Saturday, October 21, 2006

Rainy Saturday window. It's the thought that counts.

"Fucking hell, it's absolutely bucketing down."

"Oh look, there's a poor old man taking shelter under the tree across the road. Should we invite him in?"

"He's sheltered isn't he? Nah, he'll be fine."

"It's awful heavy though. Torrential. He'll be saturated. Maybe I should ask him if he wants a cup of tea."

"Where is he? Let's see him...ah for fuck's sake, he's not that old."

"Yeah, I suppose. Fuck him."


Don't forget to ask.


Marika blathered this crap:

Your wife is a certifiable saint!! In our house, that conversation would go:

My boyfriend: Oh look, it's raining. Shall we watch V for Vendetta tonight?
Me: Suppose so.

Tom Gaylord blathered this crap:

I'd take picures of him and make fun of him on my blog. But then again, I am a cunt

Fat Sparrow blathered this crap:

Better safe than sorry, Kav. It could have been Old Knudsen.

Kav blathered this crap:

marika: How do you know it isn't me who's the saint...?

tom: I thought of that, but had no camera at hand. I need to get a cameraphone.

fat sparrow: Christ, perish the thought. If I'd invited him in Linzi would probably be pregnant with triplets right now.