Being King Of Morocco

Last night I became King Of Morocco.

It was truly amazing.

I had all the women I wanted – not even the hottest would turn me down, I had so many servants, I had my own amazing nightclubs and all the hottest DJs played there on demand, it was party party party, and anyone who upset me ended up in prison.

And the food was amazing, amazing joints of meat, amazingly tasty fish – though I don’t recall there being any gravy.

I was in complete control of the whole world around me and I could do anything I liked – it was so much fun.

And then I woke up.

I guess though that it wasn’t really much different to my real life.  Perhaps with a lack of servants but I just need to import a few from Tajikistan and all would be good.

Oh, and I have to go to the Job Centre today.  So perhaps life isn’t quite all in my control.  Well I guess I don’t have to, but I kind of want that free money that many of you pay tax for so I can go on the piss this weekend.

Speaking of which, I feel a beer or two could be required at Cape this evening, and then a little trip to Mango tomorrow night where three friends of mine are DJing so there should be some good house music.  Proceeded by a drink or two in Sahara – they play nice space disco there on a Saturday evening too.

Thankfully, the bank still know who is king.