Thursday, September 09, 2010
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
There are quite a number of problems I have with Billy Roll…above the fact that it is gelatinous, processed and tasteless of course.
Not content with being an insult to anything you might choose to introduce to your digestive system, it actually has the bare faced cheek to grin maniacally right back at you.
As if it knows somehow, that if you are unfortunate enough to find yourself eating it, things really must have gotten to a low point in your life. “Sorry Kids, Mammy’s spent all the shopping money on Gin, again”. Billy is lovin it!
No, my biggest problem with Billy Roll, I guess, is more of an etiquette thing. As you know, Billy Roll is made of reconstituted turkey and pork. You see, the Turkey and Pig never knew each other while alive, but have been united in death as a jovial luncheon meat.
I would just really appreciate it if the Farmer or whoever would act as a kind of penultimate match maker and arrange maybe a blind date for both the animals beforehand.
You never know, the Pig and Turkey might discover they have the same taste in music or that their parents went to school together. Both would then, I’m sure, happily skip arm in arm to the slaughterhouse together, excited about becoming a grinning cylinder of flesh on a deli counter somewhere.
I think then Billy Roll’s smile might actually be a genuine expression of the sentiment that went into making it.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
It’s not quite brown, it’s not quite grey, it’s not quite green, the only way I can describe the colour is “Background”. Today’s the day I give to charity the last of a particular type of garment that came to infect most of my wardrobe.
One day a couple of years ago I caught myself wearing not just this top but everything else, literally head to toe, in clothes the same colour as this; top, t-shirt, trousers, socks, even runners.
And, as I say, this colour is so indistinctive, so just, well like background, I felt that I’d been painting myself out of existence by wearing it.
Insidiously over the course of a few years all my clothes were becoming this colour (Pantone 4505 is the closest I can find). What had happened? Was it the laziness of men’s department store fashion or my own personal lack of taste? Either way that day I swore never to purchase anything in this nasty colour again, every garment I would buy from then on would be a proper colour, one that wasn’t afraid to be at least describable, that wasn’t afraid to say, here I am I’m Black and I’m proud! Or Blue and proud, whatever the case may be.
A few months ago I was on a stag weekend and one of the guys there was wearing “Background” head to toe just as I had. It was happening to him too. I wanted to say something to him but bit my tongue thinking; maybe it’s better for each man to realise this on his own, and deal with it themselves before they just disappear. Come to think of it I haven’t seen him since?!
Monday, March 29, 2010
Cats are evil bastards, aren’t they? Dogs love humans so much they’ve now developed the ability to smell cancer in their owners. How amazing is that!
As soon as the cats got wind of this one though they quickly held one of their shady meetings. Across the smokey table the cats looked at each other perplexed, what to do, what to do?
Then in a moment of pure evil genius the most despicable cat in attendance; “Tiddles” exclaims, “We’ll build our own fucking cancer sniffing machine!”. “But we can't build things, we don’t even have opposable thumbs, ours are half way up our arms for Christ sake!” come the protests.
“No, no, no, don’t you see we don’t have to build anything” Tiddles encourages, “we just get a load of dogs and shove them into a big tumble dryer type thing”. “That way the owners still get their cancer found and the dogs get tortured the whole time!”
The assembled cats begin to cackle as the plan is realised in each of their nasty minds, “Mwahahahaahhaha”
Then they bugger off for a walk or something.
So after the aliens invade and wipeout humanity what do they do next? Well, they're probably just going to get on with their lives on the newly conquered Earth. You know, fall in love with another alien and start a family, have a career, buy a nice house. Grow old and be sweet grandparent aliens and then die happy and content at a respectable 211 years old. Their children aliens grow up and find lives for themselves, maybe as archaeologists learning more about the human vermin and their greatest legacy; the plastic bag.
Generations go by, and then one day without warning, from outer space, huge UFOs of death appear and start raining down terror on the unsuspecting aliens. My problem, I suppose, is I just don't know who to root for in this situation.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Hey Dave, lets go out! It’s a beautiful day. Me, you and Sally. Oh the fun we’ll have. Remember last summer? That’s when I knew you really loved her, I could tell. The way you tossed me to her, not too hard, but strong enough that she had to stretch. She’d have to catch her breath with giddy excitement. She really is perfect; her soft, petite hands daintily grip my edges as she throws me back at you. We always laugh how her efforts never make the distance, and you have to pick me up off the ground, but that’s why you love her, her femininity, her joy of life. Oh she is so beautiful, I love being with you both.
She’s dumped you hasn’t she? Never mind, come back to good old Boomy. She never understood you like I do, that bitch!