They come to me at night. Constantly shouting about stuff I care little for. Why won’t they leave me alone?
Today’s News:
Positive sausages are positive.
Scientists confirm that Stonehenge is the fossilised sphincter of a giant alien!
And there’s still no cure for HULKAMANIA!!
I was talking to a friend recently who believes he’s destined to be an osteopath.
He can feel it in his bones.
I made the last of his brain cells explode when I told him that when you replace the letter ‘w’ in ‘what’, ‘where’ and ‘when’ with the letter ‘t’, you get the answers to those questions.
I’m so sick of the weather of late.
It’s raining so heavily here!
I just saw a squirrel surfing down the street on a squashed juice box.
He must be nuts!
On a serious note:
Are train stations and airports inherently sad?
If, like me, you have an unfounded belief in whacked out, bullshit, hippy, new age crap based on nothing but intuition and feelings with no basis in reality or evidence, then you too may have this bizarre idea that places soak up emotions.
A place with a large amount of bad history has a bad vibe, that sort of shit.
If so, are airports and train stations inherently sad due to the amount of people who have said goodbye to loved ones there?
Or does the amount of people who have welcomed back loved ones even the whole thing out?
Maybe I should lay off the whisky and herbal cigarettes for a bit?
On a less serious, but thoroughly nostalgic note:
Ahh, those good old days….when we used to…do something….maybe….did we?
We must have been doing something with our time. Right?
Remember when whatsisface did that thing?
That was so funny/illegal/amazing/horrifying/disgusting!
I remember it well.
As if it was yesterday.
What was yesterday again?
Wednesday?
Remember when stuff had switches?
Big, clunky, clicky ones?
I miss switches.
And Maverick bars.
And that penguin that used to sit on the roof and throw apple cores at pensioners.
That guy was a laugh a minute.
Unless you got him talking about flying of course.
Then you were in for an hour long rant about osterichichiches and emus.
Best avoid the subject entirely if you want my advice.
Which you really shouldn’t listen to, if I’m honest.
Look.
I’m the guy that was best friends with an anti-social, almost homicidal penguin with a penchant for injuring little old ladies with fruit, don’t listen to anything I have to say.
Except this. Listen to this. It’s very important.
In my opinion, there really is only one truth:
There’s only one flavour of Doritos and that’s cheese.
All other flavours are the deformed children of a kettle chip and a small piece of soggy cardboard.
There. I said it. It needed saying. I go to my grave with a clear conscience.
But, can a man who has had both arms amputated in a bizarre and messy fidget spinner accident still hold the whole world in his hands?
Can he sing that song with a straight face and no trace of irony?
Where would he wear his watch? On his ankle?
And if he did, would he become a world class hacky sacker as a result of all the instances he checks the time?
And more importantly, would he still watch Coronation Street?
After the recent release of the iPhone 432 GTi SE, and the inevitable death by exposure of several hundred people waiting in queues in the freezing cold since midnight to be among the first to get their hands on a small piece of electronics only slightly better than the six they already own, news of a new product emerges:
NEW FROM APPLE……
……..Sauce.
I have just realised that, depending on context, jam burn could be easily misread as jam bum, which is a completely different thing.
And I am starting to place more and more belief in the fact of cuteness as an environmental survival trait.
Puppies and kittens etc. have evolved to be cute so we don’t eat them.
Humans should catch up because all human babies look like bacon.
Speaking of bacon, what is it with words?
Especially bloody plurals that want to go off and be their own word entirely.
Goose, geese, gooses, geeses?
Mongoose, mongooses, mongeeses?
Octopus, octopusses, octopi?
There should be a big book or something that lists all these different forms of words so we could finally all figure out what the fuck to call a gang of mongeeses.
And, while we are at it, why don’t the people who make baseball caps make them with the peak on the other side so people wouldn’t have to turn them around and wear them backwards?
Also, what is this whole relative densities of liquids shit?
What the actual fuck?
Some liquids are less liquidy than others?
We need some kind of liquidity measurererer to make sure these liquids aren’t getting too big for their boots and getting less liquidy in secret.
Probably in cahoots with those sneaky crabs.
You might be pleased to hear that I have developed a weapon to destroy them all.
The crabs, not the liquids.
We wouldn’t get very far in life without liquids would we?
It would make washing your arse a lot more difficult for a start.
I don’t know if it’s worth using the weapon though.
It’s 100% efficient in destroying crabs, but there’s a downside.
The by-product is liqouric…liquorish….lickerish……………glycyrrhiza glabra and fuck that stuff.
I’m moving to Ganymede, I hear the weather’s nice there, there’s only one crab and he’s a Buddhist.
There now follows a brief advertisement on behalf of Impacted Felicity and her patented cure for diarrhea.
Do you suffer from wind in the workplace?
Olfactory disturbances in the office?
Flatulence in the file room?
Trouser coughs in the tea room?
You may be entitled to constipation.
Call your local representative now.
Elephants on roller skates and ginger men in sunbeds.
Alphabetty beans don’t work so why don’t they exist?
An octopus can only count to seven as he’s always using one hand to scratch his chin.
Unless it’s from North Korea ‘cos then, obviously, he has infinite shining arms of space steel. Or at least some kind of fantastic alloy maybe made from eggshell.
Who knows?
Me. But I’m not telling.
I have a court order not to spill the beans, alphabetty or not.
What’s the deal with lemons?
Could they just not be bothered to taste nice?
Or are they just bitter?
Boom boom!
Nice broom. Sweep it under the carpet.
Now I gotta re-lay the bastard. Why didn’t I use the rug?
Or better still, the vacuum cleaner.
Suck it all into a non-bag and empty the non-bag on the bloke across the road’s geraniums.
Why not?
Those flowers have sticky stamens and it’s not right.
In broad daylight!
I think I need to stop sniffing those fat marker pens and get some sleep.
