Dental Non-Hygiene
Among all the multitude of THINGS TO DO, I had to go all the way to Brighton to visit the kindly dental hygienist. Eek (a Mouse). How I got down there, with two minutes spare, from the reclaimed boglands of Waterloo having overslept by 2 hours is still beyond my ken.
Bleedin' gum infection now. WHAT on EARTH next? As if I don't have enough on my plate ... If I get one more person, medical or otherwise suggesting that it's time to STOP smoking ... oh, never mind all that.
Me speechless. Me tooth-hurtie.*
Miss Mo, speechless? (Bwahaaaa! as the young 'un's say on facebook.) Quite.
It's now something like 36 hours till dehydrating and vegetating in an aluminium can on the T5 runway to The UNKNOWN.
No longer counting. I'm more like a little country bumpkin hedgehog that's marched 10-15 miles for food all day long, and is now stuck in the middle of the night near FULKING (?? Yeah, you 'eard!) on the A281, exhausted and dithering. Yes, dithering.
YIKES. Earth is rumbling. The girl and boy racers are out. Quick March. Forget that ROCK ... LET'S ... R O L L, bubbas ...
7 heavenly rollies today and counting!
INHALE exhale, inhale Exhale, inhale EX-to the mutherfuckin'
EX to the Ex to the Ex to the
EXHALE Hale
Yeu-Ing Mo
*Dear Mr Spud, That was possibly the worst joke I heard in a long time. Toodlepip, old boy. x
No comments:
Post a Comment