Okay. I was going to put sex in the blog title again to get more people reading, since, you know, sex sells. You only need to mention the word and you've got your hook. But today's blog is going to be on a very serious topic that's quite dear to most of our hearts.

Gotcha! Haha! Really I'm just gonna type a load of random crap and probably make references to my porn collection and how good looking I am and maybe it'll be worth reading. Or maybe not! Either way I win because you'll have already read it by the time you realised it wasn't actually worth reading. So take that, punkie. You're just another +1 on my profile views stat, which is the number I use in lieu of actual human interaction to judge how interesting a person I am. I think it's quite overwhelmingly clear that I am almost a moderately interesting person.

And that's something I can boast about next time I'm talking with a real human girl. I can be all like, Hey baby, my GameSpot profile went up by 65 views today. Does that get you hot? And she probably won't reply because she's too busy trying to work herself free of her chains. And also I had to gag her. That girl just would not learn.

Okay, so this is real freestyIe blogging right here. I have no idea what I'm actually going to type, I'm just sitting here in Word typing things before I even think about thinking about them. I'd illustrate this by telling you a phrase my father says a lot - you know, like my father always says – but he doesn't say very much. He's dead.

Anyway, yeah. FreestyIe blogging. I actually find the idea quite frightening. I like to make a plan and then stick with it. Which is to say I like to make a plan and then stick with it, I never actually do make a plan and then stick with it. Because plan-making is fun, with-sticking is not so much fun. So, yeah, for my last four bloggerinos (I can't believe Word doesn't recognise that as a word) I have known almost precisely what I was going to write about – and that's most of the work already done. Figuring out what to write about is the hard part (creative writers are a bunch of ****ing geniuses), the actual writing part is just finger-tapping good. I mean, I hope you don't expect me to still be blogging this time next week. No ****ing chance, man. No ****ing chance. Thinking up ideas is just... hard.

So, in this blog, I have no idea at all what to write about, and I'm so pressured into trying to think of things to write that are worth reading that I don't have time to think up funny jokes (How do you keep an idiot in suspense?...) to keep you reading, so most of you have probably already stopped reading by now which is just fine because I don't think you're missing much. In fact, i cna prolly stop usin real punctu8chun and spellin coz ull prolly not read it n e wayz lol

...and since you already stopped reading, I can also admit to some of my darkest, most horrible secrets – like when I was in Ibiza when I was in my early teens, I found this totally hot chick (a lot older than me but at the time I didn't care) and it was like a wet dream come true, but it turns out she had a god damn--

--Oh wait, you're still here? Maybe some other time, then. But let me just offer you this advice: always check for suspicious surgery scars, and try and casually stroke her hair, but really you're checking to see if it's a wig. Anyway, I was thinking of trying to make this entire blog where I don't know what I'm writing about into a blog about not knowing what I'm writing about (...I'll tell you tomorrow.), like some kind of postmodernist blog that's actually pure bull**** but pretentious people (that would be everyone who rolled their eyes and corrected me when I said geniuses rather than genii – you know who you are!) defend it because it makes them feel intelligent, or whatever. Is this blog fine art? Well, either way I'm just going to keep on talking about how I'm not actually talking about anything. Maybe if I just keep on going, maybe I'll become a billionaire artiste and get those matching shoes I dream of so very often.

Alright, so, actually I was fibbing just now. I'm gonna abandon my freestyIe blogging. It's not working. I'm gonna do some real blogging on a real topic. Okay. Right. Content. Readable content with direction. Worth reading. Real beginning, middle and end stuff. Here goes.

I'm unemployed. Like, really unemployed. Those of you who have known me for a while might know that I left my job in February in part because I felt it was time to move on and in part because I was fired for gross incompetence resulting in significant punitive fines for my employer. So it was really a sort of mutual understanding between my employer and me that I should leave the company and not even think about asking for a reference.

And ever since I have been living the life of a gluttonous geek, which was absolutely dandy at first but one can only marathon one's 24 collection on DVD and enjoy one's imported American porno (the real good stuff) so many times before one finds one needs to stretch one's – alright, this sentence is far too upper middle cIass. I've run out of cabbage, is my point. Or cheddar, if you prefer. Why do food words beginning with c mean money in America? I've run out of cantaloupe? Cucumber? Coleslaw? Wait, isn't coleslaw just cabbage in salad cream? I'm not really sure what coleslaw is. Anyway, I've run out of coleslaw. And what the **** is coriander?

Money is something that's very easy to take for granted when you have it. The relation between the item purchased and the money with which it was purchased did not really exist for me when I had a lot of money– it was always there, and the pile was always getting bigger and bigger, so spending it didn't really actually seem to happen, no matter how much I bought. It's like gay guys in an office environment – every now and then one leaves, but there's always another to take his place a short time later. Except my money didn't totally brush against the back of my chair when it walked past and smile at me. I got used to ignoring them but Jesus Christ it freaked me out the first time it happened. I mean, how do you politely tell someone you aren't gay Or do you make a big scene just to teach them a lesson? Do you ignore them? Anyway, my point is my money didn't hit on me. No, wait... No. My money was... I'm not sure where I was going with this. My money wasn't... No, I really think I've lost this one.

Oh! I remember now. My money was always there. Just like my father wasn't.

And now I find myself in an awful situation. I have run out of shiny money coins! And now that I have no money left, I all-of-a-sudden have a list of things I want to buy as long as my arm. I know that it's as long as my arm because I'm carving the list into my arm with a razorblade because that's the only way I'm managing to deal with the pain of not having any money.

I mean, sweet holy heck, there's a book I spotted with mine very own eyes called The Artwork of Oddworld, and we wants it, precious. I recently realised that comedic genius John Schwartzwelder has released three more books, and I need them. I want to buy a bike to get rid of this belly. I want to buy a laptop so I have a workstation where I can work on my novel that isn't full of distractions like games and porno and pictures of myself looking gorgeous (there's always the risk that I'll catch my reflection in my laptop screen, and that'll end up being half a day wasted, but it's a risk I have to take). And most of all, I want to buy all the new games coming out in the next few months. And all I have to do is buy them. And I can't, because I have no money.

So I guess what I'm saying is: it's on now, beyatch. That's right, British employers – I'm jobhunting. It officially begins right now. Well, not right now because, well... I-I don't really want to. But later.

Yes! I'll definitely do it later.

I've planned it.