If every sexually transmitted disease is a cause for shame,
why aren’t we ashamed of the deadliest of them all—life?
It has its moments—that’s true—but above all, it is a fight
against the daily dose of monotony. Sooner or later, we fall
for it—that if we learn the alphabet, then the highway code,
and follow the laid-out path, putting on a front, we will find
time to buy a ticket to bliss—only to get on the wrong train.
Ever since I first spotted it on a billboard, I’ve always wondered if life truly was a fatal sexually transmitted disease. But cheer up. Nothing like A Bit of Fry and Laurie in “when’s the day”—I mean, Wednesday—evening, to be precise—after, started with the obligatory good morning, all day of hordeing at work to earn your fiver for a pint of bread—I mean a loaf of lager—I mean … You know what I mean. Well, except for the fact that your own bathroom light switch was just trying to electrocute you. But that would finally solve the dilemma, wouldn’t it, or at least dump it on some other poor bastard’s head? There is an endless supply of us, I can promise you that. So, cheers, my friend.
hidden pilcrow 