A Career Change.

With unemployment in the UK standing at a [insert the current shockingly high number]%, I propose that the youth of today need a role model. As a disillusioned for the purposes of this post, somewhat immobile, alcohol dependant, armchair politician, I need to look to a visionary figure to show me the path of righteousness. To erect my business mind; to titillate my entrepreneurial skills; to arouse my confidence and to stimulate more motivational innuendo from my infantile mind.

A perfect* poster boy for grabbing the bull by the horns is a Mr Essam Ahmed Eid – an Egyptian living in America who grew thoroughly tired of his working life at a boring old casino. If there’s one thing films have taught me about working in such establishments, it’s that only down on their luck female employees – that are probably also young, single mothers who work (reluctantly) in the sex industry – who stroll around Blackjack tables are luckily given a $50,000 chip from an already wealthy playboy who’s just won big. What’s a man to do? Why, start his own business of course!

Promote your strengths and talents! Give the people what they need! Make the market your own! Set up a hitman for hire website! Wait. What? (For the love of all things hilarious, look at the screen shot. There’s a recruitment link!)

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Murder? You Can Accuse Me Of That: Never (Unless I do a murder when I’m older, but it’s not on the agenda).

I almost killed a man yesterday.

By ‘killed’, I mean ‘scarred’. And by ‘scarred’, I mean ‘hurt a bit’.

My demented legs and I were walking around a hospital in Southampton (visiting my aunt; I don’t just hang out there) bringing a cup of boiling water back to the ward when I saw a young chap walking towards me.

My initial thoughts were “OH SNAPS! We’re wearing the same shirt*” to which my feet and legs responded with “WOAHOHOHWHOAOOPSYWHOACAREFULWHOAAAAAA” and I tripped. And stumbled. Just as my shirt twin was walking up (in my face, actually. Right in my path. Bad walking etiquette, I feel) the water went flying (OK, a bit splashed out) and caught him in the chest. His bare chest. It wouldn’t have been such a catastrophe** if he hadn’t have been wearing such an indecent top under his unbuttoned shirt. He was all trendy and wearing a V-neck that showed off a tattoo on his chest; not just that, I almost saw his nips. I think it was a million sizes too big – like it actually belonged to Fat Joe or something.

Oh! How we laughed. Awkwardly. A millisecond passed and we were on our respective ways.

That’s the story of how I almost killed a man.

*I’m not Butchy McWearsMansClothes or anything, I’m just going through a phase of wearing men’s check shirts (because they are longer) with leggings. Or, if I’m feeling daring, NOTHING ON MY LEGS. I know, I know. Such a tease.

**It actually wasn’t a catastrophe at all but nothing else of note happened yesterday.