'Good heavens my pretties, whatever goes next?'

2:55am mum's house.
The wind outside is blowing it's ring out and domino's pizza just did the same to mine. Been trying to read a Ludlum book in dim light but figured trawling the electric seabed easier on the eyes thus you find me here.
Blogging ostensibly as conduit to future riches and global domination (stab littleweeds), but perhaps more appropriately keeping the poo demons at bay with mental stimulation.
fuck it too many big words heres a little one: moot
In between shitting a hundred cigarettes and at least three kinds of domestic lager i lurked onto stab's page to see what piece of lens fodder was winning, if the contest was still running at all. So much to see, such a short vinegar stroke, oh well. Figured I might as well toss my hat in the ring for the writer gig, which eventually is the only reason I can conceive of you finding your way here, musing over my mulesings.
Suitably primed, a little about me:
26 years young (I hate when cunts write it like that).
In that time I have worked as a chef, a fisherman, a concreter, civil contractor ('til I rolled the roller), and a man of a dozen other hats, but these days fill the fiscal void as a would-be shipwright, clothpeddler in a surfshop (for the cheap boards and wetties - and admiring the gusset), and breaking down the walls of our forebears via asbestos removal. It was the impetus of the latter thats gots me here chasing employment outside the trades... nothing fires up the inner academic like unrewarding manual labour in sweatsuits.
Hopefully I win so I can buy a macbook and tight jean shorts and chicks sunnies and a pair of brothel creepers so I fit in at long last even though I might be mistaken for a boogieboarder. 'Pimp my hide' as it were.
Vote 1 terry mcarsey yew!