Reasons why I am not keen on Satan's cameo.

Allegedly, when the world is about to end, the devil makes a cameo. In my head, he would turn up, all rock-star like, make his identity and presence known ala Lestat from Queen of the Damned and he would unleash a massive truckload of havoc. Being a fan of Anne Rice, I have some concerns about that movie, but we'll talk about that some other time.

Here is a few reasons why I am not to keen on the devil making an appearance when shit hits the fan.

1. Ravers

Apparently, drugs were not made by scientists or bored science students with a curious access to a meth lab. They were made by our good old mate, Morningstar. So, by him being the creator of all that is mind-numbing and vomit-inducing, he would surely bathe the earth with them cutely-packaged pills to be knocked back by the Elixir of Good Times - alcohol, which I am guessing would be his piss. Therefore, Ketamine - Check, Sambucca - Check. Or, Cannabis - Check, Stella Artois - Check. See, in most cases where apocalypse had no part in it, when weed was mixed with booze, the effects were quite hilarious for the onlookers but not the part-takers. So maybe, in this case, it might prove to be quite entertaining to my person. Since I am talking now about Luci being the bringer of Good and Messy Times, let us just assume that the Cannabis seed is really the seed of his loins.

Next, music. As said in I, Lucifer, which is an amazing book that was about Luci, he claimed that he invented music. Fair enough. In good music, church organs had no part in it whatsoever.

Drugs - Check, Alcohol - Check, Music - Check. And there we have it. In a time where the world is going up in flames and we are all flinging poo at each other, we are going to have a fucking rave. Junkies would be shooting smack at the side. I would be there in the mayhem sighing. Why can't we fucking have zombies instead? But then, they might all OD and since there would be no place in Hell for them, they would roam the earth, so maybe I might get what I want after all.

2. Swingers and leather-clad Gimps

Obviously, Sex was created by Luci. Dutiful sexing with hopes to reproduce and create massive numbers for whatever religion - God person. Hardcore fucking for the hell of it followed by looking at each other after the deed going 'Fucking hell, that was phenomenal.' - Luci.

Sex, drugs, alcohol, music, chaos. Cue for the swingers to come out with propositions of partner-swapping.

In the midst of it all where I would end up being poked by a random penis or two, a leather-clad, poo-covered person would turn up and ask to be whipped senseless because that is how he gets his rocks off. And with it being Satan's day and all, men won't have a recovery time. They won't need to nap and recharge, taking that all-important alone time women need. And there will be no cuddles if there are to be no naps. So most likely, we'd get hammered until our vaginas are steaming up and eventually catch hell-fire.

I'm in a rave, being mass-raped and watching my partner get mass-raped or maybe enjoying being fellated by four or five different women of different ethnicities and this twat just turned up asking me to whip him shitless. And for fuck's sake, they are playing Techno Garbage now. At least play some Barry White for a moment.

3. Spawns of Satan

You know those children you see on Jo Frost's Supernanny? Yes, them. You know the worst breed of them spawns? The English Spawns of Satan. Snotty, tetchy, vile and so fucking horrendous in the Pick 'n' Mix aisle. That is where they will most likely be found. And FOHK OFF MAMMEH! sounds soul-destroying when screamed a few decibels within a point of permanent hearing-impairment.

When those women turned up on whatever bleeding heart programmes like Jeremy Kyle or Jerry Springer with a paternity test and then it turned out that the kid belonged to none of the four men she had dragged with her on-stage, that kid is most definitely Satan's. That is the only logical explanation since the woman herself looked flabbergasted.

So, when the world is going tits up, Daddy Dear will turn up and claim his spawns. Hopefully, I'd be in that list somewhere. Or I'd be in front of him all dishevelled from that swinging session with a massive migraine from the music saying 'Fucking say I'm yours because my mother kept saying I can't be hers. Sort me out, please'. But then he would look at me and say 'How the fuck can you be mine when you cannot even tolerate the good things I bring to this place?'. So yeah. That theory dashed there. Maybe then, he would come out and say that Gaga is the bastard child of a Minotaur as well.

That is all the issues I have for now. Feel free to input what your concerns are.

I'll just be glad I would get to loot, I mean Retail-Therapize, when I can get the chance to get away from it all, really.

Day 4 in the life of the jobless.

Horrible, horrible past four days, I must admit.

I am not enjoying this bloody vacation at all. All I've reaped out it are misery, more boredom and again, motherfucking emptiness.

I showered this afternoon. Finally. So yes, I should pat myself in the back for at least maintaining my personal hygiene. And I brush my teeth on a daily basis. Mainly because I've gone without brushing my teeth for two days and the third day when I woke up to suck on my first fag of the day, it tasted like utter horrendous shit. So yes, I'm simply brushing my teeth just so that I can continue layering my lungs with tar comfortably.

I have not looked at the papers for jobs. I have not gone and sent my resumes to various companies. I'm putting it off till past Easter. Excuses yes, but I don't really give much fuck now. Not yet at least.

It's not as though I enjoy waking up to nothingness. I wake up to Jarrod every morning and spend the next few hours laughing my head off with him. Great start to the day, one must admit. Then after that, he heads to bed and THEN, I'm left to stare ahead thinking about what the fucking hell am I going to do with my day.

Today, my mother was not working so, the day was spent pretty much with me avoiding her. Until eventually it got too much for the both of us that we both took 3 spoonfuls of cough syrup and passed out next to each other in the living room. Irony.

I have managed to slip back into my former anti-social self. I don't talk at home, I don't answer phone calls, I don't reply text messages. There is only so much 'I heard what happened to you. I'm sorry. We'll miss you.' I can take. I did not overdose on some fucking class A drug, for crying out loud. I get it, alright? I miss you guys more, for fuck's sake. I'm here at home staring at a bloody pitbull and thinking round the fucking clock as to how on fucking earth can I get myself out of this bloody HOT AND FUCKING HUMID COUNTRY before it's too bloody late. I have nothing better to do except think of how to act out my fucking revenge on Alan the balding bastard while I take a dump in the morning. I swear, it's interesting how I've skinned him alive time and time again everytime I constipate. Just because I don't answer to your texts, doesn't mean I have gone and swallowed 40 painkillers and DIED. No, I am just fucking tired of crying for no fucking good reason, alright?

And no, I'm not going to call you back soon. I can't even talk without my voice breaking. So yes, fucking let me moan in my little corner for a bit more till I'm ready to get the fuck out of my room. A few more days, I swear. I'll then go get my arse in gear.

And I don't know what I plan to do with my life right now, either. Day 1 I kept thinking 'Fuck I have to go to London.'. Then it hit me OH FUCK I DON'T HAVE A SINGLE CENT ON ME. THANK YOU, PARENTS. So yes, taking refuge under Jarrod's armpits was out of the fucking question. Day2 I was going around the house scaring my mom shitless by staring at her for hours to the point where she's gingerly stroking my head asking me if everything is alright. And she fucking ends every sentence with 'Sweetheart'. No, Ma. For crying out loud, everything is not alright. My world ended, Ma. But yes, thanks for feigning concern. And you don't have to touch me if it means you're doing it like I'm a rabid chihuahua, Ma. Really, it's alright. I'm not a big fan of unnecessary touching if it won't lead to sex, anyway. And since I'm not into incest, you don't really have to stroke me every few minutes. Everything's fucking up right before my very eyes, but it's perfectly alright. I AM FUCKING USED TO ALL THIS SHIT, REMEMBER.

Day3 I picked up a book, read it for an hour, had my mind elsewhere, chucked the book in the dustbin by mistake and I was staring at the rubbish chute going 'Oh fuck no! Nononononono!'. Nevermind that said book was shit anyway. But a book is a book. And goddamnit. Rubbish chute. Whoever invented a hollow shaft where rubbish go down should be thrown against a fucking wall. Later on during day 3, I was lying in bed blasting my headphones on so loud it gave me migraines. Then I went and smoked again. Finished my cigarettes that I bought in the morning by 3 pm. Drank my 4th cup of coffee. Drank cough syrup. Bad cough, I swear to god. Early into the morning of Day 4 it got me thinking, I should possibly go and try out the make-up field. I told my mom about it and JUST because she said 'No daughter of mine will be a make-up artist and go to hell for it.' the more I am going to do it. Fuck it, Ma, seriously. If I'm going to hell, I'd rather it be because I'm doing something I love and not because I ran down a fucking dog for fuck's sake. Plus, we're all going to hell. I'll reserve a sunny spot right next to the steam bath for my friends. Or the guillotine board. Whatever rocks your boat, baby.

Day 4, I was talking to Jarrod about the many blogs I have and I thought... I should be a fucking author. Thoughts of becoming a stripper went out the window. Along with thoughts of becoming a social escort. Or common whore, whatever. I'm a good writer. So yeah, why not. Go and get my fucking blogs turned into books. 'Confessions of the jobless'. I'll be an instant bestseller.

Oh my fucking lord. I don't know!

I have no fucking idea. I STILL think I should be in London right now.

NOW fuckdamnit. NOW.