There's a kitten attempting, and failing, to eat my pen as I type this, going through ny Japanese book as well, while another kitten is scratching at my wristwatch but missing and is in fact just scratching my wrists. If I return to England with slit wrists, I haven't gone emo. Just too many kittens.
The last week I've been in France. Arrived in Calais, went to St Quentin for some days, then moved a bit further south to wherever it is I am today. I don't quite know the name, but its pretty close to Paris. There's a lot of going places, seeing people I apparently met when I was too small to remember anything. My computer has, once again, bust and now I'm more or less sans options except for purchasing a new one, which I was thinking if doing anyway once  I had money. Who's got 300 quid they're not using? So because if this I'm using my phone to blog. It's taking ages and the keyboard keeps fucking up and spelling the wrong word, but its better than nothing.
Ok, time for sike American tv in French, then for some sleep.
Good night, internet

Criteria for this freewrite was: "WRITE A DEMENTED STORY! So here it is --------------------------- Oh my, what a cute little kitten! That's what people would have said, about 4 mintues ago if ever they happened to come across the little unnamed kitten in Hungover Alley. It was everything you wanted in a cute little kitten; big cute kitten eyes; fluffy, scruffy cute kitten fur and a meow that would make even Hitler smile. Now it was a mess of blood and inside parts, happily splashed across the bottom of Hungover Alley. You could walk past it, and not give it a second thought. You wouldn't even know what it was anyway; from what anyone could see it didn't have a head or tail or anything. A few paws were sticking out of the tufts of fur, all stuck together by dry, clotted blood. Besides, it was dark began to rain and no one was out. They wouldn't be anywhere near Hungover Alley if they were. And the rain kept pouring, and it flushed the alley of all blood. Morning came.