Archive for September, 2009
Sorry, but just a quick random Shill…
I am not normally one for the Billy Mays style shilleville, so I will keep it brief.
I just thought I would plug my new blog. Not to be confused with this blog, mind, which is just fine and dandy as it is, this is a new blog. Woooo.
http://ww… *ahem* http://www.gmtblog.com/ is a new blog dedicated entirely to the subject of Transport in Greater Manchester. GOSH HOW EXCITING you must be thinking. Well, yeah, but it’s a subject that I pay attention too, so, why the hell not?
Updates will be several-weekly hopefully (because people are far more interested in how the buses are running than little old me, anyway) – and will contain tidbits on everything from how bad First are to several photo’s of GMPTE head Keith Whitmoore in a bannana hammock.
Anyway, that is all. Will write funny things soon. <3
Omglol I feel so much better now.
As I rather girlishly squeemed about on my Twitter, I had Swine Flu last week, but, don’t panic people, because I survived!!!111 Thank you for all the messages of love and support and that. <3
It’s horrible when you’re stuck inside with sod-all to do. You can’t go to Subway, see your mates, go out for a drink, have nobody to talk too and, most depressing of all, you have to watch Jeremy Kyle, because, and although you’re ashamed to admit it, everything else is boring.
I
think there should be some special Daytime TV for the sick people, stuff that would really cheer you up in your lowest hour. They should put on those amazing cop shows with Sheriff John Bunnell, where random black people get pulled over,are immediately cought smoking weed, and then speed off into the sunset on local TV, before killing two old grannies and hitting a power pole.
I don’t see why they don’t just give me my own show on Daytime. I could cheer people up with feel-good stories and light entertainment. For example, I could open the show with a story about monkies that can’t stop burping, then in the middle of the show have a studio contest, where members of the audience have to throw random objects at Kerry Katona (who is strapped to a dart board) and then guess what the object was, based on how loud her screaming and plees for crack cocaine are. At the end of the show I can run a VT of some cute ducks waddling around in the park, while making subtle suggestions to ring an 0900 number, in order to talk to a Ladyboy from Thailand.
Come on BBC, pick up a proper tallent!
