My place of employment

With my life finally back on track I ventured out into the world of employment. The first job opportunity that arose, was that of the world's oldest profession. All I can say is, I turned it down. Wandering the streets I happened across a small, family owned supermarket, called Wandering Bob's Emporium. They offered me the title of "Checkout Gentleman" in which I would have a fetching hat, of brilliant hues of purple and green. In total I worked about three hours at Wandering Bob's, the purchases made there were... Disturbing, to say the least. Orange juice was a popular choice among the young working families that frequented the establishment and I can safely say that I will never understand Orange Juice, it is a foreign concept to me. Eventually I snapped, when young boy, of about six, attempted to buy a large box of sponges. The sponge, that dastardly contraption, used in all sorts of nefarious capacities. Like, absorbing... liquids... like... orange juice and the blood of innocents. I ran around the store, throwing my enigmatic arms into the air, screaming: "You whores! YOU WHORES! You need not these things of which you buy! I can't take any more of this shit! I'm 'onna go get some coffee and a doughnut. Then I'm gonna skip town for a couple weeks. Maybe smoke strange substances." Then I ran out of the store, into the wild sunset.

Party Barnacles.

Sorry, bout this guys, but I've been partying rather hard since late September up till new years, this is the first time I've been able to crawl out of my bed, breaking my way through half rotten T-shirts and empty vodka bottles. On my way out I was accosted by some spiders who wanted some money to get out of Nigeria and across the border into Japan. I am now broke, the only things I have to cling to are my fuchsia sunglasses and my bright orange fedora.
Updating the blog occurred to me the moment I arose from my alcohol fueled stupor. So there's not much to say really, I went to the beach in late September and, to my amazement, out of the water emerged a HUGE yellow submarine. The top opened, revealing several disheveled looking party barnacles. They offered me a place in their party submarine and I had to accept, after all, they had crisps. How could I refuse?
Thus began my stay in the "PARTY SUB" as I began to call it, on the third or fourth day. I was welcomed by the party barnacles, and eventually I a permanent feature at the constant party. Others came and went, yet I remained, sampling the delicious crisps on offer and drinking all of their booze.
Enclosed is a picture of some of my hosts, who I wish to thank for my time with them. However, their hangover remedy (sucking on a boot made of penicillin, which I happen to be allergic to) proved to to be entirely ineffective, and made the matter worse for a good three months.