It is seems that I am not the sanest midget in the cracker factory today and, quite frankly, I don’t intend on being. Saneness is for fools, insanity’s where the money lies! How do I know? Because my car’s broken down again.

In fact, not only did it breakdown, but did so mid-homeward journey, on the high street, in rush hour traffic!!!  20 minutes I spent sitting in a rapidly freezing Rover, hazards blinking, whilst a dirty great queue of increasingly irritated drivers formed behind me as I tried to stop the recorded message at the other end of my phone to stop talking for 2 fucking seconds so I could speak to the AA and ask them very nicely to pick me up, simply by shouting at her, before my mobile’s battery died.

 

So why the insanity plea? Because, frankly, I haven’t seen any evidence that being sane is in any way better than a big steaming bowl of fruit loops. And as I have to pay out yet more money to the thieving bastards at the garage so that they can tut at my car and giggle as I hand over my debit card for the 14th time this year, I’ve decided that I can’t take it any more and have actually, finally cracked. I did it myself with a really big pair of nut crackers.

 

As you can see, not a rational bunny at all. Prepare then, oh mortals of this soft and fetid rock we call home, for just a great pile of shit.

So, ‘What’s in my drawer’ this week?

 

Well, sadly, not a copy of the Readers Digest, which is disappointing as I had a chance to flip through a copy the other day and the Life’s Like That, pages were always worth a giggle with side-splittingly funny stories along the lines of:

 

 “One day I went to feed the dogs, only to discover that my husband had already done it!”

 

Hilarious! Almost as funny as my car trying to commit auto suicide!! Haha!!

 

That said, I used to read them all the time as my gran has a huge stack of them in her bathroom, and I used to spend hours in there reading page after page of articles on riveting subjects like “101 substitutes for hair gel” and “Trapped: My 24hr Hell inside the boot of my own car!” The bathroom floor was always strewn with copy after copy of the bloody things. It’s what bathroom floors were designed for.

 

Why the sudden spurt of enthusiasm for Readers Digest?

 

Because, as a small publication, it contains neither engine, nor seats and requires nary a drop of petrol to fulfil its function, and as such won’t cost me yet more money. Seriously, I’ve now spent more on getting the car repaired, than it actually fucking cost in the first place!!

 

Have you noticed that this is a remarkably bizarre edition?

 

Random Maths Question 123:

 

Raj has 4 apples. Rakmaninov has 8 bananas. Hamshemalom has 47 pumpkins.

 

If each person cuts each of their fruit in half, and then gives an equal number of halves to each other person, how long before each person has a fruit salad?

 

Sub question 123a:

 

Can it really be called a fruit salad if it has pumpkin in it?

 

God I feel like shit. I appear to be expelling some form of biological silly putty out of my nose and my head feels like there’s a Bolivian Marching Band committing suicide in it. Maybe I’m coming down with something. It’d make sense. Sitting for an hour in a car with door seals less reliable than the Highland bus service has probably compromised my immune system. If I die from whatever it is I have, I’m so suing the fuck out of whichever German firm owns the remnants of Rover.

 

I am aware that this letter is simply random pieces of rambling wank, strung together with long, stringy lengths of wank, but I can’t concentrate today. My brain appears to have frozen.

 

For now, simply bask in the thought that you’ve just wasted 5 minutes reading this steaming pile of bilge, and another few minutes wondering why you wasted the other 5.

Oh, and that whole, Letter to myself from the future thing? Yeah, ignore it. It was wank. I forgot about this column entirely last week, and the flow has gone. I’ll start fresh next week with something slightly less vitrolic. Provided my car hasn’t actually burst into flames, next week, there may even be bunnies.

 

Tata.