I spend my sundays drinking the purest of wine and eating the most savoury cuts of veal the fine lands can bestow, this particular day is devouted to utmost relaxation: rotating half hour shifts of superb professional talents such as a missouse, the countries finest "choiffere", a noble chiropractor graduated victorian, top of his class, and strong, steady injections of Trailer Park Boys with volumptious sides of Kenny VS Spenny. The week consists of reveling in the filth of your common grease adorned with coveralls and various hand tools. Repairing machines of various sorts: rather grotesque creations, often many years past their life spans projected by the more often than not probable snaggle toothed british designers that created them. Two solid trips upon the so called "rocket"; a slow paced four wheeled böhemoth of A beast: ädorned with bretheren of all types and sizes all in various states of extreme hustle. This "rocket" will move through intertwining shit piles of foreign vehicles in the hours of so called rush, trying its best to avoid the "foreingese" (a rare breed indeed) that pilot these vehicles and often inferior ways in the clogged arteries that feed the very life of the big city. In all I lead a rather domicile existance during the week untill the invetable friday when I frolick with the finest group of motley crue drinkers this side of the Missisipi, that trend continues often to saturday before the end of the week submits me to my place of rest: to revel in slumber rejouvenating oneself for another weeks events.
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