Wednesday, February 1, 2012
I heear a beeciouoos rumour.
Ees eed true? Does anyworn know?
The Wooman weell retorn?
Ees eed yos chatt-hair?
Because, como, I hab a new routine...
Lighe the bed. Hombre. I yab halb the bed. When the Wooman lefd I was nard sleepeen' arn the bed, no. She use' to say, Remembhair the days when Estorbo use to sleeb arn the bed, sigh?
Well, I yam sleepeen' arn the forgheen bed now y there ees only space por two. Heem, y me. I yam the 1% y I own the bed OK? OK. The 99% can sleep arn the terrace.
We doan' negotiate weeth desertors.
Also, the Wooman ees fire' as my official photographer. There ees no deman'. The man ees bedair. The truth horts. Whad can I say. Eed's New York, baby: Eef you cannar' taghe the head, remobe frarm the kitchen, yes?
Whad else? Oh.
I forgard. Streeng.
...(theenkeen'). Well, she ees allow' eenside to pull the streeng por me, because the Smoothman cannar' pull streeng por sheet. I doan' know how she do eed, bod the Wooman maghe' the streeng ber' animated.
Ees also a prarblem pequeno: my temphair. I doan know how to say thees, bod I yam becormeen' (smallsmallboice) a nice cad.
Whad eef the Wooman does narn lorb a nice cad? I yam the only kine' she ebber had. She ees use to War. She seeng, I bide hor. She stroghe me too many times, I bide hor. She tybe too loud y I maghe attagh frarm behine'. Now, I porr all the time, I maghe lorbeen' soun's een the morneen', I no bide. I no heed.
Maybe Dr Slade maghe hypnoteesm arn me? The Smoothman say ees because my typhoid made me angree. Hyper. Loco. I doan eben know eef I yam Estorbo Loco no mas. My identeedy ees crombleen'.
I yam habeen' a crisis.
Does arnyworn know a shreenk?