Deadhead

Dribble dribble slurp slurp

I've just completed a 2650 quiz question order. Well, I did a few days ago, and I still don't think I've recovered. My brain is all scrambled and atomised. It drips out of every head orifice. I never thought it would take so much out of me, and even drive me a little teeny weeny bit nuts. All I want to do is lie in bed and not think of Georger Sisler, Satchel Paige and batters' OBPs: this is what happens when you agree to write 1000 questions on baseball, 1000 on hip hop and 500 on ice hockey, and some others on base TV. I mean, the said sports aren't even played in this country properly FERCHRISSAKES!!! I'll give you a slapshot alright. And never again will I write a question on any members of the Wu-Tang Clan. Even if they played Cheese on The Wire.

However, in the end, I have to say I am glad for the experience. What doesn't kill you or gives you permanent brain damage makes you a better question setter, an excellent human being, or some other platitudinous arsebollocks.

But tomorrow night promises a new challenge. My first Brain of London final. Ooh don't it make you want to puke your guts up with nervousness? Nah, not really. I got up at 18.11 today. I have no idea why. I thought I went to bed at a 'normal' time. But hey, wasn't Pulling really crap your underwear funny/embarrassing last night? Makes me want to go out 'on the rob' and frame law-abiding old men with bottles of Yop. What TV orders me to do, I must obey.