Thistles, sausages and Christianity.

I'm listening to Livin' on a Prayer by Bon Jovi. That's a good one. It sounds very cheesy and film noir, but fuck it. I'm currently living in the aftermath of a barbecue. What a God damn stupid word. I know what it means, but phonetically it can only be described as “inappropriate,” or “a rape of the English language”.

Funnily enough, the house it was hosted at (and I'm now in) is owned by a devout Christian, to the point where there are crucifixes on the walls. I say “funnily” because I'm wearing a t-shirt with a pentagram and a ram's skull on it. I could be more out of place, IF I WERE HITLER.

Futhermore, the reason I'm posting this the day after the BBQ commenced is because I can't connect to a fucking access port. It's asking me to log in ON AN AUTOMATICALLY REDIRECTED SERVER. Home pages have no significance in this world of shit. I'm not sure if the access port is that bad, or if it's because there's a statuette of Jesus in a cabinet behind me using his divine power of misdirection to kill my connection.

I'm sure it was a good idea at the time, but my hands are riddled with thistle stings from playing hide and seek earlier. The best hiding places hurt like a bastard. I was a little careless, sure, but it's quite hard to spot thistles behind a garage when your tipsy and it's pitch black...and you need a piss.

I'm the only person awake from the sounds of things, but fuck it. At least there's an insect on my Macbook's screen. Perhaps it's one of the many plagues I've incurred while writing this blog. YAWN. I'll try and sleep now. Written at approximately 02:30, Sunday 28th June, 2009.

It's now 14:32. I couldn't sleep last night. Not one chair in that house is comfortable. NOT ONE. Nor's the carpet! Well I took the initiative and drove home at 06:30, having had 1-2 hours of sleep. Oh joy! It still paid off though. I actually slept in my own bed and not on the floor.