Vague Insanty 019

Vapor, and clouds, and wispy willows and all that crap. I am in the fifth layer of hell, and this is England. I try to pinch people on Saint Patrick's Day, but we can't do that because everyone is too damned busy being English. Can't rouse a bawdy bunch of lads to the public house for some ale and good laughs, they're all too damned English today, sorry. The pro-snake bastards.

I just can't convince myself to talk like a self-possessed prat, to make endless puns about wanking, and continuously complain about the weather - so what hope do I have ever fitting into square world?

Not that it matters. I never could go to football games, or play basketball, or barbeque worth a damn, so it's not like I fit in too well in America either. Even though my mind is filled with images of pumpkin pie, and sweet potato pie, and key lime pie, and pecan pie... Americans seriously fucking love pie, you know?

So no green beer, no pie, and definitely no jolly shanties. I'm totally fucked. This is Anglo-mania and I'm driving on the wrong side of the road.