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Hello! Long time no website. It is probably for the best given how dire the damned and twisted thing is. Fleur and I painted my room a surprisingly tasteful sea green.  Well alright but it was still sea green. After our endeavour was completed, and awash with copious beverage of the grape, we decided to create a photojournal of the event that just transpired. A hitch was made known to us by the powers that be that it was actually very difficult to take photographs of events that had already occurred, an obstacle which would render most people mad with the startling realisation of the tiny role we play in such an immense and uncaring cosmos. But our plucky duo continued anyway, crafting the most wondrous dramatic re-enactments. Except for these couple of pics. First we evacuated all of my nonsense, and our furniture-based asylum seekers immediately betrayed our good nature, all but destroying the living room utterly.   Don't tell Mark. Underneath it all we later found his broken hopes and dreams, but blamed a burglar for the damage. How did all of the things of my room become things of the lounge? Read on for the exciting conclusion!  The sinews in her hands bunching, the power of the immense musculature of her shoulders tightening in preparation, Fleur hauls a cupboard out and into the hallway. There is no sweat on her brow, there is but the ease and knowledge of a job about to get well done.  Me too. Around this time Fleur got it into her head that this is a world sadly lacking in pictures of me, so she took roughly a thousand for the sake of posterity. After taking this one:  Fleur decided she needed one where I looked particularly ridiculous and dominated, so that she had to take a picture from above. I tried to stop her by sticking my nose in the wine glass. Since I am basically a squirrely Munchkin Jew and she is essentially a mighty champion of Gaul she got her pictures in spades. Here is but an echo of the victory she wrought:  Next we prepared the wall, having bought copious amounts of sandpaper. The chap we bought it from was eating an enormous tupperwear bowl of some horrific looking pasta in a yellowish sauce which made me want to be sick while I agonised over which colour I wanted - I kid you not, I even contemplated mustard yellow. The green was the best I could do in the stilted condition of having to work within my own mind. The wirey tendons I have developed from a rigorous masturbation regimen were put to good use, although not of course to as much use as Fleur's natural capacity for doing everything well:  When sandpapering it is important to hold your face close to the dust and not wear any protective gear and also to be doing it to asbestos. My wall is now as smooth as a baby's bottom, and to distract me from such sexually exciting thoughts Fleur put me to work painting my own room like a common woman. In a desperate attempt to make it look like I did anything, here is me painting in the fashion best suited to my kind:   Here is what I actually spent most of my time doing:  For most of the flat surfaces we helpfully had a paint roller left here by the landlady, and we put it through its rigorous paces. Here is Fleur scrutinising the roller's performance:  What say you Fleur? Job's a good 'un?  Roll on mighty Amazon. One of the main impetuses for this Sisyphean task we had deliberately foisted upon our own shoulders was that I had once thrown a teabag at the bin. In my defense it totally went into the bin, but only after splattering against the wall in a terrible mess. Here is an artist's impression of the area:  And after: The tasks completed we cleaned everything I owned, the neglect and odd stains a young man accumulates falling like the wheat before the scythe of   Then of course Fleur ruined my bath. I took three pictures of the dark and myriad horrors Fleur had begotten without her knowing.  In the same vein I managed to capture her singing and shaking her sexy thang.  And the finished results!  This is my desk, usually festooned by little toy soldiers, outdated and poorly functioning computer hardware and a stereo I managed to melt when we moved everything to the lounge and I placed it next to the radiator. The desk was far too heavy for us to be bothered to move it completely out of the room, so during the paint it occupied the hallowed ground in the centre of my room.  The corner where my bed rests! Also a license plate. Painting around light switches and in corners is hard. My personal method was to messily slop paint everywhere with a brush and then with mad desperation attempt to wipe off all the excess with my epic saliva and tissue paper. Fleur's solution was to put things in the way of the paint and to be careful. One fears that what her solution lacks in stupidity it makes up for in actually solving the problem. OH MY GOD THE VEIL IS TORN ASUNDER. THE ONE BEHIND THE WALL IS UPON US, ZALGO, H҉̵̞̟̠̖̗̘Ȅ̐̑̒̚̕̚ IS C̒̓̔̿̿̿̕̚̚̕̚̕̚̕̚̕̚̕̚OMI҉̵̞̟̠̖̗̘NG ̩̻͎͓̯̲̓ͥͫͪ̎AN̹D̂̀̈ͭ͂̈̂͛Tͧ̊͛͘͜H̢̳̮E̫ G̬Ọ͈͔Oͨ̽ͧ̔̋D.W͍I̦L͇L͔̲͓͔̜ͯ͂̆̋ ̡̯K͈N̺Ọ̮W̙̒͒̀̆DES̴P̫̎ÂIͪ͛͑̌Rͮ̚͝   Just kidding guys, seriously. How could you fall for such an obvious trick? You guys are really gullible, you should pick up a book and get readin'. Whilst taking such pictures we discovered a UFO drawn to our stepladder:  Before:  And after:  There. You have now successfully looked at 30-odd pictures of paint drying, and that has been your day. Begone! THE END  ...?! |
