Monthly Archives: July 2017
This post is going to be as boring as fuck. In fact the entire aim of this particular post is specifically to bore the arse off you with as much tedious, drawn-out, and convoluted bullshit as possible so it brings you to the point of having to push your tongue back into your mouth with your fingers. I know what you’re thinking: why does it need to be this specific post that does that when there are plenty of other articles on this blog that do much the same thing? The answer to that question is a simple fuck you. But there is a fairly valid reason for me wanting to pursue the path of the boring fuck and embrace total monotony.
Allow me to explain: the nearest and dearest in my life will have no doubt come to realise with a jarring sense of
concern hilarity that my current existence is anything but plain sailing. In fact it’s about as far from plain sailing as the Titanic was when it was still being built and clearly not seaworthy. I alluded to this existential chaos in my previous post with the help of an artificial intelligence unit from the legal team at Cyberdyne Systems who moderated the content, but suffice to say my general day-to-day life does not bring about the sense of calm that one would expect from someone who likes nothing better than lying around in his underwear and scratching himself.
It must be said, however, that I’m not inferring my current life is a hip and happening, vibrant splash of colour, pizazz, and interesting anecdotes that would generally characterise someone who’s actually living a life of colour, pizazz and interesting anecdotes. I get the feeling from the people who know me that it’s more a sense of ‘oh, what the fuck’s happened now?’, or ‘beer. Just give him beer’. There’s a sense that whenever my parents see my number flash up like a digital heart attack on their phones they both actually begin the onset of a myocardial infarction in fear of what’s potentially coming at the other end. It’s almost guaranteed that when I text my mates for a pint they know they’re going to have to endure a bug-eyed rant not seen since Kevin Keegan’s ‘I would love it if we beat them‘ tirade. Suffice to say – and it behoves me to not go into specifics here – that being me, and anyone around me, is quite the exhausting state of affairs at the minute. But I shall leave it at that lest I accidentally go into specifics here.
And this brings me to the main point of this article: precisely because there’s never a dull moment in my life (in the most depressingly uninspiring of ways) it’s compelled me to want to live the majority of the other side of it as an utterly boring sod. There are few things I want more than someone to come up to me and say that I live a life that’s comparable to that of a garden slug just prior to some sadistic little bastard unloading a waterfall of salt on to it and watching the bugger squirm. It’s come to the point that it’s a physical and emotional necessity to be utterly dull and uninteresting with all aspects of my being in order to balance the bedlam of everything else. And in the midst of all this chaos, the perceived banal things in my life are the very aspects that do in fact make my current existence more agreeable. Allow me to demonstrate my banality by listing the ways with which I balance the pandemonium with the ponderous:
1. Cooking A Whole Meal Of Food/Pottering In The Kitchen
For ages I steadfastly refused to advocate this based on the fact it takes roughly two hours to prepare and cook a meal, and approximately four minutes for me to devour the bastard. Plus the kitchen always looks like what my living room looks like after my baby son spends roughly thirty seconds in it. So I thought this was grossly unfair. However, it’s become apparent that despite all the washing up, the swearing, and the blood, there’s a sense of smug satisfaction that comes with cooking a plate of food that’s edible enough for you to upload a photo of it to Instagram for a bunch of dullards to look at. My time in the kitchen keeps my focus enough to not dwell on the disharmony, and to reassure my Mam that I’m not subsisting on Budweiser.
2. Putting On A New Pair Of Socks
If there’s anything better than this I want to know what it is. Fuck off to your old socks with the holes, and the smell, and the Hepatitis C molecules in them. Grab a new pair – Gucci, Adidas, George at Asda, ones your Grandma knitted – and put the buggers on. It’s like an orgasm in your feet. Soft, nourishing, comforting. I defy you not to wank once you have a fresh, brand spanking new pair of socks on.
3. Climbing Into A Freshly Made Bed
Better than putting on a fresh new pair of socks is climbing into a freshly made bed. The important thing to remember here is making sure you get the right fabric softener so that your entire existence smells like your freshly made bed. The silky soft touch of the cooling sheets, the uplifting aromas of comfort and calm, the soothing warmth of reassurance as you drift into a snooze enveloped in the crisp lushness of the bed. It’s positively heroin-like. Not that I’ve ever tried heroin but it’s probably a knocking bet that snuggling into a freshly made bed smelling of meadows and heroin is probably what injecting heroin feels like. Just don’t have a wank and spoil all the freshly made innocence. #freshlymade.
4. Completing Some Form Of Physical Exercise
There’s no doubt about it that taking part in some form of cardiovascular activity engenders a fulfilling sense of accomplishment, well-being and egotistical superiority. Just look at those morons on Facebook who post the details every time they go for a run. Everybody definitely, without a doubt, completely cares that they ran around a little Google Map for 15 minutes. It’s the epitome of the boring fuck. Still, it’s a truth self-evident that the whole concept of physical fitness encourages a more positive outlook, and I wholeheartedly agree as I’ve recently returned to the gym and got my running shoes on again. That satisfaction of completing a session; the relaxing ache of my tired muscles; the sense of achievement, and the relaxing post-workout shower and chill out when all’s done. It’s quite wonderful – simply because doing it allows you to go all in on the three bottles of wine in the fridge. A simple half hour jog or trip to the gym removes the guilt for you to become an alcoholic. Don’t deny it. You all do this. You frigging do, you lying bunch of sods.
5. Writing Boring Shit For The Internet
‘Boring’ and ‘shit’ being the operative words. But, you know, it helps.
I’ve no doubt it’s a terrible tragedy for someone of my age to be happy to settle for the life of the dreary. I am only 21 years and 192 months old after all. But, to be perfectly honest, it’s for the best given my current circumstances. And it didn’t do old Obi Wan Kenobi any harm. He lived a boring life of solitude on Tatooine after Revenge of the Sith, and he got to come back as a ghost in later life and help defeat the Empire. So there’s hope. A new hope.
Anyway, this blog post has waffled on much more than I ever thought possible but as long as you’re bored out of your skulls then my work here is done.
Unimportant Reader’s Note: due to legal reasons, this post is being moderated by The Moderator from Skynet in order to avoid additional reasons.
So this morning I woke up with a crick in my neck. This was my own fault in part because I use pillows positioned at an angle so I can lie down at night watching a Netflix on my phone while simultaneously drinking from a bottle of lager using a straw without spilling it on the Wham! ‘Choose Life’ t-shirt that I wear for bed. This is normally a fairly successful and fulfilling routine but this morning I woke up to discover I was paralysed in a small, 5cm area of the left hand side of my neck. This tiny area of trapped nerve produced enough excruciating pain down the left hand side of my body that it rendered me unable to initiate my morning routine of immediately jumping out of bed to spend the next 90 minutes on the toilet while simultaneously texting my friends that I’m about to spend 90 minutes on the toilet. I won’t elaborate on what happened next but suffice to say that particular hour and a half trapped in bed was emphatically unpleasant for a multitude of reasons.
Anyway, it turns out that it’s been exactly six months since I lasted posted on my blog. While this has caused mass hysteria and upset with all both of my readers (hello Mam, hello Dad) by way of them once asking if I still ‘write that shite’ for the internet, not to mention a creative atrophy not seen since the release of Oasis’ Be Here Now, there is a genuine, real-life, non-bullshit explanation for me not bothering my arse with it all. In a nutshell it’s because of my current *this comment has been removed by The Moderator owing to reasons* and the subsequent fall out from this as well as the absolutely fucking ridiculous *this comment has been removed by The Moderator owing to reasons*. Put it this way, the opening paragraph of this blog post is an accurate metaphor of the year 2017 in the world of me.
But seeing as this is an update it behoves me to apprise you all with what’s happening in the world of dysfunctional email correspondence, my current problems with *this comment has been removed by The Moderator owing to reasons*, and my existence in general. It will reassure you all to know that I still can’t drive, my son recently turned one year old (I don’t embellish when I say I have roughly 2,000 photos of him on my phone) *The Moderator will accept this comment relating to the author’s offspring*, and I’ve forgotten how to write material for a blog that once had seven readers a week in its glory days. Which explains the rusty nature of this particular post.
However, I promise that things will soon be looking more positive going forward. This is because my blog hits have absolutely spiked over the last six months.
While one could look at this and suggest a correlation between high viewing figures during this period and me not writing a sodding thing, it turns out that there’s a popular pop song in the popular hip-hop genre of popular music that explains this sudden fascination with my blog. A tune named ‘Cake‘ – presumably written by ninety-nine percent of the population of the American state of Florida – was released at some point at the tail end of last year, or early this year, or at some point of this year, or at some point ever. The point is that the song is – much like this blog – specifically about all the different types of cakes you can buy at Greggs The Bakers in Newcastle upon Tyne but done in a way that it’s relentlessly played at gymnasiums up and down the country. This has agreeable symmetry because people who gorge on cake tend to be a bit roly-poly so listening to a song about cake in the gym would ease the pain of having to do exercise. One of the pre-eminent lyrics in this particular masterpiece is ‘I only came for the cake‘, and a simple Google search of this term immediately directs you not to a hilarious blog about the hit and miss wit and wisdom of a middle-aged man, but straight to a video of this Shakespearean tune of lyrical genius that clearly has nothing to do with casual sex and everything to do with Greggs’ desserts
. However, my website is visible enough in this Google search that the youth of America apparently stumble across it, read it, and presumably leave aghast enough to better their lives so as not to turn into the author. So I’m probably doing my bit. In a way. I’d reply to all their bewildered queries but to be honest I’ve forgotten how to read.
*Hi, The Moderator here! Just saying hi because I don’t want to come across as a bit of a bastard because I’m doing my job moderating some pretty sensitive shit. I love Chris really. He is tall, friendly and handsome. Bye!*
But I digress. In the midst of all the stressful *this comment has been removed by The Moderator owing to reasons* that has completely upended this past year, I’ve managed to steady the
shit ship lately. I’ve started going to the gym again, I’ve stopped shitting with the door open as it was previously upsetting any visitors to my home, and I have big plans afoot regarding a book I’m having published. So if it interests any of you I’m about to force a book of poems on the general public that details *this comment has been removed by The Moderator owing to reasons* and the effect it’s had on *this comment has been removed by The Moderator*. You can download a copy of this wonderful book of shite from this link here: *this link is not available yet because it’s not available yet and because The Moderator says so*. So I’m hanging tough.
In the meantime I’m writing again, finally, after all the shit of *this comment has been removed by The Moderator owing to reasons* so my generic email correspondence bullshit will once again rear its head and clog up your Facebook timelines.
Oh, bugger off.