I AM A FAG XXXIV

Well it's full steam ahead now in iamafag camp. After a taste of publishing verbal diarrhoea once again, i've found it hard to keep away. Now i wont let the general lack of interest dishearten me. I live in my own little world where my delusional mindset lets me believe that i am a diety in my own right. God of what precisely is the $64,000 question. God of fags? Maybe. God of bullshit? most definitely.

After an extended encounter today with an H2O steam mop, i am feeling very much the failed housewife daughter of a patient parent. My initial disgust at the product was soon overriden by a sick sense of satisfaction gained after the backward/forward/backward/forward repetitive motion of my right arm. My pitiful sinewy arm was finally getting a miniture work out. How does this even subtly relate to cigarettes you may ask? Well if you have ever been errm lucky enough to operate and H2O steam mop, you will be able to pick up on the similarities between it and myself.

Firstly, it operates only with liquid in its belly. In my case, a skinny-doubleshot-half-powder-voltage. In it's case, water.

Secondly, it is pretty stubborn, difficult to push around really, as it gets hung up on the most minor bumps. A join in the floor. A crack or crevice. What a testy little fucker.

And thirdly, and perhaps the most accurate likeness, the mop constantly puffs and billows clouds of steam from its gaping oriface. Comparable of course to the shroud of smoke which envelops me at any given moment througout my typical day.

Oh and PS, the mop is basically useless. end comparison.

Speaking of billowing smoke, let me bring you into the world of John Player Specials. Specifically, Blue. More easily identified as JPS, these cigarettes are cheap and cheerful. Setting you back little over $9 a pack, they allow change from a slippery blue 'tenna' and a sense of value for money.....A purchase that leaves me not only with a pack of smokes, but change in my pocket, is enough to turn even this sourpuss into a purrrrrrring kitty. meow.

Attractiveness of Pack- Surprisingly swanky for a budget product. The intertwining golden letters J P S add a whimsicle sense of style to the overall appearance. The solid blue pack is of a delicate royal blue hue, pleasantly different from the navy blue of many of its competing brands. Far from exceptional, yet strangely alluring. 4 out of 5 malignant tumours.

Smoothness and Flavour- A little grating to the throat i must admit. As smooth as the surface of my unshaven legs (ew. unwanted visual)... Yet the flavour delivered in the bumpy inhale almost cancels out the uncomfortable ride. A medium-bodied hit, not enough to knock me out, but gives me a less than gentle clip around the ears. and i like it. 4 out of 5 malignant tumours.

Burning Time- As they say all good things must come to an end. ive experienced a strange phenomenon with JPS. Whether it is purely in my senile mind, or actually occuring, i sensed that the cigarette burned faster and faster with each additional drag. It's almost as if the burning time of these babies was on an exponential rise until it reached the butt. The inconsistency bugs me a little, however it's better to end prematurely with the promise of more more more to come, than to drag out a brilliant activity to the point where you want to stab someone or commit mass homocide just to get to the fucking end.... ... .. 3 out of 5 mally tums.

Lingering Taste- A good "i'm not going to smoke much today" cigarette, as it leaves your tastebuds with the illusion of a recent smoke. An almost bitter-sweet aftertaste, leaving you with fond memories of what was. 4 out of 5 m.t

AVERAGE SCORE FOR JOHN PLAYER SPECIALS BLUE- 4 out of 5 malignant tumours. Now that's a result to write home about eh?

As i sit here i am death-staring the cheekiest of moths which has just landed on my freshly-H2O-mopped floor. Although i am trying to suppress my rage, i can't help but feel a desire for revenge well-up deep within my being. I will go as far as saying moths have singlehandedly caused most of my frustrations over the past week. They douse me in brown powdery shit as they swoop un-provoked. They commit suicide in my morning coffee cup. They flutter irritatingly around my iPhone screen when i'm innocently googling "sex with dog" in the dark late at night. Enough! i must leave you now, i have a fucking moth to capture, de-wing and sprinkle with miracle-grow crystals. There's nothing like a bright blue wingless creature spinning erratically in a state of shock and no doubt searing pain to make me feel like God.

el oh vee ee Missssy.