Wednesday, November 12, 2003

I should be doing my reading on Matthew Arnold, but I can't be arsed. So, instead, I come to realise how great Peter Stringfellow is. Women love him, and men want to be him. Or something like that. I want to be him so much, that I'm going to grow my hair, dye it grey, and grow some impressive man-titties, buy a boat and name it after myself, live the life of James Bond [without the danger - who wants to be under threat of sharks when you can just live a purely hedonistic life?] and find out what a boat bikini is [because at the moment, I'm at a loss].

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