#119: "The Buddhusking Challenge"

I've been so slapdash with my writing lately that I'm seriously anticipating the onset of elbow cancer. Because that's how the world works. Wit' karma and shit. Not only have affable street Buddhists told me that once I've given them cash, but look at Jade Goody. She's obviously now got cancer as a direct result of saying something slightly offensive on television once. That's how everything works. Likewise if you eat an animal you're a cunt. It's true. A lovely Buddhist told me that too.

As you can tell, I fricking love being hassled by Buddhists, mostly because they’re not very good at it. If they were working to sign people up for a Littlewoods’ catalogue then there’d be a lot less people like my friend Helen having to fend off their debt collectors. Maybe a lot of what I feel for them is pity, when confronted with such timid sales patter. But I’m not sure what they’re selling. They must just be selling Buddhism itself. Because people sell Christianity on TV a lot. In fact I sent £1000 to the GOD Channel last week in exchange for immortality and I have to say, I can't complain so far. But Buddhists are way too polite to be blatant about their intentions. Even though it’s horrendous being accosted by those young charity cocks in fluorescent tabards, at least you understand what their charity is raising funds for. If they only told me the Buddhist HQ needed a new plasma, that'd be fine.... they're very useful.

You see, several times this year I have been befriended by friendly Buddhist friends when abroad and have given them a few koruna or whatever for no real reason. Maybe I didn’t listen and the object of their friendliness was somewhere amongst the banter. Maybe I have it totally wrong and it's nothing to do with Buddhism and the fact they're Buddhists is unrelated to where the money goes.

The more I think about it the more convinced I am that they're all just Buddhusking - busking, but with skillful friendly Buddhist conversation about where we’re from and the weather. Can't play an instrument? Don't understand the intricacies of standing on a box like a statue? Then Buddhusk your way to a hat full of cash in your local high street! That's such a good idea. I can actually imagine my friends and I being highly competitive Buddhuskers!I would seriously try that, if only it wasn't so hard to get a Buddhusking license.


OF THE DAY Is Away At The Moment, But Here Is A Picture Of What He Is Doing OF THE DAY - OTD is currently returning from winning the men‘s 100m, before being disqualified for having insufficient cockage.


My Buddhusking idea aside, they can’t all be doing that because some of them gave me booklets full of vegetarian recipes. One Buddhist was particularly flirtatious, but I was already holding a pocket sized vegetarian cookbook, so that pretty much killed my opportunity to try out my limerick about a Buddhist named Doug on an actual Buddhist. But maybe I would just look a bit like some kind of sexual Buddhist stalker, with my handful of Buddhist literature, prepared Buddhist related limericks and tantric sex related innuendos. But [Questions You Must Answer In The Form Of A Comment:] have you ever ‘got off’ with a Buddhist and would Buddhusking impress you?

A FEATURE DRAWING A CREATURE: "Kippers Wearing Slippers"

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#118: "AllOneWord Dot Com"

People rarely say “all one word dot com” when reading web addresses any more, which must surely mean we now live in the future. Even though I don’t wear lots of silver or buy just-add-water, pill-sized ready meals, I do have sex without the use of another human being, another sign that the life I lead is now shockingly futuristic.

I really don’t know why no one realises they live in the future. But like tin openers.... and swingball, no marvel is ever enough to make people realise the extent of technological advances. For example; I drove through Leek town centre the other week and saw a sign in a shop that read, “4 massive reversible toilets rolls - £1.50”. I don’t know what the sign meant, but it nevertheless made me proud of collective human ingenuity.
Shortly after I did also seen a sign stuck in a hedge that read, “Free manure - wait at the front gate”, which did slightly contradict my prevous thoughts.

When I had a Commodore 64 I used to literally imagine a world where virtually anything could be known by the touch of a button. If I was told then that by touching buttons you could have access to unlimited free hardcore porn and "no-strings" sex, then I'd definately say that was the indicator of living in the future. Well we're here everyone! Plus, we must now live in the future because Tomorrow’s World isn’t on any more. If that isn’t proof I don’t know what is.


Warehouse Worker OF THE DAY - It’s been a while since OF THE DAY was present and since then some of the warehouse workers I had saved from before are no longer warehouse workers.

Anthony Stone is no longer listed as, but almost certainly still is, a warehouse worker, despite the empty aggrandisement of calling yourself an Internet Radio Station Owner. “Crackertrashradio is all about Southern Fried Rawk. Kick your shoes off, throw sawdust on the floor and get swept away by the latest and the greatest southern rock has to offer.”

Like Anthony, self-proclaimed redneck “Simple Man” James also has an obsession with displaying the confederate flag. Unlike him however, she’s “simply” been promoted to tow truck driver - congratulation. But is still looking for “…someone who dont wait to the last min to say something then blames me for it”. He’s already “in a relationships”, but after view some of the boob and blowjob related pictures on his myspace, I think he may be referring to those he may have sexually assaulted.

What I See In The Rain On Weather Maps OF THE DAY - A massive shepherd‘s staff

Eighties Television Commercial OF THE DAY - Monster Munch

Ridiculous Metaphor For A High Interest Loan OF THE DAY - Diving and swimming and shit

Creepy Little Shit OF THE DAY - Lin Miaoke, the dishonest fraud of a 9-year-old girl lip-synching at the Olympic opening ceremony. It was in the news, blah blah, apparently “in the national interest”, blah blah, part of a string of “cheats” during the ceremony, blah blah. But we don’t care, grinning scarily like that she was just a really creepy little shit (OTD).


I’ve been thinking, maybe we don’t live in the future. My Gran isn’t dead yet. That pretty much undermines all my arguments.

Anyway, look at Micheal J. Fox, he’s actually been to the future and it didn’t do him any good. Plus countries with questionable human rights records use futuristic looking architecture, so maybe it’s all just a massive cynical distraction.

Maybe push-pops actually just made your finger’s sticky. Maybe the unquestioned complexities of the modern technology which we rely on is simply digital-age gloss covering all the palpable dissatisfactions in our lives. Maybe the Mcfuckheads excited by junk food in the 90’s are simply replaces by iPricks in this decade and the next will similarly be full of deluded modernists focusing more on the processes of life rather than the outcome.

Maybe we don’t actually live forever, maybe we’re all going to die. Yeah the future is going to be shit and full of wankers with mobiles that remotely electrocute their cock in a pleasing way at the touch of a button whilst listening to a song that they can only listen to for an hour because then it‘ll be old and shit. Maybe people with blogs just use them to just reference things they’ve googled and fill it with links to youtube instead of actually writing more substantial and original pieces like they used to. Oh I dunno, [Question You Must Answer In The Form Of A Comment:] would you want an orgasm simply by pressing '#' ?


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THERE ONCE WAS: "A Budgie From Leeds"

There once was a budgie from Leeds,
Whose owner’s suicide note reads:
“Alone in middle-age,
And on minimum wage.
But even my budgie fucking sucks seeds”

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#117: "Excreted"

The first race was due to start at Uttoxeter when the rain came down. It rained heavily too. This was the weekend that ended a particularly torrid week. Despite the unexpected entrance of pissing precipitation, the week prior had been sufficiently dry and pollen filled to give me the worst hay fever ever. I judged that it was the worst hay fever ever as I’m quite certain hay fever doesn’t usually affect people as horrendously as it did me. I’ve allergic to stuff, just stuff, and most stuff at that. I’m a bit like Macaulay Culkin in the movie My Girl, and like his character I’ll probably die prematurely as a consequence. Just not as prematurely.

The drowsiness suffered during that week knocked me out quicker than a headbanger in a confined space. The sneezing and general nose bother was so bad that I had huge nose bleeds. One was so bad that a little bloody bag fell out of my nose. It looked a lot like a kidney bean on a string.

At the same time people were really getting me down. Friends and family seemed exhaustingly rabid and bothersome. Even distant family bothered me that week. I had two teenage runaways at my door, in the shape of my cousin and her friend, which went on the include the police visiting my house, as they had been reported missing, and also some useless social worker. They did eventually go home having found refuge at my parents house for a couple of nights.

But worse than all the blood and the bother, I was just feeling a little jaded and run down. All but one of my pet frogs escaped, my arse problems returned and I just felt caught up in a relentless storm of hassle and bad busyness. And to finish the week I felt obliged to go out with a friend and just as I got to the racecourse it starts raining old women with knobkerries (as they say in Afrikaans). So I leave almost immediately, but not before I place one bet, thus making the outing marginally less appallingly pointless. I got, quite literally, saturated and just about managed to scramble towards a bookie for the second race and miserably place all my money on the appropriately pessimistic sounding horse 'The Snail'. Drenched and watching the 2.45 at Uttoxeter with a fucking headache and a troublesome arse I’m saved from my hell being extended when it turns out The Snail isn’t so bad. It leads from the beginning and despite stumbling badly at the final hurdle wins with so much ease that I’m jealous that everything goes so well for a fucking horse named The Snail, while everything is shit for me. He even has a massive cock. But then I remember I win a sack full of cash, so much money that I don’t even care they haven’t put it in a sack.

Encouraged by the achievements of a well hung horse named The Snail and the winnings gained, I went home still feeling a bit shit. BUT I had money to spend on cheap beer, and all the rancid prostitutes I could find, so I ran away to central and eastern Europe eating pastries and talking to foreign people until I felt like I could deal with going home without feeling down. To be fair I did have an appointment with an arse doctor, so made my homecoming handily coincide. But I only arrived back hours before the appointment and I was tired and the weather was hot, but I felt glad to be back and didn’t really mind being painfully arse fingered. However, and this is horrifically true, as I lay barely awake, I’m sure he fingered a bit of poop out of me and put it in the bin. Is that allowed?


OF THE DAY Is Away At The Moment, But Here Is A Picture Of What He Is Doing OF THE DAY - OTD has been hospitalised by the mention of Macaulay Culkin.


So I’m making a few changes to my life at the moment. I'm always more of an odd ideas person than a normal human being, but they mostly get overrun by the tyranny of appropriateness and acceptability. But I’ve decided to just do what I want and not feel so bad that they’re uniquely my ideas and make other people look at me with fear and dread, which I'm called fread.

I’m not totally sure if writing on here has a future, but if anyone actually gives a shit, I’m generous enough and contain enough homeless thoughts that I could continue.

The next thing I have to do is decide what to arrange for my mother’s 60th birthday next week. My dad would merely buy a card the same morning and nothing more and I’m not even sure my sister or any of my mother’s friends even know it’s her 60th. So the onus is on me to do something good. I do have a few ideas, although hiring some sexy black gigolos my not be as appropriate as I first though. But [Question You Must Answer In The Form Of A Comment:] do you have any better ideas?


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