Messages of a Textually Explicit Nature III

CURRENTLY IN MY MOBILE PHONE INBOX:

Man’s greatest invention. The poo.

Somebody just tried to blow up the petrol station across the road. This shit is starting to get wack.

Beware the Judderman my dear, when the moon is fat.

I’m never taking this t-shirt off! Strangers are smiling at me, girls are stopping me on the street!

The fox is in the barn. THE FOX IS IN THE BARN. OVER.

Sounds good. Bring the kid.

Hello Stigmund, you’re a gimp. But worst of all, your brain is limp. In it you will find no thoughts, only plastic astronauts.

Ever tried arguing Braveheart as historical fact in a foreign language? Every scene, every line? It’s tiring, let me tell you. And not rewarding either.

Roses are red, violets are blue, poo is brown and wee is usually yellow. And so ends our colours lesson.

Ca marche pour 6h. J’suis une p’tite brune.

Strike two involved having an Algerian admit that with its stay-at-home women, no tourists and popular beaches, Algeria must be like Gayland in the summer.

Honestly, I’ve never seen any of those movies: I just buy them so people will think I’m cool. Your compliments only work to reinforce my delusion.

On the guest list you are.

I am enjoying it, although now I don’t have an iota to do apart from play my Yamaha keyboard which was originally for my school.

For a total chump, you’re a pretty great guy. Still and all like, you’d do well to get shitfaced.

stigmund – When You Prick Him, Does He Not Bleed?

Leave a Reply