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ZoCher, mon cher!
Things here are OK. Well, as ok as can be expected given that I've not yet ventured out into the rest of the house this morning, whereupon I'll probably be roped into more yard work. Tote that barge, lift that bale, move that house to the left. That kind of thing. Though I think I'm winning SOME brownie points today by dint of the fact that the house will soon be eating my spag bol, which is pretty snazzy if I do say so myself.
Have been upright, though. No hangover yet. How the fuck does that happen? Drink three beers, feel a bit shit. Drink a whole bottle of red, nothing. I think I'm getting a message.
The quiff is indeed up. Still. That product I use in it is a wonder. In fact, it's bigger now than when I went to bed; perhaps there are Follicle Fairies at work hereabouts. Certainly, I'm more Moz than Elvis at the moment. Though my sideburns are bringing Wolverine into the equation now. Which would make manicures interesting, if naught else.
Will answer your age-old PM soon, too. Ahem.
That marmite part of your lifestyle is evil, though, and must be railed against with all vehemence. You should be eating Vegemite, dammit, if only because their homepage features curiously knowing cockatoos. Or used to. Checking now, it seems to feature a slogan that proclaims that it's made "by Australians... for Australians". Which makes it sound disturbingly like some kind of edible Nazism.
THERE is something that would be a bitch to market. |
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