98 is two away from 100. What an arse. Alas, there is always Monday.
Anyways, this weekend I have about 20,000 english pence to my name and a full tank of fuel. So after work tomorrow I’m so off to the Bristol of some good old plotting of the God Hates Wags variety.
As I write this I am STILL awaiting kevin.com.ua to be registered properly, so for now I write this with an audience of one (because I faffed the DNS on my proxy server to recognise - holla). I can’t even advertise it until it at least shows up in the whois database otherwise komrades I’ll have lost the battle and for that would be suckage, much like Avril Lavigne. As an aspiring gothic I find her a blight to my cause. I think I might just have to write a poem about it and that is total dramatics.
As I’m on a bit of a tangent at the moment between some kind of lucid writing I might take this chance to write a little about my day at work. As a call centre monkey I have daily quotas, one such being 70 calls a day and, er, 16ish jobs posted a day. This in itself isn’t difficult when I actually give a monkies and try to gracefully top the boards, anyways, there is an outstanding bet between two folk that I wouldn’t do a tonne before I leave training, this evening I was so unbelievably close until it was ruined by a longer than expected call. I missed THREE calls as a result of it, understand how ANGRY I am with the likes of Jaguar Assist, utter pricks, I nearly won a bet and for that I shall London Terror Weekend their offices. But alas I can’t actually be bothered with the whole bomb making, it involves far too much planning ability.
But now I must make some kind of effort to go to bed, for I must awake at stupid time tomorrow and hope my clothes strewn across the room are remotely dry for the day ahead, again with the foreplanning. Bah humbug.
Oh and if you’re bored: LovePlanet.ru - good times to be had by all as when you register you gain access to the profile photos, which are totty tastic.