I say, I’m getting jolly peeved at all these clothes-hangers I’m breaking.
I found the crumbled remnants of one unfortunate specimen lodged beneath my armpit this afternoon as I rumbled around Hillsborough Forest, awestruck at the sequence of percussive sounds generated by the pitter-patter of my feet across the barren earth. That’s the second clothes-hanger to which I have laid waste today as if I were some sort of Norman—and the eighty-sixth I’ve devastated since my evil infantile mitts worked out how to negotiate with wardrobe doors when I was two.
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Posted on Saturday October 8th
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About me
I'm Jack. Sometimes my hair is untidy, riddled with goblins and smurfs. When I scream into the Grand Canyon, it inspires pained howling in wild dogs and wily coyotes, and compels all leaf-eating mammals to scuttle for higher ground in wait of the great flood. I think Goku is an existential paragon. My life's trajectory is adjusted towards becoming a hermit and dying alone somewhere on top of a golden mountain at sunset. Which is a jolly good innings, all told.
