You think I hung myself up lamenting over
love lost.? I would rather have a hangover. (That means the rope is either too
long or the stool is too high.)
I didn’t really have to weep and moan in bed,
because I have hardly seen the thing. (The bed - not the lost love. No sign of
her…except…in my dreams.)
Whipped and tortured by nasty Germans, I
freely and without a moan, got up day after day at 3.30 am, to return at 9.00
pm, to construct a modern piece of art in the centre of Munich.
My body aches something terrible. It didn’t
help when about 100 kgs of plaster board decided to fall onto my back and
kidneys - nearly making me pass a gypsum stone.
Are we tough enough? No. I wept like a baby
and called ‘Injuries ‘R’ Us’ , sued the bastards and as a result - I now live in a cardboard box under a bridge
and I can’t claim German dole because I have no fixed abode. I tried to explain
that it was their fault that my ‘Living in a box, I’m living in a cardboard
box’, was washed away because the council didn’t cough up enough dosh for flood
defences; but they rudely denied me any compensation…
Do you want more of this story????
No comments:
Post a Comment