Pynchon

Finger. Throb. Red. Blistered. Pynchon notes that his finger could have belonged to Seth Brundle in "The Fly". Pynchon wipes blood and pus from finger. Pynchon bangs finger. "Fuck Me!!! Mutherfucker!!! Bastard!!!" Pynchon rolls around on floor weeping. Pynchon makes gooey eyes at Lorraine so that he can be sent home from work. Lorraine ignores Pynchon. Cow! Pynchon shows finger to all the girls in the office. Girls weep, vomit and fling themselves from first storey windows. Pynchon is hot (and not in a good way) and irritable, but his poo has returned to normal.

It has been a fun day. Unless I actually manage to lose the finger, and if that happens I will purchase an artificial GOLD finger (see what I did there?), I don't think I am going to mention my digit problems again. There are more interesting things to write about. e.g. Some of the reports that have come out of the party The Corporation held on Friday night, and old news like my reaction to the whole "Dumbledore is Gay" thing and Radiohead's decision to allow punters to purchase their new album online for whatever they felt it was worth. I also need to catch up with other blogs.

... But not tonight. I had to renew my Norton anti-virus subscription and it took longer than expected. I am tired and I need to kiss my finger better.

(I thought you said you weren't going to mention it again?)

I lied.

'Night all.

Labels: Illness