Drama with Osama

Ding dong, Bin Laden’s dead, shot to the head, he’s just brown bread, DING DONG OSAMA BIN LADEN IS DEEEAAAD.

Huzzah, and thank you. That brief musical diatribe is luckily the only one present in this blog (I’ll save the torture for another time).

A troubling recollection comes back to me from about two years ago, when several eminent tabloids ran the story that the founding father of Al Qaeda had been assassinated; obviously, this turned out to be a hoax and since then the mystery surrounding Bin Laden’s state of health has only deepened. However, with the advent of (seemingly) genuine photographic evidence earlier today, we might be able to vanquish the decade long question of: where is he? Probably getting gnawed at by a gang of ravenous sharks one assumes.

Let’s just hope it’s not in some pimped out cave on the Afghan-Pakistani border, supping on a non-alcoholic lager in a hot tub, laughing so hard his beard falls off at the T.V. coverage of his ‘death’. If he appears on the next series of the Arabic version of Cribs, it seems the Americans might have been telling porky pies. Hopefully though, it’s all bona fide and some of the families and friends of victims, so traumatised by Bin Laden’s atrocities, can seek solace in the fact he’s currently sinking agonisingly slowly to the bottom of the sea.

Very much looking forward to the release of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part II by the way (premiere is still some way off on July 7^th sadly). If only to observe Daniel Radcliffe’s amusing attempts at ‘acting’ and Helena Bonham Carter’s continued interpretation of Bellatrix Lestrange. Or, as I like to call her, Amy Winehouse dressed up for a night on the town. Suddenly thought of HazPot because of the unusual necklace my girlfriend left round mine yesterday. I wouldn’t bet against it being a horcrux actually, because she seems to turn into an evil bitch whenever she wears the thing. (Only joking dear.)  

In other irrelevant news, finished a short story today although, if truth be told, it’s in fact a highly condensed book which currently lacks the legs to form itself into a fully fledged novel. Never mind, time to type it all up; very much wish I’d have paid attention during I.C.T. lessons at school now and learnt to type impossibly quickly. Googling images of nudey ladies as a gormless 14 year old suddenly seems a tad wasteful. I’ve already begun to indulge in an endless supply of double espressos to aid my efforts, which with hindsight could be construed as foolish. I’m shaking like a Parkinson’s sufferer on heat; I may leave this all till tomorrow.

In the meantime, a wee jog awaits me. BRING ON ESPANA.

Au revoir my French fancies. x