Welcome to the small English backwater of Yeovil, an autonomous colony of God-fearing troglodytes who still like to consider birth as a free vascular supper. If you look to your left, you will see a landscape adorned with barrows, burnt offerings and several wicker effigies. If you look to your right, you will see Mayor Ian Martin, drinking blood from the skulls of our rivals – those strange and incestuous folk from neighbouring Dorset.
I know what you might be thinking; Yeovil sounds like no place for this inspiring polymath to live…why on Earth am I wasting my precious time reading this guy’s blog, when I could be sat here with my pants around my ankles, googling myself a sex life..wow, that midget has a really nice scrotum.
I know, I thought the same when I checked out your profile.
That aside, I’ll forgive you all for not thinking of me as an inspiring polymath or some sort of modern day renaissance man. I’m not saying I don’t resent you slightly for it, or that I haven’t made a voodoo doll in your image, cast a hex upon your family, or repeatedly asked God to smite you in my prayers, but I’ll definitely forgive you for not buying into a clearly groundless and self-indulgent lie. In fact, if I’m to be completely honest with you, I’m yet to evolve much further than stupidity, imprudence and the occasional use of big words as a cunning mask for my somewhat inferior and oddly-shaped genitals.
RANDOM THOUGHT – Why not make an actual mask for your genitalia? Simply cut a hole in the end of the willy warmer granny knitted you for Christmas and voila, a little balaclava. Just don’t go robbing any sperm banks with it. That would be retarded.
Well, that’s about it. If you feel the overwhelming urge to say hi, or are slightly worried about me asking God to smite you in my prayers and want to convince me not to do so with generous cash donations, don’t be shy to drop me a line.
Other than that, you’re now free to fuck off and resume your sexual relationship with Google images. I am.
