Hello, faithful and diligent readers. Apparently poor Mark Speight is distraught over the death of his partner. Yes, Mark, I'd be distraught if I'd just been nicked for murder and supplying class-A drugs and my career was now in the toilet after the death of the partner I'd apparently been keeping good and smacked-up for God knows how long. I think I'd be pretty miffed. I suppose given the sheer forced jolliness of most children's TV presenters I'm surprised he had any cocaine to spare, but then when you look like the nude midget from those 'Lets Play!' adverts on Sky Sports I suppose you've got to do whatever you can do to keep attractive women around. (Incidentally, can someone please tell me those adverts really exist and they're not some sort of horrific recurring nightmare I keep having - no advert should be so twistedly homoerotic as to have a nude midget bursting through the company logo encouraging me to play with him). Still, hopefully he'll be a little less jolly from now on.
Also, it's just occurred to me at the point of writing that if enough people click the second link in the above paragraph, Mark Speight might end up as the #1 result in Google for 'nude midget'. Wouldn't that be fun? Get clicking and make his week even better - I've no real reason for encouraging this other than I'm a twat, and he's probably quite a nice person who I should have some deep heartfelt sympathy for, but fuck it, nude midget.
Anyway, speaking of attractive dead people, why is it that whenever I see someone pretty on the news, they are, in reality, lying cold on some mortuary slab somewhere with an axe buried in their face, and whenever I see some vast heifer of a woman, she's still very much alive? Has Death got it in for pretty people? Well, when you're just a skinny bloke with a cloak and scythe damned to roam the earth forever collecting the souls of the doomed, I suppose you've got quite a bit of a reason to be slightly bitter about good looking people getting all the breaks. Still, I suppose the upside is I'm probably going to live for quite a long time, but the downside to that in turn is that all that'll be left to watch the end of time itself will be me and Jo Brand, if I haven't already stabbed the bitch.
Onto the next story, it appears that today was not a good day for joggers (three seperate links) with three of them being mowed down, snowed down or generally killed in the same day. Perhaps it's the vengeful spirit of Jim Fixx. I doubt it, but something's going on, because this sort of spate simply can't happen by coincidence. What the hell is 'Power Walking' anyway? Is it that type of striding about where you fling your arms about like you were running, puff your cheeks out like you were on your fifteenth mile of your marathon, but are in fact walking at a normal pace, to the shops, to buy some milk, but just being extraordinarily vigorous about it? If so, then you deserve to die. It's a stupid way of exercising, and if you want to get fit, just break into a bit of a run - it's going to be easier on your calves than all that stamping about and you might actually get things done quicker, and if it's looking silly running down the street you're worried about, believe me, you look rediculous enough already, as to me all people who do 'power walking' look like enraged overgrown toddlers putting on a show of dissatisfaction at the swings being full and mummy not letting them have Timmy for a sleepover.
I'm going to finish today's entry on an article from the BBC that says that the south east is the most popular relocation destination in the UK - Why?
Goodnight.
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