"And in 25 Minutes, I'll Be In Hell..."

Shel Silverstein was a great writer. Johnny Cash was a great singer.

Basket-Case Gritt-Whore is NOT.

And so the minutes count down.

What's going on in Bristol, home of spindly egotists?

Does somebody have a tablet open and is checking on the totals, while the great Basket-Case strums another numb, forgettable tune?

A cunt like her is bound to have a wry smile, a coy shrug, and an attitude like water off a duck's back or shit through a goose. Oh well. So what. Nothing's gonna change MY world.

Her overdeveloped SENSE OF SELF, which already has put her in front of people who are quite indulgent and easy to please, is not going to be damaged by a mere "setback."

She'll probably go right back to Dickstarter and declare that maybe she can get her project done for, oh, HALF the amount she originally planned on.

PS, it's interesting to note that even with the frightful departure from the EU, the price of the pound against the dollar is just about what it always was!

"I got 24 minutes to go..."

"...come on SOMETHING..."

"I can hear the buzzards...hear the crows...four more minutes to go..."

Come on everyone, INDULGE HER. Feed her ENTITLEMENT. Don't let the reality of being a chalk-faced nobody in the middle of nowhere get her down.

What? You're not listening??

You MIGHT think you have BETTER uses or your money, just 'cause she pays to be on iTunes, just 'cause she has OTHERS pay, just 'cause she hasn't performed anywhere beyond her comfort zone??

Aw, that's no reason to ruffle her scarves or sound a sour note of reality on her guitar string. Or pull her tampon string and tell her she's bloody ridiculous.

Wait, a last minute miracle...NO?

"...and now I'm swingin' and here I go....."