Anyway, Friday night was a teensy bit very totally excessive. So much so that it has turned, some fucking how, into Saturday night. (This has surprised nobody more than me, let me tell you. I opened my front door and sat on my sofa expecting to see some 5am repeat of a Dutch football match - FC Shavenhaven against Sporting Club Anal Sex or something - but fucking X-Factor was starting! WOW!)
The night has made me feel more philosophical than usual. (Actually, the night, then the day, then a bit of night again!) Now, I know that may surprise some of you who know that if I am anything, I am a really, really philosophical bloke. I am totally philosophical. I am! I'm a right philosophical cunt.
Where was I? I dunno. Oh yeah - philosophy. I've been thinking lately that, you know, maybe I'm not cut out for marketing. Maybe I should just knock it on the head. Maybe I should just...I dunno...look for something else to do.
I mean, Rupert Abbott gets all this attention for being a clever cunt, and I just seem to attract ridicule and derision. Even my mother, who loves me more than anyone in the world, said to me the other day, 'David. You really are the biggest mistake of my life - and that includes the shoulder pads I had surgically implanted in 1987.'
So...I've been thinking. Maybe this is as far as I can take things. Maybe it's time to say I AM THE CLIENT one last time.
So...here it is.
HA HA HA HA HA! NO FUCKING CHANCE! I'M A FUCKING GENIUS! I COULD KEEP THIS SHIT UP FOR FUCKING YEARS AND YEARS AND YEARS! I'M AN UNSTOPPABLE FORCE! LIKE A FUCKING HEN PARTY! UNSTOPPABLE! I'M A MARKETING HEN PARTY AND THE ONLY WAY I'M STOPPING IS IF THE BRIDE STARTS HAVING LAST MINUTE REGRETS!
So...like...I'm not going to...like...stop...or...I feel like I've lost control of this analogy a bit. The hen party thing. It sounds better if you shout it without really thinking. I think I need to got to bed.
Why? Because I AM THE fuck me I'm tired.