How droll

The days fairly fly by, don't they?

Fuck me.

I can barely keep track.

And there's never any time for anything, any more.

I woke up on Thursday last week, thinking it was Friday. I don't know why. I felt a mildly crushing disappointment when I realised it wasn't so. It still smarts. A sense of loss. I wish I had been off that Friday. I'd have gone swimming with Sarah and had a laugh. I wouldn't have been in work. Not that it's bad. It's just not as good as the other.

But life is good! It could be much worse.

You could be a clown.

A clown is a scary, strange man who is supposed to entertain wee ones. He doesn't though. He's a scary, weird cunt that nobody has ever liked.

The NCWC did a survey of 15 pensioners on the number 24 bus, and not one professed to liking a clown even a wee bit.

-I hate those cunts

-Scary fuckers

-Bastards

-I hate those cunts

-Reminds me of thon "IT" cunt from the films

-God bless us and save us

-Not funny

-Odd fuckers

Their words, not mine.

There was a thing on TV about a big charity dinner where rich cunts enjoyed a lavish meal, ostensibly to raise money for poor children. All these twats were fuckin' about in tuxedos drinking champagne and eating caviar and having a right old time.

Going up and down the room was a clown on a one-wheeled bicycle. What a cunt.

I think they had him there to emphasise the raising money for youngsters-ness of the whole thing.

I wept in frustration.

You could see that people didn't want him to be there. They all continued chatting away, apparently oblivious to a man with a painted face on a unicycle hovering awkwardly around them. But their strained smiles gave it away. They were as scared of him as anyone would be.

What's worse is that he was bellowing jolly clown-like sentiments the whole time, exhorting people to have a good time and acknowledge him. Mostly to acknowledge him though.

That's why clowns do it. They like to upset and frighten people, the evil bastards.

The ones who employ them are as fucking bad. Circuses, children's hospitals, parents of children having their birthdays. Cunts who throw big fundraisers for rich bastards. The news for showing them on telly. My telly.

The whole wretched affair put me in a foul mood. I had to put my foot through the TV several times to stop the pain and suffering.

Now I have no fucking TV, just a glass screen with a hole in it. My foot is really sore too. It's been bleeding ever since.

I called Info-Sante, and they say I'll probably have to go to hospital to get it looked at. We'll probably go to the Montreal Children's Hospital down the road. It's not far.

If a clown comes near by I'll kill the bastard.