There are plenty of people who suggest that I'm nothing but a paranoid conspiracy theorist. Well I'm definitely not the latter - there's no mysterious, unspecified 'they' around here, I am invariably able to specify exactly who I think is responsible for spoiling things, and, with what might have been career-limiting consequences, I'm not usually reticent about saying what it is that's troubling me. So I'm not a conspiracy theorist. And I don't think I'm as paranoid as suggested. Those of you who have taken the trouble to gather the crumbs that get sprinkled here will have noticed that I've made some harsh comments on the Dear Leader. Well, just in case you think I'm an extremist with a beef, I RECOMMEND THAT YOU READ THIS.
And I'll stop foaming at the mouth...
And that other theme of mine, the telly; I've just been watching something on telly which has demonstrated that I can afford to be selective in what sort of motorsport I watch. "On the edge, it's Figure 8 racing, yeah." This is a bunch of fat rednecks packed into stockcars which they race for 3hrs around a figure-of-eight track at the 'Indianapolis Speedrome' - judging by the white paint on the track this is a car park with temporary stands erected - for the 'World Championship'. It's exciting, it must be 'cause they crash into one another occasionally (no shit), (excuse me while I take a moment to enjoy the wallpaper of the naked Japanese which has just rotated on my com-pootah, right, I'm back now, koncentrate Krusty), no, I'm lying, it's pants. No I didn't watch 3hrs, it was edited down to 20 minutes, yeah, that exciting!
Anyway, gotta go, nature calls and she is such a demanding lady...love to y'all.