Friday, January 14, 2011


If I see an attractive woman in the street or a shop and then, say, unintentionally have an idea that's far too rude for a pre-watershed audience, I sometimes take a paranoid fit and think Jesus, what if she can read minds?

This is trebly unfortunate, since any woman that could actually read minds would instantly realise that I'm not only 1) prone to impure thoughts and 2) a guilt-stricken, petrified twerp of Mark-in-Peep Show proportions, but that I'm also 3) the type of credulous idiot who worries about made-up rubbish like telepathy.  Which would be unfortunate.

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