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| November 25 2001 Sunday Spent all day confined to my bedroom for bringing a cow home. My father has said that I have to pay for the damage the cow did to the door and skirting boards, and that I can forget anything at all for Christmas, let alone a digital camera. He said the only thing he would consider getting for me, if one were available, was a brain. He's got an I.Q. of 87 and I need a brain? I measured my dick again. It still hasn't grown any more, and it took it all its time to even measure five and three quarter inches until I thought of being in bed with all three Atomic Kittens at the same time. I'm getting really depressed about it. I have received quite a few e-mails in response to my request for ideas as to why flies try to get into your ears. David Hawker suggests that perhaps all flies hope to be reincarnated as humans in the next life, and that they're trying to get inside our heads to see what it's like. Ian Hibbert suggests that flies maybe think that our ears are a short cut through our head, to save them flying round it. And Peter Noblett observes that flies also like to land on shit, and that as they can't get at our arsehole they try to get to it through the nearest other hole available. Nice one Nobby! I start work experience tomorrow. |