Beauty's only skin deep...

But what if you have no skin?
How deep is skin anyway?

The doctors say I may never walk again. I slipped on a banana peel, fell down some stairs and got my head stuck in a bucket of paint.
There was nothing funny about it.

The problem of not being Ernest

I awoke. Slowly. Throbbing headache.
Reached slowly for my glasses. Vision still. Blurred.

I lay still for around a quarter of an hour before I tried to move again. Strange, I realised I hadn't had a drink for a few days, nor had shut my head in the fridge, so I had no explanation for the headache.
I began to move, slowly as usual. Reaching for my head, I noticed my hands were... different. I got up, faster now, and lunged for the mirror. It was as I had imagined.
Someone had swapped my brain into the body of Eva Longoria.

Apparently, someone from Köln, Germany has viewed my blog...

Well, that wasn't what it was intended for at all!
Nope, I don't know where I'm going with this either...

I sat down, wobbled the mouse lightly, and looked sadly at the sketchy outlines of my essay. Well, it was a start, I suppose. It was quite literally a start: the title, and fourteen words down, 1,986 to go. Could be worse.
I began to psych myself up to start, shaking my hands and roaring and the like in a businesslike fashion. I stretched out my hands, reaching for the keyboard...

Tragically, I sprayed Cillit Bang in my eyes a few moments later. It was just so tempting.
despite the shouty man on TV, it cleans fuck all. My sink, my pennies, TV, grandmother, car and Venereal disease ridden whore are still dirty.

I checked the mirror - no sign of anything, I must have lost him. Ha! No vampire catches me...

I enjoy reading the Daily Mail.

It's easier to follow than a newspaper.
Doesn't taste very good though.

I might have too much hair...

It's starting to annoy my eyes.

I recently stumbled upon the following fact in the fact thing at the side of my page:

"Flamingos are not naturally pink. They get their color from their food, tiny green algae that turn pink during digestion."

I read the first sentence, and for a wonderful moment I imagined a man spray-painting them. Then my dreams were crushed.

4 down...

I returned from the shops at last. It was quite an ordeal, but I won't go into that. Opening the door, my (they're still fictitious) wife greeted me somewhat sternly:
"4 days you've been gone. God, you were only getting a copy of The Pianist and some cat food." She tutted somewhat, then continued: "And you have neither, did you eat the DVD again?"
"No." I replied, "There were Tictacs in the car. But I was away a long time... You know how you always wanted a diamond necklace? Well, I got you a bear!"
Tragically, it mauled my other half and she left me shortly afterwards. The bear fell in love with my neighbour Jonas, and moved in with him. I still see them from time to time, even though they moved to Dublin.

That's around 4 now, methinks. Can't be bothered checking...

While I'm saying stuff...

I'm also in favour of Genetically Modified crops. I'd love giant rice krispies. Put a load under in a hall somewhere and they could double up as space-age homes for tramps.
I used to wonder why people didn't want General Motors making crops. I supposed they'd be oily or something...

women often say it's not easy being a women

Oh yea? Well it's fucking harder if you weren't born one.

The pair closed in on me, knives brandished. Slowly, i reached into my pocket and pulled out my wallet. Stretching out, I gave it to the closest. Happy with their loot, the two urban foxes disappeared into the night. I, however, was not happy. Not one bit.

Personally, I don't disagree with cosmetic testing on animals.

You think they're born that cute? A lot of work goes into making them adorable. Ok, so the mascara might have been overdone on the Panda, but no-one's perfect.

It is often said that there is a fine line between genius and insanity. I don't know why.
I'm pretty insane, and I can recognise that everyone would be a lot safer if the line was thickened up a bit to keep the lunatics out. But seriously: When a group of scientists make a breakthrough towards curing cancer, it's easy to tell them apart from a bald, naked man hiding amongst the potatoes in Asda.