22 April 2005

Taking on the Universe

Hello Rotten Retards from Hell - that's intended as a compliment by the way.
Here we are again with the weekend pending, and the next hour dragging by slower than a slug on smack. Not feeling quite so suicidal as last week. More of a homicidal feeling actually. I am filled with energy, and looking for someone to bite. My work colleagues are giving me a wide berth - they're well used to my sarcastic jibes - all well intended, but usually sounding way beyond the bounds of jovial office banter.
When our newest employee fell down the stairs, dropping a box of pencils, I bellowed at him that they'd come out of his wages. I thought it was hilarious, but of course I would.
I'm trying to get in touch with my old publishers, who refuse to believe my contract is at an end. I have the joy of informing them, that anything they have collected since 2003, is mine all mine, and can not be put against my monumental unrecouped debt. We're only talking a few hundred quid here - my royalties, not the debt - that's vast. Anyway, the mood I'm in should be very conducive to telephonic unpleasantries with legal affiars and royalty bods. These people arent known for their sense of humour, so to hear my joyful old hoot down the blower that they owe me money, not vice versa, should sound like a Victor Lewis Smith wind up.
I am by most peoples' opinion, required to be doing work at present. Luckily, I take a contrary view. All the journalists have buggered off. There's no one to call. They're all in the pub getting a headstart on the rest of London's quietly desperate workforce. By the time the insurance clerks order their first breezer of the evening, our music hacks will be barking like wild dogs and eating their own vomit...and eachothers'.
I of course have agreed to humiliate myself in public once again this weekend. I don't know why, I really don't. I should get councelling.
All I stand to gain is a round of applause if I'm lucky, a hangover, a nosebleed, marital disharmony, and the undying love and respect of people who will request a free copy of my record because, although it is undying love and respect, it won't quite stretch to financial consumation.
Come on Universal, I want to fight you now. Of course, they'll call when I've sunk back down into servile doom, then tell me to get stuffed.
Oh, the suicidal urges are coming back.
Time for a cigarette.
Byeee.

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