Quick Wordstack

This is going to be a short one, but I need to do something to push that image of me looking naked and crazed a little further down the page.

How is everyone? Good, good.

I've been unable to relax for sometime, due to external pressures and internal neuroses, and yet it's Monday morning. (Do the days of the week start with capital letters? Frankly, there's no time to look it up).

(I don't care about bracket and punctuation positioning. I have to write how I feel it should go.):^!

You know what's a good video? This one:



It's half past one in the morning, but my body clock is all out of whack. I think it may have been over-wound.

That's wound as in winding.

Not wound as in wounded.

My body clock is not wounded. It's wound. Over-wound.

But enough of this weird stuff. I've been doing too many odd posts lately, so let's bring it back to the land of normal speech.

Miners, eh? They certainly did be in a hole for a time.

Last night I dreamt that Gok Wan was a big fan of ECW.

That's Extreme Championship Wrestling, the violent and rebellious Philadelphia-based independent wrestling company of the mid-90s.

I don't know if Gok Wan is a fan of them. He might be. But I would imagine not.

In my dream, he said that seeing ECW, a small family-run business, succeed was what inspired him to create his own business.

Which is weird for two reasons:
1) Gok Wan doesn't have a business
2) ECW was legendarily badly-run. As I wittily said to someone in my dream: "Watching ECW and being inspired to run a business is like watching the JFK assassination and being inspired to be President"

My quip doesn't make a lot of sense, but keep in mind I was in my own dream when I said it, and the whole exchange is surprisingly cogent for an unconscious man.

When I was not asleep (or "awake"), I came up with a similarly not-quite-right bit of dialogue.

It's between me and an American. The American is probably my boss.

American: Oh I get it! Trying to play hardball, huh?

Me: No. God, no. I'm not trying to play hardball. I would never try to play hardball. I don't even know what hardball is. I'm British. We don't have hardball over here.

We play rounders.

All I need now is to surround that exchange with some plot and characters and I might as well start building my own Oscar-nook (which isn't a euphemism).

My anti-virus software keeps popping up to tell me of some kind of threat. I don't want my computer to be infected. It's already so slow and loud that an infection might finish it off for good.

You know what's a good Hula Hoops advert? This one:



The past was weird.

The future will be weird.

The only thing sane is this sentence, and even that will be weird by the time I've finished itttTTTTT.

Linear time gives me a headache and makes my body clock unfurl like a Cheestring towed by a motorboat.