https://charliegilmourletters.wordpress.com/ross-vol-iii-the-later-years/
2009: Winter
Ah boogalooloolala, ay bolaogalloobaba. weilalala al umdaboogooboolala, wei o wei o aiiiiiiiiiiiii cluck cluck chick cick niiiiiiiiiii
Sorry. Just finishing off my evening prayers. Islam never sat easy with me, so I converted to Swahili. It just seemed the right religion for me. And people told me I was a natural at it. Sometimes when I opened my mouth and let the juices flow I found that I spoke the word of God so fluently it amazed even me.
Anyway I digress. Back to my story. It was 2009. I had matured. I was now a success in everything I did. To the outside world my life looked perfect. I mean I had it all. A nice 4X4 conv. A big house in the Cotswalds, with training ground/assault course in yard to practise my military exercises. A successful career, first as a thespian and then latterly as a serious documentarian/war journalist cum producer/writer/'brand'.
Yes. To the outside world my life was perfect. But inside there was something missing. No it wasn't that I wished that I had a slightly more intellectual face. I was happy with the gelatinous mass that Zuzuclick-click* had given me. I didn't mind the simian brow, nor the porcine eyes. Nor did I wish my legs were less stumpy or my proportions less of a tub, more of a flute.**
No. It wasn't my physical appearance that I was unhappy with.*** No. It was something deeper than that.
I missed Rebehka.
*God
**Actually I had a decent V-shape from hours of lat pulldowns. I had a firm enough torso and my guns were massive. My glutes could've done with taughtening but then, hey, who's couldn't.
*** Except perhaps my back which had acquired several layers of excess fatty deposits as I had got older.
https://charliegilmourletters.wordpress.com/ross-vol-iii-the-later-years/