Someone had a busy day.
My dad once bet me that by the time I got home I wouldn’t remember the number plate of a car in front of us. I can still remember it now. It was a maroon Ford Orion, registration D189 ONB. Why has my brain chosen to store that bit of information? What use is it? I can’t even remember my National Insurance number. My brain does what it wants.
“
| — | Karl Pilkington. The Further Adventures Of An Idiot Abroad. 2012. (via conversational-wizard) |
If Moth’s had eyes would they be happier?
How do they know they’re not dead?
Cavemen hunting for food
but not before they style the hair on their head.
What would last longer in dinosaur times?
A blind man didn’t stand a chance; not with all them rocks about.
I’d rather be a blind moth.
How do they know they’re not dead?
Cavemen hunting for food
but not before they style the hair on their head.
What would last longer in dinosaur times?
A blind man didn’t stand a chance; not with all them rocks about.
I’d rather be a blind moth.
“
| — | A poem by Karl Pilkington (The Ricky Gervais Show - Season 2, episode 5) |
Had lunch inside today due to shite weather - sat next to an old fella. Old men’s ears and noses carry on growing as they get older. Suzanne noticed his fingers were fat too, maybe they continue to grow. Suzanne didn’t laugh when I told her her arse had the same problem.
“
| — | Karl Pilkington (via bradisangry) |
