It's not looking good

Strange looking man stopped by the other day and gave me a pea-shooter. I took it to the park and shot some peas, then I got bored. I haven't seen it since, I can't remember where I put it. I asked the bank to sponsor me again and they said no, again. I went down to the beach and collected shells for what must have been an hour. There were some pretty ones by the time I finished and I took them back to the hotel and cleaned them up and made a sculpture. It was of you and I gifted it to the hotel. I said 'Here you go, I've made you this.' and the woman at the reception, or rather the girl, didn't have any charisma and I felt really flat. I had another five days and it was raining. I went back up to my room but that was in Nairn.

Spaghetti sponge-cake. That's what we're having for Christmas dinner next year. I mean, I hope you like it. Curiosity killed the cat, stabbed it through the heart, choked its brains, ate its mind, farted like a fucking fog-horn.

I got really mad when I couldn't hear you anymore, I went nuts then and started shaking everything. Bang! I smashed the little table that was under the window, the tall window, the beds were smelling dirty and there wasn't much space otherwise. I asked the Lord if there would be anything else and he said no, that was it. I threw a tantrum.

Time to go. Three hours of solid poop on my horizon, it's not looking good. I'm bored of it, do you know what I mean? Of course you do.