Yes, yes. It is April fool’s Day. I neglected to forge a grand scheme of trickery, and instead had to settle for a few prank phone calls in the wee hours of this morning. Most of the recipients were either too chicken to answer a withheld number or were just asleep. And besides, I am rubbish at both concealing my ‘distinctive’ (read: nasal) voice and getting through a sentence without giggling profusely. If you got an answerphone message from South Wales police last night then chances are it was from me. Yes, I am both big AND clever.
I’m hoping that NatWest are playing an elaborate and cruel April fool’s trick on me. Mr cashpoint and I had a minor altercation earlier when he refused to ejaculate into my hand. When I pressed him further, he revealed that I was one hundred pounds overdrawn, despite the fact that I’ve just been paid AND I haven’t spent any money AND I’ve cancelled all my standing orders. In the words of the red simpleton himself: Money’s too tight to mention. Every time I think I’m regaining a miniscule amount of control over the untamed money monster, it bites my face off. When this happens, my credit rating slides a little lower. It’s now sunk lower than the earth’s crust and is currently residing somewhere deep in the lower mantle. I’m never going to get a mortgage.
I’m going to ring the fuckers up RIGHT NOW. Fucking fuckfaces.
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