Brother, you are history

If my house is the Franco-Prussian War (or the War of 1870), then I am the French ambassador and Oliver is the Prussian king and pizza toppings are the Hohenzollern candidate for the Spanish throne and my favorite pint glass is Alsace-Lorraine and I want my fucking glass back !!!! And stop putting pepperoni on everything!!!! And stop stealing, I mean "borrowing", my history books about the Franco-Prussian War, or as the French call it, the War of 18 fucking 70!!!!

I don't know who Napolean III is - the pizza boy? Send your answer today!

Oh yeah, and Mother is Germany (she eggs us on, especially after a full day of drinking White Prussians).

Star light, star bright...

Mum and "Bernard" took me out to a "2 star" restaurant to "cheer me up" last night. The waiter was a smug jerk-off who had this look on his face that said, "I'm just doing this to get through graduate school and you don't even register enough on my radar screen to warrant contempt." He did say, "Very good" whenever any of us asked for anything, including a new water glass that had the remnants of somebody's ultra-red lip gloss. Then when I ordered a cappuccino to go with dessert and awkward conversation, "Shawn" (yes, Shawn with a 'w' and with an 'sh' and with 'a' and 'n') said, "Is this a special occasion?" For those of you unacquainted with fine dining, this is the question smug waiters ask to feel superior because the subtext of this question is crystal clear: "You clearly don't belong here so you must be celebrating your correspondence course certificate." "Yes", I answered. "I have a metal hand now. Hooray!" He made a face and the service was much less chatty thereafter. What a dick head.

Siobhan, Siobhan

I met Siobhan for coffee today. She didn't see me though.

Give me back my pint glass, dickhead!

Oliver wore diapers at night until he was 8.

Oliver's secrets!

My brother, Oliver, has been out of my blog (as some of my astute readers have noticed) because he's been a bit of an ass lately. Well, silence hasn't smoked him out (he "borrowed" my hairbrush this morning) so I've decided that every time he fucks me over, I will reveal one of his secrets that I know he doesn't want anyone to know. Here's the hairbrush secret:

Oliver was born in an elevator.

Shove on!

Olive has a new friend. Her name is Siobhan and she is a "barrista" which I think is some kind of lawyer. I met her drinking coffee at the park. She had a ladybug on her shoulder so I pointed that out to her. She said, "Oh, thanks" and we struck up a conversation. She is lovely. "So, what's a lawyer like you doing drinking coffee in the middle of the day in a park?" "I could ask you the same question." "Yes, but my answer might make you cry." "I had my tear ducts surgically removed last year. F'ing HMO wouldn't reimburse me." "Tell me about it," I said, holding up my bionic hand. "Killer." "Who says 'killer' anymore?" "I do." "I like you." "I like you too."

A new leaf (falls)

Sorry about that lapse of self-control in my last post. If you guys don't think a guy who sounds like he wants to make love to teak wood isn't worth singling out, I won't hold it against you. I've been in a very pissy mood lately, barely leaving my house, watching too much television, and I've gained like 5 pounds over the last two weeks. I think I am going out of my skull in Mumsy's house. Well, only 2 more PT appointments and I will be cleared to fly again and I can return to Whistler. I'll try to keep my emotions better in check. Don't be mad at me and stop "flaming" me (you know who you are).

a leaf falls...loneliness

I feel like the one shoe that you sometimes find abandoned on the side of the carriageway while traversing the countryside in your lorry. that is if you're a gay British truck driver.

P.S. No one thought that guy who gave that fucked up description about teak was worth commenting on? What am I doing here if not opening your fucking eyes to see the shit world you live in? No one is going to comment on that piece of brilliance?