There’s an old peoples home directly across the road in front of my apartment and four or five times in a fortnight a couple of ambulances, usually a big white van and a smaller minivan will pull up with their lights flickering around and around the the street but without their sirens going. Each time, as I look up from my book whatever I’m reading is driven out my mind by the momentary panic that I’ve gone stone deaf. A beer or smoke in my hand hangs forgotten halfway to my mouth. I’ve had a stroke and now I can’t hear the ambulances! Oh dual. What the dual am I going to do now? Will I talk like a deaf person now? Will I need a hearing ear dog? Someone could be next to me in bed screaming in my ear from 6 inches away (again) and I wouldn’t really hear her (again). Or perhaps my other senses will become incredibly intense and I’ll be able hear the spirit world or to steal peoples' thoughts. That’s an official sense now by the way. That means theres now like 4 or something coz they’ve finally detected it in the lab. No shiv. If you don’t believe my check this out: www.paulmckenna.info
Of course, I’m not really deaf. My eyes love the idea of having a laser beam vaporise slim veneers of their corneas and so are racing to be the laziest and blurriest (Go Righty GO!) but my hearing is fine. But for some reason the ambulances pull up slowly and quietly, probably so as not to wake anyone up. How nice is that? My point is I’m pretty impressed with the old folks’ vitality. My guess is considering the number of ambulances there’s either a half pipe in there or an inflatable sumo suit tournament scheduled erratically eve few days. I expect those old geezers and dames were so feisty they insisted on organising their own shiv right down to the time table but maybe they sometimes lose their place and switch nights accidentally. I don’t know, but if that’s what’s happening I doubt its much of a problem really anyway. Keeping things spontaneous is fun. Although, and I try not to let this bother me but it nags away nevertheless, a more sinster thought occurs. What if, WHAT IF, they are running a fight club? What if the ambulances had to turn out tonight because Mary Lou left Cornelius with concussion and a broken bone in his knee? What if she had to destroy something beautiful and Cornelius 85 from Nuneaton was now spitting teeth because of it? I would be pretty alarmed if this turned out to be the case.
On a happier note my car got broken into. Or more accurately I’m a dualing idiot. I left the passenger window ajar and someone removed my jacket like I deserved. It was this dualing stupid bomber jacket from TKMaxx that had this big sticky out collar like the one Nash Bridges probably wears when its raining in that shiv show and I really liked it. There was a note on the windshield in washable marker pen with the following message:
”Sorry mate, it was a nice coat, next time shut your window properly, chequebook and parking ticket are on the dashboard.”
Nothing had been taken but the old coat. The message just washed right off after I took a picture of it. (It didn’t really show sadly but who the dual carries washable graf markers anyway? Mutha Teresa?) There was not even a few small chunks of poo or a puddle of wee on the seat or anything. And the strange thing was above ‘i’s in each word instead of a dot was a little star. Like girls do when they’re 13 writing a birthday card to their grandmas. She was probably on her way to see her Nan finally put Harold St.John Peasbody down on the matt and reclaim the title. If I ever see that girl huffing paint or drinking petrol or whatever it is 13 year olds do I’m going to thank her for not going on a spending spree in JJB Sports with my chequebook. I think its marvellous how nice people are in my town. Even the thieves are courteous and thoughtful. Granted there’s a few shady motherdualers; I live here after all and I’m a massive dial as you know. For example my spell-check insists I should’ve written ‘there are’ instead of the contraction of ‘there is’ just then when I was talking about… whatever it was I was talking about a sec ago, but I doesn’t care coz I’m such bada$$. But basically I’m saying most people here are pretty nice. On the whole. (That was a fragment there by the way, but do I look bothered?) It’s a shame the same can’t be said for the older generation. They should stop resorting to violence to settle their emotional issues. No more fighting. Play laser quest or go quad biking or something old dudes. Get that aggression out in non-confrontational ways, y'know? They should follow the example of the hooded kids that wonder around the night time streets playfully shouting astonishingly vivid sexual doggerel at each other and at me when I, cackling, throw coins at them form my window. They should grow up, really. That way I’ll stop shivving myself that I’m deaf as a post all the time. Wassat? Do I what? Nah I cant hear you mate, speak up? What do you mean ‘get plucked?’
I told my friend Clara this story and she let me in on a fascinating piece of information. I'll tell you guys cos I trust you but keep it to yourselves, k?
"It's not Fight Club - it's Sex Club. My company had to carry out some general public sex research for media company recently. Turns out 55-65 year olds and 65+s are getting more action than 16-24 year olds - more of them have one night stands, sleep with hookers and are unfaithful to partners. Making charts in excel and about people's infidelity is really heartwarming on a Thurs afternoon. Have feeling that old folk's home is really sex-rehab for the oldies that couldn't take it any more. Ambulances approach silently not to wake those who have finally got to sleep without having sex with anything that moves. One day at at time...one day at at time..."
How’re they hanging? We males have something to say. Hang on, hang on, don’t tut and turn back to your book, this is important. We've been meaning to say this for a while but it always comes out garbled. It probably will this time too, no poet or playwright has communicated it particularly satisfactorily so I doubt we will now, but if we stopped trying we might as well start dying. Ok here goes. A lot of girls seem to get into a cycle of depression where they feel down about something, eat a cake, feel more down, complain they feel down, eat a cake, feel down about complaining, eat a cake, imagine they’re getting really fat (which they arnt or course), complain about complaining, eat a cake and so on. Am I right? OK maybe the specifics differ from one of you to the next but that seems to be the basic theme. It baffles us, it really does. We just don’t understand it. I mean, we’re aware that women are 10 gazillion times more insecure than men, but what doesn’t add up is the fact that youz guyz are so much hotter than us too, so what gives? I mean, you’re almost as pretty as me! And I’ve been voted hottest dude in my lounge by a group of judges including my TV, my sofa, my Anglepoise lamp and my window for three months running. I’m aiming for a fourth by the way, although there’s a guy in the mirror who could be a contender. I reckon I could take him though. Or knock him out beforehand. We do totally feel sorry for you guys getting picked on by those bitchy gossip magazines and cosmetics companies a thousand times a day though. We really do. I mean, we blokes love you guys, always have, always will, and could give two ****s about cellulite or frazzled hair, we think you rock. We love the way you smell and how you can make us feel like naughty children or Kings of the Universe and we really love it when we're ill or tired and you scratch our heads and make it ok. We find you so beautiful it’s sort of painful in our guts and so scary when you’re angry the only escape is to run like the wind. Like Chris Neiratko said, we love women with some meat on their bones to hang onto, light in their eyes for us to see by and then something about fun with ropes and pulleys that I won’t go into here but you know what I’m talking about. Right? Right? It confuses us why you don’t agree that you're the **** but we understand that being relentlessly hammered with messages to the effect that unless you buy the latest, radically-unscientific beauty product your face will rot off, and if you have a sad day and want to eat a cake or two your boyfriend will kick you to the kerb must be rather stressful. That’s why we despise cosmetics companies so much. You think we can’t stand traipsing around Boots with you because it’s boring? Well, you’re right. Partially. It is boring as ****. But we love you so we do it. The real reason we hate it is because we see what these purveyors of quack remedies and overpriced gunk do to our ladies, how they **** them up and make them feel bad about themselves in ways we cant seem to remedy. We don’t know what to do! We just helplessly seethe with barely restrained fury, grinding our teeth to dust while you fret about spending £38 on some moisturizing glop when that would pay for both of us to go go-carting or get hammered drunk or to a musical you like or something. Its strange because women none of the women I know are stupid, yet even professors of chemistry are duped by some meaningless computer graphics and an unfeasibly attractive model reading off a card into parting with large notes at the make-up counters. Don’t get us wrong, we love it when you get dressed up. Oh man you look good! But there is a line and being driven to despair by a bunch of salty queers who enjoy setting you folks impossible standards and laughing all the way to the bank when you fall short is so far from the line I can barely make it out. They hate us too or course and love whispering to you guys how we're slovenly and constantly on the look out for a better model and would rather spend time with our friends than you. Don’t listen to em. Well, the last one is true, sometimes, but then you wouldn’t want to hang out with beig male stereotypes would you? We need space and so do you, you’ve got your pals, we've got ours, that’s the way it should be, don’t you think? Course it should. But the rest of it is evil lies. A friend of mine told me about her friend the nurse; pretty, supersmart, a complete wreck because she couldn’t understand why her boyfriend was with her. The truth is of course her boyf is with her cos deep down he doesn’t understand what someone so fine and funny and smart sees in his sorry ass but he knows when he's onto a good thing and doesn’t question the workings of the female mind. And anyway, without her he'd have to buy the gossip mags he loves reading on the bog, and how embarrassing would that be!? HA HA Look at that! Jenifer Aniston has sweaty armpits. Oh my stars! Like I said, we love you guys, don’t ever go changing ok?
How’re they hanging? We males have something to say. Hang on, hang on, don’t tut and turn back to your book, this is important. We've been meaning to say this for a while but it always comes out garbled. It probably will this time too, no poet or playwright has communicated it particularly satisfactorily so I doubt we will now, but if we stopped trying we might as well start dying. Ok here goes. A lot of girls seem to get into a cycle of depression where they feel down about something, eat a cake, feel more down, complain they feel down, eat a cake, feel down about complaining, eat a cake, imagine they’re getting really fat (which they arnt or course), complain about complaining, eat a cake and so on. Am I right? OK maybe the specifics differ from one of you to the next but that seems to be the basic theme. It baffles us, it really does. We just don’t understand it. I mean, we’re aware that women are 10 gazillion times more insecure than men, but what doesn’t add up is the fact that youz guyz are so much hotter than us too, so what gives? I mean, you’re almost as pretty as me! And I’ve been voted hottest dude in my lounge by a group of judges including my TV, my sofa, my Anglepoise lamp and my window for three months running. I’m aiming for a fourth by the way, although there’s a guy in the mirror who could be a contender. I reckon I could take him though. Or knock him out beforehand. We do totally feel sorry for you guys getting picked on by those bitchy gossip magazines and cosmetics companies a thousand times a day though. We really do. I mean, we blokes love you guys, always have, always will, and could give two ****s about cellulite or frazzled hair, we think you rock. We love the way you smell and how you can make us feel like naughty children or Kings of the Universe and we really love it when we're ill or tired and you scratch our heads and make it ok. We find you so beautiful it’s sort of painful in our guts and so scary when you’re angry the only escape is to run like the wind. Like Chris Neiratko said, we love women with some meat on their bones to hang onto, light in their eyes for us to see by and then something about fun with ropes and pulleys that I won’t go into here but you know what I’m talking about. Right? Right? It confuses us why you don’t agree that you're the **** but we understand that being relentlessly hammered with messages to the effect that unless you buy the latest, radically-unscientific beauty product your face will rot off, and if you have a sad day and want to eat a cake or two your boyfriend will kick you to the kerb must be rather stressful. That’s why we despise cosmetics companies so much. You think we can’t stand traipsing around Boots with you because it’s boring? Well, you’re right. Partially. It is boring as ****. But we love you so we do it. The real reason we hate it is because we see what these purveyors of quack remedies and overpriced gunk do to our ladies, how they **** them up and make them feel bad about themselves in ways we cant seem to remedy. We don’t know what to do! We just helplessly seethe with barely restrained fury, grinding our teeth to dust while you fret about spending £38 on some moisturizing glop when that would pay for both of us to go go-carting or get hammered drunk or to a musical you like or something. Its strange because women none of the women I know are stupid, yet even professors of chemistry are duped by some meaningless computer graphics and an unfeasibly attractive model reading off a card into parting with large notes at the make-up counters. Don’t get us wrong, we love it when you get dressed up. Oh man you look good! But there is a line and being driven to despair by a bunch of salty queers who enjoy setting you folks impossible standards and laughing all the way to the bank when you fall short is so far from the line I can barely make it out. They hate us too or course and love whispering to you guys how we're slovenly and constantly on the look out for a better model and would rather spend time with our friends than you. Don’t listen to em. Well, the last one is true, sometimes, but then you wouldn’t want to hang out with beig male stereotypes would you? We need space and so do you, you’ve got your pals, we've got ours, that’s the way it should be, don’t you think? Course it should. But the rest of it is evil lies. A friend of mine told me about her friend the nurse; pretty, supersmart, a complete wreck because she couldn’t understand why her boyfriend was with her. The truth is of course her boyf is with her cos deep down he doesn’t understand what someone so fine and funny and smart sees in his sorry ass but he knows when he's onto a good thing and doesn’t question the workings of the female mind. And anyway, without her he'd have to buy the gossip mags he loves reading on the bog, and how embarrassing would that be!? HA HA Look at that! Jenifer Aniston has sweaty armpits. Oh my stars! Like I said, we love you guys, don’t ever go changing ok?
XXX
The Boys.
Wow. Well put,I agree with everything.
"For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind. " Vexed & Glorious as ever _________________________ ---------GRAFFITITECH---------
One of the reason I didnt join the army apart from the fact that I turn into a total pussy when people shoot at me is because I knew I was so smoking hot Id probably cause ****loads of fights to break out. I mean, I know the army is basically exactly like in Starship Troopers- communal showers, killing giant iraqi bugs and all which looks awesome, but **** girls (and guys, I shouldnt wonder) we're on the same side! Fighting over my sweet can is not doing the war effort any favours and could well cost lives, so I respectfully and regretfully volunteer to stay at home and chill while you people go out there and have all the fun in the sandpit. I wish I was there with you guys. Im there in spirit. Just not in ass.
Originally posted by JD + Coke: Dont sass me girl, are you an agent of Heat?
wha? no...I just agree with the rant...
interesting blog btw...
"For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind. " Vexed & Glorious as ever _________________________ ---------GRAFFITITECH---------
My friends think I make my stories up, but Im years of substance abuse have ruined my imagination- I can barely visualise what Im going to have for tea let alone model the internal motivations of a set of fictional characters subject to fictional events in a fictional world. I mean, if even real events sound like theyre, erm, a synonym of made-up (see told you my brain doesnt work) then how would I ever be able to write about things that didnt happen. ill leave that to you and the other 'writers' at Heat magazine.
