21/03/2014 - STOP EATING THEM ITCHES

                Stop eating them itches, stop meeting the bitches, stop being Pritchard for once in your life. For once in your life you can be some other dude with a bloke's mask and an ingrown toenail that sparks off fabulous conversation among the plebeian masses.  The children's TV moguls will come down hard on the subject matter like a tack hammer on an ant and you won't be able to grab your coat or castrate yourself before the headaches come rushing and flooding in through gaps and cracks in your perception filter. Be patient with them, they have noses in place all over the scenario board and they only want to respect your privacy so give them a reason to and they'll just slink off into a Slimmer's Gym. Assume the seating position and they will tell all about dill and various other appendices of a tiresome slice of life.

            People just say stupid things to sound stupefied and amusing and American on a morning talk show. The windows of opportunity vary from actor to actor and they all have their suitable detractors just like the wind in a hydraulic cupboard. The buttons are glowing; the greens, the reds, the blues and the pinks and it's for you that they toll and take tickets with wilfully witless disposition. The truly tiresome thing is that the hands don't stroke like they used to, not even across themselves on sunny days as deck chairs go by on the street. There's something deeply disturbing about arousing suspicion on a day like this. The blue twigs are only blue because the buttons have dictated it to be so or at least a small handful. Can buttons be turned into quantifiable mass? Touch it and see but be careful not to scratch or sniff. The world could forge a writer's paradise if you go doing stupid shit like that.

            Respectfully declining to run is the worst decision any man with twinkly lips has ever made and so that's why you don't see the like so much anymore. They're punished for their insolence and insubordination through spending time in the hydraulic cupboard with Marjory. Marjory made herself an arch enemy of Pritchard and that's why Erasmus finds the whole scenario fucking hilarious. Neil is just hysterically picking up lint for Mr Thank before his tank rolls onto the plate.

            These are the words they say:

PRITCHARD: Why I oughta!

MARJORY: Wish you wouldn't. You're always doing this, always doing this for common gain.

ERASMUS: Snigger.

NEIL: It's snicker.

ERASMUS: Who asked you?

MARJORY: Yeah, who asked you?

PRITCHARD: I asked him actually. His opinion is invaluable to me. I sometimes stretch it out and lay it on my mantelpiece.

MARJORY: Did you ask his opinion on this occasion?

PRITCHARD: Of course.

NEIL: Absolutely true.

ERASMUS: Brutal.

NEIL: We have shit to worry about.

PRITCHARD: It won't take long now.

NEIL: It won't be so obvious for too long. Just get yourself on the kharma.

MR THANK: Run along now, children.