It’s a conspiracy

My trainers seem to have an bottomless stash of small stones to release under my feet, doesn’t matter how many times I take them off, bash them on a fence and see something fall out, another interloper appears seconds after putting them back on, like there’s some malevolent hamster’s cheek pouch within, deftly releasing these tiny mines to hinder my journey, a constant foray of Maquis attacks on my Panzer division as it proceeds home.

I’m sure there’s a Greek myth of someone being punished by the Gods with stones in their shoes. There’s one about a guy having to roll dice for ever with a small pot that has no bottom. And the bloke pushing the rock up the hill that rolls down again. Pretty unpleasant as deities go, for all the hanging around they do on chaise longue, eating grapes in Doric-columned gazebos surrounded by cloud, playing chess, watching the Mortals through the water of a bird bath. Why don’t they do nice shit?

Fucking Hotmail shit. I’ve been locked out of my Hotmail account for hours now, and they’ve blocked me again, seeking to filch email addresses and subject headings out of me by way of verification – which I don’t know because I’m not in the fucking email and I don’t carry this shit in my head, while the Microsoft site for shit like this says ‘send an email.’ You wankers. I used Hotmail more these days since Yahoo! went wank, and they did that in the teeth of so many complaints, people saying the meddling had bust up a working system.

Fucking dickheads. It’s a conspiracy, as my father might say.


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