2001-07-15 - 11:41 p.m.

�You stupid fucking cunt. You. Williamson. I�m talking to you, shithead.�

So the shocking after-effects of my facial interaction with a loaded firearm haven�t really been as drastic as one might expect. I�m not suddenly filled with the urge to squeeze the life out of every last second, and in fact, general levels of apathy, sloth and general disinterest in activity have all been impressively maintained. As soon as work and chore duties have been fulfilled, I�m loafing for England. My motto: Cease the day.

The first question that everybody asks me about wantonly staring into the face of violent gun death is �Do you think it was real?� Now call me old fashioned, but I think checking the authenticity of your adversary�s �piece� in this inescapably intimate situation would be akin to questioning the veracity of, say, a pair of suspiciously impressive recently-proffered breasts: ie. It wouldn�t be the first question that sprung to mind, and besides being rude, no good could possibly come of it. �Hey Mr Gangsta, now�I�m no expert, but that thing you�re holding looks to me like a badly fashioned piece of black plastic � how about letting me give that baby a quick once over? No? OK, you seem to have removed half my face with a single shot � I think that answers my question. Carry on.�

Also, given my apparent irresistibility to the world�s most insane criminals, the whole ball of wax wasn�t too big a surprise � more like an eagerly-awaited logical progression. Hell, it wasn�t even the first bit of psychologically disturbing action I saw THAT NIGHT, having been passed by a kindly soul a while earlier who, on being refused change and a cigarette due to my not owning either at the time, told me he believed in the Lord and he didn�t want trouble, but if I �tried to walk away from a nigger like that again�, he�d, I believe the quaint phrase was, �Chop me up somethin� proper.� Hey, at least he�s giving me a warning, and not just jumping out from behind a bush waving newly-sharpened cutlery. Anyway, I fully expect to be lambasted with flaming bazookas and light anti-tank equipment before the year�s out.

�You just cost me six thousand dollars. And one Cadillac. That�s right. What are you going to do about it? What are you going to do about it�asshole.�

Pardonez-moi for the potty mouth quotage today, but in 30 minutes they�re showing Glengarry Glenross on TV, and even though I own the video, I have to watch because I�m a freak like that. I was complaining that it was on a bit late and my housemates were all, �Well, why don�t you just watch the video earlier?� Now, that might sound like a good idea. To the befuddled and inattentive layman. But I�m sure you agree, it�s just NOT THE SAME. Wait � you don�t agree? I should just go and hide, shame-faced at the bottom of a well somewhere? Well, pooey to you with knobs on.

�You fucking shit. Where did you learn your trade? You stupid fucking cunt. You idiot. Whoever told you you could work with men?�

Today�s special guests