If you wanna make the world
a better place
Take a look at yourself
and then make a change
I’m pretty good at grooming myself without using a mirror.
I’m like one of those high-flying acrobats that execute daredevil tricks without a safety net.
“And for his next trick, The Amazing D-Man will shave his head … blindfolded!”
Crowd goes silent.
“Wow, look at that folks, it’s so smooth and shiny. And now, for his next daring feat, The Amazing D-Man shall shave his face, in the shower, without the aid of a mirror”.
What can I say, I’m talented. These are the sorts of things I should put on my C.V.
Or maybe not. Let’s just say there are days when you really should go for the safety net option. Or, at least, check yourself out in the mirror before leaving the house.
Like this morning.
I got to work, happened to catch a glimpse of myself in work's changeroom mirror and WTF?!!!
Somehow I’ve some how managed to miss a whole 6cmx2cm patch of hair on my face. You cannot begin to believe how ridiculous I look right now.
Or, maybe, you can …
The Naughty Milkmaid has left the farm
MilkyNZ has left NZ to embark on her O.E.
New Zealand is already a lot quieter without her. Boy can she talk. She is, so far, the only Blogperson that I have met in person.
She is headed to Enguhland, and, I guess, will be catching up with various members of the UK blogging world (Bloo, Briggsy, Hx, MilkyUK, Stan, Shannon, etc) while there. Remember guys – she’s part Maori, part Irish, so that old joke about half of her always wanting to drink and the other half not wanting to pay for it … we’ll let’s just say it’s true.
I’m jealous to be honest. I spent a couple of years in Enguhland and absolutely loved it. I’m hoping Milky gets a megapound-paying job and she can shout me, D-Missus & D-Cutebabygirl a trip over.
The funny thing about Enguhland? They’re meant to speak English, right? I mean, they DID invent the damn language. Well, I’ve travelled The World ordering Big Macs, but the only time I ever had trouble was in a McDonalds on Oxford St in London. Couldn’t understand what the guy behind the counter was asking me. I think he wanted to know if I wanted "fries with that order, youknowwhatImean, Geez? Yeah?"
No, you twat, I did not.
Anyways, Milky, here’s some travel poetry for you:
Lurking in London
This is my life crawling before my eyes
Like a train to Scotland in the wintertime,
Like a journey home drunk on a West-End night bus,
How The Fuck do you people live like this?
Lurking down here where they hid from the bombs
Wait a whole lifetime,
They might let you squeeze on.
Bent like a hunchback, face pressed to the door,
Get your hand off my ass 'fore I put yours on the floor.
And we're packed in worse than tightly tied sticks,
How The Fuck do you people live like this?
The underground beast, it shed its fleas
And put me up where the marbled arch
Greets
The "sunlight" with a sullen sigh,
Where I caught an umbrella in my groin,
Where fighting faces clench frozen fists,
How The Fuck do you people live like this?
The constant stomp and stamp of feet
All the way down Oxford Street
Reverberates down through my spine,
Mingles with the sirens, the traffic fumes
And the whine
Of some odious bum who shouts with his hand,
But I don't feed the squirrels, so why spare you some change,
Guv?
And you can call me a Geeza for Taking The Piss, but
How The Fuck do you people live like this?
There's just a couple of things I can't stand around here,
The midday sunsets,
Really crap beer,
And what's with all this vinegar on your soggy fried chips?
How The Fuck am I expected to live like this?
©DM
