Down with the sickness
Little Jenny Christmas was very upset because her arm was all covered in weeping sores. She ran outside to where her Daddy was tending the tulips.
“Daddy, Daddy - look, my arm has all puss on it! Daddy look!” she said, all agitated and frowning.
“Oh don’t worry about that,” replied her smiling father - the wisest man she knew - “you’re just getting older, that’s all.”
And, as he ruffled her hair, his lungs fell out through his arse.
Perhaps you’re bored of having to check back here whenever to see what’s new. That’s why Gandhi invented feeds, and we have one. Click on our feed and you’ll probably be taken to a nice page that will let you subscribe to it. Frick, you can stick it on your Google homepage and have it there. The possibilities are endless.
The Feed, and
Jesus Christ!
He was born, apparently.
Christ was; Christmas. It sits on a funny throne in this house. On the one hand, we moan when advent calendars and mince pies go on sale halfway through October. But then we did leave our Tree Festivé up in the living room until June, and I don’t think Plush Spiderman ever lost his tinsel. One wonders if he ever will.
On the whole though, it’s all a bit of a bitch. You have to start thinking about unique things to get for people again and there are only so many of those; the first person to unwrap a bronze figurine Hitler is not going to be pleased, unless I fall into very much the wrong crowd in the near to middling future. Nobody’s really impressed by an orange with cloves in it any more - I was nearly fifteen years old when the appeal faded for me. It all has to be very swanky to cut the mustard with today’s modern hipsters. Short of starting a clone army (and think about it, that’s going to take a while to grow) I’m really not sure what the solution is.
Then there’s the elongated mealery. I love food but I can’t eat a lot; I think it’s something to do with intra-digestional warping, or ectobalance. The food I do eat is lovely though, which is why the traditional massive Christmas meal is such a struggle. So much to eat, but you have to pick and choose, and then fall into an endorphin-induced coma as the stomach takes over as the primary organ of the body, digesting bits of turkey while the photons emitted by A Grand Day Out on TV provide the brain with the vital carrier wave to prevent it from collapsing into soggy neural death altogether.
So, Christmas. Jesus Christ, superstar. Posing in his beard, like a chunky dental mist. I suppose we should celebrate him again, by drinking a lot and generally exhibiting heathen behaviour. Great!
Everything is great. Absolutely peachy in fact. We certainly couldn’t be any more happy at the moment. Look out your window - look at the sun and the grass. They’re lovely aren’t they? And you’re lovely too.
Open your arms out and welcome the day. Live for the now - do something special every hour. Wow. You can. We all can. Say “Yes!” to the moment. Forget your fears. Today is the first day of the rest of your life.
Ok guys, check this one out right. Ever since Jeff brought it up we’ve all been desperately racking our mind cavities for the tiniest inklings, the merest sproutings, of a suitable new moniker for our glorious abode. Finally I think I’ve cracked it.
So we play a lot of Team Fortress here in the house and, and you’ll love this! Our house right, yep, our house - this one we live in yeah? But what did we go and call our house? Oh yes, you know it! Fort Awesome! Brilliant name right?! But here I’m going to go one better, oh yes! Team Fortress?! yes! Fort Awesome right? Thats it! You’re getting it! Come on! Say it with me; the new name for Fort Awesome should be:
The Bowel Factory!
Beat that in the comments (you won’t because you can’t).
I was sat in town the other day, munching on a baked potato, when something really incredible happened. It didn’t seem like much at first - just your bog standard blue-green vortex opening up in the middle of the pavement and belching out a giant, mucus coated crab-beast - but then I noticed something really special. The colour of the vortex was an exact match to that of a car I had seen drive past only five minutes earlier!
This can’t just be a coincidence, I thought. Sure of the significance of the vortex’s hue, I put down my potato and leapt into it, bawling like an ape.
Of course, once I was inside the vortex, my eyes were opened up to the astonishing truth of existence, and I began to see things as they really are - not just as the pale façades that we all accept like beggars on a cold winters eve. And in that moment of absolute perceptual clarity, I realised the vortex was, in fact, a slightly different shade of aqua-marine to the car that I had seen earlier.
I felt so foolish at this revelation that I leapt back out of the vortex - (not bawling this time, that’s for children and the Irish) - and landed with my arse right in the potato I had left on the pavement. Upon seeing this, some nearby chavs started to laugh, and shouted “Potato Johnson! He’s a Potato Johnson!” at me.
Since this event I have become addicted to pain killers, and now attend group therapy twice a week.
In all my life, I have known no greater love than that which I feel towards my company alarm clock. There it sits, on my desk, logo a glitter like a shining star in the cold night air - I think it smiles at me sometimes. When I’m not looking.
One day I’ll work up some courage and ask it if it would like to go for a drink some time, or maybe for a walk in the park like they do in the books and films. Until then… well… I can just gaze at it longingly. And masturbate.
I love you, company alarm clock. I hope you feel the same way about me.
Hey! everybody!! Its new years fucking EVE!!! Lets get OFF our massive faces on liquid love and have a really, really good time. You better be having a fucking amazing time right now, because its godamn new. Godamn years. Fucking eve. You understand? Comprende my learn’ed friend? This is no night for a quiet cup of cocoa by the fire its a night where you absolutely must have the kind of fun that involves enormous alcohol explosions and a general blistering of enforced joy. We all know you are coming which is why we’ve made the cost of everything so absolutely fucking special. Those other people you see out on the street? Yes, that is indeed every fucktard the seven hells have ever spewed forth; cavorting and spurting foulness in a horror that will burn itself on your retina for the rest of time. Not feeling too well? Fancy a nice book or a movie? FUCK YOU. And happy new year.
….
Well hello, its time to show that special someone just how much you care about them. That’s because today the calender told you that today is the day to stop beating your wife and take her to a restaurant instead. Your love is so pure and so rare and so very sacred that the only way to properly express it is through a mass produced experience. The kind of experience packaged especially for you, and anyone else who asks, by insane psychopaths with golden lips. Why not show her how much you care with a valentines chocolate box or a special selection of valentines flowers, everyone else is doing the exact same thing so its definitely unique and special and shows you’ve really been thinking and loving all by yourself and not at all because you’ve been instructed to do so by the machinery of capitalism. Love you! Here’s a card I picked at random from a range of a thousand equally horrific ones! See how much I care. Now please can we go back to ignoring our feelings and fighting like we do the other 364 days of the year. Thanks, oh and will you be my valentine?
….
Bad evening to you stranger because its Mysterious Halloween!! AHWWOOOWOOOO!!! The scariest day of the year isn’t that just SPOOKTACKULAR!!! Whooooaawoowoooo!!!! You better run because the ghosts are on the loose and the only thing on the menu tonight is GHOULASH!!!! And your BLOOD!!! You better run in terror because I’ve just carved two holes in this pumpkin and now it looks like YOUR MOM!!! Eye of newt and wing of bat; look how the sweets have made you fat. Trick or treat?
….
Well if it isn’t bank holiday monday. With all your banks all taking time off all the day long. What are they doing? Counting money!? Ha! Well probably they are…
Alright, I guess bank holiday monday is OK. Does our reader(ship) have any better ideas for public holidays that don’t make me want to tear my heart from my rib cage and find it already unbearably broken?
Well that certainly shocked you all into a bitter silence, so well done there Moses with another of your songs from the black heart of something something.
Well its been another long day at’ mill.
Actually, no it hasn’t because it was a fairly regular length day at my very non-mill-like office where I proceed to do things entirely unlike any kind of milling. Instead I’ve begun to wonder if someone hasn’t already expressed, even these sentiments, and every kind of thought, feeling and experience possible. The longer one experiences the world the more the world seems to repeat - endless similarity, scrolling and looping. The fragile cerebral cortex, drilled into submission by these constant assaults on its boredom glands, sinks ever deeper toward the hind brain and its simple gratifications. Gradually with age, these reflex pleasures are needed to haul each of humanity’s flacid meat sacks beyond the finish line of another day. Coffee, cigarettes, exercise, the smug joy at deliciously executed face punching; we’ve gorged on them all a thousand times already, but still they stir something in that precious fluid sack that pumps forth the requisite chemical satisfaction.
Well, despair no longer as your futile and tedious existence is about to be totally justified. Put enough monkeys together and give them a few million years and its almost mathematically impossible ( I checked on an abacus) that they won’t spew out something worthwhile. In this case, that something is Rock Band. Just whisper it with me…
Rock Band.
Finally, an experience previously only available to the select few has been hardened, tightened, commodified and injected with a galactic syringe of genius. Its imminent release brings to mind such great moments in human history as the discovery of fire or the first time a man got punched in the face so hard the fist came out the other side. To look upon its majesty is to know the final and only truth; that to play this game is the fulfillment of your destiny, it holds the very meaning of your life entire.
I fully expect new religions to be formed in its wake, old ways of living to be torn apart, petty concerns will soon have to find their place amongst state mandated Rock Band days. Within hours of its release several new drummers will have mysteriously exploded leaving only the distinct smell of a pounding drum solo. A man will turn up to hospital his hands mere bloody stumps - he just couldn’t stop playing. The nation’s hearts and eyes will be torn away from the likes of X-Factor forever; Simon Cowell drastically torn apart by hungry wolves over several agonisingly televised hours. The world will be destroyed, raised up in a molten shower of pure Rock; and then it will be remade anew.
Its coming and soon nothing again shall ever be the same.
Here’s a little ditty I recorded to help get you and your significant other in the mood. If you know what I mean (sex).
Little whisk,
Alone on the platform,
Where are your mushy peas,
Forgotten.
Little stone,
Suddenly a big delight,
Beyond your lies, definitely a,
Superstition.
Great mistake,
Where is the truth?
You know the one, its kind of like,
A Glokenspiel.
There’s nothing worse than seeing your own face blown up to massive proportions.
So thanks for that mirrors.
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