I named one of the meat slicers "Stuart."

( Poets make it hard for me to remember that I dislike poetry. )

Work was dead tonight. For the last hour and a half I got no customers at ALL.

I tried to alleviate the boredom by making up a game. I've decided to call it "Let's Make A Ball Out Of Clingfilm And Toss It Up In The Air And Try To Catch It In A Plastic Container Only To Discover That We Can't Actually Catch It In The Container At All Ever Which Makes Us Wonder Where We Were When God Gave Out Hand-Eye Coordination And It Kind Of Makes Us Sad And Then The Frigging Ball Rolls Under The Cupboard Never To Be Seen Again So We Figure 'Sod It' And Go Home."
This means that I'll get the frozen pizza. "Pizza Delight is for winners!"

I have an MP3 of Anthony Stewart Head performing "Sweet Transvestite." My brain says "Tim Curry!" and I say "No, dear, Giles", and then it pictures Giles in fishnets and then it dies. And then it revives and says "Tim Curry!" It is a vicious cycle.

"What fun is it being 'cool' if you can't wear a sombrero?"
Truer words were never spoken, Hobbes.

I have very little to say right now. Not in a bad way, I don't think.