Unfortunate coincidences: 1) Matt writes ‘Up The Arse, Or Not At All’ for UpsideClown – including the line, “How many things could you fit up your arse? Answer: Two, three, a dozen maybe. A hundred marbles perhaps, although they’d be quite chilly, and you’d need margarine.” 2) Simultaneously, Kylie belts out, “Have an havanna, Pass me a peach, Rub on some lotion, The places l can’t reach”. Thus: My mind fills with unpleasant imagery.
Thus spake Kyle Bradford:
I care about my reputation and my family’s feelings. Both were severely
hurt by the false and vicious stories that I had a gay sexual affair with Tom Cruise and talked about it in an interview with a French Magazine.
Firstly, I don’t know Tom Cruise and never said I did. Secondly, I’ve never given any such interview and have never even been to France where this “affair” supposedly started.
I haven’t the slightest evidence of Tom Cruise being gay, and I have
certainly never said any such thing to any magazine. Certainly I have never
indicated to anyone that I had any kind of gay liaison with Mr. Cruise.
I understand Mr. Cruise’s anger over this article. It is disgusting. I am
equally angry. If I can assist him in discovering the person or persons who
started this completely false story, I will.
Blog addiction has a powerful grip. Mo tried to quit. He really did. He went to Blog Betty Ford, but it did no good. He tried The Priory, but it was all for naught, because he’s back on the bottle at Mo Morgan (dot com) in just another five days time…
In lieu of actual content this morning, you can instead watch me reorganise my bedroom (with occasional asides to camera) on: plasticbag.org | cam.
Live those dreams
Scheme those schemes
Got to hit me
Hit me
Hit me with those laser beams [Relax!]
Tom Total Life Rebuilding: So the process now is one of working through everything that is wrong in my life and reassembling it bit by bit from the fragments that remain. Stage one has got to be finding work, but this is a long stage and not a particularly productive one at the moment, so this has been downgraded in priority slightly to the more plausible, “work out what the next step is to be, and pay the bills in the meantime”. Stage two has been redetermining my relationship with the gay community, as seen in the development of new friendships with gay people, an increased relationship with the scene (and all its horrors) and an increase of gay-related entertainment (clubs, bars, meals and the like). This stage is proceeding admirably. Stage three concerns my environment, and the dragging of my flat into a habitable state that I am not ashamed of. The first part of this quest has involved a trip to IKEA [thanks to Davo, Meg and David], where although it isn’t easy to find stuff that will make you profoundly happy, it is very easy to find stuff to replace the things that depress you. Stage four is an increased emphasis on the production of things that I have respect for – and if they have to be outwith the working environment, then so be it. Stage five is sanity. And it will come with time.
For the first time in my life I went to a night-club and became aware that I might very well be ten years older than some of the other people there. There was one kid there, dressed in black, dancing on the stage, who was very cute indeed. He can’t have been more than eighteen though. Of course, whether or not one has the slightest intention of taking things any further, it is always gratifying to get signals of interest. Unfortunately, the evening was generally characterised by signals – all with no follow through. Perhaps they were encrypted. Perhaps I misunderstood. Thanks to Davo, David and Nick H for the fun that was had.
Article: GameSpot Presents: The Final Hours of Black & White. Peter Molyneux is insane. He’s got to be. Three years work, with twenty-five people often working 20 hour days seven days a week. You’d lose it. Surely?
Ha! Got an e-mail from Jeff Bezos thanking me for getting him something off his wishlist. How cool is that!
The spookily surreal Anne Robinson informed me (believe it or not) that, “You are the peskiest plastic bag.
Goodbye!” What am I to say? She saw right through me.