A Day in the Life of Johan & Co.

This morning I woke up, got dressed, put some Sunday Make up™ on and then went down to breakfast, where I greeted our cocaine dealing (and in some cases, producing) friends. After my breakfast of some kebabs and also some Turkish Delight set off with some Turkish Coffee, I decided to head outside.

Once outside, I called for my driver, who used to be a member of the Russian secret police but now works for us. We went out to walk about and kill some Greeks, and some Armenians thrown in for added pleasure.

Once our daily Turkish Responsibilities were over, we went back home, where I sat and planned on just how to help Kurds suffer just a little more than they already do. After that I had a meeting with some arms brokers.

And that concludes my Turkish day of being a Turk.

Johan

I have a new friend who goes by the name of Johan.

It is a spot. I actually have a spot on my face. And you can see it.

I love having PMS.

I am going to get fertilized.

The Return of the Vati

Ah, mein liebling Vati has returned from Kebabland. Also known as the Land in which us evil Turks thrive. You know sayings such as "Are you becoming a Turk" and "A Turk's head" and so on are there for a reason. We are all incredibly horrible people. We eat children. And kill priests. Yeah. We do.

Anyhoo, the Return of the Vati signals the end of the economic deterioration of my purse. It now has lots of euro notes as well as my hairdresser Jimi's card (that being the entire contents of my purse; the reason for this could be that I have no snogging partner whose picture I could lovingly carry in my purse and stroke and show everyone).

I have decided that I do not want to study anything at Uni, although I do know I want to go there. And so on. I am going to end up doing English Literature and become a teacher and thus not be able to buy Marc Jacobs shoes, unless I marry a rich, hot, loving and funny and also intelligent man.

Maybe I should join an Islamic cult and therefore not work, as we all know that people in cults don't do anything but fuck about. Except the Masons, who are all surgeons. And thus it follows that all surgeons are Masons. Which means there is a Freemason in my family, which means I am related to Jack the Ripper.

I am getting a British visa.