Rambo 3 has the greatest game of chicken in the whole history of cinema. A Hind helicopter versus a tank. Awesome. The best bit being that neither of them yield an the helicopter explodes. Because John Rambo is driving the tank that doesn't explode. The lesson being DO NOT FUCK WITH JOHN RAMBO! Especially if he's in a tank.
While watching "Thank You For Smoking" earlier an interesting thought floated into my brain. Katie Holmes and I have something in common. Neither of us care much for our jobs. She clearly has no love of acting and I hate working in a supermarket. If it wasn't for that damn Tom Cruise I reckon me and her would soon be making babies.
Tomorrow I have to go do stock take at work. So far my cries of "Why don't me just take an intelligent guess so we can all go home early" have gone unanswered. It has had its moments of amusement though. On my department we have loads of boxes of random shit. Its all the crap we can't be bothered to put on the shelves or thats been deleted or broken. Whatever the reason there's fuck loads of it. In order that this junk never be discovered I hoisted it to the back of the warehouse to be forgotten and hopefully rot away.
Unfortunatly all this stuff has to be counted, but not by me. Instead our new Assistant Deputy Manager (or the manager that gets all the crappy jobs) Laura has had to go through it all. I wouldn't be suprised if shes currently assembling a voodoo doll of me. What will be really amusing is next year when there's even more of it.
At some point I hope someone there is gonna realise that if you only pay me fuck all I'm not gonna care if the Home and Leisure department sinks into the 7th level of hell. In fact i'll book front row seats for that happy event.
My "date" from last Saturday was complaining to me that nullTheNewScumUK was insulting her. Not sure what to do about that one. If the events of last Saturday had gone another way perhaps I'd something about it. As it stands I had a quiet word with him to stop so she stops talking to me. I'm not bitter, honest. Its just without proper motivation I dont really care that much.
I was struck by the urge to write earlier. I managed three paragraphs of a story thats being gestating since I was about 17. For years I've agonising on how to start it. i think I've cracked that problem. Now I just have to write the fucker. But there's just to much story. I have to get this damn thing out of my head though, even if its shit. Then i won't have to go to sleep ever night chastising myself for not getting on with it. Get it published so I can sell the movie rights and live off that gravy train 'til I die. And perhaps meet Katie Holmes and beat her for been shit in otherwise great movies.
Anyways, bye for now
While watching "Thank You For Smoking" earlier an interesting thought floated into my brain. Katie Holmes and I have something in common. Neither of us care much for our jobs. She clearly has no love of acting and I hate working in a supermarket. If it wasn't for that damn Tom Cruise I reckon me and her would soon be making babies.
Tomorrow I have to go do stock take at work. So far my cries of "Why don't me just take an intelligent guess so we can all go home early" have gone unanswered. It has had its moments of amusement though. On my department we have loads of boxes of random shit. Its all the crap we can't be bothered to put on the shelves or thats been deleted or broken. Whatever the reason there's fuck loads of it. In order that this junk never be discovered I hoisted it to the back of the warehouse to be forgotten and hopefully rot away.
Unfortunatly all this stuff has to be counted, but not by me. Instead our new Assistant Deputy Manager (or the manager that gets all the crappy jobs) Laura has had to go through it all. I wouldn't be suprised if shes currently assembling a voodoo doll of me. What will be really amusing is next year when there's even more of it.
At some point I hope someone there is gonna realise that if you only pay me fuck all I'm not gonna care if the Home and Leisure department sinks into the 7th level of hell. In fact i'll book front row seats for that happy event.
My "date" from last Saturday was complaining to me that nullTheNewScumUK was insulting her. Not sure what to do about that one. If the events of last Saturday had gone another way perhaps I'd something about it. As it stands I had a quiet word with him to stop so she stops talking to me. I'm not bitter, honest. Its just without proper motivation I dont really care that much.
I was struck by the urge to write earlier. I managed three paragraphs of a story thats being gestating since I was about 17. For years I've agonising on how to start it. i think I've cracked that problem. Now I just have to write the fucker. But there's just to much story. I have to get this damn thing out of my head though, even if its shit. Then i won't have to go to sleep ever night chastising myself for not getting on with it. Get it published so I can sell the movie rights and live off that gravy train 'til I die. And perhaps meet Katie Holmes and beat her for been shit in otherwise great movies.
Anyways, bye for now
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True. I wouldn't impose Chewbacca on any child though.