For the record, lest there be any doubt, the best song into ever is on Stevie Wonder's "Superstition".
I may even rename Spencer to Stevie for this month in his honour, it certainly looks like he could use a white stick and a labrador to make his way around.
Don't even get me started on his rhythm.
One week of ooohing, aaaahing, and making of various other yummy noises down, and another to go. Today is CD15 and ET is ripe for the plucking.
Ripe for the plucking on Friday 13th.
Can you just imagine the intense pleasure you could derive from telling a whiney 14 year old in years to come that they were conceived on Friday the 13th?
"Jason, the truth is, you're not actually named after that singer with the funny hat."
Then again, is it fate?
Will the unluckiest day on the calendar invert and exponentially expand it's influence for good instead of evil?
I call on you, forces of misfortune and dread, make these previous twenty three unexplained unlucky failures redundant and make the unlucky lucky.
I feel like I should be standing bare-chested on a lightening ravaged cliff top, arms outstretched to the gods as I make my cry, but a basement office that smells of cheese and cigarettes will have to do.
If you have any clue what I'm talking about, please let me know, I'm buggered if I do.
The pleasant exhaustion of the week has taken it's toll.
Hump n'hope people, hump n'hope. Take 24.
EDIT: 13 indeed! I've just seen this, and I don't think I will ever have an erection again.