The Word Cloud

Is it just me or is The Cloud behaving itself these days?

Ever since The Vaporous One humbly recognised our frustrations and intimated that, omni-patient as It is, the situation was, and I’m paraphrasing here, getting right on The Cloud’s tits as well, all seems to be lovely and, unlike most of you, stable. I have to admit that I did feel somewhat bad about my whinge after that, and despite my family motto “non sodomatium non sodomatius”, (not even remotely translated as “never do anything you’ll regret and never regret anything you do”) I did regret posting my drivel.

So a heartfelt apology to The Cloud in general, the administrators in particular and specifically any lurker that buggered off after reading just one, poorly considered, blog.

In light of the note from the powers that be, and the remarkably positive change that has miraculously occured, I would sincerely like to apologise to everyone for my lack of big lottery win. I am as disappointed as everyone reading this and would like you all to know that it is not within my direct power to rectify the situation despite, and I understand this is key to the process, only buying my first “ticket” last week. Just to say I share your frustrations and will be unlikely to contact anyone at Camelot to complain... so as to avoid looking a complete twat.

Re above paragraph; please do not read between the lines, as that way madness lies. The paragraph above should be mentally filed under EzWishes not under EzSarcasm or any possible negative connotation that I was comparing the running of this magnificent site with a lottery. Which I’m not. So don’t think that. And despite re-reading it again and it seems to scream “piss-taking bastard”. Which I’m not. Well, in this case anyway. This time I’m genuine and just being silly with the principle of shortfall recognition and resolution. (This place is bloody hard work sometimes; having to explain yourself to avoid upsetting anyone. Sigh.) All I was hoping was that the magic that fixed The Cloud washes over my bank balance and leaves large pools of high-life-giving glory. Knowing my luck, though, it will probably be deposits of human waste upon human waste; excremental deposits as it were… (See what I did there? No? Incremental/Excremental? No? Suit yourself. Sigh.)

Anyhoo. The point is, and always is, and always will be; one day soon I shall be as rich as Croesus and will then post, from my private yacht moored sedately off my private island nestled seductively in The Maldives, a suitably contrite and heartfelt apology for the situation up until then. I shall also regale you all with the insanely funny tale of my Angelina Jolie indecent proposal and the many wonderful days I subsequently spent in intensive care. Unless she says yes… in which case it will be un-gentlemanly to kiss and tell and certainly not PC to shag and tell. But, I’m presuming she’s going to say “no”, anyway… and, thinking about it, what the hell is an indecent proposal for the likes of Mrs Pitt? I’ll bet she’s got a quid or two so could well be insulted at the offer of a couple of million for five minutes of passion. (I originally wrote “night of passion” but then thought who am I kidding? Even five minutes may well be stretching it a bit; just the thought of that body, naked and in close proximity to my portly six-pack-if-it-were-not-for-the-packaging-(and-cheese-obsession), is almost enough to make me cream...) A couple of million for a thought that I could have for nothing at home were it not for EzBird asking “what are you doing?” or “Shelley? Where’s all the Kleenex gone?” seems a tad high. I wonder if I could haggle? Can you haggle with an indecent proposal? How?

She: “Oh go on then if it’s for a couple million.”

Me: “Ah, damn, forgot... have my other trousers on, so I’ve only got this tenner on me… what are my chances?”

Although... I do understand that the Hollywood ilk are very charity conscious. Maybe I could tempt her with a charitable donation? It’s at this point, disgusting reader, you are on your own and the disturbing path you follow leads to the woods where the bad people walk their dogs (you know who you are). No, I meant, despite the desperate and pathetic subject of this drivel, I wondered if I could offer the charity some money in exchange for a night (read five minutes) of passion with the Jolly Angel? No? No, I don’t think so either. Mind you, if she did say yes, that would be a charitable act in itself I suppose…

Anyway up until then you’ll just have to put up with me sulking and whinging and whining and moaning and groaning and grumping (whatever that is). And apologising afterwards. Just like sex then really…

Ez