A vote for Boris is a vote for America

So on Friday night I took a drunken straw poll of vague strangers and I was surprised to learn that Boris Johnson is much more popular than I would have thought. Now, as much as anyone else, I thought he was a comic legend on Have I Got News For You, but when I watched it, I always had the niggling thought in the back of my head – “Who voted for him? How is he an MP? What trickery did he pull to make him seem like a viable candidate?” I always assumed there was some convoluted, yet amusing tale of his rise to power out there just waiting to be discovered, but alas, I guess not.

If people in London are willing to vote for him because he’s funny to look at, then I guess that must have been what happened before. So it seems that for all our mighty snooty British superiority over the intellect of the Americans – “They voted in Arnold Schwarzenegger, those guys are so easily led by TV”, “They voted in Bush, those guys are so easily fooled by rich people politicking” – we are in fact much worse. Because at least Arnie had a successful career as an actor, and at least Bush has an MBA from Harvard. Boris? He’s got messy blonde hair and is easily made fun of by comedians when appearing on TV. It’s like they’re being tricked by Vogue magazine and we’re being tricked by OK!

So if you vote for Boris Johnson, please keep in mind that you are actually in fact also voting for the idea that Americans are smarter than the British. And I know you hate that.

Not 19 Forever

Old is, as old does
So I sit around
And rub my face fuzz

Bitter Victory

The first guy who put vinegar on food… he was a brave guy right? I mean maybe he had a bottle of wine kicking about for too long and he was going to cook with it, but left it too late and thought fuck it and put it on anyway. Maybe if he was lucky it was chips he ate that first night. Maybe a salad even. But what if it was cake? What if he was planning on making some sorta old school trifle and he messed up?

Even if it wasn’t, with no prior knowledge of the stuff, you can assume things turned out bad. I wonder how he carried on after that first attempt. Did he try to hide his shame and his breath, and all the vomiting he did from the world and never mention it again? Or did he try again with a different food? And again. And again. Until he finally moved to the seaside to recover from his worsening health and struck upon something special.

I can only assume it was the latter, so I just want to say thank you for your perseverance Vinegar Man, whoever you were, and thanks to your little sidekick too, Balsamic Boy. You two sure did make a random little difference to this world.

I always was a fool

“I always was a fool” said the old man into his drink, “it made no difference to me whether I was drunk or not whether I would get things right. I ran as many reds when I was bleary as when I was sane, I ate as many apples that were ripe as were wrong and there’s not much I can do about it now”. He sighed and swayed and sat still and everyone ignored him except the bartender.

“Another one for the road?” the man in the apron quietly enquired.

“People like you are exactly my problem. You know I want another one. You know I shouldn’t have one for the road, yet you offer me the devils cup and you don’t think twice about me drinking from it”.

“Jesus buddy, I’m just doing my job, don’t blame your life on me” the bartender replied as he wiped his way down to the other end of the bar to serve the new entrants.

The old man was alone now, but he kept talking “I always was a fool” he muttered “I remember when I fell down those stairs chasing my wife. I got hurt real bad, and what did I do? I went to a bar instead of a hospital. I went to a bar instead of going after her. And now look at us, she’s happy and I’m drunk. Same as it ever was”.

The beer nuts looked at him. They didn’t look impressed with his self loathing, but they thought nothing of it, nothing at all.

“I think maybe it’s time I get going.” He said as he put his tab on the bar. He got his shit together, fell off the bar stool and out onto the street. It was windy, and it was raining and he was only wearing a t-shirt. “Shit” fell out of his mouth as he stumbled into the road. “Shit” fell out of his brain as he stumbled onto the pavement. “Thank fuck” fell out of his smile as he entered the hall. AA was still on. His salvation was here at last, and for once, he was here too.

“Not for you buddy, you can’t come in here drunk” a well dressed but obviously haggered young man said politely but firmly.

“I always was a fool” said the old man, as he went back out into the rain. “I always was.”

I love the dutch

Receptionist: I’m sorry, you have booked a non-smoking room

Us: But we want to smoke

Receptionist: Well then I give you permission to smoke *hands over ashtray*. I’m sorry for saying you could not smoke.

True story.

Home School

“I don’t think so” cried the old lumberjack to the little bear and wolf “Enough’s enough”. They had been stealin his fixin’s see and the lumberjack needed fixings to have the energy to cut down the “green menace” as he called it. Especially at his age. And a hungry lumberjack was mean lumberjack.

So when these two young rustlers started taking kindly to his dinner he got mad. He shouted at them and he chased them round the table and he told them that they oughta be strung up, regardless of their animal and youthful nature.

The little bear and the wolf ran and ran as fast as they could, but they never ran away. They just kept going in circles around the table, until the old lumber jack passed out from exhaustion. And then they went wild. They jumped up and down on his fat belly like a trampoline. They played lumberjack with his axe and braces. They restacked the wood so it spelt out rude creatures names. They even staked down his long white moustache and beard, so when he finally struggled free he’d be real mad and chase them again.

To the little bear and wolf this was the best schooling they ever had. Their respective parents had gotten tired of getting bad results from them at bear and wolf school (respectively) so had sent their kids on this extra tuition class. And boy did these kids love it. They became great at running and chasing and stealing food. And juggling axes, which if you know anything about bears and wolves, is a firm favourite.

The lumberjack got madder and madder, of course, with all these young animals coming into his house and pestering him, but he never did catch any. Years later, when being interviewed after being rescued from a well, the lumberjack said he had got bored down there without anything to get mad at and chase.

Interview with a fool

I don’t wanna do this,
I don’t wanna go,
I don’t have to go,
I don’t think I should go,
I don’t wanna do this,
I don’t wanna go,
I don’t have to go,
I don’t think I should go,
I really don’t think I should go,
Fuck
I’ve got to go
What am I? A coward?

Possibly, but it still makes no sense not to go. An interview’s an interview whether you think you can handle it or not. Just treat it like one of those days at uni where you had to attend and hand something in, or else you were kicked out. Just hand something in. Anything is better than nothing.

So I went, and it went alright. And then they said “So how would you keep in touch with youth culture?” and I said “Don’t worry, I’m down with the kids.”

With their hippity hoppity music. And their skinny latte jeans. And their jve trky txt spk. And all that bizzle and shizzle. And their hoods up on their i-pod nano musical box players. Nice one Justin. That beats that time you responded to the polite end-of-interview-question (that you had in the bag) “Did it take you long to get here?” with “Nah it only took fucking 20 minutes”.

You is the man at freestyling interviews!

The Toughest Cowboy in the World

Three cowboys are sitting around a fire in the desert, looking manly and not saying much, when one suddenly looks up and says "Goddamn, I must be the toughest cowboy in the world. Last week I was minding my own business when I was set upon by 20 injuns. I only had six bullets left so I skillfully shot 10 of them, but my gunfire started a stampede right into my camp. Without hesitating I beat the rest of them injuns to death while facing down more than 1000 head of angry buffalo. Goddamn I must be the toughest cowboy in the world".

The second cowboy looks at him and then spits and says "That ain’t nothin, I must be the toughest cowboy in the world dagnammit. Last night I was making nice with 20 or so pretty ladies when I realised I didn't have any money on me, so while they were all laying there exhausted, I jumped out the window and ran down the street to the bank. I forgot my shooters so I had to fight the 5 guards unarmed. I beat their asses, but when I tore off the vault door to get my loot, the roof collapsed in on me. I crawled through the only gap into the only room I could, but for some darn fool reason it was filled right to the brim with nails. I ate my way through them, and got out the back way with my loot, only to find the sheriff and his men waiting. I dispatched all 50 of his posse using nothing but my cunning and fists before returning to the whorehouse and going another round with the ladies. Hot diggity, I must be the toughest cowboy in the world."

The third cowboy looks up at the other two, chuckles to himself and then looks back down without speaking, and continues to stoke the fire with his penis.

Aquamaniac

A lifetime of grievances came to an end this morning with the spilling of a coffee cup. Joe had always thought that a cup was a pointless form of prison for liquids, and his intense sense of injustice meant that he always wanted them to run free. So he tipped cups and bowls and water machines whenever he could. People could say that he was just into flooding things, but he wasn’t. He didn’t want to damage or destroy anything, he just wanted the liquids he saw to live as free as the sea. Although the sea still wasn’t as free as he would like.

This particular cup he had spilt hadn’t been his however, and usually Joe was so careful with his tipping urges. However, today he had seen his boss abandon this cup and leave for a meeting, and Joe just couldn’t resist. He performed what he liked to think of the most balletic of his tippings, by shaking the desk under the cup until the sloshing back and forth created enough momentum for the thing to spill. The liquid had it’s fun too-ing and fro-ing before it got to run as gravity always intended to the floor and all around, Joe thought, so he loved this way best. He didn’t really notice the cup roll to the floor, or the laptop that followed it, or even the muffin basket that landed right in the middle of the puddle. He was too busy looking at the coffee grinds which had splattered the desk. The coffee grinds which had inexplicably formed the word “Thanks”.

It didn’t matter to Joe that he got fired the next day as he didn’t even turn up to work. He had left that room, that office and gone straight to the beach. He bought an ex-soviet ice breaker from Crazy Henry who had always lived by the sea and started tearing up the land making waterways wherever he could. He was eventually beaten to death by a gang of beavers who were tired of cleaning up after him.

The story wasn’t about him though, so don’t feel bad. It was about the coffee, who had never felt more alive than when they splashed those floor muffins. Coffee is sick in the head see, but at least it said thanks.

Water, water all around

On an island no-one believes in, a thought occurs that no-one will heed. “What if the sea is getting lower? What if we live on a mountain in the middle of a lake, and it’s just been wet out there as of late?”

Well my friends it matters not who hears or thinks such things as the sea is rising not falling, so the thinker and the thought will soon be drowned and not lonely. Unless…

A frog on a walrus came rushing by one day. They sat and talked to the islanders about this concern that no-one in particular had apparently thought, and came up with a solution. Why not build boats? Then if a lake does appear they can cross it and be a holiday resort, rather than the backward and cutoff society that they feared they were.

So the islanders built more boats than you can imagine, and the longshoremen finally had a purpose to life, rather than just being beach bums. The island was delighted and soon enough had discovered the whole world and had forgotten about this thought that no-one would own up to having anyway.

The frog and the walrus on the other hand decided that this one good deed was enough for any partnership so disbanded and got very drunk in very different places. They missed each other so much however, that they both drunkenly cried 1000 gallons a day, until the sea did rise and the island was no more. Thank god for the boats. Thank god for the frog and the walrus, who coincidentally, had lived in the lake the islanders had all feared, before the wet season had moved in. Both distraught by their lost friend they each went home to find the island gone, and in it’s place, the strangest and most magically underwater mound they had ever imagined.

You know how much gold fish love a little castle in their tank? Well just imagine how much they would love a whole town, complete with superfast internet and a bakery. The frog became mayor and only heard of the walrus’s return when he found out he was running against him. Much confusion and joy was had over this merry coincidence, but that is another story.

The end.

Build it up, tear it down

I always think about that Fat Boy Slim song “Build it up, tear it down” whenever I read the free sheets and hear them talking up someone who they have previously been slagging off. Take Amy Winehouse for example. They report on her being a fucked up weirdo as much as they can, implying awful shit about her time and time again (whether it’s true or not is irrelevant), and yet when she does something that an audience claps at, they jump up and say “look how great she looks” or something as if they have always been secretly backing her. What cunts. They make you care about something by pumping your head full of shit about it, and then as soon as you do they tell you as many bad things as they can about it to keep you interested (as people respond to negative emotions more than positive ones – or so believes the press). Then, when you are sick of hearing the bad shit, they say nice things again to build them back up.

Anyway I say this now as I have been sick for a few days, and as these things go I’ve been feeling pretty sorry for myself. Who am I, what am I doing, what can I do, what is the point – you know, that sorta sorry for myself.

So it’s nice to say that at least for this moment I am out of that funk. On Friday I received a Magnus entry of some poetry which I thought was beautiful, but also frighteningly like something I would write. It was melancholy shit, but to me it was amazingly smiley as it gave me one of those intense feelings of not being alone.

Didn’t really change anything in my life though, so I’ve still been grumbling to myself (and others) for the past few days. But then today, I got a call about an interview for a job I really want. Really really want. I mean I probably won’t get it, but it’s nice to know that it’s not so far out of my league that I still get an interview. Boom. I’m back baby. I’m still sick as fuck and I’m sure I’ll be grumbling again shortly, but for right now, everything seems allllllllriiiiiiiight.

Tear it down, build it up.

Church Fakes Dinosaur Bones

If you wanted to discredit the existence of dinosaurs, and were a basically immortal institution, what would you do? Perhaps start faking giant ridiculous creature after giant ridiculous creature? Well then, what do you think has been going on all these years

Giant Frog:
http://news.uk.msn.com/beelzebufo-devil-frog.aspx

Giant Guinea Pig:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/sci/tech/3120950.stm

Giant Penguin:
http://uktv.co.uk/history/news/aid/590131

Giant Rat:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/science/2008/jan/15/giant.rodent

Giant Shark:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/science/2008/jan/15/giant.rodent

Giant Kangaroo:
http://www.iht.com/articles/ap/2006/12/26/healthscience/AS_SCI_Australia_Megafauna.php

Giant Camel:
http://www.independent.co.uk/news/science/prehistoric-syrian-giant-evolved-into-modernday-camel-419311.html

Giant Geese:
http://www.pureinsight.org/pi/index.php?news=1229

Giant Wombat:
http://www.simplydumb.com/2007/08/05/giant-prehistoric-wombat-discovered/

and for those of you who want a cheap gag

Giant Beaver:
http://palaeoblog.blogspot.com/2006/02/giant-prehistoric-beaver.html

But I Gotta Get Up

There’s a stillness inside me. Its cold and it’s hard and it’s quiet, and I don’t know what to do with it. It hurts sometimes and it’s sad often, and I don’t know what to do with it. I’d like to fight it. I’d like to see how strong it is, how strong I am, but I don’t know where to start. And I’m afraid. I’m really fucking afraid.

I don’t know how or why I went still. I don’t know how I wore myself down to a nub. I don’t know why I stopped, but I did, and everyday it’s harder to start again. Everyday I don’t know what I was doing in the first place, why I wanted to be like I was. Like I am.

I dress in a certain way because it makes me laugh. My hair is shit because I don’t give a fuck. But now I’ve been like this so long the joke is over, and I look like a dick, so I am a dick. My opinions get worse, my sense of humour gets worse, my life gets worse.

And yet I’ve never had it so good.

All the things I wanted to be when I was young. All the things I didn’t want to be. I fucked them both up. And I’ve never being doing so good.

I don’t care what people think. I don’t care what the general population has to say about me or anything else. I think most people are stupid and easily led. I think most people have their eyes closed and just listen to their masters voice, because, well why wouldn’t they?

But now I’ve closed my eyes. Now I want a master to listen to. Now I’m stupid.

I gotta get out. I gotta get up. I gotta get going. I’m running out of time. We all are, but the only way to play it is to keep your eyes closed and keep listening, or else who knows what will happen. The unknown is scary, but fuck that, maybe I should want to be scared. Again. Maybe I should want the unknown. Maybe I should fuck it all, everything I’ve built and be the fuckwit I always wanted to be. Always was. Always am. Always am though of as. Because at least that was fun.

Fucking Bill Hicks. Why did I take you so seriously? You’re dead and yet I can’t help but listen to your impersonator. I can’t help but make him my masters voice and he said we should do something, so I’m gonna do something. Something good.

It’s been a long fucking time since I wrote anything and it’s already cathartic. I love that clicking sound a keyboard makes. I love the shape of letters. I love the form of words. I love watching my hands type and being amazed that they go for the right keys. I love how print feels on paper. I love new thoughts, new expressions, new ideas. I love the uniqueness of just pouring your brain out.

I gotta get out. Fuck the Tories.

The Moment

I decided to be good

Mark decided to be evil

Hangover TV

Dear Channel 4,

The new T4 presenter Rick Edwards is awful. Really awful. He looks like an unpleasant man, he dresses like chav and he isn't funny in the slightest. Only slightly menacing and very unfunny. Please get rid of him. Please please please. I really don't think i can cope with my weekend viewing being presented by someone so entirely unlikeable and unpleasant. Why are you not continuing with hiring likeable, cheeky presenters? You have so many great people on there, why put on such a goblin-like idiot?

Yours,


Dear Justin,

Thank you for contacting Channel 4 Viewer Enquiries regarding T4.

We are sorry to read that Rick Edwards is not to your liking. However, it is a fact that very few presenters on any programme meet with the unqualified approval of everyone in our audience. Nevertheless, your comments are welcome and have been logged for the attention of the team involved.

Thank you again for taking the time to contact us. We appreciate all feedback from our viewers; complimentary or otherwise.

Regards,

Triple Distilled

Do you ever wonder how marketers would advertise alcohol if it were a brand new product now? How you could tell someone who had never heard of or experienced any form of inebriation why it was great to be drunk? Imagine it right now (if you’re sober). Imagine being absolutely shit faced. Imagine singing a small part of Fairytale of New York and telling whoever you are nearest to that it is the spirit of Christmas. Imagine dropping part of the most disgusting meal you have ever eaten and then picking it up and eating it. Imagine climbing over a fence or railing at 3am.

Now think of all the actual changes that have taken effect. You’re kinda really happy and really angry at the same time. You have the capability for great violence but not the strength or coordination to open your front door. You love everyone completely yet will insult and fight with your best friend over nothing. You are completely stupid yet able to expound the most complex of theories with absolute assurance of them being correct. You are a myriad of contradictory and unnatural states.

Now think about alcohol advertisements. Don’t they make a bit more sense if you realize the surrealist happy nightmare that they are trying to sell to you?

This ain't nothing but the E.N.D. follow me into the sun and let your Saul be free

I once knew a man named Saul,
And together, we must have done it all
When an opportunity arose,
And I thought I knew what to do,
He’d do something different, and I’d do it too!

From sitting and staring to laughing and shouting,
From smoking and drinking to eating and chatting
From smiling and remembering to arguing and swearing
From bragging and lying to honesty and caring

From living and breathing to saying goodbye and leaving.

We did it all man, so never forget,
Never deny, never regret.
We’ll do it all again one day I’m sure,
So take it easy man, and for me, have one more pure.

Jitters

I’m going to an award ceremony tonight and I’m nervous. I’m nominated for Production New Comer of the Year. If I win, I’ll get a trophy, and I’ve always wanted a trophy. Well, I’ve always wanted to win a trophy – I was once going to buy Whitney Houston’s Smash Hit Award for some song or another which I saw in a dodgy shop in central London, but I decided against it. I wish I hadn’t now as that would have been fucking novelty, but still I wouldn’t have won it.

And I might win this.

I mean I won’t. The odds against are massive, and I should probably just be happy to be nominated, but I can’t help but think this will either be one of the best days of my life, or one of the biggest disappointments I’ve had in a while.

So if you happen to be reading this today, cross your fingers for me yeah?

Stupid Fucking Wednesday

I was in a good mood this morning. I woke up and thought “Fuck it, I may be still feeling a bit sick, but I’m gonna go to work, and work my butt off, that’ll be satisfying”. So I did. It wasn’t exactly satisfying, but its always better than sitting around wishing I wasn’t there. Still it was kinda ruined by my discover that a) I’m pretty much broke for the month and b) I’m probably not gonna get the pittance I thought my father had accidentally left me. So I’m a bit fucked off, but I thought “Can’t stumble at the first hurdle Justin”. So I carried on.

So then I thought, “I’ll rush home, do some shopping, do some cleaning, do some cooking, do some work on Magnus, then have an early night as any wholesome young man should”. Except the fucking bus didn’t come for an hour and a half. So I got home angry and deranged from hunger, and of course I have no money to buy food (or medicine for my lingering cold) and it turns out no food. Well no food that i can be bothered to use to make up a meal. And that was it. No more good mood.

It's funny how little things can fuck you up. Especially when you're a bit sick.

And then Nick let me have some of his dinner. Grated cheese on curry is alllllllllllllright. Nice one bruva!

Hello

So it’s been a while and I thought that maybe I should write something. Something free-style. So I’m just gonna write and see what comes out.

Once upon a time I was a frog and when I was a frog I was happy. Because I like jumping and eating flies and being put in jars, looked at and subsequently released. I was in the woods one day eating something crunchy, when this really ugly fatso came along and picked me up.

“Hello Fattie” I thought “I wonder if I’m going to have to kill you”. Because sometimes fatsos tried to eat me see. But she didn’t. Instead she kissed me and I became a prince. She thought that meant that I had to marry her as she had released me, but hell no. I gave her a good talking to about her excessive weight, tried eating a spider and then sat down to ponder my new non froggy life. After a while I got eaten by an army of flies, who were sick of my shit.

The end.