Library (Lie-berry)

I've been working at my local Civic Centre recently, and on my lunch break I have been known to frequent the adjoining library for use of their computers. During these half-hour periods (yeah I only take a half-hour lunch. It's a matter of personal preference) I've noticed that the exact same people are there every single day, banging away on the computer keyboards. Consequently, I have been led to ponder as to what the fuck they're doing on the computers every single time and why none of them appear to have jobs. One of the regulars, who shall hereby be referred to as Mr. Comb-Over coz he's got an obscene comb-over, always has a rucksack with him and he jabs at the keyboard so hard you would think he had a personal vendetta against it. Due to my mind craving for some excitement after the previous hours I have spent staring at Microsoft Excel, I've come to the conclusion that he murdered his wife (who is in the rucksack) because she kept rinsing him for his shitty comb-over (think Bobby Charlton timesd by a million) and he keeps going on the computers to try and locate a decent dumping ground by searching on Google. He's probably hitting the keyboard so hard because he's so nervous about searching for a dumping ground for corpses.
I've also seen this cold-blooded killer in my local Wetherspoons, where no-doubt he often openly brags about how he murdered his wife.
"Oh yeah?" asks the other Harrow Wetherspoons regular who looks like Santa Claus. (He really does.)
"Yeah. She's in my rucksack."
"Well why did you bring it with you?"
"What?"
"You should've just left it at home, why did you bring it to the pub, and to the Civic Centre library?"
"....Well I'm not sure actually..."
"You mug, I'm gonna call the police, it'll serve you right for being such a shit murderer," threatens Santa, retrieving his 3310 from his pocket.
"Aw nah Santa don't, don't be out of order!" Mr. Comb-Over pleads, tustling with Santa for the phone. During the brief scrap Mr. Comb-Over's comb-over starts flapping around wildly and begins to look much more like a strand of sea-weed.
"I was only joking," Santa says and puts his phone back.
"Yeah well I didn't even kill my wife anyway, Kirk made the entire story up because he was bored in his lunch-break."
"Cor...you just went and broke the fourth wall, you did."
"I never!"
"You bloody did, you interrupted the course of the fictional narrative with information that our characters would have no way of knowing. You broke the fucking fourth wall."
"Yeah well so what, what's the fourth wall ever done for me?"
Anyway, of course there are plenty of other regulars at my Civic Centre library on the computers, but he looked the funniest so I thought I'd just talk about him.
But yeah have you ever noticed how library sounds like lie-berry? Might be something to look into.

An Account Of The First Ever Lament

I take you to the days just after Adam and Eve got booted out of the Garden of Eden, which shall hereby by referred to as 'The Slightly Shit Age'.
So yes, thanks to Eve being a stupid bint (although to be honest the Bible was written in a ridiculously patriarchal time so we can't take its version of the events as fact, it might have actually been Adam's fault) humanity is left to wander about just outside the Garden of Eden, with nothing to do really. One particular human feels somewhat down about this situation. He has taken to wandering the wastes alone, reflecting upon his life, his emotions, and his current situation. His insular mood has progressed to the stage that he even feels the need to speak his thoughts aloud....
And, thus...history is made....
He puts a weary hand to his brow and lets forth what shall henceforth become known as a 'lament'.
"Oh woe is me; I long for my younger carefree days when I toiled in the luscious meadows of the Garden of Eden. My soul was brighter then, and my ambitions intact, untouched by the grounding realities of responsibility. Now, here I stand, a wearied and disillusioned 'man', with not a place nor a purpose..." he says in a really fucking moany voice. Another human overhears this thoroughly self-indulgent monologue and feels compelled to comment.
"What the fuck was that all about mate?" he asks, quite bluntly.
"Hmm?" the lamenter in question enquires.
"What you did just then. You kept going on about stuff to yourself in a melancholic fashion. I just wondered what the fuck that was all about?"
"Oh. Urm, I dunno really. I just felt a bit like....lamenting," he explains. Having to think on his feet for the word to describe this new activity, he glanced around and saw a lamp and a bag of cement, and combined the two words in haste. If you want to know what a lamp and a bag of cement were doing in this particular area at this particular time, press your red button now.
"Shouldn't you be doing something more useful with your time?" the man asks.
"Well what's it got to do with you anyway?"
"Well nothing I suppose, it just seemed like it was a bit of a waste of time."
God overhears this altercation and feels the need to step in.
"I'm going to have to stop you there, lamenting is a perfectly acceptable thing to do and I'm grateful for this young fellow for inventing it. Shakespeare is going to make an entire fucking career out of it one day, and without him people would have nothing to talk about in English GCSE classes, and thus the educational system would collapse," God explains. However, he only went and forgot that not everybody is omniscient, so the two humans are well and truly unimpressed by his listing of a whole bunch of things that haven't fucking happened yet.
"What are you on about mate?" one of them asks.
"Yeah, first you boot us out of the Garden of Eden for pretty much doing fuck all, admit it, and now you come down here and just talk a load of bollocksing shit. Where do you get off? What is your problem?" the other asks. Red-faces all round for the one-and-only God at this point.
"Urm...nah I was just saying leave it out coz lamenting is good, so..." he stammers, shuffling his feet.
From this point on, the muted silence of 'The Slightly Shit Age' was filled by the thousands of laments from its many occupants. Some were better than others. An example of a lament from a somewhat dim-witted human goes as follows: "This isn't as good as other things that have happened. I think I prefer some other stuff, but I dunno. I just feel a bit down."
However, things swiftly changed when somebody invented air hockey and the foundations of civilization as we know it were developed from this starting point. Over and out.

Porky Pig Needs To Fucking Chill Out

The scene, Warner Brothers' board room. The conversation:
"We need one more character," says Mr. Warner.
"Yeah alright," says an employee. The other Warner brother has nothing to add on the matter. He's far less keen than the other brother. In fact, he always wanted to be whatever the early 20th Century version of a rock star was. Probably a prick in a jazz band or something.
"Don't you think brother?" asks the keen Warner brother.
"Yeah," he says in a thoroughly droll voice. When recalling the board meeting afterwards, most of the participants mention the severely droll quality of this utterance, and liken it to the drollness of a motherfucking cow's moo or something.
"Well what sort of character, should it be another animal or a completely random human like Elmur Fudd or Yosemete Sam?" asks an employee. What the fuck do those two character get out of hanging around with a bunch of animals anyway? Bloody perverts.
"Urm...animal I reckon. Seems right. In truth I kind of regret the creation of Elmur Fudd because he's like somebody's creepy uncle or something, and I don't need that sort of rep for my company. I dunno why we made him sound like Jonathan Ross either," Mr. Warner muses.
"Who?"
"What?"
"Anyway, yeah okay, what animals haven't we used yet?" asks an employee who's getting a bit big for his boots. His boots literally don't fit.
"We haven't used.....snails, or a giraffe..." an employee suggests.
"Are you fucking winding me up? A giraffe? How the fuck are we supposed to anthropomorphisise that? He'd be so fucking tall, it'd look shit. And what would his personality be? 'Oh, I'm a giraffe, I'm a bit nervous and tall,' blah blah. Boring. Shit. Try again," says Mr. Warner. The employee who said it is sweating like mad now.
"Well...we wouldn't necessarily have to anthropomorphisise it...."
"Oh my lord, are you fucking serious? So what we've got a talking rabbit and his pet fucking giraffe? That just fucks everything up, why would the rabbit be able to talk and not the giraffe? That's even worse than that dog in Disney who isn't Goofy," Mr. Warner flips.
"Oh I don't know....I'm just trying to...." the employee flusters. The other Warner brother has started playing on his gameboy by now.
"How about a pig?" another employee chips in.
"Go on..." Mr. Warner encourages.
"Well yeah, a pig, called...Hammy Pig..."
"Nah."
"Porky Pig?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah a pig called Porky Pig and he's always well angry."
"Nah Daffy's quite angry."
"Hmm yeah. So's Donald Duck actually."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Nothing, I'm just saying."
"Are you saying I ripped off Donald Duck? He can't even fucking talk, he sounds like he's been kicked in the throat."
"I didn't mean anything by it."
"I should hope not."
"Anyway, how about we give him a speech impediment?"
"But Daffy and Elmur Fudd have already got speech impediments," the previously flustered employee points out.
"Yeah but it cracks people up doesn't it?"
"Not really."
"Anyway yeah we can give him a stutter."
"Brilliant," Mr. Warner claps, "Draw him. Give him a gay little jacket as well I reckon."
"That kind of ruins continuity a bit. Why does he get clothes and the others don't?"
"Elmur Fudd's got clothes," the other employee says.
"I should fucking hope so," the lazy Warner brother chuckles.
"Oh NOW you pipe up," the keen Warner brother says in an annoying whiny voice.
"Oh here we fucking go," he sighs and accidentally puts a tetris piece in the wrong place and loses the game.
Basically, that guy was about to get the best score in tetris ever but he only just missed out on it because of the Porky Pig issue distracting him, which is why in his revenge he made it so that Porky Pig was generally a shit character and he never did anything funny. And it turns out the two Warner brothers weren't even actually brothers!!