France - day 3

Well, after that odd (and frankly depressing) little introspective, I have returned to bring you news of what's going down in the France area. Well, what WAS going down in the France area. I don't know now. And, anyway, it won't just be about that, cos that is BORING. I'm sure that we'll go all tangental pretty damn soon. Fuckin' tangents. I am so gonna fail AS Maths. See, I did it already. Grrrmph.

Day 3 - Sunday 20th

BLAM. I woke up on this day, feeling like I'd been in France for fucking ever, and that SURELY I must be halfway through by now. Unable to figure this out in my tired English brain, I made a little calendar and ticked off the days I'd completed. To my utter HORROR I had only done 2 out of 7. Shitwankers. Thats less than... uh... half (my calculator is over there on the desk, and I can't be bothered to get up from my comfy sofa and go get it).
After crying in the foetal position for a bit, I went out and greeted the french world. We played a HILARIOUS game of pool in which I discovered, to my amazement, that I was pretty damn good at the game. I still lost, but, fuck it, pool isn't a real sport either. It's not even at the Olympics, and they have bloody CURLING.
Seriously, who the hell came up with curling? I mean, football, I can understand. Two cavemen with a severed head start kicking it to each other, and before long, the 'beautiful' game is born. Basketball, too. The cavemen had some unusually retarded members who liked dressing up in big clothes, so they threw them a pit, then threw their food through a basket. Its an easy step to the basketball of today. BUT CURLING. I can't think of a single possible reason for our caveman to go: "Hey, Bob, why don't you slide that stone over this ice, and I'll rub a broom in front of it to get it into a circular area to score points. We can then repeat this 13 times and tot up the scores at the end on a board." I DON'T THINK SO. CURLING THEREFORE SUCKS.

Also, can I say at this point, informercials RULE. There's this one in English (which means that I have watched it) for these slimming pants called California Slim n' Lift Silhouette. Its on now, and DAMN, I want one. I think that tomorrow, I will time the advert and count the number of times they say the product name. *Cackles* this is HILARIOUS. Look at the fat women, and OOH BOY, their problems are solved by some elasticated pants. YOU ARE STILL FAT AND UGLY, YOU STUPID BITCH. JUST PUT DOWN THE FORK AND DO SOME DAMN EXERCISE.
Thank you.

Um. So. After a lunch of pizza, we went boating, me and Nick and his fatherio. Damn, this was a nice boat - a sort of speedboat dealie. VROOM. And nicks father decided to drive it as fast as possible across waves, as is his god-given right. Shit man, the last time I bounced that much was when we were trapped in that burning building and I jumped out and Rick Waller happened to be standing there, eating a bathtub full of congealed grease and pretending to sing. After bouncing a bit, we fed some seagulls, and I tried to explain that I had once been to Thailand. What the hell is French for Thailand? I looked it up in the dictionary, and I found that it was Thailand. But its PRONOUNCED Theilond. Well thats stupid, isn't it? Hahahhahaha, look at that fat bitch. She talks like a man. I wonder if the fat-pants wil sort her out. My prediction: No. There are altogether too many fat people about today. Actually, there are the same number, but they are fatter, so they take up more space. There is no room for normal people ie. ME. Only kidding. I'm not normal. I'm fucking superhuman. Lalalalala
After boating, we went back to a bar, where there was a yacting medal ceremony going on. Confused as to why I hadn't won it (if you don't know, I am the junior yacting gold medal championship winner of Europe, and GB's only hope for the Olympics in Yacting, Kickboxing, and Weightlifting, and also YacboxLifting, a combination of the three that involves kicking the shit out of a heavy robot, then lifting it and throwing it into the sea from your yact, which you have also been piloting at the time) I watched intently as the prize was given out. 63 bottles of wine. 21 bottles of each colour. Who the fuck needs 21 identical bottles of wine? I'll tell you who: Denzel Washington, in Man on Fire. That is quite a good film; I saw it last night. Basically, its this black guy getting annoyed and beating the shit out of people, with fancy subtitles. Pretty sweet.
Then I went home, had macaroni, and collapsed into bed. Wicked fucking BEANS. Are you getting bored of this yet?


WHY DOES NOBODY COMMENT ANYMORE. DO YOU THINK THAT I DO THIS FOR MY OWN DAMN AMUSEMENT? Actually, I do. Fuck you. Still comment, though. I need to know that somebody reads this stuff. Waaaaankers.

Honourary Zombie killer: Denzel Washington, with a knife, some duct tape, a pistol, an anal bomb, a shotgun, and lots of fire