchers didn't realise is that once you fill the conversational void with something else (ie. crappy music no one wants to listen to anyway) the conversation has no room to return, it is banished forever. The result is a pub filled with glum looking people who nod in time to the social vacuum and occasionally lift their heads to communicate in a rudimentary code which condenses hello/how are you/who are you/do I know you? into one sullen eyebrow movement. The only response you can give at this point is to mouth okay and walk on before your shoes grow roots in the rich loam of dead speech bubbles. What I'm getting at, dear reader, in a very round about and slightly Lovecraftian way is that my town is boring, very boring and I want the money I invested in a pint back.*

*Okay so I'm drunk... on power**
**by power I mean alcohol, I have no power.***
***[edit] There was no reason for these asterisks but I'd already written them. [/edit]

Oh yeah and my Mac Book shipped today woop!