Rejoice!

Life has a way of smudging out your time with that proverbial, sticky thumb of his. It's literally like wiping pencil marks off a wet sheet of paper with an eraser. Exactly like that. I feel like I never left that hangover behind on Sunday.

It makes you want to slap the air around you and spit at the flashing lights. A little like one would feel after a wild night of partying, only there aren't any great party memories to fall back on. No modestly harmless sexually transmitted diseases, not a drop of vomit on your shirt, or a three sentence tirade on why fucking the IMF over is all right tattooed across your arm.

Stories. Timeless and ageless, they're what shape human conception about the world. Societies, great and small, they all sprouted from that night Jimmy got really drunk, screamed from the roof, "Oh god, it burns, my pee burns!", and grandly wet everyone below.

Life stands quietly, at the sidelines. Watching, watching. Slowly savouring, sucking on that sticky thumb of his. He grins like a copious wanker, almost childlike really, as the stories splatter warmly over his wicked countenance.

Brownies!

They should bring back the days of horseback riding in the open street. The long lost equestrian art should be open for all the world, unwashed and civilised man alike. Indeed, piss this modern-day dense traffic bullshit, with its infernal cars, whizzing motorbikes and fucking ugly-ass trucks and pickups clogging the world. Horses can make excellent time too; perhaps not as fast as your average beamer, but still. Better to tread in the occasional sample of fresh horse brownie, than inhaling those nasty car fumes ever single day of your life, I say.

Also, now there'll be plenty of half-priced stallion heads available on the market for you Godfather-complex types.