It's always late at night

It's not so late. I'm just sat working on an article I should have done ages ago. Still not sorted out a bunch of tax stuff I should have, either. Well vexed about that. Been feeling very up and down this year, you see. Sometimes reasonably okay, other times it's almost impossible to sit down and write, feeling like the world like the shitty treadmills at the gym, where you run fast, go nowhere and have to see the same crappy KISS FM TV videos of RKelly waxing on about how he met a shorty at an after show party, which featured homies, food and Hummer limos. Invariably, it gets to the point where R or whomever has to put a do not disturb sign on the door of his big bootied beauty.

The one problem with the gym of course is when they show a Beyonce video and I feel all overcome with desire of the unattainable. As that song says, she does something to me! I think it's something to do with her attitude and her fantastic hips. I hope the Atkins monster doesn't come and turn her into a pile of gaunt nothingness. With her long line of weaves, I fear she'd just turn into a human mop.

Still, I suppose I should start going again, as I'm starting to get middly again. Need to shape up or else I'll end up like blinkin' Maradona. Bloated at 42. Though I suspect my lack of a notable coke habit fueled by excentricity and sizeable wealth will help prevent that. I'd just keel over. Okay. Enough already. Must work to live, live to work, gym treadmills "The stretch Navigator, there's food everywhere as if the party was catered". Aarrrgh!!!