I've finished my geography coursework. It's so late I've developed cataracts. Or I can see ghosts.
I'm going to die in my sleep and the last day of my life will have been spent in the most boring way physically possible. I think I might have to kill God as some form of retribution for putting me through this. God invented geography, malaria, H.I.V. and geographers who live to study such things and write long and dull publications about it. I hate you, God. Even the fact that you have a beard does not make up for this.
GOD: But it IS a rather marvellous and luxuriant beard.
ME: Oh, alright then. But you have to let me caress it.
GOD: But I just washed it and your hands are all sticky.
ME: If you don't let me stroke it I'll beat you to death with a crucifix.
No one likes to be beaten to death with a small plastic effigy of their son nailed to a post.
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