No, it's not a future projected picture of Dolly in one of the Gillian "another dodgy qualification" McKeith programs to shock you into eating paper, grass and water for the rest of your life after she carried out the grand revealing of your stools. It's a picture from an online game I played the other night called Left4Dead which is the cliched but enjoyable shooting of amusingly animated Zombies, shouting and laughing with your mates while drinking beer.
The girlfriend of one friend stood in while he refilled his pint glass and she efficiently covered the rearguard. She also had a remarkably charming voice on the crystal clear Skype conference call.
Although I’m a little cautious at using that as an overall true judge and jury of character as I used to have the hots for my dad’s secretary when I was a teenager. I'd never met her before but she had this super-sexy, silky 100 Rothman’s RP voice of a vixen and between the sheets in those hormone fuelled “nuit de passion” between myself and my imagination, I assumed she to be the Jeanne Moreau of my film noir dreams.
My dad just laughed at me – she was about 60 years old and my illusion was shattered.
Mind you, there have been some awful, beaten with the ugly stick, nagging fillies, when not braying into my ear but were confusing the delicate art of fellatio with the process of ripping corn from its cob with their incisors, where I had an epiphany and truly appreciated the meaning of Art and Paul’s stunning, selfless biblical message to the followers of flares, that within the sound of silence, darkness was indeed my friend.
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