My eurotrash friend Tom "Ox-Tail Soup" H., daughter of Roseanne, has recently threatened to post a rather humiliating story about me in the comments section of this here blog. Of course, that presumes he will ever actually admit to reading this drivel. Anyway, here's the actual threat:
Otherwise I will just carry on pretending I don't read your blog and
tempt myself to tell America the reason why the communal dustpan and brush suddenly became unusable one wintry evening in Swansea.
I post this here not to pre-empt any attack Tom may attempt on my character, but rather to challenge him to post his full version of the events of that wintry night. (Also, I remember approximately 10% of the evening in question). I think there may be a Goth bar involved. At such time as Tom decides to recollect the evening within these pages, I will defend my honour. But not a second before.
3 comments:
Oh come on now Mikey, the power of suggestion is greater than the sum of its parts -- or something equally wrong.
What's more I'm sure the readers faithful of this blog could never imagine you were ever so young as to put on such a performance. Were you Bert that night and was I Ernie? I forget.
http://mysite.wanadoo-members.co.uk/tvd440/pic1.jpg
It's like that bit in Bedknobs and Broomsticks where they make a whole spellbook. Oh god does that mean Angela Lansbury's here?
I tried to post a link for those of you too lazy to copy and paste, but blooger is being a bitch. Sorry.
I hope that isn't me in the washer. Ouch.
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