#4: "One King"

The current obsession with explicit vulgarity my nephew recently acquired has provoked some miscellaneous pondering. Being nine, I wonder if his compulsion to test new and interesting obscenities is a social condition or just linguistic calibration. Previous expressions even includes a debatable Spanish insult, for unknown reasons, and as part of deciding who is ‘on’ by elimination, where everyone puts their ‘foot in’, the use of a coarse rhyming account of oral sex.

Most of his clamour for notoriety and perceived maturity largely emanates from the unfortunate allegiance with the most obnoxious, callous and malicious meatheads in his class, creating the standard for his conformity. Equally unfortunate and detrimental is the decision of his parents to aid his addiction to Grand Theft Auto. But when he proudly exclaims he has been told “all about sex”, what crosses my mind is his discontent desperation for recognition, coupled with the reality he really knows very little.

Details I remember of my primary school sex education are of being suddenly separated into two groups and marched to a dim room in a solemnly expectant manner. You may be surprised to hear that we weren’t then stripped, gassed and burnt by Nazis, but it was nonetheless peculiarly unnecessary. Not that there were many enlightening words concerning sex to resolve any confusion we may have had. Instead the only information I remember been given to us was that we were insufficient males if we hadn’t noticed every minutiae of girls' changing body shape, plus detailed tips to secretly wash our bed sheets if need be. Not that we were incredibly lustful or wanking like pneumatic monkeys at that age. Of course, maybe it was only I who hadn’t become a willy mason (my euphemism, not the singer/song writer) and commenced insatiable fantasising. Maybe, while I was larking on the field, the rest spent most of afternoon break gangbanging the girl in special needs. My most virile moments only contained thoughts of nude tumbling at that age. Even now, when desire arrives, it’s unlikely I’ll spend much time graphically imagining getting busy dunking my dynamite.

As with most complicated things, I think the truth of explanation and insight is best, however much kids wonder. Being mischievous and humorous with words is something I’d be lost without, but arrogant offence is less interesting or endearing. So I suppose the only thing to bother me about my once lovely and hilarious nephew is that he becomes just another miserable little bastard.

#3: "Wanted: Worrazing Randomers"

I have recently realised several things regarding writing on here. It’s laborious and unsatisfying, amongst other things. The most obvious positive I can see is it being a remedy to my unreliable email communication skills, which you probably have had the misfortune of experiencing. Now I can write one short bit of crap and it will suffice for everyone. I said it will!! Look at it like this, I could write stuff like – “hey I had a crazy weekend. A big shout out to all my friends. I luv ya’ll. matt, youre so cute! Had a blast Saturday night. It was so cool. A big shout out to all those people. I can’t wait til I go on vacation. It’s gonna be so cool. A big shout out to all my friends. I luv ya’ll. It was my hamster’s birthday today. He’s so cool. It was a blast. Well I gotta go do some work now. hope everyone’s cool. I love you brian. remember everyone, life’s for living. A big shout out to all my friends. You know who you are. I luv ya’ll.”
How awful would that be? So, I hope you’re now happier and more appreciative of my abnormalities. Swellings and rashes excluded.

I’m going to start sending this to more people as a way of maybe increasing motivation by knowing more people endure it with me. Even better I’d like random people to read it. The disturbing fact is that some randomer already has. But still, I think I’ll try to somehow encourage more randomers. Apparently people can find my shit by searching for words on the superinterlinenetweb somehow. I can’t help but wonder what people searched for to come across these incomprehensible paragraphs. Fans of Coldplay, Westlife or Kim Wilde maybe wandered here. People with interests in Italy or Switzerland would also have the misfortune. This being the netwebintersuperline it’s highly likely someone is searching for posthumous liposuction or bestial porn. Of course personally I would prefer enthusiasts of sledgehammers, jazz or Police Academy to join my small group of readers, or as you’ll be known in court one day, co-conspirators. Police Academy 4 having actually been on channel 5 at the weekend. That nasty-type policemen inadvertently wandered into a gay bar of moustached and leather-vested people whom were apparently of the gay variety. When he was propositioned by a “gay” man, he shouted, “get me out of here”, followed by his catch-phrase, “moOove it, moOove it, moOove it!!”. Only to have him and all his fumbling entourage coerced into cheek-to-cheek dancing. That was the few seconds I saw of it anyway, just so you know.

I was thinking I may need to create an incentive to attract more randomers to read and participate. Initially I think a good idea would be for anyone reading this to send it to pretty much anyone possible. Though I also expect a lot more from you, my loyal following, or as you’ll be know by millions in 2000 years time, my disciples. So go comment-crazy or at least one person leave one comment. I would be inexplicably excited to receive a randomer’s comment. In fact, due to the feeling of worry and amazement, I’m calling worrazement, I’d feel inclined to send the first randomer a wonderful gift. Possibly a hat, book or CD. Or maybe an example of our nations superior confectionary and biscuits if they were, say, Americanish. Well that’s decided. I’m sure that’ll work.

Another product of rumination was that, in comparison with famous chroniclers of life, Anne Frank, Adolf Hitler or....Bridget Jones, mine may well be lacking in certain ways. Well ok, Anne Frank’s was found to be partly written in ball point in the end, the Hilter diaries were totally fake and Bridget Jones is fat and fictitious, so maybe I can be said to be better them than all. Wouldn’t everyone want to add, “better than Hitler and Bridget Jones” to their CV?

But still, if I wish it to become a best-selling book and famous movie I’ll need some astute social observations, mildly humorous anecdotes or at least something compelling. So, note to self, write at least one socially applicable comment, one personal story of woe and hilarity and one articulate section of genuine interest. So, comment, promulgate and help me make these lost moments spent writing slightly less pointless. I luv ya’ll. A big shout out to all my friends. It’s gonna be so cool. Remember everyone, life’s for living. A big shout out to all my friends. You know who you are. I love you ......Mary...

#2: "Three Point Introduction"

[I dedicate this entry to my Swiss bowl that perished today. It was red and had a little Swiss flag on it and the word ‘Switzerland’. Some people may feel the urge for me to write 'May it rest in pieces'. I am disgusted by you]


I was notably astounded by the overwhelmingly complimentary and excited response to my first and, until now, singular foray into the world of in-depth existential analysis. If that person is reading again, I’m sorry I’ve taken such a long time to follow up my previous 21st century literary classic with, what can only be described as, ‘something else’.

Firstly, even thought I was inundated with a positive response, I am somewhat wary of such satisfaction with what is not an altogether encapsulating representation of all my imagination, thoughts and opinions. In fact, it could be described more accurately as an isolated example of true, yet rare, irrelevant wonderings. I hope not to feel pressure to replicate such international success with forced formulaic repetition, like, for want of a better example, the Police Academy film series or Westlife. Conversely, I am not stating that those examples would have benefited greatly by following their initial success with, say, bestial pornography or jazz infused electro respectively, even though I am a passionate fan of both. For me, to be true is to be inconsistent, thus representing my spontaneously inappropriate and random nature. I hope my writing reflects how I am a very very very interesting person with many differing facets, like, for want of a better example Kim Wilde – eighties singer, gardening expert and face of heath supplements. Yes, terrifyingly, that was all my first point.

So – point 2 , or as they write in Italy – 2.
Along with numerous other half-hearted interests, writing with evidentially difficult regularity is something I have started literally – a few times. But there are always obstacles to overcome when inducting a new pointless act into regular action in my pointless and irregular life. 'What could they possibly be?', I pretend to hear you ask. Well, if I do write, what is hoped to be the first in a lifetime’s worth of fascinating entries, I feel such little gratification or meaning that there’s rarely a second entry (coincidentally, a lot like my sex life). Writing shit online, however, creates a further obstacle. Whereas I now have the dubious pleasure of being read by at least one person and potentially several, I have the problem of never really being compelled to write anything whilst sitting at a computer. “He’s probably too engrossed in downloading bestial porn and jazz infused electro tracks”, I pretend to hear you shout. The point being, if you can ever remember the start of my points by the end of them, that I only really ever write when in bed or other similarly psychologically spacious predicaments.

Now, point 3 is my lengthy description of how I manage to write such enlightening prose and over come, lets face it, this mammoth and difficult set back. I write it on paper first.... in bed....and stuff.....
So, see this current "post" as the introduction of your personal sanctuary of wisdom and...shit. Though I may not write again immediately and get your hopes up, or worse, risk making you entirely dependant.....
That is, of course, unless it's just because I can’t be fucked to bother again.