Thursday, September 23, 2004
Gamma, The Giant Peace-Keeping Robot Of Mass-Destruction
Today, I woke up on the floor. After removing a power drill from my head, I walked into the nearest door (causing a severe head wound), which happened to be leading into a McDonald's 'restaurant'. Apparently, I was sleeping in the restroom. I NEVER sleep in McDonald's restrooms. I always take a bench instead. I ordered a Big Mac, and asked if it was Kosher. Not at all like me. I never eat Big Macs.
After I was told it cost more than three rubles, I ran outside, hailed a cab, and asked to be taken to France. Please.
I learned that France is not easy to get to by cab. It takes a lot of waterproof gap-filler, and helps a great deal if Jesus is driving. I asked the cabbie if it would help if I paid in rubles, and he said OK.
There were a great deal less dinosaurs than I remembered at Calais. But there was a lot more stock-car racing. But I wasn't there for either. I was planning to get a job as a faith-healer. I am well-skilled in the art of dressing in ridiculously expensive suits that look extremely cheap, and I also refer to everyone as my brother. Or so says my CV. (it also says that I can fit up to 25 marshmallows into my mouth while singing the Spanish national anthem, or just 21 while singing the theme song to the Mr Hell Show)
Apparently, there weren't any positions around for faith-healers, the guy at the job agency said, but since I was there, could I please leave?
So I left for South-Africa. There, I was challenged to a game of backgammon by a guy who sounded like what James Earl Jones would sound like if he were a truck.
I pretty much bet all of my possessions, my family, and a third-world nation that I happen to have won in a game of Chess (I won this place called 'Melbourne' off a guy who called himself 'Bob Carr'; He tried to use his Bishop to carpet bomb my pawns...not realising that my Rooks provided lovely anti-air capabilities)
But since I don't know the rules to Backgammon, I kinda lost, which ended with me running from an angry flaming torch and shovel-wielding mob. For the fourth time in a month.
Right now, I'm typing this from a seaport in Nagasaki, about to be sent off to some third world nation called 'Elbonia' as what they call a 'process worker'.
Apparently, that's their word for faith-healer, brutha!
If I don't make an entry for another two months, assume I have been eaten by a giant moth.
After I was told it cost more than three rubles, I ran outside, hailed a cab, and asked to be taken to France. Please.
I learned that France is not easy to get to by cab. It takes a lot of waterproof gap-filler, and helps a great deal if Jesus is driving. I asked the cabbie if it would help if I paid in rubles, and he said OK.
There were a great deal less dinosaurs than I remembered at Calais. But there was a lot more stock-car racing. But I wasn't there for either. I was planning to get a job as a faith-healer. I am well-skilled in the art of dressing in ridiculously expensive suits that look extremely cheap, and I also refer to everyone as my brother. Or so says my CV. (it also says that I can fit up to 25 marshmallows into my mouth while singing the Spanish national anthem, or just 21 while singing the theme song to the Mr Hell Show)
Apparently, there weren't any positions around for faith-healers, the guy at the job agency said, but since I was there, could I please leave?
So I left for South-Africa. There, I was challenged to a game of backgammon by a guy who sounded like what James Earl Jones would sound like if he were a truck.
I pretty much bet all of my possessions, my family, and a third-world nation that I happen to have won in a game of Chess (I won this place called 'Melbourne' off a guy who called himself 'Bob Carr'; He tried to use his Bishop to carpet bomb my pawns...not realising that my Rooks provided lovely anti-air capabilities)
But since I don't know the rules to Backgammon, I kinda lost, which ended with me running from an angry flaming torch and shovel-wielding mob. For the fourth time in a month.
Right now, I'm typing this from a seaport in Nagasaki, about to be sent off to some third world nation called 'Elbonia' as what they call a 'process worker'.
Apparently, that's their word for faith-healer, brutha!
If I don't make an entry for another two months, assume I have been eaten by a giant moth.
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