I have recently discovered that somebody out there in the world has began following me (in the none threatening way). I decided that this preposterous idea must be somebody acting as the epitome of kindness, sarcasm, or perhaps ridiculousness. Whatever your reasoning was to wish to read more of my forgotten slurs, thank you.
The latter half of my heading is reference to a story I want to tell. It’s one that dismays and disheartens all who hear it, catching them in a bitter distrust of life.
                                                           I was on a beach in Malaysia in Batu Feringhi (I think). In the heat and superfluous amounts of Tiger beer in my bladder, I decided to have a swim in the sea. My fate was sealed. I released what needed to be and began to swim back. On this journey I felt something wrap around my leg, down and over my foot, ending with the tip of my big toe. This was, of course, a jelly fish and as its sting travelled with precision down my leg I realised this… So unleashed hell. I grew up with those in that famous gang ‘the wrong crowd’, so have partaken in many humerous, sub-legal, activities, this meant I wasn’t taking this jelly fish shit. I unleashed my wrath and fury, hurling my fists through the water, determined to destroy what was stinging me. The fight raged for a massive two seconds until I felt myself being discarded, just as delicately as the attack had begun.
                                                          Reaching the beach I explained what had just taken place. Jovially describing the truculent attack, I remembered what to do in the event of a jelly fish sting: piss on it. I’d gone in for that purpose and only just as I’d finished was I stung, if only I’d waited. So now fate had dealt two blows, I had been stung by jellied evil, and now had no urine to douse my prickly wound with. Why, God? Why?…
Jack Robinson (A.K.A Jack)
The jelly fish and I have discussed the events and agreed to move on, we now keep in regular contact. Her name is Esmerelda and she paints, taking inspiration from Kandinsky.

I may have done that.

June 19, 2012

Recently I have been ill, not I’ll no matter how much my iPad refuses to believe me. But as any respectable pet owner will tell you, in the depths of unquenchable loneliness, bordome and throat infections, comes a certain desire.
Don’t get your hopes up, I didn’t bugger my dog. I did, however, introduce the little scamp to the concept of being praised for licking the withered, wince worthy sack between his legs.
Why? Not a shitting clue. Retrospectively, not the smartest of plans, though absolutely hilarious.
I have a sausage dog (happy little things, avoid at all cost) so when he feels the urge to lick his business, it’s quite awkward for him. If only he had some leverage… Fortunately he did! In the form of my mother. Propping himself against her, he inspiringly boldly began licking away. After three days of praise every time he does it, he was just as shocked as I was (lie) when he was halted.
Today, after tea, you didn’t need to know that, me and mum watched the dog and she brought up the idea of the V-E-T-S to try to stop my dog licking itself. I admitted my part in doggles new addiction and explained that sometimes daytime television drives a man mad. All is well and the dog is the happiest we’ve ever seen him.

The moral of the story is, you can teach an old dog new tricks, if that trick involves his balls.