Saturday, 30 January 2010
Old People Talking On The Bus
The other day I was sitting on the bus minding my own business when suddenly my ears were viciously assaulted by the sound of two old people having a bit of a moan. It was all the standard sort of thing, how people these days don't realise how easy they've got it and how kids are so rude now. Mundane bollocks.
It was at this time that the thought struck me how good it would be if old people on the bus discussed highly complicated metaphysical theories instead of how the price of milk is so high now. So you don't have to imagine it for yourself, here is an example of what this might be like:
"Cor blimey Mildred I tell you, I was walking to the shops earlier to get my bits, you know, tea and biscuits and that...."
"Oh yes, for your grandchildren, Agatha?"
"Yes they do love a biscuit when they visit. Anyway, as I was making my way to the corner shop the thought occurred, could it be that all the wars in the history of mankind have been not for territorial or material gain as is supposed, but were essential only in the sense that homosapiens as a species just NEED a form of conflict?"
"How do you mean, Agatha?"
"Well think about it, we've evolved to have minds which are capable of invention, to the extent that we've 'invented' and developed weapons and buildings that can almost indefinitely keep us safe from the sorts of 'dangers' our ancestors would've encountered, such as predators and the like."
"Yes."
"But just because we've developed such sophisticated protection from danger, and removed the need to fight for survival, doesn't mean we've ridden ourselves of the INSTINCT to fight."
"Ooh look at how that young man's wearing his jeans, you can see all his underwear and everything."
"Oh how silly, it wasn't like that in our day. If he was my son I'd clip him 'round the earhole."
"Oh I know. Anyway, back to your supposition, are you suggesting that because humans have removed the need to fight for survival, that very instinct is channeled into these artificial circumstances, these 'wars'?"
"Well, to put it simply, yes."
"I think that's highly presumptious on your part, Agatha. I'd say that in almost all wars there is a definite and feasible motive, even if it is questionable on moral grounds. It's not the same as fights on a small scale, such as if a man spilt another man's pint in a pub and so he took it upon himself to start a fight. In that instant, indeed these two are fighting for the sake of fighting. If you were speaking of this transferred instinct in this example I may agree with you, but I'm afraid war is far too big and complex an event for you to explain away with it being caused by a displaced instinct."
"Perhaps you're right, Mildred."
"Ooh here's my stop. I tell you, it looks so different around here now. When I was a girl there was a lovely big field just behind that wall there. All flats now."
"Oh I know. Bye Agatha."
"Bye."
It'd be good wouldn't it?
It was at this time that the thought struck me how good it would be if old people on the bus discussed highly complicated metaphysical theories instead of how the price of milk is so high now. So you don't have to imagine it for yourself, here is an example of what this might be like:
"Cor blimey Mildred I tell you, I was walking to the shops earlier to get my bits, you know, tea and biscuits and that...."
"Oh yes, for your grandchildren, Agatha?"
"Yes they do love a biscuit when they visit. Anyway, as I was making my way to the corner shop the thought occurred, could it be that all the wars in the history of mankind have been not for territorial or material gain as is supposed, but were essential only in the sense that homosapiens as a species just NEED a form of conflict?"
"How do you mean, Agatha?"
"Well think about it, we've evolved to have minds which are capable of invention, to the extent that we've 'invented' and developed weapons and buildings that can almost indefinitely keep us safe from the sorts of 'dangers' our ancestors would've encountered, such as predators and the like."
"Yes."
"But just because we've developed such sophisticated protection from danger, and removed the need to fight for survival, doesn't mean we've ridden ourselves of the INSTINCT to fight."
"Ooh look at how that young man's wearing his jeans, you can see all his underwear and everything."
"Oh how silly, it wasn't like that in our day. If he was my son I'd clip him 'round the earhole."
"Oh I know. Anyway, back to your supposition, are you suggesting that because humans have removed the need to fight for survival, that very instinct is channeled into these artificial circumstances, these 'wars'?"
"Well, to put it simply, yes."
"I think that's highly presumptious on your part, Agatha. I'd say that in almost all wars there is a definite and feasible motive, even if it is questionable on moral grounds. It's not the same as fights on a small scale, such as if a man spilt another man's pint in a pub and so he took it upon himself to start a fight. In that instant, indeed these two are fighting for the sake of fighting. If you were speaking of this transferred instinct in this example I may agree with you, but I'm afraid war is far too big and complex an event for you to explain away with it being caused by a displaced instinct."
"Perhaps you're right, Mildred."
"Ooh here's my stop. I tell you, it looks so different around here now. When I was a girl there was a lovely big field just behind that wall there. All flats now."
"Oh I know. Bye Agatha."
"Bye."
It'd be good wouldn't it?
Imagine How Depressed Santa Is On New Year's Eve
Just picture it, it's nearing to December and you're Santa. I imagine the thought process would go something like this:
"Finally, I've actually got some purpose in this world once again! I've just been sitting here with my fucking wife in Lapland having a piss-poor time, but NOW it's Santa-O'Clock. Bring it."
So Santa spends all of December on top of the world, dancing around in the snow, preparing his sleigh and shit, singing 'I Saw Mama Kissing Santa Claus,' in a somewhat perverse fashion. He's in such high spirits that him and his wife even manage to have a fairly engrossing conversation which doesn't involve the words 'I'm sure it happens to everybody.'
But then, as quickly as it began, Christmas would be over for Santa once again.
He sets out on Christmas eve, and 'Ho-ho-ho'-ing the entire way he delivers all the presents. But then, the moment the last chimney is climbed out of, his crippling depression takes hold once again. I hear these days he even purposefully wakes children up with a really loud cough just so they'll be all like: "Wow it's Santa!" and he can get a bit of an ego boost out of it. Reason being, he knows very well that once they've got their presents and Christmas day is over, nobody gives the slightest shit about Santa. He trawls back to the North Pole to freeze his fat self, only for the wife to be all like: "Clear up all this reindeer shit."
"You fucking do it! I've just been out delivering fucking presents and shit, what have you done? Nowt!"
"Why are you saying 'nowt'? You're not from up North."
"On the contrary, I'm from THE NORTH POLE!" he says, with a cheeky wink. His wife just gives him her usual look of absolute disgust and wanders off.
So indeed, not even diabolical word-play can distract Santa from what's ahead......that most awful of all nights.....New Year's Eve.
Indeed, ‘tis that very night of December when nobody can even remember the name 'Santa'.
Nobody's singing about him anymore, they're banging on about 'Auld Lang Syne' and that.
"Nobody even knows the fucking words," Santa can often be heard to grumble. It's pretty much the equivalent of you having a really nice birthday and everyone loving you up and then suddenly a smug tosser turning up and announcing: "It's my birthday now," and then everyone literally sprinting over to them and holding them above their heads and leaving you on your own, and then suddenly it starts pissing down with rain on just you, like in cartoons.
All I'm saying is, next time you have a disappointing New Year's Eve, save a thought for Santa. Even if yours isn't completely satisfactory, at least it isn't a horribly grounding reminder that people only care about you for one day in the entire year.
A side note, have you ever noticed that 'Santa' is an anagram for 'Satan'?
Perhaps this 'Hell' that Lucifer was cast into was the eternal task of climbing down chimneys every year and really putting himself out for people he doesn't even know?
............
SOMEBODY GET ME THE PRESIDENT!!
"Finally, I've actually got some purpose in this world once again! I've just been sitting here with my fucking wife in Lapland having a piss-poor time, but NOW it's Santa-O'Clock. Bring it."
So Santa spends all of December on top of the world, dancing around in the snow, preparing his sleigh and shit, singing 'I Saw Mama Kissing Santa Claus,' in a somewhat perverse fashion. He's in such high spirits that him and his wife even manage to have a fairly engrossing conversation which doesn't involve the words 'I'm sure it happens to everybody.'
But then, as quickly as it began, Christmas would be over for Santa once again.
He sets out on Christmas eve, and 'Ho-ho-ho'-ing the entire way he delivers all the presents. But then, the moment the last chimney is climbed out of, his crippling depression takes hold once again. I hear these days he even purposefully wakes children up with a really loud cough just so they'll be all like: "Wow it's Santa!" and he can get a bit of an ego boost out of it. Reason being, he knows very well that once they've got their presents and Christmas day is over, nobody gives the slightest shit about Santa. He trawls back to the North Pole to freeze his fat self, only for the wife to be all like: "Clear up all this reindeer shit."
"You fucking do it! I've just been out delivering fucking presents and shit, what have you done? Nowt!"
"Why are you saying 'nowt'? You're not from up North."
"On the contrary, I'm from THE NORTH POLE!" he says, with a cheeky wink. His wife just gives him her usual look of absolute disgust and wanders off.
So indeed, not even diabolical word-play can distract Santa from what's ahead......that most awful of all nights.....New Year's Eve.
Indeed, ‘tis that very night of December when nobody can even remember the name 'Santa'.
Nobody's singing about him anymore, they're banging on about 'Auld Lang Syne' and that.
"Nobody even knows the fucking words," Santa can often be heard to grumble. It's pretty much the equivalent of you having a really nice birthday and everyone loving you up and then suddenly a smug tosser turning up and announcing: "It's my birthday now," and then everyone literally sprinting over to them and holding them above their heads and leaving you on your own, and then suddenly it starts pissing down with rain on just you, like in cartoons.
All I'm saying is, next time you have a disappointing New Year's Eve, save a thought for Santa. Even if yours isn't completely satisfactory, at least it isn't a horribly grounding reminder that people only care about you for one day in the entire year.
A side note, have you ever noticed that 'Santa' is an anagram for 'Satan'?
Perhaps this 'Hell' that Lucifer was cast into was the eternal task of climbing down chimneys every year and really putting himself out for people he doesn't even know?
............
SOMEBODY GET ME THE PRESIDENT!!
Snow White and the Seven Drug-Fiends
Come on, one of them's called 'Dopey' for Christ's sake. And exactly what kind of qualifications did 'Doc' have other than his amphetemine-induced stammer?
"What are all of you doing here in this cottage in the middle of nowhere?" asks Snow White as she first arrives. They all look to each other nervously.
"Uh.." Happy pipes up with an inane grin, having literally only just put his collossal bong away, "We're miners."
They all nod in unison.
"Yeah yeah, miners, yeah," they all say.
"Oh right. Oh, what's cooking in that pot?" she asks.
"NOTHING, NOTHING. Don't look!!" Bashful screams. Yeah, it's a fuckload of crystal meth. Sneezy sneezes at this point and a load of white powder shoots out.
"Oh fuck."
"We're done for lads, let's get out of here!" screams Grumpy. They all fucking peg it out of the door, except for Dopey who has only just shot up and Sleepy who has been comatose for a few days anyway.
"What are all of you doing here in this cottage in the middle of nowhere?" asks Snow White as she first arrives. They all look to each other nervously.
"Uh.." Happy pipes up with an inane grin, having literally only just put his collossal bong away, "We're miners."
They all nod in unison.
"Yeah yeah, miners, yeah," they all say.
"Oh right. Oh, what's cooking in that pot?" she asks.
"NOTHING, NOTHING. Don't look!!" Bashful screams. Yeah, it's a fuckload of crystal meth. Sneezy sneezes at this point and a load of white powder shoots out.
"Oh fuck."
"We're done for lads, let's get out of here!" screams Grumpy. They all fucking peg it out of the door, except for Dopey who has only just shot up and Sleepy who has been comatose for a few days anyway.
Lucifer Just Wants To Have Fun
I don't like how every horror film that involves summoning Lucifer/Beelzebub/Satan/The Mother-Fuckin' Devil depicts him as only wanting to wreak havoc on Earth and generally be a fucking awful cunt. If you think about it, he's been trapped in the pits of Hell for all eternity and hasn't had the slightest bit of fun in ages, so if he finally gets a well-deserved break from oblivion's torturous flames surely he'd just want to have a good time? I personally think that this would most certainly be the case. Mind you, this would be quite gutting for the satanist who summons him to destroy mankind.
"My Lord! Wreak your vengeance on God's kingdom!" the satanist would say. Lucifer would just stand there looking somewhat nonplussed.
"I can't be bothered. Let's go out. Are there any good clubs around here?" he'd say, dusting off his sharp suit (it's covered in brimstone and shit, on account of him having spent most of eternity in Hell.) The satanist would now be quite perplexed indeed.
"Clubs? But...I thought you'd want to, you know, initiate armageddon? Create Hell on Earth?" he'd say. Lucifer just frowns, entirely unimpressed.
"What seriously? Hell is shit. Like, proper shit. Fucking dire. Why would I want to create Hell on Earth? Earth is bloody wicked in comparison, it's got bars and clubs and that. I just wanna go out dancing, to be honest."
"....."
"Why are you looking at me like that? Don't any of you pricks in robes go out clubbing?" he'd ask, addressing the rest of the satanic ensemble. Here they would look somewhat sheepish, avoid eye contact and shuffle from one foot to the other. The head satanist speaks up.
"Well....we mainly sort of sacrifice goats in your honour and that."
"Why the fuck would I want you to sacrifice goats in my honour? Literally, do you think I could give two shits about a fucking goat????"
"......Well when you put it like that...."
"Exactly. Now somebody order me a cab, if you lot aren't coming out I'll make friends on my own."
So, Lucifer himself would hit the town and have a fucking banging night out, complete with a kebab at the end and banter with the chavs.
"Oy mate, get a haircut!" they'd say, at which point Lucifer would erase them from the very fabric of existence.
Now I'm not suggesting that everybody should revel in Satan's past behaviour and say he's a good lad in general, coz he's not; he was a bit of a shit in all honesty, but everybody can change in time. If we didn't believe in that in England then we'd still have the death penalty, wouldn't we? Incidentally, did anybody see that fucking shit 'mockumentary' about hanging Gary Glitter? What a load of shit.
ALL WE ARE SAYING IS GIVE SATAN A CHANCE
"My Lord! Wreak your vengeance on God's kingdom!" the satanist would say. Lucifer would just stand there looking somewhat nonplussed.
"I can't be bothered. Let's go out. Are there any good clubs around here?" he'd say, dusting off his sharp suit (it's covered in brimstone and shit, on account of him having spent most of eternity in Hell.) The satanist would now be quite perplexed indeed.
"Clubs? But...I thought you'd want to, you know, initiate armageddon? Create Hell on Earth?" he'd say. Lucifer just frowns, entirely unimpressed.
"What seriously? Hell is shit. Like, proper shit. Fucking dire. Why would I want to create Hell on Earth? Earth is bloody wicked in comparison, it's got bars and clubs and that. I just wanna go out dancing, to be honest."
"....."
"Why are you looking at me like that? Don't any of you pricks in robes go out clubbing?" he'd ask, addressing the rest of the satanic ensemble. Here they would look somewhat sheepish, avoid eye contact and shuffle from one foot to the other. The head satanist speaks up.
"Well....we mainly sort of sacrifice goats in your honour and that."
"Why the fuck would I want you to sacrifice goats in my honour? Literally, do you think I could give two shits about a fucking goat????"
"......Well when you put it like that...."
"Exactly. Now somebody order me a cab, if you lot aren't coming out I'll make friends on my own."
So, Lucifer himself would hit the town and have a fucking banging night out, complete with a kebab at the end and banter with the chavs.
"Oy mate, get a haircut!" they'd say, at which point Lucifer would erase them from the very fabric of existence.
Now I'm not suggesting that everybody should revel in Satan's past behaviour and say he's a good lad in general, coz he's not; he was a bit of a shit in all honesty, but everybody can change in time. If we didn't believe in that in England then we'd still have the death penalty, wouldn't we? Incidentally, did anybody see that fucking shit 'mockumentary' about hanging Gary Glitter? What a load of shit.
ALL WE ARE SAYING IS GIVE SATAN A CHANCE
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