The House of Hassle is a meeting place for the weird and those who are not a hundred percent with it. It's a kind of gym for one's "insides". A place which is nasty enough fro one to only want to stay for the minimum time necessary. It is used for doing things that begin and end with the word: sin. And also to watch the bull-running.
This morning found me filled up with gin-tonics and doing naughty deeds there, when there was suddenly some loud thumping on the door. It was five to eight and there was already a smell of bull in the air. I believe I slipped on my underwear over my shoulders, my tee shirt over my private parts, one of my shoes on my prick and the other on my foot, and I went out to the balcony… and there I found these two, or four, marvels. I couldn't open my mouth. And I didn't know who or what or where to look… And as the bulls ran past I took photos of horns, of teeth, of udders. After that, they disappeared and the House of Hassle assumed once more its sordid and squalid aspect.
Right now, as I write this, I curse myself for not having set some tarnished traps in time, but as you can see from the photo, I was not in the best of conditions for hunting ( the "traps" can be read as some hot chocolate and fried fritters - the "hunter" for a quick-witted guy. Or maybe I was just too plain tired out from carrying the shoe on my prick.
Anyhow, I am going to give myself a few self-inflicted thumps to see if I can recover my voice. See you all tomorrow.
Idiot…idiot…idiot …silly fucking sod…idiot…silly fucking sod.
|
|
