Sunday, 24 March 2013

That feel when you have an email saying that one of your friends has an upcoming birthday

and that person is dead

Wednesday, 20 March 2013

Jobs

I hate employment.
Me too.
I've done some stupid jobs.
Same. I remember being a penguinologist.
What did that involve?
Knowing a lot about penguins.
Tell me something.
The emperor penguin is technically a bird although one that makes his home in the sea. So if you're wondering what he's doing up here on the ice, well, that's part of our story.
Thanks. 
Copying and pasting that has made the font of this entire document change and I can't be arsed to change it back. That's what happens when you get involved in penguinology.
I used to be a bear biologist and paperfolder.
What did that involve?
I used to have to study bears' bodies. Then I'd fold paper. It was shit though.
Why?
The bears would eat the paper when I was trying to fold it. I attempted to curtail their destruction but to no avail.
Would you say that perhaps the bear biologist element of the job could have been emphasised rather more than the folding of paper part?
Perhaps.
What was written on the paper that you folded?
Nothing.
So why have paper at all, let alone folded paper?
The paper wasn't folded. It was my job to fold it.
Alright. But. You get the question.
I don't.
Why the paper? Why the folding?
Why not? 
Because it's nothing to do with bears.
Does it have to? A job's a job. Sometimes things are different. I embrace a diverse working day.
I thought you said you didn't like the job.
I like the folding part. 
But not the bear part?
No, I liked the bear part too.
So which part didn't you like?
The paper.
What?
Yeah. Papercuts. Everywhere.
Everywhere?
Everywhere.
Why would you even try to fold paper with your cock?
What?
You said everywhere.
Exaggeration.
So not really everywhere.
Yeah, everywhere. Apart from my cock.
So you tried to fold paper using your hair?
Hair doesn't bleed.
Ok.
But yeah I did.
Oh.
Yeah.
What else would you fold anyway, if not paper?
Boron.
Why boron?
Because it's boron. You don't argue with boron.
No, you argue with wor - 
Boron.
No, but boron is like a -
Boron.
Fine.
My next job was as a bride kidnapping expert.
Yeah? So what did you do? Solve specific crimes to do with brides being kidnapped?
Yeah, partly. Usually it was just people getting married and we got the wrong message. 
Partly?
Yeah. Mostly it was what it said it was. Bride kidnapping.
As in, you investigated?
No. As in I did it.
You kidnapped brides?
Yeah.
Why?
My job.
Oh. Bit of a shit job.
It was alright. I was only a temp though.
I temped once. I was in charge of the big door.
Which door?
A big one. A big door.
No, but where? Who did you work for?
I don't know. I was in charge of a big door though.
Can't you even tell me where you went when you went to work?
Through a big door.
Godamnit.
Yeah. I got fired.
Why?
Because I forgot my primary duty.
Which was?
To be in charge of the big door.
I got fired too.
Shame. From where?
From my job as a chief trouble maker.
Yeah? 
Yeah. Turned out I didn't like causing trouble. I was too good, and I got fired for my troubles. Or lack of them. Went to the pub to drown my sorrows. Bought some chocolate beer. A man sitting next to me offered me a job on the spot.
What, on an actual spot?
No, that's just stupid. He offered me a job as a chocolate beer specialist.
Nice.
Yeah. He realised quite soon that my expertise only extended to this one beer out of the hundreds in the world, and that grabbing some chocolate and chucking it in a half-empty glass of Foster's does not make chocolate beer. He fired me when I suggested that he shove it up his arse then.
What, the job?
No, the beer. 
I don't get it. Oh wait. Chocolate. Lovely.
My next job was as a head of potatoes.
Head of potatoes?
Yeah.
So you were...
Don't.
Mr... 
Please.
Potato...
No.
Head.
Fuck you.
I had to. 
I know.
What did it involve, being head of potatoes?
Generally knowing a lot about potatoes.
And did you?
I thought I did. For a week I survived on telling people that 'potato' was 'pomme de terre' in French, and occasionally barking 'Maris Piper' at them if they accused me if talking bollocks.
When did they cotton on?
When I told them all that chips were actual special potatoes that grew in that shape.
Why would you say that knowing they were all potato experts too?
Because I thought it was true.
Oh right. Still not as bad as the time I had a job as a pork rind expert.
Yeah? Got boring did it?
Yeah.
Each day just the same?
Yeah. I know where you're going with this, but - 
You could say it was...
No.
The daily...
No.
Rind.

Silence.

Cats use silence to intimidate opposition.
Oh?
Yeah. I learned that during my time as a cat behaviour consultant.
Yeah? How did you get into that caper then?
Started my own business, really. Didn't have many clients to begin with.
How many?
One. And he didn't even have a bank account.
Account has the word 'cat' in it.
Yeah. That's not really relevant but still.
Yeah. Was it your cat then?
Yeah. I was successful in my first quarter, though made no profit, due to my client having no money and no intelligence in matters related to finance. In my second quarter I did turn in a profit. 
How much?
Fetching my cat out from down the back of the sofa, I found a fiver. Then the business went bankrupt when my cat ate it as revenge.
Revenge for what?
I dunno. You know cats. Permanent grievance.
That's profound. You know what a good job title could be for you?
Yeah?
Cat behaviour consultant.
But that's the job I just described.
Oh, right. I got bored, sorry. Had my mind on work.
You were looking at a naked woman on the internet.
Yeah. Memories of when I was a pornography historian.
Oh yeah.
I've seen more boobs than a woman herself.
But the woman in your theory has only seen her own boobs, albeit a lot.
Yeah but, in a sense, you never really see the same thing twice ever.
But your essential sense of your own Platonic boob is what constitutes its consistency.
There are no Platonic boobs. I should know. I was once a shredded cheese authority.
So you shred cheese all day?
No, I was just an authority.
On shredded cheese?
No. I was an authority made of cheese who just happened to be shredded.
So... what? You were made of cheese?
Yeah. That was my job.
And you were shredded?
Yeah.
Was it painful?
No. Because I wasn't actually made of cheese. I was making a play on words.
Oh, right. What does being a playwright have to do with cheese?
No, I meant just now.
Oh, I get it.
Do you?
No. I'm tired from work today.
Same. Tough life being a Smarties expert.
Tougher life being a teen exorcist.
So, you're a teen?
No. I exorcise teens.
Good luck with that one. Most teens wouldn't get off their sofas if it wasn't for food.
It's no joke. Today I removed Satan from a possessed girl.
How?
I asked it to come into me and then I jumped down the stairs to kill myself. But I didn't actually die.
So you're possessed by Satan?
Yeah. Like I said, hard day. I'm not sure how to get rid of it.
Ah, that's where you need me.
Go on.
I'm a Smarties expert, remember.
Oh, I see. Smarties have the answer, right?
Yeah. Eat the blue one here and you'll be rid of Satan. Eat the red one, and you stay in Wonderland.
I didn't realise the whole Smarties universe was a representation of our reality. Therefore each colour represents a different dimension, and each time we eat one, we enter that dimension.
Pretty much.
And if you eat them all at once?
You create a black hole.
And if you eat the tube?
... Fuck.



Saturday, 9 March 2013

The Curious Case of Bonjamon Bolton

I first found Bonjam sitting on a chair, his legs askew and eyes staring in to a distance; upon further perusal, I noticed he was staring at me. I enquired as to the nature of his face and he decided to grab me round the throat and attempt to throttle me.
'Interesting', I thought, as I felt my oxygen supply decrease, 'He clearly has an element of something not quite there - a synaptic reconvergence unique to the frontal convex suggesting a maladjustment of...'

When I came to, I was being looked at by the other doctors, most of whom looked worried.
"You ok, doc?"
"I'm fine," I said, leaping up. "Where's Bonjam?"
"I wouldn't go back in there if you were I [sic]," said Jonathon Verbatim.
I shrugged off his suggestion, and proceeded to enter the room. The door shut behind me, and several latches were, well, latched. Perhaps this security and confinement were in themselves detrimental to Bonjam's mental state. We had started on a foot bad, and I was determined this time to amends make.
"Morning," I said, extending my hand cheerfully.
He leapt at me, teeth bared, and ripped a portion of flesh from my shoulder.
"What's the specific nature of your problem, Mr. Bolton?" I said, as he leapt to the corner, chewing on my flesh.
He spoke for the first time. "I killed my family and ate them."
"By that, perhaps you mean to say that your synaptical convex neurone deficiency is contributing to..."
"I liked the taste."
"Are you unhappy?" I asked.
He sighed. "I'm a psycho, doc. There's nothing you can do for me. Now let me finish eating your shoulder so I can move onto dessert."
"And what would that be?"
"Your left bollock."
"But it is on me."
"Not for long."
An attempt an humour, I thought - interesting that, whilst other doctors, have written him off as a 'unspeakable', I was able to see an element of humanity there. The use of language was encouraging. At least he was able to process and synthesise concepts.
"Tell me," I attempted, ever-aware that he was already halfway through the shoulder (at this point I feel it notable to include the fact that I had entered his room in a meat suit and that he was dining on prime beef (and and this point I feel it notable to include the fact that I had re-covered my shoulder with another slab in case he decided to make for the same spot again (and at which point I feel it notable to include a thank-you to the producers of this beef who, despite knowing I have made millions from books describing freakshows, nonetheless offered it to me half price (at this juncture it is perhaps necessary to add that the meat is sourced from reliable sources such as cows (who, I might add, are responsible for the vast majority of the world's beef (which, in itself, is responsible for most of the world's cows (apart from the exceptions where, in strange experiments, scientists have created artificial beef, as well as artificial cows: when artificial cows eat artificial beef, they say, cow-shaped black holes are bound to form (although this event won't happen for another two billion years, according to Stephen Hawking)))))))) "What compels you to snack on human flesh?"
"I hate everyone and want to kill them. I feel no pity whatsoever for a single being. I want you to kill me, because I am what people fear."



I'm bored and not sure what the point of this is



Thursday, 7 March 2013

Prometheus

There it was, that great overflowing miasma of mankind's creation, a vast and stupendous vision of bounteous promise whose aspects bordered on the sacred; armies of grandeur marched to a war hitherto unforeseen - bar those entitled to its glory, those possessed of a singular mindset, whose arms stretched as wide as the four corners of the earth, whose eyes saw beyond the fifth dimension, whose legs ran faster than all the speed of Hercules' men, whose steeds outshone the showy sham of sequential pretenders to the throne of avarice, whose faces squinted in unhumble sacrilege and heads bowed before rising, smirks written over their faces; even God himself looked up at these mighty martyrs dying at the feet of morality and wondered if these indeed were the righteous few entitled to the benefits, who screamed when the untalented profited and barked orders at those capable of even the smallest degree of self-discovery, who stole the fire of privilege and used it as if it were an object of their own devising.

Thus thought the geek sitting in the corner of the school hall, watching Harry Funt getting it off with Jessica Anðbjctðfmyydsrr. The disco ball swung heavily, an anvil knocking down the building of his hopes and dreams, which had reached its full promise after she had smiled at him a month ago in Triple Science. The geek's adoration reached such a peak that he had taken to wanking over the mere thought of her in a way that, if he were ever to go out with her, would be ultimately good practise for the real thing. Because he was sensitive. He hadn't had experience, but he knew how women worked. The female orgasm was primarily achieved by means of stimulating the clitoris in a motion that, whilst different for every woman (not that the geek ever wanted any other woman), nonetheless generally resulted in a satisfactory result for both male and female members of the copulating species. She would be kind, and wouldn't mind that the first time round he might be nervous and spunk everywhere within two seconds like the geeks do on film.

All this - the silent sitting in the corner, the adoration from afar, the lack of friends - all this was expected. He had a role to perform owing to his superior intelligence, and he gladly fulfilled it. What they hadn't told him about was the feeling that he was somehow dead, detached not only from his peers but from everybody in the entire world. He wasn't made for humanity, he saw that now. Anyone who talked to him did so out of pity, which only made him hate them the more. How dare they pity him? He was intensely intelligent. He would show them... or, perhaps, he wouldn't show them, because the thought of growing up bewildered and scared him. A trap between the fear of the future and constant self-loathing of the present. Only the past was special. At times he tried to convince himself that maybe he was having a good time and just didn't realise it, that he would look back on this moment and smile... but at what? His misery? Was it that superficial?

Jessica and Harry got closer together. Harry leaned in for a kiss on the cheek. Of course she would kiss him. But what came next surprised the geek. Jessica pulled her head away from him, leaving the geek with a delicious image of Harry's puckered lips kissing nothing but empty air. Harry moved towards her again but she shook her head. What humiliation for Harry!

Harry shrugged his shoulders and moved away. Typical. Just because he couldn't stick his tongue in her mouth he decided she wasn't worth his time. What the geek would give just to talk to her for five minutes. What happiness she would provide him, what meaning! Understanding of a nature not seen by anyone before or since.

She came walking over towards him then, just like Mena Suvari did in the video for Teenage Dirtbag. This was it. The script was coming true. Sure, this part didn't happen in the actual movie that the video was based on - a title that escaped the geek* - but it was all the better because sometimes in life illogical fallacies happened, providing a meaningful narrative beneath all the facade that propagated its ill-will upon his consciousness.

"Hi," he said, as she sat down.
Her mouth was set - her jaw bent at an acute angle. Acute, like angles ought to bend. "Hi."
"Not dancing?"
"No." She chewed gum. Her legs scuffled around the floor. Maybe this was a sign of nervousness. He tried being convivial.
"Harry's a bit of a knob, isn't he?"
"No, he's alright, I just don't fancy him."
"But you rejected him. You must think he's a bit of a knob too."
"No."
"Do you want to dance?"
She looked at him for the first time. Hope rose in his heart, and was only extinguished for a fraction of a moment upon seeing her expression, when a sudden light appeared over her face, the world around him was dimmed, music stopped, dancers stopped, and it seemed as though she had grown ten years older. "Hi," she said, smiling in a manner more warm than he had ever seen on her before.
"I just said hi to you," she said. "You can respond."
"But."
"I'm Jessica, but Jessica in ten years' time. I'm twenty-six, an events organiser, I have a fiancée, and he's not you. I'm going to tell you something you need to remember in this moment. You are about to feel painful rejection from someone who you used as a fantasy in order to get you through this miserable time in your life, okay?"
Unable to do anything else, the geek nodded.
"Because you are young, you don't understand that I pity you, am angered by you, and yet also, like a concerned mother, have love for you. It's the love anyone feels upon seeing a child fall over on the street. A need to intervene, to make their lives happier, if only for a fleeting moment. Look," she said, holding his head in her hands, "You will find the right time and space. But right now you are in neither. This is not the place for you. You cannot dance, and should not try. Ever. Not only are you a geek, but you're a socially inept geek who nobody likes. Even your parents wish you could be less self-righteous, and they blame themselves for inflicting this ego upon you. As for the other students here, it would almost be better for you if everybody hated you, but they don't. They barely notice you. And that's what you can't stand. You've been raised to believe you were special, but you're not. Not in all aspects, anyway. You are only intelligent enough to earn your grades. Your true lesson needs to be learned, and that lesson is a cliché."
"What is it?" he whispered.
"It is that you need to be yourself, but in varying degrees depending on who you're talking to. Some people you can be entirely yourself with. You will find these people. Just not now.”
"How can I tell who is like me?"
"You will know." She paused for a moment, as if considering something. "You will also get laid, but not with me. This situation right here is false. You don't love me, and I don't notice or care for you. You can say that is because I'm a bitch, that I'm promiscuous, that I'm selfish - but in truth, I'm just another teenager who has bad taste in music and prioritises silly things. You think about everything, and concentrate all your energies on yourself, and feel guilty for doing so, so you pretend to be someone else in order to compensate. You even use the word 'prioritise' without hesitation. Someday you'll find someone who finds the acquisition of useless knowledge and a vast vocabulary to be a meaningful part of one's personality. Someday you'll meet the right woman. Or man."
He scoffed.
"That. That's why no one likes you. Because you pretend you're liberal, when in truth, you're the most conservative person in the entire school. And I include teachers in that. You're conservative because you sneer at and judge others to make up for the fact they're not giving you their undivided attention. Truth is, you're lonely. But you also understand that loneliness is infectious, and self-perpetuating. Who wants to go out with someone who’s lonely?"
He nodded sadly, wondering when she was going to take her hands off his face because she was invading his personal space to an extent.
“Someday you'll get laid. But it won't be today. Or the day after. In fact, you'll spend a long time being a virgin, but don't worry about that. What you need to worry about is whether or not you define yourself by what you aren't, instead of what you are. And what you are is a kid who thinks he knows everything but knows nothing, and a kid who thinks he is worthless but is worth everything. You've been in the wrong rooms all your life."
"The wrong rooms?"
"Some rooms are designed for some people, other rooms are designed for other people. There will come a day when you are in a room that is not right for someone else but is perfect for you. And that, as for as I can tell, is the closest we can get to happiness."
She gave him a peck on the cheek. He shut his eyes.

When he opened them, the light had faded, and he was left with the sight of sixteen-year-old Jessica Anðbjctðfmyydsrr gawping at him with a twisted look of incredulity on her face.
"Dance with you? Fuck off! You're weird," she said, before standing up and walking off, leaving him staring at an empty chair.

Tuesday, 5 March 2013

[sic]

I used to be good at towel-throwing. Then one day I got injured, and I was never the same again.

I decided to

Monday, 4 March 2013

Famous Myths Debunked (Debunked)

Myth: Marie Antoinette didn't say 'Let them eat cake'.
Truth: She did.

The so-called scientists reported that it was mistranslated as 'cake' when it was actually 'brioche', a French bread that would indeed have been an excellent substitution for bread and that she had no intentions of ill-will towards the peasants.

In fact, I interviewed her, and she said
"No, I meant cake. If they can't even find bread, then they're clearly retarded and deserved to die from cake overload."

Myth: Catherine the Great didn't die whilst trying to have sexual relations with a horse
Truth: She did.

According to historians, Catherine had nothing to do with horses and was simply ill and that the horse rumour was made up by her enemies. However, I interviewed an enemy* and he said
"I never made up anything about her fucking a horse."
I checked the history books, and in the books there was a graffito of a stick figure Catherine and a horse having sex. With Catherine. I presumed this was drawn by Simon Schama. Therefore it is true. Simon Schama declined an interview on the grounds of me being 'a bothersome badger'. So I pissed on his house.

*Admittedly not an enemy of Catherine, just a random enemy, but it doesn't matter.

Myth: The Church was hugely influential in the dissemination of scientific discoveries during the Dark Ages
Truth: It wasn't.

Some misled liberal historians decided a while back that monks, being the only literate people out there, actively worked to promote scientific discovery during the Dark Ages. But I saw a picture of a monk and he was sitting there doing fuck all, whilst presumably all the scientists were being tortured by the inquisition in his orders. Cunt.

Myth: Nero Didn't Fiddle While Rome Burned But Was Actually Very Helpful
Truth: He wasn't.

Truth is, there was a mixture of both fiddling and helping. Nero, to quote Nero's butler Cuccus Solvenus Barackus, enjoyed self-pleasure on such a grand scale that "the friction involved caused sparks to fly twixt hand and knob". One evening, Nero was masturbating to a picture of a cheerleader and he accidentally set fire to the curtains. He attempted to put out the fire by ejaculating upon it, but for some reason his semen was flammable and the entire house went up in flames.

Myth: Hitler Killed Jews

Friday, 1 March 2013

the psychopathic kids at school are putting me off my time with my special lady.

this is not a good thing. this is not simply a job that is disliked.

this is the battle between civilisation and barbarism.

to fight the psychopath, you need to use his weapons against him...

except i don't want to do that

after enough passivity, perhaps the psychos might shake my hand like the psycho ex did yours

but it is doubtful.