Mood:  don't ask

A few of you herberts asked me why I'm not in the Olympics this year, well I thought I'd made that clear to you c*nts yesterday...I have to let other people have a chance at gold. Anyone who is as deadly as me with a gun, or a bike, shouldn't be allowed to compete. As for that Michael Phelps character...even with my habit of 50 Bensons a day I'd still beat him easily...although I do have the distinct advantage of being able to walk on water. I must admit though I am impressed with his achievement, those f*cking ears of his must really screw up his aerodynamics. In seriousness though I probably won't compete until Trolley pushing is an olympic sport, I'm already in training for that.

As I'm hooked on the Olympics it was an early trip down the Bagel Bake this morning...I'm beginning to feel a bit out of place down the Bethnal Green Road these days, lucky I have the ability to communicate fluently in 250 different languages...Mossad really prepare you for the real world. Still I'm looking forward to the 24th century, if Star Trek is to believed, everyone speaks English, although it will put a few language teaching c*nts on the dole...tough shit...that's progress.

Someone else was kind enough to suggest that maybe I should write in to one of those home makeover shows for the Safe House. I'm not sure that's a good idea. First off everyone will know where I live, which defeats the purpose of a Safe House in the first place, and second I'm having no dizzy tart telling me where to shove my floral curtains. I'm happy where they are thanks, plus they hide my Uzi collection.

 Shalom