7/12/08
The Kenyan Ranger Service has finally found my poaching trail; cutting trough the center of Rift Valley and straight into the heart of Masai Mara. Fortunately for me, I was away from one of our reserve camps my crew and I established. I was in Nairobi shagging university students. If I had to not get caught, I’m glad I was not caught while shagging university students. My hunting compatriots were not so lucky. “Laurence, you have to be fucking professional when you’re out here in the bush!” they’d yell at me. “Stay here and help us track that lion pride we spotted a week ago.” Now they’re walled off in some shit hole of a cell being refused communication and extradition back to Britain. While I am still a free man, I have just lost my primary source of income.
9/2/08
Bloody Hell. I am nearly out of money. The last lion pelt went months ago, and I was able to turn a right nice profit (sold one to a lady in the states; lives in Chicago, is on TV, first name begins with an O…Oprah. I sold a dead lion’s skin to Oprah Winfrey for $120,000. There, are you happy?). I don’t know how I burned through it so quickly. I remember…it was last Friday. Friday afternoon. I woke up in my luxury suit at the Flemings Mayfair. I laid out lines of cocaine on the night stand last night so I’d have some lines ready and able right when I woke up. No mucking about. I was listening to Oasis at full volume on my Bose theatre system when I heard a knock on the door. I thought it was probably room service bringing up my routine platter of fois gras and duck a l’orange. Instead I was greeted by 2 very gruff looking bobbies and the hotel manager. All 7 of my cards had been maxed out from the previous month and I was finally being evicted. That was the moment I realized my luck had turned to bollocks. It’s a good thing they didn’t personally remove my belongings or they would have found my polar bear skin underpants and anaconda boots (I shagging last night. I forget who she was and she was gone when I woke up, but it doesn’t matter. You always have to bring you’re A-game to the sack).
9/4/08
Things are dire. I’ve started looking for jobs. Actual, jobs. Father and mother have refused to pay for anything else in my life, but I still expect to collect a healthy inheritance from them when they croak (more on that later) and royalty check from the Guinness Peat Group. All I have done for the past 8 years is hunt game. I figured the best equivalent was to work for the London Humane Society. Sure, I would still be tracking and killing. But it’s a little high, little low. The only thing that made me apply for the job was the knowledge that I would at least be murdering dogs several times a day. I never got the job. These fucking interviews are worse than customs. “What was your last form of employment? Why are you no longer doing that? Why do you want this job?” You should have seen the look on his face. It twisted up like rigor mortis when I answered hunter, the Kenyan government, and to kill dogs. “Is that vest made of real leopard?” Actually, no it isn’t real leopard you wee ginger cunt poofter. It’s jaguar and I bagged it myself.
9/7/08
What a crock the police in this country are! I forgot how supposedly how much we “value” “human” “life” here. I was watching Hot Fuzz last night and had the most brilliant idea: shoot humans! That is easily just as dangerous as stalking any rhino or tiger. But I forgot one big problem. Police here don’t carry guns! I’m so used to seeing authoritative police-state patrol men and the militant rebel fighters the police are chasing strolling down the marketplace with AK’s and RPG’s that I completely forgot Britain has order! From this day forward I promise never to buy horrible coke from those fucking Somalians at the corner shop and then watch Simon Pegg movies.
9/16/08
What the fuck is all this rubbish about the economy? Credit Crisis? Meltdown? Black Monday? No wonder it’s been so hard for me to find a proper job! It’s not my fault…it’s the CEO’s! All those greedy, self-serving, rich arsholes who would rather watch the world sink into the ocean than give up one ivory back scratcher (which is stupid since any more than 5 is just excessive). How can they pillage, and they are pillaging by the way, without feeling the slightest bit of remorse. Don’t they know what they’re doing? To me?! There are some terrible people in the world. Let’s just say I sleep with my rifle now.
The Kenyan Ranger Service has finally found my poaching trail; cutting trough the center of Rift Valley and straight into the heart of Masai Mara. Fortunately for me, I was away from one of our reserve camps my crew and I established. I was in Nairobi shagging university students. If I had to not get caught, I’m glad I was not caught while shagging university students. My hunting compatriots were not so lucky. “Laurence, you have to be fucking professional when you’re out here in the bush!” they’d yell at me. “Stay here and help us track that lion pride we spotted a week ago.” Now they’re walled off in some shit hole of a cell being refused communication and extradition back to Britain. While I am still a free man, I have just lost my primary source of income.
9/2/08
Bloody Hell. I am nearly out of money. The last lion pelt went months ago, and I was able to turn a right nice profit (sold one to a lady in the states; lives in Chicago, is on TV, first name begins with an O…Oprah. I sold a dead lion’s skin to Oprah Winfrey for $120,000. There, are you happy?). I don’t know how I burned through it so quickly. I remember…it was last Friday. Friday afternoon. I woke up in my luxury suit at the Flemings Mayfair. I laid out lines of cocaine on the night stand last night so I’d have some lines ready and able right when I woke up. No mucking about. I was listening to Oasis at full volume on my Bose theatre system when I heard a knock on the door. I thought it was probably room service bringing up my routine platter of fois gras and duck a l’orange. Instead I was greeted by 2 very gruff looking bobbies and the hotel manager. All 7 of my cards had been maxed out from the previous month and I was finally being evicted. That was the moment I realized my luck had turned to bollocks. It’s a good thing they didn’t personally remove my belongings or they would have found my polar bear skin underpants and anaconda boots (I shagging last night. I forget who she was and she was gone when I woke up, but it doesn’t matter. You always have to bring you’re A-game to the sack).
9/4/08
Things are dire. I’ve started looking for jobs. Actual, jobs. Father and mother have refused to pay for anything else in my life, but I still expect to collect a healthy inheritance from them when they croak (more on that later) and royalty check from the Guinness Peat Group. All I have done for the past 8 years is hunt game. I figured the best equivalent was to work for the London Humane Society. Sure, I would still be tracking and killing. But it’s a little high, little low. The only thing that made me apply for the job was the knowledge that I would at least be murdering dogs several times a day. I never got the job. These fucking interviews are worse than customs. “What was your last form of employment? Why are you no longer doing that? Why do you want this job?” You should have seen the look on his face. It twisted up like rigor mortis when I answered hunter, the Kenyan government, and to kill dogs. “Is that vest made of real leopard?” Actually, no it isn’t real leopard you wee ginger cunt poofter. It’s jaguar and I bagged it myself.
9/7/08
What a crock the police in this country are! I forgot how supposedly how much we “value” “human” “life” here. I was watching Hot Fuzz last night and had the most brilliant idea: shoot humans! That is easily just as dangerous as stalking any rhino or tiger. But I forgot one big problem. Police here don’t carry guns! I’m so used to seeing authoritative police-state patrol men and the militant rebel fighters the police are chasing strolling down the marketplace with AK’s and RPG’s that I completely forgot Britain has order! From this day forward I promise never to buy horrible coke from those fucking Somalians at the corner shop and then watch Simon Pegg movies.
9/16/08
What the fuck is all this rubbish about the economy? Credit Crisis? Meltdown? Black Monday? No wonder it’s been so hard for me to find a proper job! It’s not my fault…it’s the CEO’s! All those greedy, self-serving, rich arsholes who would rather watch the world sink into the ocean than give up one ivory back scratcher (which is stupid since any more than 5 is just excessive). How can they pillage, and they are pillaging by the way, without feeling the slightest bit of remorse. Don’t they know what they’re doing? To me?! There are some terrible people in the world. Let’s just say I sleep with my rifle now.
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