"What you gonna tell your dad, it's like a wheel of fortune
And what you gonna tell your dad, if this wheel lets you down..."
Now that's one hell of a song to have stuck in your head.
So I decide to get up and head for the gymnasium for the morning session.
We're in the middle of the morning session. Talent vaccum. No change there.
Here you go...
It's panda-fucking-monium on La Ligne De La Centrale this Wednesday morning. Absolute!
Everyone is amused by the predictive text feature on Google.
Have you seen it? As you start typing something, like a question, so it anticipates what you may be looking for.
Now you can assuage all your xenophobic assumptions thanks to the world's largest search engine...
I don't know how we got onto this but someone at work is talking about "god, when I was young..."
We have tales of binge drinking, sleeping on park benches and ending up in a stranger's bed in Milan.
I always joke and say I was never that wild when I was younger. This is mainly because if I were to start people would take a step back and never speak to me again.
I remember when I was younger.
It was a bad time although I remember it with some sort of fondness which means I can laugh at it now...
So I was doing a job in Cape Town where people knew who I was and knew my name. It was pretty common to get invitations to parties and such.
One came from this rich lawyer (I seem to think...) who was having a dinner party. He was a fan of what I was doing at the time - presenting on the radio.
I don't even know what went before and I don't know how I managed to find his house but I pitched up at this swanky dinner party absolutely pissed. So pissed I was slurring.
I remember stumbling in and I remember sitting at the table and not being able to speak because I was so drunk.
And the worst was I remember waking up at the dinner table during the dessert.
I had passed out some time during the main course, asleep and slumped in my chair.
Imagine arranging a dinner party and taking the time and effort to cook beautiful food and inviting a special guest to come, only for them to arrive late and then behave like a tramp who falls asleep during the meal.
Obviously the next morning I was too embarrassed to apologise and now I don't have a clue who they were.
It took me a while to come to terms with how disgustingly I was behaved. Now I'm cool and I hope that whoever it was has forgotten about it.
Either that or they just think of me as some astonishingly rude-loser-drunk which, at the time, was pretty accurate, I'm ashamed to say.
This is great therapy. Tomorrow I think I can tell you a story I haven't really told anyone.
It's the story of how I ended up in a bubble bath at a very rich married man's sprawling mansion in Constantia - one of Cape Town's poshest suburbs.
Thinking that digging up the past isn't that and so what, I did it. There are people who know what I did because 99% of the time I wasn't done alone so who cares?!
So perhaps we should do a story a day.
Today we had the pissed dinner party. Tomorrow we can either have:
1/ The married man and the bubble bath
2/ The murdered rent boy (this is an upsetting story that I don't tell that often out of respect for the memory of the guy who was killed but I figure I can share it with you)
3/ The wank that brought an entire club to a standstill
I'm sure there are more, I need some quiet time to allow them to gurgle to the surface of my mind.
At gym and doing arms. This is because your guns can never be fully locked and loaded. You're always looking for bigger armunition (geddit!?)
And in Gay-land there are only two tricks - big tits and big arms.
Homos don't care if you have sparrows' legs, a face with so many cold sores that you look like the battleground at the Somme and a willy like a walnut.
Pecs and gunz and you're in.
No, you're not going to get semi naked men. Instead you can put up with my soft porn.
Chunky and muscular, can be brutish but handles so well.
Say hello to today's Bentley Continental. Just so easy on the eye.
Okay, okay! Stop it...
You're moaning like rabid homo-gay who's just signed onto Gaydar to look for someone, only to realise that they have to pay an extra £7 to be able to "advance search" profiles.
It's like throwing a bone to a dog...
This photo is because someone had the cheek to moan that all the guys I was tossing your way were "grandpas" and "why do you only show old men..."
Who's fucking shit is this anyway? Ridic.
Going to bed so that Groundhog Day can begin again.