Drink

Oh, there are so many demode people on this facebook thing. They are everywhere! They come out from the rocks where they hide, their little fat fingers clawing on to my coat-tails; disguised as German socks-and-sandal-wearing tourists, pretending to be fashion by wearing their Karl Lagerfeld for H&M t-shirts which they have stretched; stretched beyond belief; with their fat little tummies protuding from below. And then they ask me "ARE YOU ZE REAL KARL?".

What a demode question, hmmm?

Hmmmmmmmmm?
I think I drunk the wrong bottle of diet Coke today. Specifically, Anna's bottle. We normally have a pipeline coming through, direct to the taps in the house (I've never understood the point of "water". You do not drink it; you do not bathe in it. Why bother, when you have diet Coke?).

I need Jane. RIGHT NOW. Anna's a bad influence; I think. Why do you think all those models on the Vogue covers have blank and vacant expressions? It's because they're drunk out of their brains from Anna's special concoctions.
They don't utter a single word in the photoshoots, because they're almost not conscious.
Hear that Anna? YOU'RE A BAD INFLUENCE!

Do you know what I had a dream about last night, when I wasn't sleeping? Champagne. I dreamt of a fridge filled with bottles of champagne, and then Anna was like "Karl Darhlllllllllllllling, come and have a little tipple; just a little drink. It won't hurt you"
Anna, what were you doing in my dreams, hmm?

Actually....Anna....ANNNA! There is a demode fatty outside on the street and he must be eliminated. Come back!

Anna: I was never away, dear Karl.
Bee: Mother, let me out of this closet.

And I still need Jane. It's just so chic, this "father and daughter" time. It's like being with another me! I feel....that I might......care about someone. Need to clense. Must sketch.