October 12th, 2001


spreading my earworms instead of my germs.

Blah. I've caught Richard's cold, but instead of having a bocked-up doze, I have a runny nose. Which is just as well, as I'm not supposed to take decongestants with the antidepressants I'm on. Knowing my luck, tomorrow it will all have dried up and I won't be able to breathe. I was supposed to be going to a uk-poly meal tomorrow, but I went out round Oxford Street today with Tim and decided my lungs will definitely not be up to it. So I'll have to stay at home and play video games all weekend. Oh woe is me!

This morning I was bothered by special delivery letters and parcels and mobile phones, so I was trying to get back to sleep around the mid-morning. And I just couldn't get this song from the Bloodhound Gang album out of my head! It goes like this:

"And when they nail my pimpled ass to the cross
I'll tell them I've found Jesus, that should throw them off.
He goes by the name of Jesus [1] and steals hubcaps from cars.
Oh Jesus can I borrow your crowbar?
To pry these God-damned nails out they're beginning to hurt.
Crucified and all I got was this lousy t-shirt.
"I Can't Believe It's Not Butter!" I'll sing as I'm flogged
yeah that's what I'd do if I were God."

[1] pronounced hay-zeus, the Spanish/Mexican way.
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