I slept all night on the couch. The last thing I remember was Super Size me, a joint and a cup of coffee and my bunny rug, curled up on the couch. My filthy little secret of finding Morgan Spurlock sexy, being fed by his antics with fast food.
I knew I'd over done the night time hours on the couch when my eyes cracked open and the day was already becoming light out side. I knew I wouldn't be slinking off to bed for the final few hours. I knew that was it, that was my morning.
I woke to all of those ghastly morning shows with the truly awful Carl Stefonivic and the dull, lets-just-sack-her Jessica Rowe. And who is the other personalitiless chick on 7? with that other bald twat? Awful! They are all just awful! How could you single Jessica Rowe out of that sea of beige? What is current program policy with morning television, get the most bland, ordinary, talentless on-air staff, so the general public don't feel threatened.
Jasus! Look at the time? Jeepers! I've ironed a shirt... scraped the dope crumbs off my kitchen bench and smoked it, well, it was either that or have a cigarette, at 5.26am. Let's hope it doesn't have much of an effect, as I've never been to work stoned before. I clearly need to take myself in hand, don't know what's wrong with me lately? Unsettled. Giving up cigarettes does strange things to you, I wouldn't recommend it. Ah well, I can always say I'm a bit hey fevery.
Anyway, must get myself into the shower. Wish me luck!
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