I am Woman, Hear me Roar.

Anger. It’s an odd little emotion isn’t it. Simultaneously gives you the power to argue incoherently, thump people in a poorly aimed fashion and cry, without costing you a penny. A bit like home brew really, only slightly less lethal.

The only real problem with anger, as far as I can tell, is that I’m currently over-flowing with the stuff and wanting to murder every last one of my house ‘mates’. Except Kate of course. I’d like to CENSORED her while CENSORED green stuff CENSORED on a pogostick CENSORED underneath her CENSORED while the badger CENSORED with a bottle of glue.

Anyway, I’m digressing furiously (a foul habit). My house mates are all C words. I’m not going to type it on here, but they are definately C words. I wish to slaughter them all. I’m not going to go into the full ins and outs of their idiocy, but suffice to say I have a massive stress headache, I’m pumped full of Anadin and I’m moving out with Kate at the end of the week whether we have got the house or not. I’m furious. Oh well.

In other news, I’m very hung-over, love Kate to bits and it’s too hot. Ooooh the excitement that courses through me right now. You could bottle it. I’m doing quite well painting my little Warhammer figures too. I’m such a charismatic un-nerd aren’t I?

Oh well, can’t be arsed to type any more so I’m going to continue quaffing my coffee and plotting my bloody revenge. Its has to involve blood. Theirs preferably. Though I could try and drown them in mine… bit more difficult that one.

Nevermind. The next time you see me it will probably be on Crimewatch, or the front page of The Sun, giving me a snazzy nickname like the Butcher of Bangor, the Gwynedd Gunman, or Hortence the Mule-Faced Doll.

Tom, the Fifth Horseman of the Acropolis (It’s all Greek to me…. sorry)