Oh Jesus, nobody told me smoking would hurt this much. I don’t even do it on a (very) regular basis. Chest pains, shortness of breath, painful cough. I’m fairly sure I’ve got lung cancer?

It’s a bit stupid how in the midst of all this work I have to do because I’m so bloody unproductive, I stay up late at night and ALWAYS feel the need to be opinionated/thoughtful at 3am and try and post something in this here blog. Instead of throwing up letters on the screen until 4am, I’m going to make a stand against myself and just shut the fuck up right now. THERE. SLEEP, KENNY. SLEEP.

Why is it that whenever my hair starts to look like shit, it decides to sort itself out right before I get it cut? As if the prospect of scissors coming near it scares it? If you don’t want to get cut up, do what I tell you, asshole. My hair really needs to grow some balls.

On the way back to Brighton now, this trip to get looked after by the rents cost over £40 it seems. To piss off the Pig Gods for giving me flu and taking my money, I just ate a bacon sandwich. Take that, motherfuckers.

I’m so gangster, now I can make short posts in this here sidebar. Meaning I can not update my blog from anywhere in the world! It’s exciting times, it really is. Also, although I would happily have sex with my blackberry, the ‘P’ key is feeling quite loose. I like my phones young and TIGHT.