It feels like five minutes, anyway. It's probably six months. / I used to think Charles Stanley was a person. 'Ha!' Well, I'm older and wiser now. I know that Charles Stanley is some sort of wealth manager or stockbroker or something, a fucking firm.
I don't like it though. 44 per cent?! In six months?! Does that sound right to you, dear reader(s)? / I mean, you understand this shit better than I do. You work in a bank, don't you? Or a hedge fund, eh? I don't know what you do. (You could be a bum, for all I know. All sorts read this blog, you wouldn't believe.) I'm just saying, on the mystical side of things, we don't think about profit and assets and all that ... shit. Are our chakras whirling? Is our aura(s) a nice colour(s)? That's all we care about, you know? / 'Who's "we", Mikey?' Well, there's you, Voice. There's me, obviously. There are other shamans in the game. 'Yeah, but you whacked all the big players, didn't you? In your depraved lust for power.' Let's not talk about that, man. This isn't - 'Feeling guilty, are you, boss?' Just remember I am the boss, you little cretin!
Fucking prick. / He'll be next, you mark my words, dear reader(s). He'll get his throat cut, like Big Herb. 'I don't have a throat, man. That's the beauty of being a disembodied voice.' Piss off! / I'm hungry. Is it lunchtime yet? Basic egg sandwich today. Nothing flashy. (Lunch in the pub tomorrow, down by the river. Well, chips, and a couple of pints. No fish, no! I'm a vegetarian. / Wayne Sleep was in there last week, dancing around. He's a nice guy.) / I'll be working on No. 170 after lunch. I'll do it on Charles Stanley. Why not? They've got it coming, the Charles Stanley lot.
Laters.
I don't like it though. 44 per cent?! In six months?! Does that sound right to you, dear reader(s)? / I mean, you understand this shit better than I do. You work in a bank, don't you? Or a hedge fund, eh? I don't know what you do. (You could be a bum, for all I know. All sorts read this blog, you wouldn't believe.) I'm just saying, on the mystical side of things, we don't think about profit and assets and all that ... shit. Are our chakras whirling? Is our aura(s) a nice colour(s)? That's all we care about, you know? / 'Who's "we", Mikey?' Well, there's you, Voice. There's me, obviously. There are other shamans in the game. 'Yeah, but you whacked all the big players, didn't you? In your depraved lust for power.' Let's not talk about that, man. This isn't - 'Feeling guilty, are you, boss?' Just remember I am the boss, you little cretin!
Fucking prick. / He'll be next, you mark my words, dear reader(s). He'll get his throat cut, like Big Herb. 'I don't have a throat, man. That's the beauty of being a disembodied voice.' Piss off! / I'm hungry. Is it lunchtime yet? Basic egg sandwich today. Nothing flashy. (Lunch in the pub tomorrow, down by the river. Well, chips, and a couple of pints. No fish, no! I'm a vegetarian. / Wayne Sleep was in there last week, dancing around. He's a nice guy.) / I'll be working on No. 170 after lunch. I'll do it on Charles Stanley. Why not? They've got it coming, the Charles Stanley lot.
Laters.
