Valley of the Trolley Dollies

I’m in an internet cafe, and I’m not even a terrorist.

I wonder what would happen if I typed the word bomb.

BOMBOMBMB.

Hmmmm. So, flight here? Oy, we need a few volumes to talk about that. Suffice it to say, Air New Zeland are the best airline I’ve ever - EVER - flown, but D is having a fab time (I’m assred) In Guantamo. Not so much Pretty in Pink as Gorgeous in Orange…

Trip? Their Martini’s are more Maaaar, less tini,. We likes.

We miss our friends, but love the new ones we’ve found:

The woman who taught Cher the definition of too much.

The Californians - we like. More later.

The decision, late last night, that, if the Virgin Mary and Mother Theresa were going into the Pantheon, I was having Carole King - the VM; she prduced the future hope of humanity: Long after you and I are dead, the cockroaches will stilll be waltzing to “It’s too late,” and deservedly so. Plus, her public marriage was mostly sexless (James Taylor? Please)

And, if the G’Botherers are laying claim to the wizened, prune-like, tea-towel wearing old dead Albanian, and having the cheek to put Mother Theresa up to Canonisation, I am so pushing for Saint Belinda Carlisle. I can say nothng other than Love is… Love is… Love is.. A Big Scary animal.

Plus, having put up with the rest of the fucking go-go’s, she deserves it.

I have to log off now, because apparently my carbon footprint from this entry (the ‘handy’ screen side display informs me) has just resulted in the drowning of a small island. I wouldn’t give a fuck, only it’s the small island I’m due to hunt gorilla on tomorow, so best go…

Kia Ora. Mis y’all.

ipod: BCarlisle collected works. And they put Tchaikovsky on the Beeb? Fucked up old fruit. Bring on the Blin, I say.

This entry was posted on Sunday, February 18th, 2007 at 12:45 pm and is filed under Honeymoon Downunder. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.