1. Blogpeople, have you watched The Tudors? If you haven’t, don’t bother; nice costumes, but crap writing, and Henry VIII did so not look like Jonathan Rhys Meyer. But I’m digressing already, see what I’m like? Here’s my point, galloping in your general direction:
2. Episode 2, the Duke of Buckingham is about to be executed for cheating at I-spy for treason; there he is, sobbing, stepping onto the scaffold. Sir, your have to kneel down, sir, do you forgive me? asks the executioner. Sir, place your head on the block, and stretch out your arms when you’re ready.
3. When you’re ready? Who would be friggin’ ready? Whose fucked up idea was that? Be cool, will you, give us a nod, nah, a thumbs up whenever you’re ready to have your head cut off with my rusty axe, why don’t you, and I’rm sorry if I have to hack at your neck a couple times to make sure it really is severed.
Blogpeople, I’m not feeling too well. Excuse me for a while; my next point will be back shortly, trotting towards you hesitantly.
4. Here goes: In the dream, I’m walking into the operating theatre; the nurses do wear masks, but they’re black and made of leather, and not in a good way. Ok, the surgeon tells me, do lie here, and whenever you’re ready, just stretch out your arms.
5. All I can say is : aaargh.
