THE CJ CURRY EXPERIENCE #175
"Flash, flash, double flash. Nice ring."
We now come with double the liquid. And double the liquid means triple the care. Burger get!
I have somebody hovering over my shoulder, apparently trying to get an insight into the creative process that goes on in my head. I gotta warn y'all, everything in my head is kinda gooey. I honestly don't think you'd want that. Hell, I don't like goo. And I don't like being hit on the head. And this episode is coming to you:
- fifty-three hours after I started socialising
- forty-five hours after I went home
- forty hours after I woke up (not in a gutter so get your minds out of it)
- thirty-three hours after I made the least wise decision ever
- nineteen hours after getting home again
- eleven hours after waking up again
- and, respectively: forty, thirty-nine, thirty-eight-and-half, thirty-seven, thirty-four, thirty point three, thirty, twenty nine point nine (recurring), twenty nine and a bit, twenty nine and a smaller bit, twenty nine, one, one half, one quarter, one eighth, and one sixteenth hours since drinking coffee (two shots of espresso. every time.)
It's also coming to you from under an owl blankie.
Icing sugar. Let's talk about icing sugar for a bit. Actually, no, wait, because the hoverer is getting a bit closer and ACTUALLY GIVING ME MORE MATERIAL TO USE SO DON'T BUGGER OFF JUST YET I KINDA NEED YOU THERE BECAUSE IT IS ACTUALLY QUITE FUN AND NEVER MIND THE MANIACAL GRIN CURRENTLY SPREADING ACROSS MY FACE I AM JUST GRINNING ABOUT WRITING AND NOT SOME EVIL PLAN THAT I HAVE IN MIND I SWEAR IT wait where are you going? Oh right, you're just moving three feet so you get a better view of the screen OH WAIT NO DO NOT
and not in the fun way
...welp. Fucked that one up majorly. And now somebody has actually seen the blog before it is published. Trade secrets revealed. I shall be ruined. Unless I...
...I'll be back.
*footsteps, et cetera.*
*sound of silence.*
*more et cetera, and more footsteps.*
That thing you just read was me scooting up to said hoverer and offering them a bribe to keep their mouth shut about the creative process. Now I am destitute. That is a fancy way of saying "broker than a stockbroker". So I need fundage to help me churn out the rest of this series. Send me donations in the usual fashion: if you want to donate cheques or banknotes, superglue them to the back of a dead flying eagle, wait four hours, then smash an egg over your forehead; if coins, find me in the street (look for the blue hair) and stuff them down my jumper (the back please, my nipples are allergic to metal); if credit card, FUCK YOU because I just felt like saying "fuck you" in this blog. But seriously, if credit card, just tap, swipe or insert. Sometimes all three, in that order, and sometimes not with a credit card.
I MEANT A DEBIT CARD TOO YOU DIRTY-MINDED FUCKS.
...ahem. So something has given me awesoma powa tonight in my Blogging Chair. I think it is my owl blankie. Although it could also be the fifty-four square ounces of coffee I consumed about 17.π hours ago. Or the blatant accusations of eating icing sugar under the table. Or the fact that my Curryland producers are so anxiously waiting for me to write another blog that they are staring at me so hard right now that they look like owls. (The one on the left even hooted and stuck out his forked tongue.)
...maybe I do need some sleep. Ta.
...maybe I do need some sleep. Ta.
the shudders return.