Hello. I am back. Isn’t it strange when Big Tossers promise you can have your internets on August 9th and then you don’t actually get them until August 25th?
I Hate them.
I HATE them.
I HATE THEM.
If Big Tossers lived near me, I would throw stones through their windows.
There is something that happens in prison sometimes. It is called ‘potting’. It involves poo and wee and a bin bag and a warm radiator or set of pipes, a few days fermenting time, and then a good aim and strong throwing arm.
Whenever I think about Big Tossers, I also think about potting. It isn’t a plan or a cause and effect thing. They just happen to be in the same place in my brain now. If my brain was a block of flats, Big Tossers and potting would be house mates. They’d be the ones who left their bikes and post in the communal hall way, and played loud music too late at night. Sometimes, they’d get drunk, and lean against the fridge to kiss and feel each other. But then they’d both feel bad and not mention it in the morning.
I might do some more blogs today. I have more things to say. But I just wanted to get the internet thing off my chest first.