Nobody knows my pain
I put in a contact lens the wrong way around.
Unless you wear contact lenses and have done that you wouldn’t know my pain.
Then I stubbed my little toe.
The little forgotten toe that only reminds you of its existence once it’s been stubbed.
So unless you put in your lens the wrong way around and stubbed your forgotten little toe you wouldn’t know my pain.
Then my angry titchy cat bit me.
She has life issues.
So unless you put in your lens the wrong way around, stubbed your forgotten toe, got bit by a cat with existential angst, you wouldn’t know my pain.
Then I got a final gas demand for a bangladesh family living in acton.
And got stuck in british gas’s automated phone system for 3 hours.
Only to be told that I was at fault for having the wrong meter number.
So unless you put in your lens the wrong way around, stubbed your forgotten toe, got bit by a cat with existential angst, got stuck in a voice-jail system costing you 50 pence per minute, you wouldn’t know my pain.
Then I got a call from a machine telling me I won a holiday.
To Darfur.
For a measly 4 thousand pounds I could have the pleasure of a terrorifying joyride chased by mobs of horseriding arabs.
So unless you put in your lens the wrong way around, stubbed your forgotten toe, got bit by a cat with existential angst, got stuck in a voice-jail system costing you 50 pence per minute, got offered a death-sentence holiday, you wouldn’t know my pain.
Then the script I was working on decided to retreat to some unknown quarter within my documents hard-drive.
And I can’t find it.
So unless you put in your lens the wrong way around, stubbed your forgotten toe, got bit by a cat with existential angst, got stuck in a voice-jail system costing you 50 pence per minute, got offered a death-sentence holiday, lost the best screenplay in the western hemisphere, you wouldn’t know my pain.
Then I ran out of coffee.
The grains eloped back to the free-trade plains of Columbia.
So unless you put in your lens the wrong way around, stubbed your forgotten toe, got bit by a cat with existential angst, got stuck in a voice-jail system costing you 50 pence per minute, got offered a death-sentence holiday, lost the best screenplay in the western hemisphere, and ran out of the life-affirming black gold you truly would have no concept of my pain.
