Oh God, not this again...

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!

Without exams to circumscribe,

I’m free to write a diatribe!

Hello, hello, hello dear readers! The joyous days of my repeated attempts to entertain, confuse and, if the past posts are anything to go by, fail miserably to write in an effective, coherent manner, can once again commence. Had you bothered to read to any semblance of depth, you’d have noticed the previous post was concluded with a godawful joke. Now, before you think my flawless joke record besmirched by that abomination, it was, in fact written as the conclusion of the first post by my brand spanking new co-author, Brodie.C *insert appropriate level of fanfare here*. Hopefully his peculiar mind will birth posts as stillborn as my own, can’t have him outshining me now, can I?

Exams. The bane of my existence till not so long ago, yet with the great beast slain and my time finally wrenched from its all encompassing tyranny, I am left without my greatest motivator for updating this infernal time wasting dohicky; procrastination. My time is my own and now that I fill it with whatever and whichever pointless banality that my feckless mind deems fit, I have no reason to return to this platform in refuge under the crushing weight of responsibility. Meh, I guess I’ll just have to write spurious nonsense out of a misbegotten sense of purpose rather than whatever stupidity I previously thought constituted a tenable reason instead.

It is precisely here that I have run out of interesting things to tell you all, “You never let that stop you in the past!” I hear you cry, to you I say, “Fuck off, you try better”. However, I have decided a decent use for you, my bumbling collective; a tool of shame! That’s right; I shall divulge my goals to you in an attempt to shame myself through the laziness barrier, over the time wasting straits of procrastination right into the sweet bosom of self fulfilment.  First and foremost, exercise; my rolls could stock a large bakery. Secondly, learn maths; my skills with said matter are so bad, were I to die, humanity’s collective mathematical ability will actually increase by a sizable degree. Thirdly, write more of this bollocks. During the course of the summer period, I plan to get a fair few posts written of a quality unrivalled by anyone bar the mentally challenged and the illiterate.

There you have it; your summer of fun has just begun. Yay...

A joke twice as bad to make up for the previous post, hint hint, my humour impaired compatriot:

Q. What sort of tiles cannot be stuck on walls?

A. Reptiles!

Why won't the voices go away...

Good evening kind reader, I hope this latest missive finds you in better spirits than I, for I am currently subject to the hellish screams of my 4 year old sister and her two similar aged compatriots. If my walls were any more bloody useless, I’d be able to see the little blighters as well as hear them.  My pains do not end there, oh no, if those were my only troubles I would have long since left the house in pursuit of calmer climes. Due to my ever burgeoning social presence, I have been embarking upon all sorts of ventures with little regard for my upcoming chemistry retakes. The day has been one long futile attempt to make headway in my studies in the face of an unrelenting racket from the out and my monstrous propensity to procrastinate, to which this particular piece belongs, from within. Pull up a chair as I bloviate about my past two weeks and aid in my avoidance of inorganic chemistry.

First and foremost, my holiday period has been devoted to two main items with most others being mere side orders in comparison; the new lady in my life and work. Suffice to say, she is a lovely girl and as such, I will not subject her to public grilling and will instead chat to you briefly about the latter. I have had the deep misfortune to be contracted for bank holidays. That may seem mildly annoying to have to work Christmas Eve, Boxing Day and the Tuesday following but it was far worse than that. I’d have settled for annoying, hell, I’d have settled for temporary blindness; what I faced was far worse. You see, my place of employ, Squiddlypib (dubbed so due to reasons explained many moons ago for those of you new here), is a retailer of cheap clothes. I work in the women’s wear department. I worked blouses on Boxing Day. Now, without sounding too misogynistic, women are batshit crazy in there at the best of times, the shear fervour that the sales had them riled into is indescribable by anyone with a sane mind and knowledge of vocabulary less than that of the entirety of the dictionary. If that wasn’t bad enough, 30 people called in sick across the store. I wouldn’t have wished that chaos upon my most hated of enemies.

My next venture of any noteworthiness came in the form of me lending a hand to a mate filming a zombie flick. Filled with dread at the fact it would mark the 5^th 8am wake up in a row, I made my way to the designated location. A few uneventful hours later due to one bastard deciding to sleep in, the filming finally began. Tasked with the role of a hapless leader of a bunch of ragtag layabouts and unlucky jerks, I gave a hackneyed performance so wooden in places, I’d have put any amateur dramatics troupe to shame. The day itself was fun, if not lengthened by the director’s lack of sufficient pre-production and went off without major incident. One mention has to go to the nippletastic top I had to wear for a flashback. Our resident makeup artist ‘modified’ a spare top with various cuts before dousing me in fake blood and dirt for that authenticity but said cuts ended up exposing both of my nipples to a load of my friends and a few people I had just met. Oh the Joy. A hefty dose of glue and a plaster later and my dignity was (semi) restored.

A special mention to my new readership, welcome to the disorganised mess that is this blog. Expect very little and hope for even less. I shall post a link to the short film when it has been completed. See you when the year count has increased by 1.

Confined 2

A zombie joke befitting my exploits

Q. Do zombies eat popcorn with their fingers?
A. No, they eat the fingers separately

You just can't please some people

I’m either a glutton for punishment, the biggest moaner alive or just a massive malcontent. It seems that in my search for happiness, I’ve yet again, landed myself in another regrettable situation. You may recall that in an earlier post I was, as usual, bemoaning the lamentable situation that my work life was currently in. You’d think that if I were to somehow become lucky enough to change that annoying limbo I had landed in that I’d finally find a little joy. You’d think.

I’ve recently found myself in the employ of the company I previously mentioned, the oh so wonderful Squidlypib (name changed for "This could get me fired" reasons). I’ll take this chance to rescind my prior accusations as to the nature of said company’s labour record. This is because I have had a chance to read the various literatures they’ve stationed at key strategic locations (Toilet door, above the toilet, on every available counter surface) and totally not because it is stated in my employee hand book that it is against my contract to speak ill of them on the interwebs.

I do have one thing to be thankful for, the hours are pretty damn excellent. Four hour blocks in the middle of the day during the weekends. Sadly this also means that I am forced to work bank holidays which includes BLOODY CHRISTMAS FUCKING DAY but I’m not bitter. The work itself isn’t exactly tasking, that’s probably the problem I have with it. I mostly wander around for the first two hours returning the various ghastly dresses some women supposedly wear. Believe me when I say I have handled more women’s clothing than most women would likely wear throughout their lifetime.  Surprisingly, this can be quite enjoyable, compared to the other tasks I am often set, that is. There’s nothing quite like memorising the exact location of various blouses, dresses and knitwear to get the ol’ neurons a’ firing. The part that makes suicide look like a valid and all together, more appealing option is the dreaded pick up of the sales section.

Imagine, if you will, a 16’ by 16’ square. Now fill this square with the cheapest bits of tat you can think of. Throw in a few tables with denim bits and bobs and you have the basic layout.  You are tasked with picking up the clothes and putting them back onto whichever rail they fell off of. That is all. Now picture a continuous stream of the most idiotic and downright stupid dullards you can. They are thwarting your every effort to keep some semblance of order in a pretty damn chaotic store. Every time you go to the other side of the square, someone will knock off what you just done on the previous side, forcing you to return to it, only for the same thing to happen on the other side you just went to. Now do this for 3 hours. At least Sisyphus got to watch a cool boulder roll down the other side of the hill.

This repetition of shear mind crushing, soul sucking monotony is now my world every Saturday and Sunday from about 11 am to 3 pm. Forgive me for thinking the minimum wage doesn’t quite seem like an adequate recompense. There is only so many times you can play the same song through your mind before you just want to find the nearest implement and scoop each word out from your own brain.

On the bright side, I have a job now.

Applicant joke because I’m too tired to find anything different

Employer to applicant: "In this job we need someone who is responsible."

Applicant: "I'm the one you want. On my last job, every time anything went wrong, they said I was responsible."

Opiates and opera

Howdy once again, I must begin by apologising for yet another unexplained absence of the quality  writing you have come to expect from this establishment, not that the explanation is of any real  interest anyway, let’s just say it was a drug addled few weeks in which I was continuously partying and having oodles of fun... You didn’t buy that? I wouldn’t either. Any period of time that someone attempts to explain in a sentence was either partly fictional or just an out and out lie. Life’s rich tapestry rarely affords a simple explanation.

In my case, the explanation above did have some base in truth; due to reasons that are both highly embarrassing and pretty painful, I’ve been on a happy mix of codeine and paracetamol, also known as co-codamol. Now, not only is this particular mix an effective painkiller, the codeine component is also of the opiate family (the likes of which include morphine and heroin) and as a result, I have been in a blissful stupor for near on 2 weeks. I won’t bore you with the particulars but one occasion stood out amongst them all, the night when I had rather vivid dreams about flying through caves filled with electrified cows whilst explaining the correct flight paths over some form of intercom. The worst part is that wasn’t even the strangest of the bunch.

Apart from flittering with an addiction, I’ve also experienced a menagerie of new, mainly unwanted experiences these past few weeks. The main contributor to this could be seen in a recent trip to an outdoor showing of an opera live on screen. The opera itself was so-so, it was the original story of Cinderella in French and as it was my first ever opera, I was quite intrigued to see how the whole thing would work; my inexperienced curiosity was short lived. Whilst the show continued onwards through its 4 hour long story, the cluster of acquaintances around me quickly finished their supplies of alcohol and unfortunately for me, I was unable to drink anything myself due to the medicine, leaving me surrounded by a bunch of rowdy drunks, in the throes of full on sobriety . New experiences 1 and 2 weren’t completely bad; I was pretty ambivalent to the whole situation, the problems aroused with problem 3; it seems I had piqued the interests of a rather over-friendly bi fellow. I can’t exactly remember how frequently I was asked amazingly awkward questions, all I know is it was about as many times as I politely declined his advances. Good thing I had a few tablets handy to keep me nice and indifferent to the situation. On the bright side, I think he gave up around the end of the 3 hour mark. Oh and I also found out I have comfortable knees. Never know when you’re going to need that kind of knowledge.

Philosophy joke because I have reached that special philosophical state of tiredness upon completion of this post

Rene Descartes walks into a bar and ordered a brandy, which he tossed down immediately. The barman asked him "Would you like another?" and Rene answered "I think not", and promptly disappeared