Twitter, what?

Fitting my thoughts into 140 characters is like me trying to squeeze into some of my pre-pregnancy tops; my boobs are just too big.

Making your Hobby your Day Job

What a horrible idea. The books, the blogs and the other places of business wisdom lied. Such crap.

I turned by hobby, my love, my passion, my awesome-ness into my day job. What a mistake. I used to love writing. I could spew quality words, ideas and concepts out like {I'm looking for a good analogy to food poisoning but it doesn't seem to exist}, well like I was spewing them. I never thought they'd dry up. I never thoughts I struggling to write.

That day arrived. I took more out more than I put in. It's been nearly six months and I'm still not 100%. Shit I'm not even funny anymore. Thank goodness I have young children. They think I'm funny. Fart noises seem to be a real winner.

/Insert fart noise here/.

Delicious

I wrote something. Then the Internet decided to eat it. One byte and it was gone.

The Likes of Ya'll

If you're one of those there literal-types you're going to want to turn around and head right on out of this here town.

Go on, get.

This ain't no place for the likes of ya'll.

To Whom it May Concern:

Dear Builders,

I hate all of you. 

I dislike the mess and destruction you create. I despise your lack of attention to details. I think that the fact that you are unable to see the skirting that you're just cracked is a crime that should be punishable by death. That and the fact that you love to drill holes and never clean up after yourself. In cases like these I'm all for the chair.

I can't believe that I am dumb enough to pay you to break stuff that I've already paid you to make. Apparently I am, dumb enough that is. 

Perhaps there is something I'm missing. Maybe there are just some thing I do not understand. It's probably a whole lot harder than it looks. 

But the truth is I don't give shit. 

I want you out of my life,

Au Revoir Mother Fuckers.