|I kid you not, ths popped up on the browser after a search of "Murrain". If I get a terminal disease, I want it to look like this.|
A Murrain on Tele-Marketers and Estate Agents.
After having spent a morning in such pitiful pursuits as plastering and painting, I was relaxing on the porch swing in the afternoon sunlight.
I felt a much-earned doze fast approaching and just as the arms of Lethe were enveloping my consciousness, the phone began ringing.
Thinking it was my beloved phoning with some last minute details regarding the redecoration. I sprang to my feet and sprinted to the phone.
Did I wish to subscribe to a hotel discount card, which would allow me to gain access to a chain of international deluxe hotels for the princely sum of $250, which entitled me to a substantial discount of 40% of advertised prices, and which would also allow me 50% discount on meals or other entertainments at these purveyors of luxury accommodation and relaxation?
"NO I F*CKIN' WOULDN'T"
"LEAVE ME ALONE"
The demented bitch on the phone blithely continued with her (obviously) scripted message of luxury holidays.
I said a very rude word and hung up, returning to my still-swinging porch swing via the liquor cabinet with a brief appointment with Mr Dewars' finest.
The warming afternoon sunlight played gently on my varicosed and blue-white nether regions as I drifted off again. Who would I
The phone went again and scuttling over to the anticipated voice of my beloved, I instead spoke to G******. An estate agent we spoke to 2 weeks ago regarding the possibility of putting our house on the market. (More on this later, with particular attention to the frequency which my beloved changed her mind regarding desired town, location, type and price of
Will these people ever leave me alone?
I just want to f*cking sleep.
Returned to porch swing via Mr Dewars.
Dozing blissful semi-consciousness beckoned.
Was that the sound of my beloved's car in the driveway?