Archive David Gentle info and blogdex

Saturday, September 30, 2000

I got home from my stint of "work" with twelve satchels full of stuff. I think they may have belonged to someone else. Because I don't remember the company I work for (fuckMEdia) working from a toaster factory. It might be ironic though.
posted by David Gentle 9/30/2000

Friday, September 29, 2000

A culture of miniturisation seems to be setting in at work. The big financiers are suggesting that we have miniature towels to make us happier. I suggested that they should actually make the small towels out of cars. But they said cars were to small. Because of the miniaturisation. So I just walked into a wall.
posted by David Gentle 9/29/2000

So, okay. I was sitting in the bath tub behind my desk. Total Anarchy! The rain felt good, but I couldn't seem to shake off the Canadian accent that I'd picked up. Clean legs and a lot of work done!
posted by David Gentle 9/29/2000

Tuesday, September 26, 2000

Todd's journal extract 5 "Now they were on us. Their lips and thighs were quivering and we knew what they wanted.
'It wasn't to keep our blood at the correct temperature', growled the leading wench,'we just adore the way they squirm inside us'. The seals and I kept running but the space jeep was really fast.
It had a cool door and interesting trim. I noticed a thing hanging from the mirror. It was blurred, like a hole in someone's soul. As though I had walked in on the back of my own dream and found myself wanking. The paint was nice too.
The nurses continued to outmanoeuvre us until we realised that the guns we had might kill them. Unfortunately the guide had fallen onto a mouldy log and discovered his age. The seals might be superb at balancing stuff on their noses but they suck when it comes to gunplay. So I had to shoot them.
The bar was filled that night and we took our chances with the local beer. It tasted sweet. We tried to start a game of poker with one of the locals but he just started to exhale. We drank our beer and then ran into a tap. SMACK SMACK SMACK. We had no sense of direction in our current trousers. I personally managed to fill a complete drawer with detailed models of village cathedrals before someone took away my squeeze box.
We left the two bit burg and walked out into the desert. Stood. Cool. Air. The breeze washed across our grubby faces like a sensuous hand. I had a brief flashback to my days polishing clits for the government. They need them to look like shinny little door knockers. I suggested that they should just give out a pamphlet I had constructed with the title 'Soap your pussy: It's clean and fun!' They took my suggestion and I lost the job. I still have the little rag (they let me keep it even though it is technically government property).
I felt as though the desert was calling my name. But it was Humbert. 'Todd, do you have any sort of fucking clue where the threshing machines are?' I had to admit that I didn't. But I will find one. Some day."
posted by David Gentle 9/26/2000

Sunday, September 24, 2000

Went to work today. They seem to be employing a hippopotamus. It's just sitting there grinding it's teeth on a partition. I think it does something with paper. It seems to be covered in paper anyway. Why is everyone else screaming and running around?
posted by David Gentle 9/24/2000

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