Big news from France. Big, bad news. And where there’s bad news, there’s usually hand-wringing. Tonight was no different.
You develop an external membrane that serves to insulate you from the outer world.
When this process is complete, the sun pulls closer to the earth, the seas dry, crops fail, and everybody dies. Except you, you in your room, playing Mount & Blade like your very existence depends upon it. Calls go unaswered, e-mails unread, cheques bounce; loved ones move into separate rooms before moving on entirely. But not you, in your room; trading with the people beside the sea, plundering the shit out of villages hidden by hills.
You have ceased to exist, remaining only as an enclosed photo in the locket of that old woman in the popular motion picture Titanic©.
Another week, another person crawling out of the shadows of anonymity to claim intimate knowledge of San Francisco’s Zodiac killings. In fact, the flavour of the last ten years has been to implicate a deceased family member. It’s easier that way. You don’t get community service for wasting police time, and uncle Mike who dropped his trousers in your parent’s garage gets to be the bad guy for once. Drop in a couple of unsolved sexual assaults and the guy’s feathers start to look real tarnished.
Christ goes into a Holiday Inn.
Did I ever tell you about the time I was struck by lightning and imbued with incredible supernatural powers that serve as both a gift AND a curse? Maybe not, I tend to keep it quiet. Truth is, I’m keeping my story for a rainy day, and that “rainy day” is an unfinished screenplay on my computer entitled ‘His Brilliant Gift?’
Cool, huh. You think you have a grip on the title and then… the question mark. Is it a brilliant gift?
Without getting too far ahead of myself, it’s gonna eventually be a whole thing. Probably with Tong Crewse and Laurens Fishbon in supporting roles.
So, yeah, I have a gift, and sometimes I like to use it!! Here are this week’s horoscopes, or as i call them – ‘YELLAHOLESCOPES’.
(I don’t fucking call them that) Continue reading
I can’t for the life of me understand the sensationalist media reports about these ‘neknominations’ that are sweeping the world’s social media platform of choice.
The more of these dicks that die chugging liquor in their driveways like their grandads, the more food there will be for the rest of us, but more importantly – THE INHABITANTS OF THE CANNIBAL RAT GHOST SHIP; ushering in a new world order of bold-faced rat-men, fostering an environment that *some* of us truly embrace and are able to thrive, rising to positions of prominence: becoming dignitaries, educators, and such-like.
When the rat-men terraform Mars, we will be among it’s first inhabitants.
Mars will be a great disappointment – it is blood-red, bulbous, completely uninhabitable beyond the domes; while it’s surface contains no secrets – but eventually we will have the means to penetrate further into space, and it will be our descendants who benefit.
So keep drinking, you dead-eyed fucks, I don’t want to miss my chance with Destiny.
I think one time he hit my daughter but I can’t prove it.
Deadline Day: But Who’s Really Dying?
The Jim White Scandal
Spare a thought for Jim White today. Not the one who signs off triumphantly an hour before midnight with a relieved and still playful glint in his eye. That one is already dead; being chaperoned into a car during commercial break where, contract honoured, Murdoch’s hookers will attempt to service out what little life remains from his short-circuiting mainframe.
“Ah, yes”, he will say, powering-down in the 1st person, “Jim White is currently enjoying every moment of this terrific slop-job.” Continue reading