Monkey Christmas

Three monkeys fighting in the playground. Blood and fur going everywhere, when one stops and shouts

“Hey stop. STOP! What the fuck were we fighting for anyway?”

and one of the other two cries

“All the BANANAS!”

So they start again and fight and fight and bite and bite until one of them pull’s off another ones tail and says

“Hey stop. STOP! Doesn’t this look like a hairy banana?!”

and pretends to start eating it as if it were a banana. The other two monkeys roll around laughing until the first monkey has just about imaginarily peeled his hairy banana.

“Hey stop. STOP!” cries one of the other two monkeys. “Who’s tail is that anyway?”

So they all stop and start looking at their own butts, but as is traditional in the animal world, they can’t quite see, so soon enough they are all just spinning around on the spot trying to see their rears. This goes on for much longer than it should as they each occasionally catch a glimpse of one of the other two’s tail so panic and spin even faster.

After a while a nearby child takes pity on the monkeys as he sees they have started throwing up on themselves and all around them but still continue to spin. The child takes up a small collection from the other children and he goes over to the monkeys and says

“Please stop spinning. That’s not a tail, that’s an unconscious ferret who got caught up in your scuffle. I’ve brought you some bananas”.

Now of course monkeys can’t understand humans, but the word bananas transcends species and race, so within 5 seconds all three of the monkeys had jumped on the boy and were tearing the bananas out of his hand and eating them. These weren’t the smartest monkey’s in the world though, and as he said ‘bananas’ (plural) and yet they had only had one banana each they kept searching the boy until they accidentally on purpose killed him. Then in a blood curdling monkey scream one of the monkeys cried

“THE CHILDREN. THEY HAVE THE BANANA’S”

and the monkeys charged the children and killed them all in search of their yellow gold.

And that is why they don’t send monkeys to school anymore.

Merry Christmas.

Even when the world is dark, the sun can still shine

I love it when a single shaft of sunlight hits my face. Like when you’re sitting there without any natural light, be it because of blinds or clouds, and then suddenly a ray of light comes through and makes you smile. And feel all warm inside even though that massive ball of fire is only actually heating a small part of you. It’s frickin awesome.

I remember long ago when I used to work at Barclays I used to take daily breaks sitting in the sun. By this I just mean that in the 15 minutes or so each day that the sun could get through the neighbouring buildings (and if I was lucky the clouds), I would just roll back my chair and sit and close my eyes and forget that I was at work. Was a beautiful thing. But then I’d open them again and see the hustle and bustle around me. And some people staring at me usually as I had my eyes closed and looked like a freak. But anyway, good times, good times.

Strangely one of my favourite things about shaft’s of sunlight is that you can see all the dust in the air within them. I always think it’s pretty amazing when you are in a room and it seems all nice and clean and still, until a sunbeam bursts in and shows the intensity of the filth and movement in the very air you are breathing in. The filth doesn’t bother me, but the idea that there is such an incredible amount of stuff floating around us all the time, and we just can’t see it unless it’s illuminated by our star is indicative of all life. And it’s pretty cool to look at too.

I used edible glitter on a cake once, and as I was just experimenting, I guess I used a shit load more than I should have, as the next day when that beam of light came through the window the whole room looked like it was sparkling. It was intense. It was beautiful. King Kong would have appreciated it.

Even on a cold day you can still find warmth. Even in an ice cube, you can freeze a chilli. Even a bathroom floor can be heated. Even ice cream can have hot fudge sauce on it. I may hate the sun, but I appreciate everything in it’s right place.

Or is that everything all of the time? Damn confusing Radiohead

We only come out at night

I love the night time. It’s not just because I hate the fucking sun so much, it’s just because to me everything at night just seems right. The best feeling in London is at 4 or 5 am when there is no-one about and the city just seems amazing. During the day there are so many people about that everything is just buzzing and busy and used up so that you can’t really see the wood for the trees. At night time though you feel like a king as you travel through those amazing city streets that you belong to and that belong to you. You just want to touch everything. And even the air tastes different. During the day there are wafts of food and smoke and fumes and sweat, but at night, at night time it’s different. It’s pure. And not just because it’s cold and I love the fucking cold so much, but because it is actually a beautiful thing. If only there were stars to see. And no bit of weird sky an inch tall all around the horizon.

My beautiful girlfriend and I once came back from someplace absolutely fucked sometime in some early morning. And I got my duvet and we sat outside in the garden on the floor just looking at the sky having a smoke break. Huddling from the cold and love, we just sat and whispered and looked up. There were no stars, but it was beautiful. The hour and the peaceful quiet made that more true. The world felt so empty and quiet. And somehow right.

Damn I miss smoking. It’s been 50 days or some shit now. No wait I don’t miss smoking. It was a bad thing. A bad thing.

Anyway, night time offers other benefits to us regular folk like improved TV, no working, possibilities for drinking, for shagging, for smoking and of course for wondrous sleep. So in general, night time is a good time.

Good night.

To Sleep

I really wish I was dead right now. I could do with a rest. If I only I would be conscious to enjoy it, that coffin would be a joy to live in. Well die in. Or be dead in. Whatever.

But I can’t put my faith in death being like sleep, so I gotta keep going. I said from before the start that 2005 was gonna suck. And it has. Really really badly. Been a surprisingly good year for films though. Swings and roundabouts I suppose.

Doesn’t life suck when stuff happens to you that you have no control over. I mean you’re carrying on with your life and then suddenly something happens and everything is fucked for some period of time. And sometimes you can’t tell people about it, so then you start acting weird. And that effects them and the ripples spread.

Or sometimes you do something and to you it means nothing, but to the person you do it to it means a lot. And you change something in them forever, without spending a single thought on it. This is ok when you change them for the better, but it’s frickin terrible when you change them for the worse. Or they ask you about something that you know that you’re in no position to talk about, but you do anyway and you somehow make things worse. When all you really wanted was to stay the same.

The same. Or to change but keep parts of yourself. Or to change entirely. All of these roads are fucking hard to walk down. Sometimes reputations outlive their applications. Sometimes they underlive them. Sometimes you do stuff over and over again and think that people will have noticed or that it will have mattered, but in actuality it’s only you. So you might as well stop. But if you stop then you’ve given in. And you should never give in.

Except when you’re wrong. And who really knows when they are wrong? I love being proved wrong, but at the same time I know I’m pretty condescending so I must seem like I always think I’m right. But I don’t. I know I’m as fallible as everyone else. Everyone else doesn’t seem to think they’re as fallible as me though. I take time to stop and think what in my life I’m wrong about often. It seems to me that other people don’t like to do this. And if I tell them to, they get angry. I suppose it’s a case of arrogance. Probably my arrogance. I’d like to think everyone’s. But if I say that, you’ll get mad. Because no-one likes to think they’re wrong about how they are acting in general.

Which is why no-one will ever think of themselves as the bad guy. In films it’s so black and white usually. But in real life we have to wait for history to judge, and as it’s written by the winner, we really are fucked for the truth. When it comes down to people though, we just each have to think if we’re doing what we think is right. And it’s hard. If you always try to be nice, and other people aren’t nice to you, should you be mean back? If you do something to someone, should you consider their feelings before or after or at all? If you have done something unrelated to someone, yet they seem upset by it, should you dismiss them for interfering or listen for next time?

But there won’t be a next time. Because every moment is different. You just have to choose what it is you want to do, and who it is you want to be in each of them. I just have to choose what it is I want to do, and who it is I want to be in each of them.

And right now, I wish I was dead.

Breathe

1: “So have you heard that Justin’s not smoking anymore?”
2: “Not smoking? What do you mean by that?”
1: “Well he doesn’t smoke anymore”
2: “Really? Justin? How the hell does he do that?”
1: “I don’t know man. It’s weird when you see him now. No smoke coming out of his mouth. No cigarette in his hand”
2: “No cigarette in his hand?! I suppose that would be a good way of getting around it. Where does he get his smoke from then”
1: “Nowhere, he just doesn’t smoke.”
2: “That’s unfuckingbelievable. What about when he’s got a cigarette in his hand, what the fuck does he do then?”
3: “What the fuck does who do when?”
1: “Hey alright man, we were just talking about Justin not smoking”
3: “Yeah I heard about that. He told me that the trick is to not buy any cigarettes”
1: “I guess, but what about if he gets one off of someone else?”
2: “Or if he’s already got one in his hand?”
3: “Well he also said the trick is to not put any cigarettes in his mouth, and to not light them”
2: “Yes but what if he’s already got one”
1: “Yeah like if someone had given him one?”
3: “I don’t know, I guess he just doesn’t ask for one. Or if he does by accident then he doesn’t smoke it. I was out with him the other night in the pub and he wasn’t smoking”
1: “NO! In the pub! I thought that he just wasn’t smoking at reasonable times. How do you go to the pub and not smoke? I mean you’ve got your pint in one hand and your fag in the other. If he doesn’t smoke it then what does he do with it?”
3: “He just didn’t have one in his hand. He was just drinking.”
2: “Without smoking? That’s just fucking strange”
1: “Yeah what does he do when he moves his hand to his mouth to take a drag if there’s no cigarette there?”
3: “Umm.. I don’t know. I didn’t see him do that. I suppose he just doesn’t do that”
2: “And what about all the fag machines in the pub? How did he not use them?”
3: “I DON’T KNOW! I’m just telling you what I saw alright. He just somehow didn’t. I even offered him a cig and he turned it down”
1: “That’s amazing. He turned it down? No fucking way. That's not possible is it?”
2: “Yeah i suppose it is. But I can’t even imagine someone doing that. Let alone Justin.”
4: “Hey guys, let alone Justin what?”
3 “Have you heard Justin’s not smoking anymore”
4: “Yeah I was on pills with him the other night and he didn’t smoke a single one”
3: "Really!”
2: “That’s just fucking incredible!”
1: “Are you sure? Because I don’t see how that’s possible”
4: “Yeah I’m sure. He’s such a fucking quitter”

Claustrophobia

It’s so bright outside I can’t see. It makes me afraid. And not just of the monsters and the bad people, but of the light. Of seeing and being able to be seen. Even in a mirror I can’t see myself that clearly, so what will I see when I’m out there? I could be a monster myself by now, it’s been so long since I’ve seen myself properly. I haven’t been out since I had a choice. But fear has never kept me afraid, so one day I open the door and step out into the light.

It’s cold and still. The sun is shining, but not on me yet, so I start to walk. Out of the shadow of my home. And it’s easy. I start to whistle a few notes. I pick up my feet and glide through the world, comparing it to how it was last I saw it. It’s all brand new, yet somehow dirtier. I don’t mind at all. Before I know it I’m running. The feeling of the world flying beneath my feet is joyous. Even the bright sun burning the back of my eyes just gives energy to my smile. I grow bolder and stop and scream “What’s there to be afraid of anyway?”. But then I see them. And hear them. And smell them. They’re here. “Usssssss” they say. Monsters. Everywhere. I knew it would be like this, but I came anyway.

I am surrounded, but I have a way out. I choose not to take it. “I’m not afraid” I say, half to myself. The other half makes them laugh. “That’ll sssssoon change” they say. And I think ‘Fuck them. I’m so fucking sick of this’ even though it’s all pretty much new to me. I spit at them. And just stand there. I hit one in the face with a giant glob of snot and saliva gloriously mixed. I wish I had used my fist for a second. But only for a second, because then I give them the finger, and everything before becomes nothing. “You’ll wisssssh you hadn’t done that” they say. But I regret nothing but the things I didn’t do, so their words mean nothing to me. I wait for the violence, the attack. It doesn’t come. They just circle menacingly. I get bored.

So my eyes start to wonder. I look at my hands. In the bright sunlight, I can see the blemishes better. They don’t bother me. I see a puddle within the imaginary circle they are going around, and I look at my reflection. It’s still me. Well the back to front version of me which I always see. I’m no monster. But these guys are. So I kill them. I kill them all. The monster motto is of course, if you’re not with us then you’re against us, and who am I to redefine their rules.

I go home. It’s dark in there. I turn on the light, and look out the window.

Quitter

So you may say I have given up. My job. Smoking. Having a regular life. But I haven’t. I’ve just started.

See all my life I’ve kind of thought of the world as one big computer game. It’s not my fault really – I was brought up by TV and played a lot of them when I was young. To this day I can’t take my eyes off any sort of moving image behind a glass screen. Gambling machines in pubs. Windows out of trains and cars. Any old crap on any old TV. So not surprisingly my identification with life and reality has always been a bit hazy. Of course the things which I consume for fun hasn’t helped me either.

But my point is I realised that sometime in my teens I had been just waiting around for my life to finally start. That I’d fucked up so much so far, that I was just pissing around as I knew that eventually I would get fed up and quit and start a new game. Begin again at the beginning and get it all right. But of course along with this realisation came the fact that I knew that this would never happen. That no matter what I did, I would never get the time back which I had used up. That I had wasted. That I had been wasted during.

So I became a bit of a nihilist. Nothing mattered. Everything was about having fun. Which is fair enough I think in retrospect. I mean they were my formative years and taking it too seriously would have been just as regrettable at a later stage in life as not taking it seriously enough. But at least my way was fun.

And then I slowly by slowly began to betray myself. As I gave up on fun and tried to sort my life out, I started to listen to all the crap that I had sworn to myself that I would never listen to. To conform. And I wasn’t happy. I just thought that if I kept going for long enough that I would desensitize myself to it all, just like everyone else had. But then I remembered… I was going to do something different. I don’t need to be like everyone else. No-one does. It’s just easier to give in. So I stopped. And restarted.

As a mash-up fool once said, Suddenly I am Aware. Aware that life is big. It’s bigger than you, and you are not me. Ok, enough of the quotes. Well maybe not quite. As my point is, this isn’t the end, it’s just the beginning.

Dam

6/10 10:46 English Time
I burn my candle at both ends
It will not last the night
But ah my foes
But oh my friends
We’ll be in Amsterdam tomorrow night!

7/10 6.57 English Time
Couldn’t sleep. Kept thinking about that ad for Disney world.

7.48 English Time
Friends! Friends! I’m sick of this country. Let’s go dutch.

Fre: It’s too early man, I can’t think straight

8.14 English Time
12 Million in cannabis is seized. The stole our stash! Oh well, we’re gonna get some more.

Pop quiz 8.14 English time
What’s your favourite flavour of pancake?
F: Bannana and nutella and whipped cream
D: Mayple Syrup
S: Hash
K: Chocolate

9.54 English Time
Aeroporto. Free booze and the psp is brought out. Fear and loathing? No! And Freddy says? Nothing you idiot, Freddy’s dead.

Between England and Holland
K: Is that a cat hair on your head or are you going grey?
F: Is that a dog hair on your head or are you a bitch?

1.55 dutchy time
We’re here. It was foggy, and we’re late, but we’re smoking in the train station. It say no smoking, but we don’t understand anyway. And they have BK here!

2.10 dutchy
Tiny train stations! Dee speaks dutch! No more mention of Anne Frank. Saul detects traces of shit and Marlboro lights. Ooh.

3.06 dutchy
Ajax! We have a tv, but cannot smoke between 8 and 10 am. It’s gonna be a struggle.

5.23 dutchy
Kandinski was tiny. Nice start but not great. Food from shop was nicer than Chinese whispers.
Abraxus is sweet and cold. Not so comfy. Played Chinese whispers. Woah!
Pop Quiz: what’s your favourite thing in the world?
(Saul – Justin’s handwriting makes me question his sanity)
S: Gadgets man. No that’s not true. Right now I’d have to say my flat.
J: Yorkshire pudding.
D: Freddy
(Freddy, you better say Dee)
F: DEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
K: Your punches (she’s afraid of me)
T: Literature
Me: My psp.
I can’t believe no-one said Amsterdam. I can’t believe I didn’t say Amsterdam.

8.31 dutchy
anotheronebitesthedust
tsudehtsetibenorehtona
itsfuntosmokemarijuana
hmm maybe

We me a genetic phd student from Cambridge. From china. We drove them out and dee broke a drink.

F: I like bongs.

K: fools! I ain’s stoned motherfucker. Oh wait I am

10pm dutchy
Chinese whispers has turned into a monster. We is fucked up. Stressed out from not remembering.
Boo ya
Justin is begging for mercy

2pm 10/10 dutchy
on the plane home. Fuck know what happened here. There was a giant alligator, that I can be sure of, but otherwise who knows.

Feels like it was fun though.

Paranoia

So you have to understand that what I’m about to say I don’t actually believe is true. But that’s not to say that I believe it’s not true either, but it is just some stuff I thought so has no basis in reality, except that it angers me when people dismiss the idea that any of it could be true without reason. Paranoia exists because sometimes people really are out to get you. So if I die randomly anytime soon, maybe you should think twice about the things I’m about to espouse.

Have you noticed that most of the big bad things that have happened in the world recently have coincidentally all been in Bush’s favour? I mean it he wanted to plan some fucked up things to happen to the world to help his ass along the way, the things that happened wouldn’t be far off the things he would want to happen. Let’s start at the beginning. Well the beginning of this rant anyway.

September the 11th. Now I know you’re not supposed to say anything about that day except for what a tragedy it was, but let’s look at it reasonably. The world was a relatively peaceful place at the time, and Bush was a self proclaimed war president. His daddy had tried and failed to take over Iraq to help out his oil interests, so maybe Bush decided that he would do it. But people weren’t really up for another pointless war. People weren’t really afraid. So bang (x2) the twin towers go down. No one can miss such a thing. Everyone noticed. It was a tragedy. The tragedy from Bush’s point of view was that he was too dumb to realise that Al Quaeda (or however the fuck you spell it) was mainly based in Afghanistan and not Iraq, so however much he ranted about it, he was going to have to invade the wrong country. I doubt it upset him too much as he was after all a war president. And the fact that the Bin Ladens were personal family friends didn’t seem to bother anyone too much, so as far as he was concerned, no harm, no foul.

Fast forward. The Tsunami. America was told by that whole area that their companies would not be allowed to buy anymore property in the area as it was taking profits away from the natives. Whoosh a big wave fucks it all up. America rushes in without the UN to take most of the responsibility for the aid required to fix it up. Aid which can be denied at a later date unless certain property related view points are relaxed. And coincidentally an American military base is perfectly positioned to have created a tidal wave. Which is impossible. As far as we know.

Fast forward. July 7th. Bush is coming to Britain to make poverty history as far as everyone is concerned. 100% debt relief was the plan. Which really isn’t in the US’s economic favour, which is all Bush is really concerned about (his personal wealth would be fucked if his country’s was). If Africa was comparatively richer, then America would be comparatively poorer. Not to mention that the US just doesn’t want to chip in its fair share for international aid. So what happens? Our PM is taken out of the meeting to attend to terrorist attack issues. Coincidence? Hmm. And in the bargain, British people are meant to feel more afraid and therefore more up for war that their government is supporting the US in.

And then the hurricanes. Anti-American sentiment is at an all time high, so why not bring on a tragedy that no one could say they brought on themselves. Don’t try and fix it up too soon either, as the full impact must be seen around the world. We have to feel sorry for them. Other countries even send them aid, even though they can easily afford it themselves. But it doesn’t quite work. Contempt is felt for Bush at his apparent apathy to the plight of even his own people. So what happens? Another hurricane. And this time they do it right. Everyone is prepared. Bush visits as much as possible. The actual strength of the hurricane is over estimated until the last second. No need to kill anymore people. Just need to demonstrate that he does in fact care, and that everything possible will be done. P motherfucking R.

I can just imagine that little bastard telling his aides, “What no sympathy yet? Hit them again”.

I know you can’t cause a hurricane. But then if you think about it, why not? If butterflies flying in a circle can cause one, what about a machine made from the trillions of dollars that the US spends on defence? In the Second World War they hid bombs in rats and whatnot, and people would have said that was impossible at the time. This time the leader of the ‘free’ world is playing for big bucks, so why not go for the big bang? I mean, I can think of a few ways to make a hurricane machine off the top of my head, and I’m no science motherfucker. The same with a Tsunami. I know it’s impossible. But why?

As I said to start with, I don’t believe any of this to be true. But then, if someone told me it was I wouldn’t be surprised. Just like the moon landings. I believe Neil Armstrong went there, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t. I mean, why was that flag waving in the wind? And what was the point in not staging it. If I was in charge, I would have. I might have even included aliens. But then I’ve always been a bit melodramatic.

Don't just look at me, hit back

I’ve seen far more fun than violence in these times that I call mine. I’ve drunk and smoked and laughed my own age tenfold. I’ve smiled wide at things that had only a hidden funny side. I’ve screamed out loud my mirth to make life laugh with me. But then there’s the violence. I’ve seen my married mother broken and divorce. I’ve seen my friends unspoken pain after a punch was thrown with no explanation why. I’ve seen the moon reflected in a puddle spattered with blood. I’ve seen racists scream and attack and never understood the reason even if I’ve known their reasoning. I’ve seen a lot. But most of it wasn’t real.

I was brought up by television basically. I watched and watch the flickering images on the screen and revel in the blood shed for my entertainment. I have been told that if you watch too much violent television, you become desensitized. But not me. I watch and I learn and I fear and I burn just as if the screen were a videophone letting me in on a fight which will only be so brutal for that one moment so I need to see what’s there, because if I don’t then it may all be gone without a trace before I notice it. Just like real life.

I travelled a train the other day standing in the shadow of all the passengers grumbles about how late it was. It was burning hot and any one of us could have died I heard mumbled and mumbled. And then I heard a scream. A garbled cry of the insane in pain. I looked around and found an old man finally broken by the heat telling someone in too many words to move. Telling a giant. And the giant far from ignoring him, hit him square in the face and the old man crumpled. And the giant leant down and hit him again. And again. And people moved out of the way without saying anything to allow this to happen with more ease.

The TV and me have no bond. I shout at it, and it just sits there, ignoring my cries. I call for blood and it isn’t spilt. I call for revenge and there is only justice. I call for peace and war rolls on. I call someone a cunt and they hear me.

Real life is so much harder and so much easier than I ever expected. Than I could have ever been told. You can try your hardest and get nowhere, or you can sit back and relax and it all turns out fine. I scowl sometimes and the world scowls with me. I growl sometimes and the world growls at me. I fight sometimes and nothing fights back. It’s hard. It’s different. But at least it means something.

I saw a pigeon explode as train hit it in front of dozens of children, the blood nearing their innocent faces before falling. I saw a pigeon squashed with its guts spewn out of it’s mouth in 2D. I saw a pigeon flattened into a picture of a itself in flight, more free than it had ever been in life. Whichever one of these you want your life to be, don’t ever forget that the choice is yours. I’ve seen more fun than violence in my life, but maybe violence is fun. Maybe. I fucking hope not.

Don't just look at me, smile back

In these times that I call mine, I’ve seen far more fun than beauty. I’ve drunk and smoked and laughed my own age tenfold. I’ve smiled wide at things that had only a hidden funny side. I’ve screamed out loud my mirth to make life laugh with me. But then there’s beauty. I’ve seen my saddened mother rejoice and marry. I’ve seen my friends smile with restraint knowing that the joy they feel cannot be explained with mere words. I’ve seen the sky open and swallow the sun, only to let it go again after missing the colours it’s imbued upon the world. I’ve seen foreign climes and foreign words unfold before me and known what they meant even if I didn’t understand what they mean. I’ve seen a lot. But most of it wasn’t real.

I was brought up by television basically. I watched and watch the flickering images on the screen and laugh and cry along with them. I have been told that if you see yourself watching television, you can watch it no more as the image of your zombie face will stop you craving the distraction. But not me. I watch and I learn and I love and I yearn just as if the screen were a videophone letting me in on something far away that I would miss if I didn’t look. I need to see what’s there, because if I don’t then it may all be gone without a trace before I notice it. Just like real life.

I travelled a train the other day sitting on the floor. There were seats available, but I sat on the moving ground anyway. Each stop that came the door hummed upon and the world appeared anew. A new view came and a new segment of life was shown to me. And then taken away. It was nothing. But it was beautiful. I could have licked the door in congratulations of its beautiful trick had it not been so filthy. But then I shouldn’t really lick things to congratulate them.

The TV and me have no bond. I shout at it, and it just sits there, ignoring my cries. I tell the hero to think about his actions, and he ignores me and carries on. I tell the villain he can repent and he does no such thing. I tell Lynn Scully she’s a stupid bitch, but she heeds not my words. I tell my friends I a joke, and they laugh.

Real life is so much harder and so much easier than I ever expected. Than I could have ever been told. You can try your hardest and get nowhere, or you can sit back and relax and it all turns out fine. I smile sometimes and the world smiles with me. I laugh sometimes and the world laughs at me. I cry sometimes and no one looks at me. It’s hard. It’s different. But at least it means something.

I saw a pigeon drop out of the sky in front of me once and flutter on the floor unto its death. I saw a pigeon have sex with another and then run from its conquest. I saw a pigeon make love to another and then coo and preen with it, until they could both fly away together. Whichever one of these you want your life to be, don’t ever forget that the choice is yours. I’ve seen more fun than beauty in my life, but maybe fun is beautiful. Maybe.

Passive Resistance

I’m walking down the street when I look up and see the police car passing by. I try to act normally, but they must see me silently mouth “shit” as suddenly they stop right next to me. Panic appears at my centre and permeates outwards, leaving me precious few seconds to rationally think out what to do. Should I cut my losses and slyly throw away the evidence? It’s my own often repeated axiom to never give up until the very last moment, but deciding when that moment has arrived has always been more trouble than it’s worth. Was this that moment? I won’t be able to tell until it’s too late. So I forget the moment and follow in Gandhi’s footsteps. I inhale deeply and hold down the toxic fumes I have grown to love while I pause on the pavement for seemingly no reason. After a second of looking thoughtful and confused, I turn my face to my oppressors. Betraying my lips, the smoke slowly leaks out of my cheeks and hazes my view. The passenger officer looks right at my clouded face, and for this moment we’re on opposite sides of something more than just the glass in his car window. He speaks softly into his shoulder. I exhale. A blur later and they are gone. I cross the street behind them, carrying on my innocuous attitude perfectly in my mind. I smile, and wonder what bigger fish they have to fry.

It’s not a sport unless you need a cigarette afterwards

So over two months has passed now and I think the dust has finally settled enough to talk about the events which occurred in London in July this year. And no I’m not talking about the “Terrorist outrages” as they are so called (which is a pretty stupid name really as I have been outraged many times, yet never enough to blow myself up, but I suppose that’s besides the point). What I am here to put to rest is the issue of the Olympics which my fair city has won for the year 2012. Now I know the fucked up events following the announcement of the Olympic bid kinda took the joy out of it for everyone, but can I just ask, where was that joy really coming from anyway?

I mean, fuck loads of people were celebrating in the streets the fact that in 7 fucking years some sporting event is going to happen here. I mean, I like monging out and watching exceptionally strong and fast and whatnot people competing with each other as much as the next guy, but why the hell would I want it going on in my city? Like most other people, if they were truly honest with themselves, I will be sitting on my ass in my living room watching the bits of the Olympics which have any interest, no matter where in the world they are held.

I mean don’t get me wrong, I’m glad we beat Paris to it and all, as a new round of healthy French bashing is always amusing, but couldn’t New York or that Russian hell hole (no offence comrades) have won it? I don’t want to be getting the tube every morning and be brushing up against an excessive amount of sweaty jocks in lycra on the way to their event. I mean in theory they should all be running to “work” but the theory never works, especially considering that athletes are just stoners in disguise.

See I read once somewhere that doing exercise causes a release of the same pleasurable drugs into your brain as getting high does. So really all of those health freaks out there who are slowly by slowly getting smoking banned in all public places ,are just fucking themselves up in a different way. Those cheeky, hypocritical, self righteous motherfuckers.

What was I talking about again? Oh yeah, the Olympics. So as well as the tube being filled with sweaty meatheads, I’m also going to have to pay extra bus fair and shit to pay for the privilege of having the Olympics in my city. And I’m going to have to listen to any old dickhead spout some half assed opinion on the sports person of the moment at random continuously for like a year before and a year after. And I’m gonna become one of those dickheads and suddenly find myself having an opinion on the 9000 metres hurdles or similar.

So where in fact is this joy about ‘our’ winning coming from? I know it will improve England’s sporting ability for generations to come, but considering it’s the sporty bastards who rob kids at school for their lunch money, I don’t think it’s that great an idea to encourage them. I mean, I could eat a lot of lunch for the amount the Olympics is costing. Damn Tony Blair. Never taking my needs into consideration.

PS in the second paragraph where it says “interest” in the last sentence, instead read “bikinis”.

When you're strange

I’ve never been the office weirdo before and between you and me, it’s very strange. I mean I’ve been weird in an office environment before, but not in a way that makes people look at me any more funny than usual. You see, I started work at the beginning of a series of bad events in my life and others and it kinda knocked me back and back until I just couldn’t be bothered to speak to anyone as it been so long. I even appear to be accidentally giving them the impression that I disapprove of drugs. Life is strange sometimes.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like life being strange. There is no harm in freaks as long as they’re not cannibals, and there is nothing wrong with being freaked out, as long as you know where the floor is. Life is simple that way. Just like the numbering system I use to make sure I have everything when I leave a place. I have just five things on my at all times, which I need to take with me everywhere. Cigarettes, wallet, keys, phone and my mitts. What about a lighter and rizla and whatnot I hear you cry? Well I would be pretty damn pissed off if I lost things too, but I can only remember so much at a time.

Which reminds me (that seems funny somehow, but I can’t quite put my finger on it), how do you remember things? I mean is it a conscious effort? Do you need to be concentrating really hard? I find that I remember things at random, and other things I entirely blank out. But I don’t really choose these things. And even when I do try hard, what is my mind actually doing when I’m thinking about it. I just concentrate and sometimes an answer just pops out of thin air. It’s not like I did anything to get it, except thought about it until it appeared.

What was I talking about again? Oh yeah, work. I have to go there soon, so best go to bed.

Oh bed
How I love thee
You comfy bastard

(vii) Mancuso on fire

I can see light. I can see the sun shining through the trees reaching out to touch me. I can see light. I can see a bus pass me that would have taken me from there to here in the same time but with less effort. With less effort than I use everyday to see that bus as I do. But still I see light. I see it crackle on the river I cross and sparkle up through the window. The window I look through that is covered with the grease and scratches of those who love or loath to leave their mark. But the light. The light that illuminates my desk, and shows all that I’ve done and all that I’ve missed. The same light that breaks through a tiny window on five broken souls and creates lines of shadow down their lives.

Five people arrested for the same murder. Five people waiting in that cell. Two lights watching them in turns. A third light waiting for them in hell. One breaking through the window, breathing the life of night with it’s death call. One burning from the ceiling, flickering every time we turn on the chair down the hall.

These five can see the light better than anyone. They can see little else. Than that flicker. Flicker.

Except the two tough ladies who somehow found each other from across the world who see only each other. And the girl who’s tears won’t stop exploding from her face in wave after wave of self pity. So it’s the yanks only who see the flicker when it comes. Who know what that light really means. Not that nuclear flash that they’re so proud of, but that quiet glow that shows the real difference between life and death. Just a flicker.

The light I see isn’t there’s though. It cascades across my fingers warmly following their contours, easily even with the movement I use to continue my work. I make a rabbit or a dog every now and then to play with this light, and when it goes I make paper planes of my work and float them out into the courtyard all the rooms share. I don’t feel like that today though. As the light goes dark, reminders of flight would be wrong.

I look at the dress on my desk and think of the corpse I took it off. How the fuck does this make sense? A man who flies and wears a dress? It’s like a superhero but without the sense of stature. Why these five freaks turned themselves in I’ll never know. This was the first man I have ever killed without a good reason, and it’s the first cover up I’ll ever get out of doing. Who to pin it on though? Who knows.

It’s dark outside now, but I still see light. It’s right where the pilot left it.

At the end of the tunnel.

flicker

No snooze for the wicked

I roll from my slumber to my feet and reach my arms up through the world. Oh glorious day runs all over me as I pull together my public persona. The warmth of light rolls me through thoughts and thoughts of where to go and who to be. But then dawn breaks once more inside my head and I realise that work is where I must go and work is who I must be. I feel hot and weary and angry and annoyed. Why must I work? I care not for most of the things money can buy so why must I spend so much of my time in the pursuit of it? I am human and alive! A joyous thing to be and a lucky thing to feel. Oh why do we make this game we must play all that we are? Fun is always fun, but games are not for some. I try to ignore the rules that are set, so I think instead of going to work, I’ll go back to bed instead. My smile sadly sings to the heavens and my eyes close as I slide my protection from the world to the floor. I feel the sun on my skin and smile for its hot sting now feels like the faded grace of a defeated enemy, comforting me with its humility. Its welcoming hand now called true night, day slips away behind my sheets as I do. My head rests on my most comfortable friends and I hide from the world under the hope and protection of my duvet. I close my eyes tighter in a salute to my victory against capitalism. Through my quiet brain I hear my mother cry “It’s 7 o’clock” and I scramble out of bed to go to work. And I go.

save me a seat

The first time i lay my eyes upon Justin must have been before I was four years old. I can’t remember much now more than blond hair and a smile, but I’m sure it was good times all around. The last time I saw him I can remember distinctly, but that wasn’t really Justin. Except when we were talking about skateboarding or Eminem of course. That was the real Justin. That was the Justin I’ll remember.

I remember once we were walking down the street when we were in primary school and there was a swarm of bees around this over turned can of coke. We began taking it in terms ‘exterminating’ them (it was in the public interest) by running in and stamping right in the middle of them in the hopes of getting a few. Some other kids came past and we tried to get them to join in but they told us to leave the bees alone. We called them scaredey cats, or something similar that would come out of a child’s mouth, but they said it was actually us who were afraid. That we were just doing it to kill the thing we were afraid of. Of course we argued and made fun of them until they left, and then I resumed the ‘extermination’. Justin had stopped and explained to me that even though those guys were clearly scaredey cats, we still shouldn’t do it because it wasn’t right to kill the bees considering they hadn’t even stung us. We spent the rest of the walk home trying not to tread on ants.

That’s not to say we always did the right thing. We used to walk down the road for as long as we could (we would count out loud) to show that the teachers were wrong when they said it was dangerous to play in the road. We cycled to school secretly for a whole year before our cycling proficiency test to prove to ourselves that it was all just a crock of shit (or something similar that would come out of a child’s mouth). We fought the law, but the law never won.

But maybe that’s because we were the good guys. Justin always was the hero of the story in the games we played. Not that it would make any difference because the games would just involve fighting and everyone would just get stuck in, but still, he wanted to fight for right. I just wish he’d carried on that fight.

He was a good guy though. He believed in me long before anyone else ever did. He once fought off a bully on my behalf while we were walking along, and just carried on our conversation while he did it. That’s the Justin I’ll remember. He was my friend. I’ve never known anyone like him. He was always the other Justin, but in truth he was the main Justin. I’ll miss him.

Bad Karma

So it’s been over a week now since those stupid bitches tried to blow our asses up, and I for one still feel a bit freaked out about it. I mean, fucking hell, what the fuck was that?! You can see I’ve had some time to consider my response to the matter. Well not the last response. It really wasn’t the time to be making jokes. But I didn’t know what else to say.

Today I was a steward at a Victims of 7/7 London Remembrance Vigil. That is so much easier to write down than say to uninterested passers by. We didn’t quite know what we were doing as it was our first time being selfless so we just assumed we should act like “charity muggers” once we had put on the vests. And people treated us as such. They avoided our gaze as we tried to invite them to join the rally. They pretended to be deep in conversation as we tried to make them feel sad. They laughed at us openly when we accidentally said Remember the London Bombers Vigil instead of Bomb Victims. It made me think how tough those real charity muggers have it. But then they get paid well so I suppose they are just bastards as well as annoying. Oh wait, that was the opinion I was fighting against, oh well.

I never believed in the power of protest rallies until I met this girl from South Africa who told me she was going to protest against George Bush. When I asked what the protest was specifically about, she just said it was just a general anti Bush thing. I thought that was a pointless waste of time, and I shared my opinion with her, and she replied “But in my country, we ended apartheid this way”. So I realised that maybe peoples opinions do count. If there are a lot of them. There’s just one of me, so why would anyone listen to my opinion?

Ha ha, that’s a trick question, because if you are reading this then you are listening now. Fool. Ahh I crack me up. Wait a minute, that wasn’t really even funny. Just like it wasn’t funny when some guy came up to us at the end of the rally and told us that he thought it was really inappropriate to be having this rally at this time, because he had been through the bombs as well and he lived here and bla bla bla. The three of us who were new to the charity stewarding game all kept quiet, and tried not to swear our asses off at this dickhead, as we were meant to be being nice. Luckily we were with a pro so she took him away quickly. One of my friends had sworn at a lady who had complained to him earlier in the day, and had been told he probably shouldn’t do the stewarding thing again. People are such bastards.

This is no time to make jokes

So yesterday we won the Olympic bid and today we got blown up. I knew those stinking atheletes were up to something.

Ho fucking hum

Two chickens were walking down the road when one turned to the other and said “shit we’ve fucked up this joke haven’t we”. Hehe, that’s kinda funny. I just asked my lady friend when I should write about and she said chickens so I just started writing and that came out. It’s funny what you mind will produce without your written consent. I suppose I should be happy that it produces poor jokes as opposed to racism or necrophilia or some shit.

I remember the first joke I ever made up myself. Well the first verbal joke. The first joke I ever made was when I was only 3 or 4 or something and I was sitting in the car eating a banana and was whining about what to do with the skin as nobody seemed to be disposing of it for me. So I said “I’m gonna throw it out the window at the next bin I see” and then before my mother even had the chance to scorn me for the foolishness of this plan I had thrown it and cried “there’s one” while pointing into the distance. HA HA HA. That’s still fucking funny isn’t it? Well maybe not.

But the first joke that I ever made up was directly as a result of my best friend in primary school having made up a joke on the spot the day before. His joke went like this “This little kid, let’s call him Johnny, was walking down the street when he passed by a shop which sold pellet guns. Now Johnny was well into all this shit, and he even had his own little handgun pellet firing motherfucker, but he had read in pellet guns monthly that only a little bitch would own anything but the P64-3000 machine pellet guns that were out now. And there in front of little Johnny was P64-3000 sitting in the motherfucking shop…”. Ok so he probably didn’t swear that much. Let’s try again “…. Window. Johnny said ‘I would give any motherfucking thing to own that bad ass bitch’ when suddenly the motherfucking devil…” oh fuck it “…appeared out of thin air and said ‘oh really, well if you just sign this contract then I’ll give you the gun’. Johnny eagerly grabbed a pen from his pocket and started signing the contract. The devil, who had obviously added a clause into the contract that the boys soul would own to him upon delivery thought to himself ‘Hehe little boys never check the small print’. Little Johnny thought to himself ‘Hehe the devil never checks for invisible ink”.

Now that doesn’t completely make sense but we were only little and I still think it’s funny. My joke the next day was “This man and wife were shaggin in the bedroom when suddenly the bedroom door exploded into the room and in front of a fiery background the devil was standing there. He pointed left at the couple’s chest of drawers and BANG it burst into flames. He did it again to the right and BANG their cupboard goes up in smoke. The man, initially terrified by the devil, by this point had had enough and sat up in bed and shouted ‘HEY! How dare you come bustin in here’”.

Perhaps too clever for a child. Perhaps too stupid for an adult. Who knows. I bet you don’t get it anyway.

Runnin' around robbin' banks

So it was my birthday this weekend and I turned 23. Isn’t that fucking excitng? No? I didn’t think so. It’s all kind of a blur after 21 I suppose til you hit like 30 and start realising that you don’t actually feel old, but that you are actually an old bastard. Anyway, it got me thinking in a weird kinda way about coincidences. Or perhaps signs. You see I turned 23 this year. And 2 + 3 is 5. And it’s the year 2005 And next year I’ll be 24. And 2 + 4 is 6. And it’ll be 2006. Or in 2015 I’ll turn 33, and, you guessed it 3 + 3 is 6 as is 1 + 5.

It seems like I shouldn’t have been sober when I had this revelation but I wasn’t. It’s a shame really as if I had been in any sorta altered state of mind I would probably have found some sort of cosmic significance in the relation between my age group and the 3rd millennium AD. Hmm. It coulda been just like that time I realised that 4 to the power of 4 is 256. I was freaked out that day, but in retrospect, there was very little reason why.

In an entirely unrelated note, I read today that if you eat a little bit of lettuce than it makes you sleepy, but if you eat a lot than it has erotically stimulating effects. That’s pretty goddamn freaky. I mean lettuce as an erotic vegetable? If it is a vegetable that is. I’ve had a strange kind of love for those leafy bastards ever since I lost the power of taste due to excessive smoking a few years back, and realised that without any flavour in my life, lettuce was the best thing to eat. It crackles on your tongue. Yum yum! It is pretty shit if you can taste it though. Imagine eating a whole lettuce like an apple. I doubt it would be an especially satisfying experience.

On another unrelated note, I was in the toilet taking a piss when a guy called out behind me “Hey is that a Fun Loving Criminals t-shirt?”. I was wearing my lucky t-shirt which is FLC based so he was talking to me. I was a bit freaked out as I obviously couldn’t turn around to check who was trying to get my attention. I worried needlessly though as it seems as the guy simply wanted to tell me that his wife used to know them and that Steve, the old drummer, had left the band because he was fleeing the law due to his persistent harassment of members of an all ladies gym up north. I was always told that it was because he was the get away driver in a bank robbery. But as my main man Fred said, “Either way, he’s still a Fun Loving Criminal”. Damn straight.

Summertime, and the weather is easy

So this heat is making people crazy hey. Yesterday I was on the train minding my own business, trying to chill out in the stifling heat when suddenly an unnatural scream hits everyone. I turn around as fast as anyone to face the danger, and there was nothing there. Just a lot of people staring intently whilst sweating intensely. But what were they looking at? Then the mumbling starts. From this old guy. I thought that maybe he was just the first to speak after that horrific sound, but the mumbling makes it clear that the sound came from him. Such a frail old man. Such a frail old stinky drunk man. What had made him make that noise?

“Sit down” a man says to him in a not unthreatening manner. Just leave him I thought. He’s just old and fucked up by the heat. If you ignore him he’ll give up. Or get funnier. But the guy had been ignoring him and the old man hadn’t given up. In fact he was mumbling more. And threatening. And clenching his fists in preparation. “I can stare at you all night” the old man cries as the sun crashes through the window behind him, making it hard for any one to look at him, but we’re all still staring anyway.

“Sit down” the man says again. As much as everyone on the train is staring at the old guy, everyone on the train are also pointedly not looking at the other man. I look though. He looks mean. He’s got sweat pouring off his brow as if his blood had been boiling for a long time. The old man swings his fist in the air as if it was a punch but his arms aren’t strong enough to fully extend. He hits nothing, but swings up his other hand weakly to hit his fist and make a dull slapping sound. Some threatening mumbling accompanies it. The man grabs him and tells him to shut up, but doesn’t realise how tiny the old man is and throws him to the floor between the seats opposite. The women who are sitting there climb up onto their seats like any elephant would at the sight of a mouse.

The mumbling grows louder and a hand waves around lamely above the seat, maybe trying to help him up, maybe trying to defend him while he’s down. But the mumbling, it’s like shouting now, and the man doesn’t seem satisfied by his victory and is slapping his hands away so as to get a clear blow through. He does. From where I’m standing there is no effect, as the mumbling carries on. The people who are crammed in around this scene aren’t looking any longer. They’re looking towards the door. We’re at the station now, but they haven’t opened, and it’s hot on this train. Really fucking hot. And we’ve been on this train a long motherfucking time.

The man lamps him again and then walks off the trains with the rest of the passengers. The old man scrambles to his feet and chases after him still mumbling. Everyone else continues to breath heavily.

I told my friend that there was a fight on the train. He asked me straightaway “Between an old guy and big motherfucker?”. Common story apparently. The heat makes everyone crazy.

You can never go back

Hey kids, it’s been a while, what with this whole ongoing story thing, but it’s over now, so I’m back goddamnit! So many things I wanted to say but couldn’t because I just wanted to get that stupid story finished. And now I’ve forgotten it all! Fucking typical. It’s just like that time that I…. uh…. well sometime anyway.

So what have I been up to then…well I went to Green Day in Milton Keynes. That was pretty fucking wicked. Except for the fact that I whiteyed pretty much solely through the power of that great big fucking ball of fire in the sky. But I perked up just before they came on and it was great. Milton Keynes bowl is a surprisingly nice venue. It’s like a stadium, but it doesn’t feel man-made because of the lack of seats. I suppose the stage doesn’t exactly look natural, but then I think if Green Day had played up a tree it might distract people from their actual performance. Hmm. What does Green Day mean anyway? Anyone know? It sounds like something to do with drugs, but I have a strong feeling that’s not right.

Milton Keynes must have loved this weekend. They’ve probably never had so many people come to Milton Keynes and stay that long. Or more precisely, they’ve probably never had that many happy to people come to Milton Keynes for so long. Although I wasn’t happy going there. I swore to myself last time that I would never go back, and I hadn’t even intended on going there in the first place that time.

You see I was up visiting some friends in sunny Manchester, and as is common practice, we got really fucking drunk on the last night I was there. Or maybe just I did. Well I can’t remember anyway, but the point is that when I left the next day I was motherfucking hungover like a bitch. And it was hot. FUCKING HOT. Just like Saturday was. It was like sun suddenly realised it was made out of fire and thought that it should try and evaporate all the water in the solar system, just in case. So I got to the train station barely alive and climbed onto the supposedly fast train that my friends had told me to take instead of the slow comfy ass virgin train.

So this train was all fucked up from the start and was baking it’s passengers inside like discount ready made meals. Been using a lot of similies today. Or is it metaphors? Anyway, after this train taking an extra 2 hours to get pretty much nowhere, we were finally told that we had broken down and were stuck at Milton Keynes and that on an unrelated note, there had been a minor derailment nearby so there would be no trains leaving from Milton Keynes either. So I ran out of the train, trying to get into the fresh air at last before trying to figure out just what the fuck I would do. But the air wasn’t fresh, and there was no outside because I was swept up with the masses of people towards the un-air conditioned coaches they had scraped together for us. I was just about on the bus when I thought I’d see if a friend would save my life, because if anything is gonna kill my motherfucking ass, it’s the heat. My blood is too thick for hot climates. He he.

Luckily I had one of the nicest things ever done to me happen that day, and I was saved by Dee who came and picked me up. Of course it did take her like 2 hours to get there because I was making her drive from Chiswick to Milton Keynes, so I was stuck there for fucking hours, dying a really pathetic death. So after they carted my carcass home, I swore I’d never go back. But then I did go back, and the same thing happened. Maybe Milton Keynes is sunny all year round.

(vi) I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad

My hands were shaking when I woke up this morning. I had that dream again. Well I guess I shouldn’t say ‘that’ dream, because they’re all different. It was this young girl last night, running by me in this skirt similar to one I was wearing who got me killed. It wasn’t her fault, it’s just apparently I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Fucking hell, get a grip, you were asleep. You weren’t in the wrong place, at the wrong time, they’re just dreams. They’re just dreams. Or maybe nightmares I suppose. Somehow, something always feels right about them though. I mean, I didn’t start wearing dresses until that first one I had when I was tripping off my nuts in Mexico. It seems so natural so have my genitals hanging free. What do women have which needs so much space between their legs? They’ve got a lack of flesh there, not a surplus. Hmm.

Well anyway, off to work as usual. Flying to Rome tonight. Won’t that be great! They got some designers there which will really have taken advantage of male frame in these womens clothes. Well I hope they will. I’ve never been to Italy before. Never really liked pizza enough to warrant it. Or maybe I’ve just never had the time. I have been flying to Mexico and back far too often to go other places. I wonder why I stopped that. It was only last week I made my last flight wasn’t it? Anyway…

“Single to Heathrow please” I ask the girl behind the counter as nicely as I can. She looks frightened, and not in the way that a man in a dress frightens people.

“Um.. here you go…. Sir?” she asks tentatively. I’ve been getting that a lot recently. People never seem to know what gender to give me. I suppose I don’t either.

“Yes, sir will do. Which platform is it please?” I know which platform it is, but I’m afraid if I leave this poor little thing alone too quickly she might burst into tears. Something has fucked with her head today, and today I know how she feels.

“It’s just that one there.” She says non-comittally. I linger a second longer as her lips look like they want to form more words, but they can’t be bothered in the end. I walk away, feeling the cool air on my balls, when I hear her call out “Be careful!” but I’m not sure if she’s talking to me or herself.

Some days it’s like this. It’s not a good sign anyway. I gotta face my boss for the first time today over my “alterations” to the uniform they’ve given me. Apparently The Man doesn’t like my dress. Doesn’t inspire confidence in the passengers he says. Fuck that. It’s the hat which inspires confidence, considering they can only see the back of my head over the chair. And I never take this hat off. Except when I’m wearing a wig… wait a minute, I’ve never worn a wig, but suddenly flashes of fake hair appear in my mind and in my eyes.

And then I see her. The girl from my dreams. The most innocent out of the whole guilty lot. She’s staring onto the train at the tears falling from another pretty face. She probably wants to help her. I do to, but I can’t because I’m frozen. I’ve been inside that girls head. I know what her tears are about….. my death. She killed me. I want to scream, but all the other faces on the tube have killed me too. Those lesbo’s somehow together at last. Those stupid fat fucking yanks. No! They were just dreams. They were just dreams. They were just…

“Mind the Gap”. Breaks my reverie. I hear it for the last time, but this is the first time I’ve listened. Mind the gap. Not this time. I step purposefully towards the train, but miss and fall. Maybe I’ll never stop falling. Maybe I’m still dreaming. My feet feel hot, like they’re touching the surface of sand. I wonder about a police man I never knew.

(v) The cat in the hat

Dee ran like the wind and left a scream trailing behind her.

“STOP! THAT’S NOT YOUR 2 ½ PINT GLASS BITCH” the security guard chasing her cried out. He seemed pretty quick on his feet, but the people in the street were getting in his way.

Terrified, Dee looks at the box under her arm. “Damn, I thought it said 215 pint glass”. She frowned for a second, oblivious to her imminent capture, before the inevitable “2 ½ pints though, that’s still pretty big” ran through her mind and she was off again. She didn’t know why she wanted the glass, as 215 pints is too much for anyone to drink in one session, but still it seemed like fate that she take it.

Oh wait, I mean fun. It seemed like fun to take it.

“Got you, you fucking thieving bitch!” Dee froze. Where was the bastard? No-one was touching her, in fact she had gone so far that she had doubled back to fool him, so how had he caught her?

“Take off that hat”. A hat? Dee tried to remember whether she had put on her top hat accidentally this morning, and this had all been a case of mistaken identity. Before she had finished checking her whole head, just to make sure, Dee’s ear drums were shattered by shouting and gunshots. She always hated that combination of sounds.

Dee span round to meet her fate, or at least hit this fucker with the glass perhaps, when she discovered that it wasn’t her own dramatic death that she was witnessing. A small man bleeding through holes in the dress that he was wearing was lying on the floor. His wig, which was not unlike Dee’s hair in that it wasn’t dreadlocks, was attached to his pilots cap, which was soaking up blood fast.

The security guard was nodding his head frantically to himself.

“It was a good shoot, it was a good shoot” he repeated to himself a few times, until the law turned up and told him that it wasn’t. Especially as even if it had been the right person, it was still only a 2 ½ pint glass that she took. The cop too had thought that it was a 215 pint glass, so he felt like he had a score to settle with these people.

Dee watched all this happen from the other side of the road with total confusion.

“They don’t let security guards carry guns in this country, what was that all about?” she thought as she skipped down the road and into the pub.

“Happy Birthday Fred man” seemed to be echoing in this place, and somehow it all seemed to suddenly fit.

“Hey, I got this for you. Happy Birthday” she said. He looked at the glass with disappointment. He had already seen these and knew they weren’t as big as everyone thought. “Thanks” he said with a voice that smelled like Christmas. This was all beginning to make sense to Dee, but she didn’t really get why the transvestite had to die.

Project Christmas

So it turns out that I used to have Rampart on the Atari when I was young. That’s strange isn’t it? Well it’s not strange to you because you don’t know what I’m talking about, but it’s pretty fucking disturbing to me. See Rampart is this old school computer game, and i been playing it on one of those retro game compilations recently. But when we started playing it, I was like “Rampart hmmm….. that sounds familiar but I never played it”. And so we started playing and even though I had to work out what it was about and how to play, I seemed to have a natural aptitude at it. I thought maybe it was just my unnatural computer games skills kicking ass on my behalf again, but no, apparently I had it when I was about 6 and played it a lot. I don’t remember it, but that’s fucking strange.

Apparently when you are 6 years old your brain is like a sponge. You can be taught intense amounts of shit and learn new skills in a way that really makes me now feel like a moron for talking to that little Microsoft paperclip bitch. This means that whatever you were doing when you were six is imprinted intensely on your personality, because whatever you did mainly is what you’ll be good at. I was kind of hoping to find out that I had been studying kung fu or some useful motherfucking banking skills at least. But no, I was playing computer games which are now obsolete. Woo.

If I did have a residual skill though, I wonder what it would be like to use it. I mean, I have a really incredibly bad memory formed through prolonged excess, so I can’t really remember Christmas without thinking hard and long about presents. It follows that my memories of being 6 have been pretty much wiped clean, so if I retained a skill then it would be out of the blue. Like that piano bastard. If he had drawn a picture of some drugs and some women, would they have brought him those things? Or at least a piano and some cigarettes. Though I suppose you can’t really play the piano while smoking. Hmm…yes, that’s what’s strange about that story, the lack of cigarettes.

I bought my first 10 pack in years today. Such a motherfucking waste of money and packaging. If it was up to me I would only allow sets of 100 to be sold and they’d be wrapped in an elastic band with a lighter. And none of those motherfucking health warnings. I mean, fair enough, it probably does save some dumb fuckers lives by informing them of the dangers of what they’re doing, but mainly it just pisses us addicts off. I mean, especially the one about ‘cigarettes containing other things than tobacco such as arsenic and plutonium and shit’. If those things are so bad for us, then don’t let that Marlboro bastard put them in. It’s as if in Super size me McDonalds had said “ok, this shit isn’t healthy, we admit it, we put poisonous shit in our food” and then just putting a warning on the boxes.

Damnit I want a Quarter Pounder with cheese now. And a cigarette.

(iv) Lost

No not now. Please not now. I don’t understand why this is happening. Why this can happen. Please. I can’t deal with any more. Just please, give me a break, someone. I don’t know who. God? Are you there? If you are, are you listening? Do you care? Why would you do this to me? I know you didn’t do it. I did it myself. But why are you doing this to me? I can barely keep myself upright. I can barely keep myself from screaming the world into oblivion. The more I try though, the more you fuck with me. THE MORE YOU FUCK WITH ME. You fuck! You absolute fucking….. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I think I can blame anyone but myself. I’m such a piece of crap. I can’t believe that I lasted this long without anyone fucking me up like this before. I just can’t believe. I just can’t fucking stop thinking. I just can’t. Please just give me a moments rest. Please. I was so happy now i can’t remember how to smile. I think I’m going to be sick. Bleuuu……. No. not even that. Can’t even purge myself. Can’t even get rid of all this shit inside me. If only I could. Those toxins. Those fucked up bits floating inside. I don’t think they caused me to be this way though. I don’t think I could just throw them out of my mouth and out of my life so simply. Just by sticking my finger down my throat. Well maybe my middle finger. Say fuck you to me. Fuck me’s not right though. No one will ever want to fuck me again will they. I’m such a fucking mess. I’m such a piece of crap. I don’t think that anyone ever wanted to fuck me in the first place, it was just because I was there. It was like an animal thing, they needed me, they never wanted me. No-one has ever wanted me. I don’t want me, so I don’t blame them. If only I could make myself change. If only I could make myself a better person. But I don’t think people like me get that second chance. I don’t think people like me get to be different. We don’t get to be better. We? Who’s we? It’s just me. I don’t think that I get to be better. I don’t get anything given to me, and I’m too fucking shit to ever be able to change myself. All my friends have changed. It’s amazing to see their lives just get better and better and mine to just stay the same. Mine to just stay like a cess pool in which I swim around, pretending i’m happy, calling out to the others walking around as if I’ve got a great life. But I don’t I’m in my own shit just barely keeping my head above the surface. I’m not fucking waving, I’m drowning. Why can no-one tell the difference? Why is no-one out there to help me. Why does no-one say, fucking hell, you’re swimming in shit, want some help? I would probably say no anyway. Always being needlessly polite. Always letting other people do what they want even though if I’d just stuck up for myself for a minute then my life could have been so much better. Oh well fuck it. I don’t care. I’m going to keep on being the same piece of shit, but from now on if someone fucks with me then I’m going to fuck with them too. Yeah, I’m fucking going to do what I’ve always wanted. Like spit in public. Yeah, I liked that. Oh shit I got that old lady. Fuck her, just keep walking. Maybe a bit faster. What’s she gonna do? Run to keep up? Haha. Wait that’s not funny. But it was nice to laugh. My headache faded for just a second. I think I’ve cried all the liquid out of my brain. It feels like it’s condensing. God damn that hurts. Need to laugh. What’s funny? Two dyslexic guys walk into a bra. Ha ha. That’s not really funny. It’s like those fucking mice I saw on TV. You can’t make yourself laugh. Maybe if I spit on another old lady! Ha ha. Oww. That was just mean wasn’t it. What about this guy. I could spit on him. Yeah, he’s some cross dressing sky captain is he. Well sky captain this. Ha ha, right in the face. Oops, best move down the platform before he clears his eyes. Wooo. That was fun. Maybe I should just be a bitch then. That was pretty funny. Life would be much simpler if I just spat in all those fuckers who fucked with me’s faces. What’s all that commotion? Excuse me Officer, what’s going on? Someone fell on the tracks? Oh, that’s terrible? Were they pushed? No they seemed like they were blinded? Oh fuck. Swiftly moving on. Oh no. Oh fucking no. What have I done? I’m such a piece of….

(iii) The man with the hat said I’ll stop when I get some crack

“So where is it then? I’m tired of trekking round this stupid fucking country. I don’t even care what time it is. If we don’t find it in the next twenty minutes then we’re giving up”

“Twenty minutes! I though you said you didn’t care what time it is. Anyway, we’re still like 8 hours ahead so that twenty minutes won’t expire until tomorrow”

“Why did I ever agree to this? You said London would be fun. Better than Thanks-Giving turkey you said. All we’ve got so far is hungry and lost.”

“Well that’s because you won’t ask for directions and you got us kicked out of McDonalds for complaining and you’ve got that thing about not betraying Ronald with the Colonel so don’t blame me. Oh wait, there’s someone, maybe they can give us directions. He’s wearing a uniform so he must know. Excuse me! EXCUSE ME!”

“Uh yes… are you talking to me?”

“Yeah I was. I was wondering if you could help us. Me and my husband were looking for a museum, but we can’t seem to find it. If you just give me a minute I’ll get my map out of my fanny pack and maybe you can try and help us…”

“I’m sorry sir, my wife doesn’t know what she’s saying, we’re not lost, I was just taking a break from navigating for a minute. You know how it is don’t you buddy, when your wife is nagging you and won’t let up”

“Um… no not really…. Wait a minute that’s your wife? Oh! I thought her tits were rolls of flab! Oh sorry mate. I thought you were just a really badly dressed gay couple”

“Yes I’ve got the map now. We’re looking for this giant clock that London is so famous for. Giant George or something. Which museum is it in? We’ve been to the the Tate, but the guy at the…. Stop that right now! Let that poor man go! I know he’s English but still honey I think you’re hurting him…”

“Damn tootin I’m hurting him. He’s lucky I wasn’t allowed to bring my gun with me. YOU SNOOTY BRITISH! YOU’RE ALL THE SAME! THINK YOU’RE SO SUPERIOR!”

“P l e a s e siiiiiir reeeeelllaease meeeeee. Itttttsss nooottt giiiannnt geeorrgge itttsss biiiiiiiiiggg beeee…….”

“He won’t tell us where it is now. Oh lord, I think he’s not breathing. Let’s get out of here. I saw on Nightline that the British police aren’t near as deadly as our boys, we can make a break for it”

“I saw that too. I’m not sure that is an official uniform anyway, it just doesn’t look right with that skirt, even if they do call it a kilt here. No one will miss this limey”

“Stop! Police! Oh fuck it. I can’t be bothered to chase those fat fucks. Let’s see who they’ve roughed up. Oh no…. not you again…

Take that pineapple off of your head

It seems appropriate at this point to take a break from this developing story and mention that my very dodgy sponsor has returned finally from his prolonged educational holiday. Nice one mighty white, London always appreciates your presence. And your presents.

I remember being in the Bull and Bush one new year's eve and Treble was sooo fucked that we had covered the table in front of him entirely with pint glasses so that if he did puke it would mostly be contained. Ok, so we were all pretty fucked too, I did say it was new years after all. Anyway, eventually he looked so fucked that someone must have told a bouncer to sort him out as one started very deliberately working his way through the crowd towards us. Luckily for our little drunkard (we were underage at this point), another little drunkard staggered over and sat next to James and knocked lots of the glasses on the table as he sat down. The bouncer turned up and saw this little fuck up trying to steady a table full of empty pints and grabbed him and dragged him out. We all cracked up at the near miss and were most likely discussing how James would never know how close he had come when we turned round and realised he was gone.

I doubt we were particularly worried as James can look after himself, but either in search of him, or because I needed to make peace with the Germans, I went to the toilet and bumped into him. He was washing leaning over the sink with the taps running, splashing water onto his face. Now as it was New years, so the toilets were particularly ram packed, and because it was a bit of a shit hole anyway, people had been peeing in the sink all night. It had it’s own individual queue for most of the night. So based on this unsavoury information I started telling him to stop as it’s probably pretty rank, but as long as he gets the water straight from the tap it’s alright. But then I realised he had blocked up the sink, so I started lecturing him about cleanliness. Until he finally interrupted with “What are you talking about, I didn’t plug the sink”. I looked again. Someone else had blocked it. With puke. And Whiteboy was scooping from the water which had settled on the top.

I suppose that boy has enough stories of me being the fucked up one though. Or when he’s fucked me up. I’ll never forget the time we were both entirely off our nuts and reality was seeming pretty hard to keep in touch with. Everything felt like sand for one thing. And luckily enough, we were right by a beach so went and stood barefoot on the sand saying “Wow, everything feels like this!”. But anyway, I remember sitting there trying to keep track of who I was, why I was laughing and why I wasn’t feeling quite right, when James turned to me and said “Man, did you remember to close the shop”. My complete confusion erupted out of every pore in my brain. “What?” was all I could say, but not in a “What the fuck are you talking about” kind of way, more in a “Shit, what have I forgotten” kinda way. “The shop man, it was your turn to close it. Shit man did you forget to close the shop? You better go close it man”. And so on. I’ve never closed any shop in my life. That really fucked me up. That bastard.

I think James is best summed up with a similar incident when he was trying to fuck with another friend of ours when he was fucked. “Hey look man, you’ve got a frog on your foot” was his line of attack this time. The reply was “Hey James, you’ve got an idiot in your head”. He probably does you know. Only joking, James it’s good to have you back. You’re a legend. A very dodgy legend.

(ii) Chewie

The scar faced ho put down the shiv and looked at the other girls. This was going to be trouble and one little make shift blade wasn’t going to solve anything. If Chula was going to get a beating, she was going to fight back tooth and nail, not with toothbrush with nails stuck into it. The other girls laughed at her bravery and made some joke to each other about there being no manyana for this bitch. They started moving towards her yipping like hyena’s, hoping to scare this foreign bird and make her understand that she had really hit rock bottom by ending up here. It wasn’t the first tourist they had fucked up in jail, but it might have been there last as they were seriously underestimating their foe. Chula stood up straight from her crouching position and rubbed the little finger over the scar on her face. It was a constant reminder of the last time a group of fuck wits had underestimated her. Although in actuality the repetitive head injuries she had suffered in her life made her forget exactly what reminder that was, but still it felt like a scar of pride rather than shame.

“Fuck this waiting” she thought, “it’s the waiting that kills you. Well maybe it’s the violence that kills you, but the waiting is pretty boring, so I might as well get it over with”.

She ran at the girls screaming every obscenity that she wished her father had never taught her and prepared for the attack. She screwed up her eyes, not in fear, but in anticipation of not wanting blood to get in them in her first frenzied mauling of whoever she got her hands on.

Clang! She went down. The girls had seen her running and simply parted to let this crazy bitch crash into the wall. It was just a cheap ass shitty dividing wall though and her head went half through as she hit, before she fell to the floor clutching the new soon to be scars on her face. A little head appeared through the hole and quickly shooed off the other girls.

“Alright Chewie, got yourself in trouble already?”

Chula looked up. It was the freaky pilot who had landed her in jail in the first place. She had lent him a dress after he had bought her one too many tequila’s and when he was arrested for cross-dressing somehow she had ended up in prison. This bastard had come to make fun of her had he? She got up and charged at the little hole hoping to get him before he popped his head back in. No real chance it was going to happen though as she was fucked up and he just had to step back. Luckily for her, and unluckily for him, one of her previous attackers had kicked her nail filled toothbrush at her as she was walking away, so when Chula dived at her tormenter she managed to kinda cut his motherfucking head off. Well half off, but let’s not dwell on that. In throwing herself forward she got stuck in the hole in the wall once more.

“You fucking English bitches” Officer Mancuso growled at the bleeding head which was growling a lot more fiercely back at him through the hole in the wall “I liked that guy. I’m sick of your shit, I’m sending you back to your own hell hole country to get fucked up by prison bitches there”. It was a firm but fair punishment. The other choice was execution, but as Mancuso was the only guy in town who had a hood, he was always called upon to do it himself, and he was tired of the killing.

(i) Maria

The sun ablaze as Maria's foot touches the surface of sand, thinking of the world and all that’s underhand she stepped out of the truck and looked to the sky and the future. A silver bird flew in and landed crushing the ground beneath it and stumbling to a halt. She hated fucking Mexico as all it had ever given her was tequila and trouble, both of which seemed to lead to each other whenever one appeared. She was going to stop fucking up her life and others and just leave, for once taking the high road instead of just being high on the road. It had taken her months of robbing people and pimping out her own ass to save up the plane fare, but it was finally worth it. She was going to England. Not that she was that excited about it at first, but English tourists always seems pretty rich, so it would be nice to live in a land of plenty, at least for a while.

“There must be abundant fields as far as the eye can see”, she thought, “and human rights and equality. Well fuck all that, as long as I can still find a gun, everything will be alright. If fact, why don’t I just take this one with me? Seems like a plan”.

With that she ran towards the plane shot off the lock on the door and tried frantically to board. Wasn’t gonna happen though really as planes are quite far off the ground. Even when the pilot came to the door to see what was going on it didn’t help.

“You stupid fucking bitch, we can’t fly if we can’t lock this door. I mean it would be nice to have a breeze blowing in this little flying oven, but more passengers than usual would probably die”.

Maria didn’t like this uniformed prick talking shit to her, so she blasted his ass. He fell on the floor square in front of her, and like the little thieving monkey face she really was she started rifling through his pockets immediately for the keys to the plane. All she found was his passport, some bubble gum, and a photo of one fucked up looking bird. While she was gazing at the scar faced ho that was somehow related to the pilot, the polizia rocked up and pinned her ass to the ground.

“Trying to enter the country illegally were you? We’ll send you back to your punk ass country”. Officer Mancuso wasn’t very bright. He saw her holding a British passport and assumed she was an illegal immigrant, despite the pretty little Mexican chick in his custody looking more Mexican than Speedy Gonzalez. Still, he’d teach her a lesson. He liked that pilot. Well he didn’t know that pilot, but he’d seen in him a dress once, and he always meant to ask him about it, and now he would never have the chance.

Like a broken weather vain, it depends how you look at it

I’m a light weight. I admit it. Some motherfuckers make fun of me for it, but I quite like it. I can go to the pub and assure drunkenness almost every time. It’s a bit annoying if I gotta be sober for something, but those times are few and far between.

Especially this week. I saw Star Wars on Monday and it was friggin awesome. I don’t know why I’ve assigned that specific compliment to the film but it’s all I can seem to say when people ask me what I thought. Maybe it’s because it seems wrong to swear about something so intricately linked to my generations childhood. Aww fuck it. It was fucking exactly what I’ve been motherfucking waiting for. The acting was a bit shit, but they severed a lot of limbs needlessly so it was alright in the end. I asked a friend of mine recently whether he liked the film and he said “Nooooooooooo”. Didn’t you feel bad for Darth Vader?

I saw human traffic remixed on Tuesday. That was pretty wicked. I bought it ages ago but lost it and only just found it again so I was pretty happy to finally watch it. I hate it when that happens in all the usual ways, but it’s nice sometimes when you find something that you were beginning to believe that you never had in the first place. Especially when you find stuff in your pockets the morning after a night out. I usually just find toys though, and the surprise in that is only limited.

Yesterday I listened to a room full of people sing “You’ll never walk alone” over and over whilst getting drunk with my friends. That was pretty fucking great. I quit supporting Liverpool when I was young. It was just after they lost to Arsenal in that famous last game of the season show down. I kinda wanna start supporting them again now, but maybe I’m just a glory hunter. Or drunk. Or drunk with power. Hmm.

Today I’m going to bed early. Well at regular time, but I started trying to move my life towards my bed hours ago so tomorrow I’ll think I went to bed early. Ho hum.

Oh and I got a wicked job and I gave a wicked job to someone else. This has been one lucky motherfucking week. Speaking of weeks, last night I was in the 24 hour shop with a load of other drunk bastards and suddenly we all heard a voice say “Body found in the river every week! Fucking hell”. It was this little guy misreading the sign for the local paper. “The Informer” “Body found in river” “Everyweek”. I’ve never cracked up so much with a bunch of strangers before. I had to smoked two cigarettes on the way home to even myself out.

I really just needed some sleep. Sooooo motherfucking hungover today. Goes with being a pussy ass light weight. Oh well. To bed. Last refuge of the fucked.

The Drunken Bartender

Trains keep on going whether there are people on them or not. They don’t care whether they’re full or empty, they just wanna see other things and be other places, but they’re confined by parallel lines. People aren’t subject to such constraints, but if they’re empty on the inside they stop. Sven was empty and he had stopped. For a lot longer than he had ever intended too. But once his motion had subsided he realised that he had never intended to start moving in the first place.

“Give me two beers and a used ashtray” he said to the bartender who was more drunk than an empty glass.

“All my ashtrays are clean, but if u give me a moment I can help you out” he said while sparking up.

Sven didn’t really care, he just wanted to sit and feel like he’d done something. The bartender’s coughing broke Sven from his thoughts.

“You sound fucked up man. If smoking makes you like this then maybe you should stop”.

“Nah man, I never could stop”. The old drunk replied.

Sven smiled and remembered where he thought he was going and started again. All it takes is a parallel line.

This and that

Tonight was one of those nights where you can't believe that you are ever going to actually make it into bed. I mean there were ups and downs, but even the ups felt like they were going to last forever. In a good way. Well in a good way at the time anyway. Right now that warm feeling eminating from my feet is saying otherwise. As is that same warm feeling in my throat, although that feeling brings with it bile and disaster. Some people follow the theory that throwing up when you're fucked is a good idea as it makes you feel better and clears out the toxins. I think that as you can't feel worse than when puking, what's the fucking point. If you're going for the long run good by accepting the ultimate bad then surely the price is too high. Maybe nothings too high when you're that fucked. When you're this fucked. hmm

A New Hope

So I was born in 1982 right. Lots of exciting things probably happened that year, but my birth was the most important thing that happened in my life, so I’ll ignore all the rest. But anyway, my point was that 1982 is 18 years before the millennium, so it was destined right from the start that all people born in the same year as me would have a pivotal 18th year. Because it was the millennium. The big 2000. Something was bound to happen. Right? Wrong. Apart from a fucking great party I can’t really remember that year at all anymore. Pivotal?! We were ripped off.

Just like with Star Wars Episode 1. It was a crock of shit, let’s face it, with little to no interest to anyone except for children who wanted to play the racing game that I assume closely followed it’s release. Then Episode 2 came out and it still wasn’t amazing. I mean, I thought it was amazing as I was thoroughly less than sober when I went to see it and when Yoda does all his flipping about and shit I was motherfucking awe struck. But as I wasn’t seeing straight at the time, the pretty flashing lights were probably more than enough to please me. In retrospect however, it still wasn’t nearly as awesome as perhaps it could have been. So now number 3 is on the way, and I have to wonder if it’s going to be nearly as motherfucking amazing as it has the potential to be.

I mean, when I was young Star Wars was already everywhere. Everyone had at least one of the toys. Well I didn’t, but that’s because after my parents had seen the sad state my slinky was in it seemed foolish to buy me anymore. But everywhere you went there were Star Wars things. I grew up on the computer games. Not that most of them were any good, but it was a nice genre, an interesting story and lets be honest, a catchy name. Well I would have called it Space Bitches, but Star Wars is alright. So now, after our whole lives waiting, finally the last piece of the puzzle is about to come out. And it could possibly be the pivotal moment of my generations lives. Not that it will be. It’s probably going to suck ass like the rest, but it has the potential. It could be great. IT COULD BE MOTHERFUCKING THE BEST PIECE OF CRAP YOU’VE EVER SEEN IN YOUR WHOLE FUCKING LIFE.

Maybe I shouldn’t have such high hopes, but fuck it, what other inevitable event can I get so excited about? The 2nd of May 2006? I’ve based all my hopes for this year on this film. If it turns out well then it’s going to be a good year. If not, then I’m just going to give up and stay in my room til New Years. I’m terrified. I’m excited.

Actually, I don’t even really care that much, but I have a lot of time on my hands, and someone once referred to me as being the light side of the force, so I felt I should say something about it.

Bleugh

Isn’t being hungover nice sometimes when the pain has just gone away and you suddenly find yourself happy to be alive? I quite like that marshmallow covered monged out feeling. It makes the world seem clean and serene and kind of beautiful in an odd sort of way. It makes anything which you have the energy to manage seem like the best thing ever. Water finally seems as brilliant once more as the day it was invented.

Not that I don’t feel the pain of hangovers. I often think that the punishment for drinking is too severe, that maybe your body should just give you a break. I mean do you have to have dry mouth so strong that it can suck your face into itself? I don’t think so. Next time that happens to you, don’t go straight for the drink of water. Why not instead try a polo or other mint? It follows the theory of Making It Worse. Like trying to type when you’ve got a headache from being hungover. Doh.

Missing the point

So it's actually Friday the 13th now, so time to stop, reflect and maybe watch lots of horror films. Or something like that. Though not the Nightmare on Elm Street series as I’m still a little terrified of that bastard. I know it’s not reasonable, as he is basically a man with a pizza on his face, but when I was about 8 I watched all 5 films in the same day. Made me feel ill. But as I was watching it with my little friends and my brother, I didn’t wanna look like a sissy so I stayed and watched the whole lot. Gave me nightmare’s for years. Although I saw Freddy vs Jason the other day and that was pretty funny, so maybe I’m over it. Or maybe I just missed the point.

Like it seems that everyone else did with Billy Elliott. Now I never wanted to see that fucking film, let’s get it straight from the start, but everyone kept telling me how great it was. How it was really touching and how I shouldn’t judge it before I saw it. So when it came on tv one day and I was too lazy to change channel I watched. In horror. It’s not touching. It’s the story of one selfish little gay boy who ruins his families life so that he can be a dancer. How touching. If it was a little girl everyone would call her a spoilt little bitch, but as it was a little boy it was sweet. Apparently.

Just like that film the Full Monty. That wasn’t funny. It was depressing. Those poor out of work northerners who are forced to degrade themselves for money as they’re living in a economically stagnant area. Once again, if it had been about fat and old women stripping, instead of men it wouldn’t have been considered a comedy. It would have been considered shit.

I suppose the knife cuts both ways though. If Karate Kid 4 had been made with a boy instead of a girl then maybe it would have been good. Or maybe not. The special move in that film is dancing, so it never really stood a chance. Plus it would have cast a shadow of Mr Miyagi’s sexuality once again. At university I repeatedly heard the theory that Mr Miyagi’s relationship with Daniel-san was less than wholesome. I mean, he does say “Daniel-san, you complete me” but still, he’s a legend and therefore not a paedophile.

Maybe that’s Michael Jackson’s main line of defence. I hope not. It came out in court the other day that he used to make Bubbles help with the cleaning. He should go to jail for that if nothing else. Poor monkey bastard. All he wants to do is eat banana’s and pee in his own mouth, but no! Celebrity chimps lives just aren’t as glamorous as we think. Just ask Pamela Anderson. She refused to have a monkey in her new sitcom, as she knows how badly they get treated when they retire and demanded a robot instead. I want to make some sort of joke about silicon, but I really can’t be bothered.

So I’ll make this one instead. What’s the strongest fruit? The Sat Sumo.

Eastenders, everbody needs good Eastenders, with a little... oh wait

Ok, 5 minutes to Eastenders so I’ll make this brief. Not that I care that much about Eastenders, but with a 9-5 job generally meaning that I miss both episodes of neighbours, I need something to fill the void. Although I do like it. I only really got back into it, because I watched it with this Jamaican guy I knew in university once and he was totally addicted. When I asked why he said “I just can’t believe people live such stressful lives”. Now on it’s own that is a bit rubbish, but add the heavy Jamaican accent, and the impression of the Jamaican way of life that we’ve all grown up with on the lilt adverts, and it’s kinda funny. And it’s true. They’re little lives are unbelievably stressful.

Unlike my current job. I grabbed a nap in a cupboard the other day. That was nice. Haven’t slept at work in a long time. I once slept in a meeting by sitting behind someone with massive hair, so that anyone in a position to shout at me, couldn’t see me. That was a good day.

Unlike tomorrow, which is Friday the 13th. The number 13 doesn’t really appear to be unlucky in my life, as I’ve got a friend that was born on the 13th, and 2 + 5 + 6 is 13, but still I don’t quite trust it. The navy started the superstition apparently, and in an attempt to dispel it long ago they launched a ship on some 13th of January (12+1) at 13:13 with 13 crew members etc etc. Apparently they disappeared without a trace in 13 minutes, but I don’t know how true that is.

Anyway, 5 minutes is up.