I hate the fact that our new bosses paid us in cheques last week. Cheques.
I hate how Abbey National waits three business days to clear them.
And charges £30 for every time my account goes into debit.
I hate that Veronica Mars is ending next week and Britain's Next Top Model isn't.
I hate how my prescription's going to arrive after I've run out of one of the pills.
I hate how no one will dare assassinate the Smirk because then Dick Cheney'll be the Commander-in-Chief.
I hate how one homeworker drops by to give us his stuff so early in the fucking morning.
I hate the mere mention of the name "Doctor Who."
I hate how multi-region DVD players aren't widely available in Britain.
I hate being almost as slow as Mr. B, writing-wise.
I hate certain Firefly fans for insisting that Serenity was a hit long after it became clear it wasn't.
I hate Charlotte Church more and more every day.
I like Nicollette Sheridan's Maxim spread, Brooke Burke's calendar and Assa Guerrass ((c) Jennifer Orangio) naked.
The end.
2 comments:
As much as I love it, how'd I end up Veronica Mars? Did you remember what my real name is or something?
KS first:
Because our new boss is an unfeeling moron.
You never know; they might work anyway.
Because she's a loud, annoying cow who keeps slagging off every other female rival (props to tATu and, much as I detest her, Girls Aloud's Cheryl Tweedy for responding in kind). And her pop stuff isn't all that good either - it served her right that she's failed to have a chart-topper this far...
Mr. Rosser: That's for me to know and for you to find out. (smiles enigmatically)
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