I'm very happy at the moment. I have no complaints. This makes quite a change doesn't it? Not even painting my nails 100 times a day anymore. That's a good thing.
As a result, I'm listening to some frightfully uncool music at the moment. The kind that has about as much street cred as the Tooth Fairy has on the Cape Flats.
And let's face it, the Fairy runs around Constantia Village, notsomuch Mitchell's Plain.
The one problem with being happy and skippy is that my brain goes pear. Happiness is distracting. The gringo is distracting me, it's wonderful.
However. The music will have to stop.
Michael Jackson might molest little boys – and I don't dispute this – but the man can sure belt out a tune. He may couple white socks with black pants, have a melting plastic face and wear pyjamas to his own court case – but quite frankly, he does a great little We Are The World number with Dionne Warwick. I mean, who can deny world peace and shit?
Oh my aching testicle sack - which I don't have – but Barbra Streisand is vocal crème brulee. She might spray paint her microphone white to coincide with her outfit on Oprah, and she may be a few Nigerians short of a Ponte City in the lyric department, but fuck me, she really has a voice. She can scream and yet, she still sounds like a nasal nightingale. C'mon say it, you know she's hot, you're safe here, and your friends won't know.
Michael Bolton is going out with Nicolette Sheridan of Desperate Housewives. They even got Punk'd together. He's also bumped uglies with Teri Hatcher of aforementioned television show. What a stud. True to his words of Time, Love & Tenderness, at least he believes in his own lyrics. And even further – Nicolette obviously had something to do with him cutting his hair. Which is another reason why I prefer her to Teri Hatcher. Amongst other things.
Neil Diamond. Please marry me. Well, actually don't, because Peas O'Diamond sounds very poledancer-on-the-Vegas-strip. And we can't get hitched because I'm taken at the moment. Plus I only like one of your songs - Hello Again - if I'm going to be honest.
Sheryl Crowe, that goes for you too. The only song I like of yours is The First Cut Is The Deepest. And you stole that from Rod Stewart anyway. But biggie up for supporting Lance Armstrong through his untimely testicular cancer. Bit of a bastardo for hightailing it after he got fixed, though.