I blinked suddenly the weekend was nearly over! What the hell is that about? And there’s just over a week until Christmas? Oh god.
Having been named the leader of an entire rebellion and charged with incredible responsibility I cannot help but feel my troops may be questioning their choices as they watch me float a cow into the sky before triggering the booster rockets strapped to its backside, sending it spiralling into the air before it crashes into a nearby cliff. This isn’t some cunning ploy to distract the enemy or some ingenious new bovine weapon, it’s just me dicking around. This revolution is screwed. The oppressed masses are about to become the squashed masses.
By the luxurious beard of Thor’s angelic face, it’s the freaking weekend yet again, meaning that Christmas is now looming like Santa standing over the kid who is at the very tippy-top of the naughty list.