Archive for January, 2007
A few of you may recently have seen a program, aired around 2pm on BBC1 called “Doctors”. It is very important for me to stress to you that these people are not real doctors. They possess no medical qualifications, and are certainly not in a position to diagnose or treat any illness.
If you are suffering from an ailment, please contact your local G.P. as usual - these people cannot help you. Be vigilant: your television is a factory of lies.
Kindest regards,
Moses Roffle
We knew a turtle once. His name was Robert. We used to call him Robert the turtle, which in hindsight was quite a suitable name for him. “Hello Robert,” was the term we used to use when greeting him, and “Goodbye Robert,” was the primary method of wishing him farewell after having shared a worthwhile conversation. It would be fair to say that all conversations with Robert were worthwhile, thus lending a small amount of redundancy to the previous statement. “Robert,” we’d begin, in the approach to an inquisitive question, “How much ice cream could we eat before having to go to hospital?” And in his wisdom, Robert would turn his head in that slow turtley way and reply, “Quite a lot.”
We learned a lot from that shelled creature, and we like to think that he learned a little from us, although to be honest that is highly doubtful; Robert’s base level of wisdom was too high.”It’s too high,” we’d exclaim wistfully, much to Robert’s confusion. He just wouldn’t understand; perhaps the one thing he wouldn’t understand. It didn’t matter because he knew most things, and most is surely enough, especially when compared to less, which incidentally was another thing Robert used to say sometimes, though not always in a particularly relevant context.
One day Robert left our village, and went off to be an investment banker. We like to think that he’s the best investment banker around, though we haven’t seen his portfolio; hopefully it is well invested in turtle-based ventures, or at least companies working in that general field. Business is indeed booming, and it is turtle shaped.
Here’s a poem to say how much you mean to me, and how much gladness you send from your heart to mine, each and every day:
You are my sunshine on a cloudy day
You make my sadness go away
When I’m feeling low, I always know
That you’ll have a kind word to sayYou bring me smiles and so much more
Like when you found me, on the bathroom floor
Huddled there, a piece of old, cold drool on my chin,
Staring at the wall and wondering why it was so pointless
Such a waste of matter, empty and hollow, like a dead tree trunk
Full of disgusting beetles.
Thanks for that.
If you don’t forward this message on to five people within the next twenty-four hours, not only will you officially be a friendless loser, you (and all your family) will also start to suffer from sores on the palms of your hands, and your womb or testes will become a barren, lifeless wasteland.
So Hello January!
You total fucking bastard.
I manged to go a whole year without picking up so much as a graze, a throaty tickle or a sniffle. I was unbreakable. Exactly like Bruce Willis in Sixth Sense. I was a superman, an ubermensch, an untouchable!
And you’ve gone and thrown all that, all those dreams away. I’m back among the plebian masses, shivering, huddled and poor. My disease spewing forth like foul liquid tentacles of green-black bile. The fetid swamps in the deepest jungles know nothing of the foul hovel of incubation my shattered and pus-encrusted form has become. The most squalid corpse heap in the darkest night of london’s greatest plague is like an ocean of angelic bleach compared to the diseased ooze urging forth from all my terrible orifices.
Yes. I have a man cold.
I hate January.
There was a knock at the door. “And it’s about bloody time,” Collins John muttered to himself, setting his mug of chocolate to one side and going to let the three-hour-late plumber in. Swearing under his breath, he opened the front door. A great, soggy twat of a man stood there in front of him.
“Here about your pipes,” he guffed in a bass monotone.
“It’s about bloody time,” said Collins John, curtly. “You look disgusting. It’s as if a giant tumour grew legs and arms, and walked up to my house, and knocked on my door wearing really bad clothes.”
The plumber gave no indication that he’d heard or understood, and instead just stood there like an ape.
“Come in then - it’s this way.” said Collins John. He lead the plumber through to the kitchen. “There - that sink. It’s all clogged up and shitty.”
The plumber shambled silently up to the sink Collins John was pointing at with his skinny, straight finger. He opened up the cupboard beneath, and began his work.
About an hour later, Collins John was in the middle of filing his grey paper, when he glanced at the time. “Piss!” He said loudly. “Piss and piss! Why hasn’t that revolting man finished with my sink yet?”. He headed downstairs. When he got there, the kitchen was empty.
“Plumber!? Where are you?” He demanded of the empty room, squinting his piggy little eyes, and whipping his head around as if it made a difference.
“He’s not here.” Said a gurgling, watery voice. “He never was.”
“Who is that?!” Collins John bellowed, looking around himself.
“I’m over here…” beckoned the voice. Collins John centred on the sound. It was coming from the sink. “Why don’t you come over here and we can catch up! It’ll be just like old times…” it burbled.
“You don’t talk. You’re a sink.” Collins John said, flatly, but approached nevertheless.
“Oh but I’m not just a sink…” it said, “I’m a blocked sink. You were right about that much.”
“What did you do with the plumber, you bastard sink? And if you’re so smart, why don’t you tell me what you’re blocked with?”
The sink laughed. “There never was a plumber you stupid fuck!” it said, still pissing itself like a schoolboy. “I already told you that.”
“…there wasn’t?” asked Collins John, a little concerned for the first time that day.
“Of course not, roachface! That was a stray dog! Don’t you remember? You made it eat raw bacon!”
Collins John had nothing left to say.
“And as for what I’m blocked with… well…” the sink paused for dramatic effect. “I’m full of months.”
Collins John started to cry. “I don’t know…” he bluttered out between heaving sobs, “I don’t know… I don’t… I mean there was… plumber… I wanted… there was a plumber and now you’re talking… it’s… it’s what…” He sat down in the middle of the floor, curled up into a ball, and started rocking as he wept.
“I’ve seen you.” Said the sink. “You put all the numbers in the right place, don’t you? You wank in the shower, I’ve seen that too. Oh the things I’ve seen.”
“Stop it!” Collins John barked from behind his hands, tears coarsing down his horrid face.
“You don’t matter! You don’t matter!” sang the sink.
Collins John now sobbed so hard he could no longer speak. The floor around him was covered with tears, thousands of confused, bitter tears. And that’s where the sea comes from, said my Dad. He is a very wise man, and I’m going to grow up to be a power ranger. For Christmas I am getting a train set that goes “choo choo! choo choo!”. Choo Choo Choo Choo Choo Choo Choo Choo
Well, we finally finished it. The cowboy song is done.
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