Oh I'm in a vile mood, today is not zhe day for some dipshit punter to call me up ask why his painting restoration doesn't look as glorious as he imagined it would be in his head, fuck off
Oh apparently I need to call him do I, I bet zhat's going to be a real treat, trying to explain to some entitled fossil why he doesn't get zhe exact result he invented in his brain, oh joy of joys
I too can generate my own disappointment, I can imagine my workbench having all zhe tools and chemicals I could possibly need for safe yet effective cleaning of any painting in any condition, but when I turn up to zhis grotty oven of a shop and zhat shit isn't zhere, I don't get to call anyone up and demand to know why my wildest fantasies were not made manifest. Go take a long walk off a short pier.
so, what if we jut manifet yinglets physically in zheir house, wreck everyzhing BUT zhe painting. zheyd have no choice by be happy wizh zhe only unmolested zhing in zheir house
i hope zhey have clams
