Category: Other stuff
Date: 17 May 2002
the supermarket is my mothers or sisters fridge, I snuffle around looking for any items hitting their use-by -date, and pitfully hint that I could use them before they go bad. Or I selflessly offer myselfish self for babysitting or diy, knowing that a bag of groceries will be brought home for me. Somewhere in my mothers garage, in one of uncounted boxes, there is a book I can sell for enough money to buy me an easyjet holiday and a couple of months mortgage, so I feverishishly put up bookshelves so that it may be unpacked if god willing it still exists. I have run out of ketchup and chutney, so have eggs and bacon with italian pickled aubergine strips instead. The bills are coming to kills me. There is nothing worse than a bourgeois anarchist with a small private income. You could get a job they say.
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