I've lost my mojo :-(
To a kid in the eighties that was seriously bad news. Mojos are a tradable commodity like fags are in prison. Just so as you know I'm against the buying and selling of homosexuals by inmates. Finding my mojo is going to be a difficult task especially when you factor in that I'm above average at losing things but only below average at finding them. I reckon it's because deep down I'm such a sharing person. Constantly forgetting where things are is a way for my kind hearted inner self to spread some love....and some car keys.
No it's true.
At least a few times a year for example I share my blood to save the sick and dying, and in return I only demand five cups of tea, four Club biscuits, a packet of Bourbons and the following 24hours in which to express an overbearing smugness and self righteousness that Col. Gaddafi could only dream of. Was it not Shakespeare himself who once said after giving blood, "by the setting of the sun I will have rescued at least one mortal from the bone fingers of the reaper grim and if you cut me now will I not bleed leaf-ed tea from Teto-ley"? I think you'll find it was.
While we're on the subject of Gaddafi, with his constant angry tirades, his bitterness towards the rest of the world, his funny language and the fact that he's called Gaddafi, can we really be sure that he's not actually Welsh?
The fibber from Libbers has said to have "killed Libyans like he kills sheep". Not dogs, not bunny rabbits, not spiders, not wild flowers....no apparently Muammar likes sheep.
Listen back and you'll hear that "I will fight till death and die a martyr" should have been "I will fight till Neath and Dye in Merthyr". The Daffmeister is clearly having a pop at the purposed scrapping of the X43 bus route. If I were a betting man I'd say Gadaffo is from Cardiff and the translator is clearly from Swansea.
No further questions m'lud.
Another example of my sharing awesomeness is when I try and feed the homeless. Why only the other day I was returning from just having bought the European surplus of chocolate on offer in the pound shop, when I past an obviously homeless man huddled in a doorway trying to shelter from a wind so cold you'd swear it was made entirely of polar bear farts. Being the saint that I am I decided to return and offer him some of my excessive choco-loveliness. He went to take it and then declined. And I quote "Is that chocolate? I don't do chocolate".
Various replies went through my head. The one I wanted to say was "this is Cadburys for f##ks sake, not the cheap brown shite Grandma used to try and fob me off with" but instead in the amazement and slight shock of it all I put the 150grams of edible love back in to my bag and walked off. What next I pondered, lactose intolerant beggars, Big Issue sellers who only take BACS or Paypal!
I took it as a sign that I needed to be a bit less giving and a bit more selfish. So, with that in mind I’m going to the coast to live in the tidal ranges.