Wednesday, February 22, 2006


I lost my ring last night. I was a little tipsy after watching "the big game" in the pub, so decided a bacon sandwich would be the best thing for my very slightly hungry stomach. My mum and step dad were up so after taking a bacon poll, I cooked some for them too. After I had made my mini feast I looked down at my hand and realised that my thumb was missing it's most important component - the ring! So I freaked out and looked through my pockets, through my jacket, through the fridge, through the bushes outside. And nothing. I decided that maybe I should wait til the cold light of day to look again. Depressed but full I went to bed.

The next day, well today I suppose, I rumbled out of bed and went straight to work. I searched and searched inside and out. No joy. And it was fucking cold outside in just my dressing gown and novelty shaped slippers. But damn it no ring. I’ve lost that little circular bastard too many times to just put it down to c'est la vie as it keeps coming back and then disappearing again to piss me off. It's like the one true ring in that gay midget film, except that it's got nowhere better to be, and nothing better to do than mess with me. Unless of course it considers me the giant eye, always looking for it, but in that case where are my armies, and why do I have eye-lids?

But anyway, today to cheer myself up I made another bacon sandwich. And guess what? When I unwrapped the cheese it was sitting there all cold and shit. That little bastard. I’m gonna throw it into a volcano one of these days.


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