A Smirk from the Shoes Down

Hugh And The Times
Chronicling The Human Condition™ since 1905.

Either we've all hit concrete and won't be able to make it to China, or it's just me. The man with a life seems to be living it instead of writing about it, while the other third has put up a firm and cryptically unstable roadblock that could, in all honesty, mean anything. Yours faithfully seems intent on limiting the spidery stride of his poison fingers, so he's no help either. If I could be so bold as to call this a triumvirate, then I'll say that I will really miss 66.666666666667% of its writing, and be somewhat glad that I won't be tarnishing it as viciously as before with my 33.333333333333%.

The wretched idea of waiting "till I feel like it", as if I'm a mellow who travels by breeze, is locked and keyed in combat with the borrowed aphorism, "It's better to burn out, than to fade away" and twisted unfairly in a similar manner as its '90s embodiment, who now resides in oak with a lot less looks and an absent consciousness. But that jerk deserves to have his words twisted. And his potatoes pinched.

The lowest point? Ooh. So many to choose from. But I think it has to go to criticising myself under the pseudonym "A Well-Wisher". Wanker.

Hugh And The Times
Wanking on canvas since 1905.

It can only go up from here.

I couldn't even resist slipping into that awful tone here. But all's fair when you're amoral. Which moral remains to be seen, not to mention the issue of a missing space, but I'll stick by it anyway. I suppose it's better this way. Back in the day, I'd finger the keys even if they weren't in the mood, which isn't necessarily the best road to mutual happiness. Now I at least wait until they consent before I dive in.

What about that fellow who learnt to stop fearing himself? Well, since he will never ever ever read this, I have a really strong urge to insult the pepper out of him. He will never ever ever ever ever complete one track. He will never ever ever ever ever post on his site again. Yes, exactly. They aren't insults at all. They are selfish extensions of my warped psyche that say a lot more about me than him. Then again, his most recent burst of enthusiasm and ambition was so short lived that I became annoyed instead of expecting. No, that's not a reason either. Nice fellow, I suppose. Hope he marries and lives off the earth.

Hugh And The Times
Terminally self-obsessed since 1905.

Well aren't we all? No? OK, it's just me then.


Hugh And The Times
Looking forward to 2098, if not beyond since October.

If you can cut through the preceding drivel, then you shall hear my heart from here on in. But seeing as it's not much of a talker, I'll continue anyway.

Incidentally, for those of you in a serious enough state to consider a marriage of sorts, I offer you the use of this line, which I probably won't be able to use myself for quite some time, if ever: See you in court.

Hugh And The Times
Ho Hum.