She sits in her room all day long.
All night long as well come to think of it. With the curtains shut tight to block out any ray of sunshine. Snuggled deep inside the recesses of her She-Shed so to speak, the door to her room is securely locked; hardly opening except for the few microseconds she takes to rush to the loo. Even her meals are taken in the murky, musty confines of her bastille - at least I suspect that to be the case since she doesn't even sneak out for a bite.
Either she's secretly coming up with a nefarious plan to take over the world - or she clandestinely delivered her own love child. Then again she could just be counting the sparkly dots on the ceiling boards. Don't know which one I'm more worried about.
Since her door remains perpetually locked for reasons unbeknownst, I guess no one will ever know.
Though I'll admit that I can never understand folks who set themselves up for self imprisonment. Do they really enjoy solitary confinement? Know it's quite hypocritical for me to say so but don't they ever see the need for some fresh air? Some blessed sunshine?
Paul : Are you still alive in there?
Paisley : *grunt*
Paul : What? Are you crushed by a cabinet?
Paisley : I'm alive.
Paul : Just give fair warning if you're about to expire yeah. Don't wanna clean up the decaying corpse after.
Cabined. Cribbed. Confined.
Indeed. The proverbial girl locked up in the tower. That's one of the tenants here in Netherfield, Pretty Paisley.
And then Pretty Paisley creeps out of her dark, dank cell and whines 'OMG I am so bored. There's nothing to do here.' Then starts to wonder why there's nowhere to go, nothing to see, nothing to do.
Hell yeah, when you've been hiding in the cave all day doing a Gollum! Now how do I answer such a question without a firm backhand?
All night long as well come to think of it. With the curtains shut tight to block out any ray of sunshine. Snuggled deep inside the recesses of her She-Shed so to speak, the door to her room is securely locked; hardly opening except for the few microseconds she takes to rush to the loo. Even her meals are taken in the murky, musty confines of her bastille - at least I suspect that to be the case since she doesn't even sneak out for a bite.
Either she's secretly coming up with a nefarious plan to take over the world - or she clandestinely delivered her own love child. Then again she could just be counting the sparkly dots on the ceiling boards. Don't know which one I'm more worried about.
Since her door remains perpetually locked for reasons unbeknownst, I guess no one will ever know.
 |
| Paul : Ah, you're out of prison. Paisley : Yes, I am. I see you got a haircut. Paul : Actually I've already had three haircuts since you were incarcerated. Even had a permed afro once. Paisley : Really! Paul : Well you wouldn't know for sure, would you? |
Paul : Are you still alive in there?
Paisley : *grunt*
Paul : What? Are you crushed by a cabinet?
Paisley : I'm alive.
Paul : Just give fair warning if you're about to expire yeah. Don't wanna clean up the decaying corpse after.
Cabined. Cribbed. Confined.
Indeed. The proverbial girl locked up in the tower. That's one of the tenants here in Netherfield, Pretty Paisley.
And then Pretty Paisley creeps out of her dark, dank cell and whines 'OMG I am so bored. There's nothing to do here.' Then starts to wonder why there's nowhere to go, nothing to see, nothing to do.
Hell yeah, when you've been hiding in the cave all day doing a Gollum! Now how do I answer such a question without a firm backhand?
1 comment:
I need to get hold of u lar... Email me please?
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