Cold

COLD THAT ENTERS YOUR bones its winter nice for the weans but PISH for everyone else. I play the lottery every week and every Friday night, soused to the GILLS, I make up another ritual to try and persuade GOD, VISHNU, THE GREAT spirit, MANITOU, JK ROWLING or whatever other DEITY comes into my mind that my numbers should come up so I can escape this ragged freezing country full of deidheids and go and live in my dream in North Africa. I've tried everything short of CUTTING OFF MY OWN FUCKING HEAD and offering it on a plate. I've drawn the line at this because it seems to defeat the purpose but life's just one inherent CONTRADICTION so I might try it this Friday. Joke is if I did I'd win. I think I'll just keep going through my GLOSSARY of DEITIES PAST AND PRESENT till I get to some fucking OBSCURE MESOPOTANIAN HAMSTER GOD who will answer my 5 hour prayer ritual with six numbers. In the meantime I'm going to write to JK Rowling and find out exactly the deal she cut with Satan. Not Santa.