Driving to Guantanamo for Christmas …

I hear that in Guantanamo Bay, they torture ‘terrorists’ by blaring out Christina Aguilera on loud speakers (I would’ve thought Chaz n Dave or something would’ve been worse but who am I to judge?).

 Forget that, Sonny Jims! If you really wanna torture them, just subject them to the dreaded pre-Crimbo work countdown. Stick them in front of a desk with a computer and monitor, and make them wait till 3pm Friday before they can escape. I mean, let’s not kid ourselves right? There’s hardly any work to be done (OK there is but what can’t wait till the New Year?!) and yet they MAKE us sit here and PRETEND to work.

 Arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, I’d rather be listening to Christina in Guantanamo!

 Happy Christmas, ya’llllllll!

Why?

Mr Mr Hola Mr Mitsubishi L200 who lives in my estate. I was just wondering, is your car magic? Is it a special modified one that offers the particularly fabulous ability to manoeuvre around the several hundred roundabouts in the city we live in? Are there streams and rivers and dense countryside within our immediate vicinity that I don’t know about? Are the small roads on the estate I live on an optical illusion, like the Tardis, hiding what are actually really huge American-style roads, ideal for your huge monstrosity of a car?

 And, most important of all, do you realise you look like a dick? Or maybe that’s the whole point …