Monday, 25 March 2013

Thinking Ahead.

I’ve been giving some thought to what I would like to be in my next life (just so I know what to look for in the genetic make-up of the bodies on offer, you understand.) So far I’ve got:

Irish fiddler
Train driver

What I definitely don’t want to be:

Rock star
Reindeer herder (too cold)
Donald Trump’s great grandson

So what do I do if the powers-that-be insist that I go off to be a magician on Alpha Centauri? The problem with being a magician is that they never get the nice girls. They get the ones who want to lock them up in trees, and throw away the keys (and maybe even have hairy knees, but I couldn’t be bothered to write the ditty.)

Come to think of it, the Lady of the Next Life is already appointed, so I suppose I’ll have to arrange the job around her. Goat herder would be appropriate.

Don’t I write strange posts after 2am?

I just looked in a mirror. Wasn’t impressed, so I’d better make sure I’m good looking, too.

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