Sunday 26 July 2009
It May Be Sticky But I Never Complain
Poor, poor Sack Posset. Poleaxed in pyjamas after a night of smeared lipstick and slipper-cricket, midnight chicken and caterwauling to Kate Bush. Now I’m psyching myself up to crawl upstairs for a back-to-the-womb Matey bath with Dickens and a spliff. I had four rashers in my bacon butty but it wasn’t enough to salve my maculate soul. A bohemian lifestyle is all very well and good, but I must learn to buy my Lucozade the night before the morning after.
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Poor poor Sack Posset, the things she suffers to keep us amused. Wonderfully imaginative stunningly surprising original and fantabulous.
ReplyDeleteMy bag's huge!!
ReplyDeletePaul - thank you x
ReplyDeleteBestGirl - I know, it's huge and full of goblins.
Mongoliangirl - I made a mistake with the business cards, I just want to keep them all for myself. Other people will have to guess who I am!
We do not live in bags,
ReplyDeleteWe live inside your washing machine and eat your socks.
What of gentlemen who carry purses? Those are probably the most acquainted with bumgags
ReplyDeleteSo, if my bag is handsewn by my own hands, with secret compartments and a bottle opener...what?
ReplyDeleteFJR - you can't fool me, I know where you live, and I know for a FACT that you wouldn't touch my socks.
ReplyDeletezxvasdf - whenever I see your name, I think vas deferens, is that wrong?
Rassles - It means you are fucking awesome, and that you have a really creative clunge.
Bumbag, bacon butty and Lucozade, ahh methinks I dream of old Blighty, well at least here in sweltering Seattle I can have the bacon butty. Not so much the lucozade and I ain't calling a bumbag a fanny pack thank you!
ReplyDeleteMy bag is all open and haphazard.
ReplyDeleteNo. I am, as are we all, the conduit through which seminal information originating in the brain passes, on to other minds, fertile or otherwise. I find I am often infertile.
ReplyDelete