If it's a hundred degrees in the shade how come my whisky isn't bubbling in its glass?
It's still bloody hot whatever the case and five minutes ago my video recorder exploded just to naff me off completely. Since then I've just lost sixteen pounds in sweat trying to dislodge, unsuccessfully I might add, a Jackie Chan cassette from the bastard's ravenous jaws!
So now I'm hot, I'm well on my way to getting drunk because I've reached the end of my tether with all things mechanical and I can't be arsed blogging anything more constructive than this feeble whinge.
If you don't like it complain to Deputy Editor Sedgwick. It's about time that bearded wombat molester got some of the flack from you bastards for once.
