Day 39. 123 pages, 54,819 words.
I’ve decided I’m going to go into business designing washing machines.
First I am going to make up a batch of plaster. Then I’m going to take off my pants and plop my arse into the plaster, and make a cast of my butt. Then, while the plaster sets, I’m going to eat a bunch of expired food, emptying the resultant diarrhoea from my colostomy bag into the cast, and firm it up with a bit of cement powder or something. Some research and development money may have to go into this. I will then put it out in the sun to dry. When it’s all ready, I will take away the plaster and the result will be a hardened-shit bust of my flabby stitched-up arse cheeks.
It will also be a better washing machine than this piece of irredeemable fuckery Samsung have managed to sell to us.
I’m considering setting up a kickstarter to pay for my triumph-assured entrance into the washing machine design race. If it doesn’t cover the R&D I need re: the concrete powder, it might at least allow me to afford to fill this machine with used shit-bags and post it to Samsung’s headquarters.
The good news is that, after it errored-out and I had to drain it twice, I was getting pretty good at using the piece-of-shit useless drainage tube. The bad news is, the error code insists that the machine isn’t hooked up right. And we paid for the motherfuckers at Gigantti to hook it up right.
This weekend was fucking useless. Starting to worry about missing my 70-day deadline.