This tab (computer box flap) has been sitting on my browser (internet-looking-at tool), taunting me for hours. I've been too stubborn to close it, even though I have nothing to say. I was waiting for a brainwave, but there wasn't one.
But my stubbornness can't be so easily overcome. I can make my own brainwaves. I am a turbine. Turbines make waves, as far as I understand. Turbines and the moon. That's how tides work.
I am a turbine.
I am also wearing a turbane (that's an urbane turban), and holding a turbone (supercharged femur). Also: OTHER VOWELS THERE.
You can't just sit around waiting for a handout. You have to grasp opportunity with both hands, and don't let go, even if the opportunity you're grabbing is asleep in a stranger's pram.
Inaction is a disease. Walk it off.
If you're in a hole, build yourself a mud ladder. If you have no skin, learn to knit. If you've been shot, paint the bullet and sell it at a local market. Encourage further shootings to increase stock. Diversify with painted knifes and hypodermic needles.
Expand. Attend the market more frequently. Hire more staff to deal with the increase in demand. Market yourself. Staunch the bleeding. Take out a small business loan by using your father's car collection as collateral.
Create a franchise. Drive other bullet-sellers out of the market with shady business practises. Decrease your staff's salary and buy a yacht. Ensure that conditions are in place so that no other victims of shootings will ever achieve even the tiniest sliver of success.
Go home to your wife and your heterosexual children. Tell her about your day. Buy her a griddle pan. Accept her thanks. Put your portrait of Thatcher in a gilded frame because YOU CAN AFFORD IT NOW.
You're British.
Never forget what that means.
We don't need any help, so why should anyone else? It wouldn't be fair.
Fair is fair. Starting from....
now.
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