CHURN UP MY BUTTER AND CALL ME A YOGHURT, LOOK AT ALL THESE DAIRY WORDS.
Also, pull my trousers up and call me the king of the beavers, it’s gotten rather dusty here. Back in a second, internet, I’m just going to get my dustpan and brush.
[INTERLUDE]
Jeremy sighed a sigh of gods, and flomped down into his beanbag. Finally, after years of painstaking research and problematic interludes, the picture frame hung magnificently above the fireplace. A cup of tea and an hour of Spaced was not enough to celebrate his life’s work; Jeremy was thinking big. A party. Yes, he thought, this deserves the greatest house party in the history of mankind. A party so awesomely outrageous that it would surely disturb his hateful neighbours, the Kruftons. An evil chuckle breezed through the flat. Tonight, Jeremy thought, shall be a night of revenge. And with that, he reached for the-
[/INTERLUDE]
Chucking it down outside. Why did I go outside to get a dustpan and brush, you ask? Well, that’s where I keep it. Don’t give me that look, or any look that makes me feel stupid and alien. I have my methods, you have yours. Agree to disagree? Lovely.
Deary me, I’ve really let this place get out of hand. The weeds are all up the sides, and the spiders are neglecting their cobwebs. They’ve given up, sick of their current abode and wishing for the place to be tidy once more. Best get to it. I’m not normally one for manual labour, and I shall continue this trend, as this is merely a fictitious illusion depicting the blog as my decrepit living space. Don’t let my smoke and mirrors fool you. Although saying that, if I were to live on my own, this would probably be the state it’d get in. Golly.
So, Cillit Bang or Flash? I’m thinking Cillit Bang, considering my wallpaper made entirely of copper coins. They’re all crusty and brown. They should be shiny. Shiny like a the leg joint of a teen awaiting their exam results. Yes, Cillit Bang shall do nicely. Crimeny, I have no cloth, or anything to apply the strange, foamy liquid to the scummy surfaces. Snarl. Back in a tick.
[INTERLUDE]
-phonebook. All of his friends and all of their friends were invited. Food? Pizza. Who doesn’t like pizza? Entertainment? Singstar and Guitar Hero. No more needs to be said. Booze? Jeremy peered into the fridge. Nothing but a can of Strongbow, a cider he doesn’t even like. NEED MOAR BEER, Jeremy thought. Music? iPod. This shall be fantastic.
The phone calls were made and the flat was prepared, albeit with an air of worry, as Jeremy wanted to impress his guests, most of whom he didn’t know. With everything prepared, Jeremy sat and watched the clock, counting the hours until eight o’clock. Tick, and indeed, tock, so did the clock go.
[/INTERLUDE]
Crimeny, this isn’t looking good. There are no cloths to speak of in my inventory. I can’t do cleaning. Cleaning is for cleaners. I never wanted this. Huff and sigh. Oh shut UP Boris, I’m working on it. Sorry, the chief spider was having a bit of a moan. Sooner or later, this blog shall shimmer again, and I know just the man for the job. The cleaner from Black Books. Unfortunately, he is but a fictional character. I shall have to hire a boring, normal cleaner. How very dull.
