A head emerges from the red tent, shaking in the winds, all around, a blizzard is sweeping across the ice ladden widerness that layed before me.
The artic tundra is no place for men. You come here when you know there is no hope. The air is cold yet stale like cheese that’s been left out of the fridge a wee bit too long, and all the while, not only does the wind chill you to the bones, you feel the cold icy chill of the reaper upon your soul, pulling you down into the abyss.
They have an oinkment for that I hear. Or is that little blue pills instead? 🙂
Moving swiftly on from frozen death, I have to confess that it’s been a more non-productive week than in previous weeks as I decieded to leave the work once I got home and behave much in the fashion I used to, surveying all I could see, which was the front room, and out the window while in my jim-jams.
I have also hit a very bad realisation this week after reaching certain levels of naughty, I have become a fully fleged member of the “geek” culture, a group of creatures with fear of sunlight, spots which if burst would produce enough material to make an omelette.
My brief audio email as mentioned yesterday, did not display a man who has legions of undead at his command but instead a small fellow asking strangers to walk into the local newsagent and buy a dirty mag, maybe with some chocolate milk.