'Imagine if I came back, and all of you had died in some horrific accident? I'd log onto facebook and be all 'hey, where is everyone, no statuses for a while'. And then someone would come along, 'I don't know how to tell you this Damian, but they're all gone.' I wouldn't know what to do with myself. Or you might all hate each other? I wouldn't be able to choose who to stay with!' - Me, Thursday.
As the above salvaged self-quote may suggest, I'm leaving. Not Bilbo-style, no. Get with it people, this is the internet. Even if I was in the possession of a magical ring, you wouldn't see me disappear. Unless you're stalking's gone to new heights.
This'll only be a small post. Tiny in fact, as the only thing I really wanted it to do was cover my own arse. I could hear the crowd again, the clammering voices pushing from within my skull, 'oh look, the bastard's given up again!', 'he couldn't cut it, blogging's not for the weak' or 'burn it, burn it all. Set alight the orphanage and writhe on the grass as you hear their tasty tasty screams'. Ahem...
So yes, there won't be any posts for two and a half weeks. No, it's not because I've given up you mob. It's because I'm dying of heat exhaustion in Florida, being talked down to by a giant anthropomorphic rodent. See, you can make anything sound creepy or disturbing if you find the right words. It's just a matter of mindset. Yes, I will continue posting once I get back...there'll probably be plenty to talk about, and even if there isn't I love the sound of my voi-no, wait...I love the look of my words too much to stop now. No, I won't lick that. I know exactly where it's been.
I'll be missing what some people might consider an important part of the year; final GCSE results. Sure, I'll be getting a text from friends who're picking them up (you're such dolls!), but it's not quite the same as that anticipation, the mixture of dread and awe as you savagely tear up the fucker enveloping your achievements. Instead, I'll be waking up to them at 6:00 in the morning. Lovely.
So, um, yeah. Bye. Don't cheat on me. I'll go apeshit. Chimpanzee excrement all up in your grille. Stinky.
I'll be back.
This'll only be a small post. Tiny in fact, as the only thing I really wanted it to do was cover my own arse. I could hear the crowd again, the clammering voices pushing from within my skull, 'oh look, the bastard's given up again!', 'he couldn't cut it, blogging's not for the weak' or 'burn it, burn it all. Set alight the orphanage and writhe on the grass as you hear their tasty tasty screams'. Ahem...
So yes, there won't be any posts for two and a half weeks. No, it's not because I've given up you mob. It's because I'm dying of heat exhaustion in Florida, being talked down to by a giant anthropomorphic rodent. See, you can make anything sound creepy or disturbing if you find the right words. It's just a matter of mindset. Yes, I will continue posting once I get back...there'll probably be plenty to talk about, and even if there isn't I love the sound of my voi-no, wait...I love the look of my words too much to stop now. No, I won't lick that. I know exactly where it's been.
I'll be missing what some people might consider an important part of the year; final GCSE results. Sure, I'll be getting a text from friends who're picking them up (you're such dolls!), but it's not quite the same as that anticipation, the mixture of dread and awe as you savagely tear up the fucker enveloping your achievements. Instead, I'll be waking up to them at 6:00 in the morning. Lovely.
So, um, yeah. Bye. Don't cheat on me. I'll go apeshit. Chimpanzee excrement all up in your grille. Stinky.
I'll be back.
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