The Internet

I think the internet has truly changed the world for the better. Back before the internet, if you wanted to see a naked woman for free you had to look through someone’s window.

The Rock As...Nelson Mandela!!

Another great idea from the me-meister!! This year, everyone seems intent on releasing films about the Mandelas. However, I feel that children are inadequately catered for in this new Mandela-based market. So, I propose that someone makes a film about Nelson Mandela with Mandela played by The Rock. He doesn’t look a bit like Mandela, but who gives a fuck? Also, it would satisfy my appetite for more of The Rock. There isn’t enough The Rock at the cinema. It would make up for the other day, when I rented a movie called The Rock, and he was nowhere in sight. Just an old man running around a prison island.

The frustrations of trying to communicate

I think human language is really inadequate in terms of vocabulary. There are some things we encounter every single day that we don’t have words for, just because they are slightly abstract in nature. For example, most days a thought I don’t really like will keep popping into my head, and I have to make an effort to clear it away. We have words like ‘idea’, ‘belief’ and ‘delusion’, but no one word specifically for this kind of ‘head garbage’, for negative concepts, thoughts or any type of cognitive phenomenon or qualia that left unresolved causes some kind of distress or dissonance. One word for that would be really useful. Or a word for a person that we don’t like but have to tolerate due to circumstances. A single word for that would be good. We have ‘friend’, ‘enemy’, ‘lover’, ‘acquaintance’ and so forth, so why not a word that means someone who is an unfortunate necessity? Also, we have the word ‘aspect’, as in an ‘aspect’ of an object, practice or situation, but no word for an aspect of something that causes misapprehension or confusion. A single word for that would be really helpful for expressing our thoughts. These descriptions may seem strange, but if these words already existed we would take them for granted. I think that if English, and other languages, were a little more finely discriminating in relation to more abstract notions, we would be able to communicate more efficiency, maybe even more joyfully. I’m sick of having to use whole sentences to communicate some kind of idea I know exists because I can feel it in my mind, just because there isn’t a single word for it, even though it’s something I encounter frequently in my everyday experience.

Cold Or Wet?

Don't you hate it when you don't know if something's cold or wet? I don't. I like it.

18

I have been watching Season 7 of terror-prevention/action borefest 24 these last few weeks, and have a good idea for a follow-up show. The new show will star Jack Bauer as before, except he's a really fat, lazy drunk who doesn't get up until two in the afternoon. We then watch as, in real time, he watches TV and drinks beer, occasionally getting up for a piss or to go the refridgerator for yet another beer. Some hours of the show are just him snoring on the couch with Friends or a wildlife documentary blaring on the TV set in front of him. The cliffhanger at the end of each episode usually involves whether his cigarette with set fire to the couch after he has passed out, or whether he will make it to the toilet in time to avoid wetting his pants. I was really happy when 24 came out, and I finally had a chance to watch a show in 'real time'. I sometimes, however, ruin the effect by pausing the DVD. The new show will be called '18', because Bauer always gets up really late and then passes out 18 hours later.

Let's Make Everything Into A Movie

When I was in elementary school one day I went for a really long dump, and took a notebook and some crayons with me. Whilst in the toilet, I filled about six pages with the adventures of a young superhero called Shoe In-Sole Man. Shoe In-Sole Man was born the day young Don Barrett stepped in some radioactive goo on the New York subway, and as a result the in-sole of his left sneaker grew and mutated into a separate being, Shoe In-Sole Man. Don himself doesn’t feature much in the story thereafter, except in a couple of scenes where you can see him pissing in the background with one shoe missing. Anyway, a few weeks ago I was surprised to learn that some Hollywood executives visiting my elementary school went into the bathroom and found my crudely drawn adventure. Amazed because they thought they had made everything into a movie already, they picked it up, shook off the piss and spent 50 million dollars to turn it into a blockbuster hit. It’s out next week.

Animals' Personalities

Sometimes, people talk about 'my dog's personality'. Shouldn't that be 'dogality'?

George Bush Is A Retard

I was watching a bunch of clips of ex-President George W. Bush the other day, and I can’t restrain myself from commenting on how retarded he really is. It’s not even like he’s naturally retarded. It’s more like he has BEEN retarded…on purpose…BY SOMEONE. In an experiment. But it looks like a comfortable type of retardation, like having two breakfasts, falling asleep in the bath and ending up with brain damage. He really, truly is a new and special breed of super-tard, the likes of which the world has seldom witnessed. He’s the sort of person who would wake up in the morning, put his left leg in his right pant leg, and then try to put his right leg in the same pant leg at the same time in order to correct the problem, only to realize that he hasn’t had a shower yet anyway. I like him.

Clone Cops

THIS SUMMER………..…RAY LIOTTA……………AND………….RAY LIOTTA…………….ARE…………………..CLONE COPS! This rotten action comedy stars Ray Liotta as a cop on the edge who clones himself after losing his partner in a bust gone wrong. Fuelled by sorrow and whiskey, Jack Farmer, Liotta’s character, turns to ex-CIA science maverick Kris Kristofferson, who clones him in a big machine with lots of lights on it. The rest of the film consists of Ray trying to keep his clone out of trouble because it doesn’t know how to speak or feed itself, and just shambles around the police station with its uniform only half on, clattering into suspects and piles of evidence and fiddling around with a loaded gun. The film does, however, set itself up for a good sequel as Farmer finally manages to train the clone to do some basic everyday things. The clone makes its first arrest in the final scene of the film, and then as the credits start to role and the soundtrack play the two Farmers look into the camera grinning, the clone Farmer with a substantial amount of drool collecting on its fat chin.

What Day Is It?

For about two weeks now I’ve been thinking it’s the day after it actually is. Today is Wednesday, but I’ve been thinking it’s Thursday all day. Tomorrow I will probably think it’s Friday all day long. Why the fuck does that happen? And why is it always the day after the day it is that you think it is, rather than the day before it is that you think it is? Eh? Why’s that, then? I think the only way to fix it would be to drink until I pass out for eight days, and then my internal clock will be correct. But if I did that I wouldn’t know what week it was any more, and the problem would be seven times worse. How does it happen in the first place? How do you end up thinking it’s a day after it actually it is? Maybe, when you think about the future, sometimes your brain gets snagged on something interesting and part of it fails to return to the present, like a piece of fluff on some Velcro.

Saving The World

I’ve been giving a lot of thought to the world’s problems recently, and have become convinced that I have all the answers. If you just stand in the shower for a couple of minutes and think, you will usually be able to come up with some kind of solution for even the trickiest of conundrums before you even replace the shampoo bottle. The first thing I would like to propose a solution to is the problem of nuclear weapons. Nuclear weapons, made with materials that were initially dug out of the ground, are very unpopular at the moment, and the world economy is bad with many people out of work, so why don’t we just pay the unemployed to put it all back? The weapons that have already been made can all be fired into each other in mid-air. We could deal with the environmental fallout from all of that by moving to another planet.

Why Hasn't Nicolas Cage Got Any Money?

I really don’t understand Nicolas Cage’s financial situation. I’m not an accountant, but I would imagine that he would have to have tried pretty hard to end up broke, given the amount of films he’s made. I mean, even if he’d got just one dollar for every piece of shit he ever made he should still be a multi-millionaire. If I was famous I would just hoard about ten million and stop working altogether. You could have a comfortable life living off the interest in some beach house somewhere, and keep yourself to yourself. There must be something deeply hollow for some people about being famous and getting a lot of money, because they go off the rails. It really pisses me off the number of times – and this is my own fault – I have paid hard-earned cash to watch that jug-eared nose on legs in a crappy movie, especially now that I discover that he took that money and pissed it up the wall. I personally must have given him a couple of hundred dollars over the years, and now he doesn’t even know where his next underwear is coming from. So, I guess he’ll have to change his name to Knickerless Cage.

Oh No!

I just found out my kids are adopted.

Fantasmagasmic Idea For A New Game Show!!!

I have a great idea for a new game show!! There are three guys with their dicks out, then a wall with three holes in it, and their mothers bent over on the other side. The contestants then have to answer questions, choosing between answers A, B and C. If they answer a question correctly, they don’t have to do anything, but if they WRONGLY answer A, they have to put their hard wang through hole A. If they wrongly answer B, they have to put it in hole B, and for a wrong answer C, hole C. Therefore, the more mistakes they make, the greater the chance they will eventually end up screwing their own ma. The show will be called STUPID MOTHERFUCKERS.

Science Series 2: The Earth's Atmosphere

The Earth’s atmosphere is a kind of massive chill-out zone, designed to support and nurture life. It is made up of 78% nitrogen, 21% oxygen, and 1% farts. Warm air tends to rise, whereas chilled or cold air often goes round and round in circles. The rotation of the Earth’s atmosphere is what spins the Earth itself round and round in space. There are four main layers in the atmosphere, much the same way as there are four layers in a cake that has four layers. These layers are called air piers, and are named The Tropical Zone, Mountain World, Kingdom Of Clouds, and Inner Space. Certain animals live in the air, and these are called birds. These animals are in the air because they are very light indeed, and are thus being slowly spun out into space by the centrifugal force created by our planet. Many people would like to explore the atmosphere, which has led to a recent boom in sales for sky map companies. The Earth is the only known planet with a breathable atmosphere. However, Esquire’s, the nightclub down the road from my house, also has a very nice atmosphere.

Tale Of The Pencils

Once upon a time, there lived some pencils in a little forest glade at the foot of a tall, scary mountain. The pencils lived together peacefully and happily, farming and eating together without conflict or any grudges between them. They lived in wonderful pencil cases propped up in the soft, fertile ground, and grew shorter by the year due to their annual sharpening, which took place at a ceremony. Life was good, except for one ominous shadow, cast over the small community (which didn’t move around because it was stationery) by a castle halfway up the mountain, which belonged to a terrible, mean old wizard who rode around on a fire-breathing dragon. The wizard seldom came down the mountain, but when he did, he burned up all of the pencils’ crops with the dragon’s fiery breath. Pencils don’t eat anything, so it didn’t really matter. It was more the principle of the thing, and the fact that sometimes the fire spread to their tiny abodes, burning them down and destroying all of their property. Once, a pencil had even died in one of these senseless attacks. So, understandably, the pencils were all terrified.
Luckily for the pencils, on the other side of the mountain there lived a certain 1980’s pop group, who, when they heard the wizard launch one of his attacks, would come charging round the foot of the mountain on their motorbikes, the revving of which was the only thing that would scare the dragon away. One day, the wizard decided to launch his most fearsome attack yet, so he mounted the dragon, which had been drinking loads of coffee, and charged down the mountainside with a sword in each flailing hand. However, the 1980’s pop group had been secretly watching the wizard’s preparations for several days, and had spent the time building an electrical pulse canon. When the wizard reached the tiny pencil village, they charged in with the weapon held high and blew the wizard clean over the village, over the dense surrounding forest, over the vast desert beyond, and into the dark cursed lake of Anwalan with a mighty SPLASH! And that’s why pencils have Erasure.

Poem About Digital TV

Two slow silver shining ticks of awe,
The old coal company bores a tunnel,
Through the birthday cake,
Light studiously avoiding every place,
Where the frog landed,
A silent army of concrete tractors,
Half of which sport their elevation,
As proudly as a boy with his new turtle,
Come back to bed! purrs the fiancee,
With the charm of an oily snake,
Wrapped around a tin can,
There’s too much fur to flush it all down the toilet,
And there’s only so much you can take,
She cries a stream of pills back into the bottle,
A young girl takes his arm, and later puts it back with the rest of him,
Beady ears bob like a cat’s on the bough,
A bomb at the fishery,
Disturbs the game at match point,
Policemen screech up with their windows down,
Laughing half-drunk bottles peel their labels off,
And fornicate in the shadows,
A grandmother has her second daughter killed,
And something cold happens to the sky,
No one must ever see my nob!!

I Hate Tom Cruise

I hate Tom Cruise. He’s not just a dickhead, he’s a Moby Dickhead. I don’t know if it’s the preppy, Reaganite vibes that radiate from his every smile, or the way he claps his hands and shouts ‘Wooooh’ when he gets excited in his earlier films. But I hate him. I hate his Scientology, his creepy proclamations of love for his child bride, and, most of all, his obvious belief that he has talent of some kind. He doesn’t. His acting is awful. He hasn’t made a half-decent film in years. He has no charm on screen or off. I remember this one time, in London, someone shot him with a water pistol, and rather than laugh like a normal person, he kept saying ‘Why would you do that? Why would you do that? You’re an asshole.’ He made the guy who shot him apologise, and the spineless fool did. If I had shot Tom Cruise, and he’d asked me why I did it, I would have said ‘Because I assumed you had a sense of humour, you short prick.’

Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand

On several occasions, someone has recommended that I read Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand. As a result, I have decided to make a point of not reading it.

I'm The Vitaman!!

Seriously! I have been eating so many fucking vitamins recently!! You wouldn’t believe it. I was quite unhealthy before but now I’m just Vitamin City, and I am also the mayor. I’m the fucking Vitaman!! Vitamins give you a serious boost of energy, not to mention aliveness. People who don’t eat vitamins die. And they deserve it. Vitamin A! Vitamin B! C! D! E! Give me more! Give me all the vitamins I can handle. I want to eat every vitamin in the world, and leave none for anyone else. You can all crawl around searching in vain for vitamins, because I will have eaten them all! This blog gives you vitamin B. And vitamin L. And vitamin O. And vitamin G! If you ever run low on these vitamins, just read this BLOG! Many people say WW3 will be over oil, or water, but I think it will be over vitamins, and I will be a total sea warrior, the primary air viking, murderous vitamin master coming at ya full strength one time, raiding from land, and the ocean, and from space. Who the fuck needs ‘roids when you’ve got the pure fuel boost of raw vitamins right to the mainline? Eat your greens.

Tarantino's Next Film

I think this is what Tarantino should do for his next project. A shot-for-shot remake of one of his own films, using the same actors as before but now much older, and with his massive chin protruding into every shot. This new ‘chin-cam’ approach would allow us to view the film as a kind of window into the experience of making a film as Quentin Tarantino. They could put a short documentary section on the beginning and at the end, recreating how he originally made the film, allowing us an insight into his creative process. First, you would see Quentin watching a bunch of old films with a memo pad on the table in front of him. Then, he would be shown dialling actors purely at random, thus giving him a perfect sampling of has-beens, unknowns and one or two really famous people. Next come a few Tarantino-style script-writing sessions. He writes a normal scene, for example someone buying a loaf of bread, and then he feeds it through his patented DSD – Dialogue Stretching Device – in order to make the movie long enough for theatrical release. Interestingly, Tarantino’s name was originally Quentin Tantino, until he accidentally dropped his surname into said device. The last stage in the process involves Tarantino whacking a few songs from the 70’s onto a few random scenes so that they make the leap from unremarkable to iconic, and then slapping together a trailer which consists of the name of the film and all the actors, as well as the three coolest lines in the script.

Naggers In The House

I have decided to write, record and release a hip-hop song, using the sick flavours that reside in my off-the-hook street chromosomes. The song will be called ‘Naggers In The House’. Each verse will be sung by a man doing an irritating woman’s voice, complaining. The lyrics will be something along the lines of ‘You leave your shoes at the bottom of the stairs/You don’t care/You said you’d go to the gym/But you haven’t been’, and so on and so on, as she generally complains about her boyfriend letting himself go and leaving the house in a mess. The chorus will be like ‘Naggers in the house!! All my naggers in the house!! Naggers in the house!! Naggers in the house!!’, or something equally sophisticated. I do happen to be white, but that hasn’t hurt Eminem. Also, I am still quite young, which means I could have a long and fruitful music career working within the hip-hop genre, until I get shot and killed by some East Coast bitches. So, record companies, come and sign me up! I’ll be bringing the ruffneck flow 24/7, non-stop, even though I always be knowin’ what time it is. Bookah!

Another Idea For A Reality TV Show

Twelve young, attractive girls are placed in a house full of cameras for ten weeks, much like the show Big Brother. There are no men in the house, and the thermostat is always up really high. They don't have anything to eat except for oysters, and nothing to drink except champagne. The air of the house is dosed regularly with pheromones, and soft music plays constantly, especially at night. There is a hot tub in the garden, and a number of small private rooms with very comfortable beds. The hope, obviously, is that, deprived of men and in such an arousing environment, the women will start to change in their proclivities and become more amenable to certain male-free activities, which would also make great television. 'Watch The Girls Go Bi' would air every Friday night, just in time to catch the after-bar crowd before they pass out.

The Grudge

When I was boy I used to study very hard. I would stay up late every night, trying to get the grades I needed to go to one of the best universities. A lot my friends had beautiful girlfriends, and went to parties, but I always stayed in, poring over biology or history or French, trying to make something of myself. My friend Jake, on the other hand, was a real ne’er-do-well. He never applied himself in class, and got everything he needed from life by dint of his looks and charm. He always had a girl on his arm, and a beer in his hand. How jealous I was! But I kept telling myself that I was working hard and making a decent future for myself, whereas Jake would one day be flipping burgers. However, Jake and I were friends, and I sometimes helped him with his assignments.
Then came the end of the school year, and it was time for us to sit our exams. I was next to Jake, and we told each other ‘good luck’ as we sat down. The test started, and about halfway through I noticed that Jake was glancing over at my desk. He was copying my answers. I tried to signal to him to stop, but he just waved me away, whispering ‘It’s cool’. After all those long nights studying at home while he was out partying, it didn’t feel right that he should pass now by copying from me.
A few days after the test we were both summoned to the principal’s office. He took out our test sheets and showed us how we had chosen the exact same answers for every question. Even a few silly mistakes I had made showed up in the same places on his paper. I was furious, but I didn’t want to get my friend in trouble, so I insisted that it must be a coincidence, and so did he. We were both expelled.
Being expelled threw me into a deep and lasting depression. I couldn’t get out of bed. I couldn’t eat. I could hardly smoke. But it was the best thing that ever happened to Jake. Being expelled finally faced him to take a look at his life, and he really pulled his act together. He opened his own shop, selling skateboards and clothes, and turned it into a nationwide chain. He is now a multi-millionaire who still gets all the women, while I still live with my mother, eating frozen food and farting under my Masters Of The Universe duvet. I used to resent Jake so much, but now I have a plan to make everything better. Sometimes people say that holding a grudge is like taking poison and expecting the other person to die, the moral being that if you have a grudge you should actually do something about it.

Balloon Boy

I think the recent balloon boy hoax would have been much better if they had claimed that their child had turned into a balloon, rather than was inside one. I would have ordered a big silver balloon like the ones you see at festivals, and then drawn a face on it with my left hand in marker pen. Then I would have released it and called the media. I would give interviews saying that my son had been claiming he was unhappy and planning to run away for some time, and that I hadn't believed him until the day I opened his bedroom door with a breakfast tray in my hand just in time to see him wobble merrily out of the window and spin off into the sky. I would say that my son had taken recently to eating spoons, which must be where he was getting the metallic content necessary for his shiny new head, and he had been practicing drawing faces with a marker pen when he should have been doing his chemistry homework. I would then write a book filled with beautiful anecdotes of happier times, searching desperately through my memories of his childhood for any sign that he may one day grow discontent and transform into a balloon. I see this lost balloon boy son of my imagination as a haunting metaphor for the desperate triviality of modern life, for the shimmering beauty of our dreams, and for how lost we all are as we reach for the sky. I wonder if a doctor could helium.

Evolution

In the beginning, the Earth was nothing but a dead ball of rock, drifting through space. And then, one day, we evolved. With the aid of our superior technology, we eventually defeated the dinosaurs and became masters of the planet. But how, exactly did we evolve? That's a very good question. Let's take a look...We are made of something called AMINO acids. That's why we're called AMInals. At the start, there was nothing but empty water and land, and then these amino acids started gathering randomly, by chance, to make bigger and bigger, and more complex forms of life. Some of these creatures lived on a meat diet, which means they ate one another. Others had a vegetarian diet, which means they ate only vegetarians.

The above is the history of evolution, as agreed upon by most scientists. I think the job they are doing is wonderful, but I have a few complaints. For a start, there are several things that I need them to invent, in order to make my life funnier. Firstly, I want a giant hand that makes a honking sound every time it comes in contact with a female breast. Secondly, I would like something called a 'monkeyscope'. These haven't been made yet, and I don't know what they are, but it's a fantastic word. Another word I love is 'ne'er-do-well'. Thirdly, I want a device that automatically detects my mood and makes the air around me smell a way that will soothe me and keep me calm. Fourthly, do you remember The Matrix? I want someone to invent something to go back in time and erase the sequels.

Favourite Colours

Most people have a favourite colour, but no one gives a shit about shapes. Most people couldn't tell you what their favourite shape is. If a young girl or a woman's favourite colour is pink, and you go into her bedroom, everything will be pink. But you never go in someone's room and see a load of fucking triangles. I think shapes are as much an important part of our lives as colours, maybe even more important. For example, in these egalitarian times, woman don't care what colour a man's dick is, but they certainly care about the shape. Another example. If you drive a car that's a crazy colour, everyone will just think you are a prick, but if you drive a car that's shaped like a starfish wearing glasses you'll be the best person ever to live. Bar none. It's not as abstract as it sounds, either. A lot of musicians have a favourite note. Most people have a favourite time of day, or time of the year. So, why doesn't anyone ever ask, 'Hey man, by the way, what's your favourite shape?'. If you were meeting a woman for a romantic evening, you could bring her something that was her favourite shape to make her happy. Like, 'Darling, this rhombus is for you'. My favourite shape is the shape of tits.

Reincarnation

People will pay for any old crap, so I've decided to open a 'reincarnagency', where they can come in and pay me to perform some bogus rite guaranteeing that they'll come back as a certain thing or type of person. They can choose from a catalogue which has pictures of birds and dolphins and Harvard professors and the like, and then pay me a fee to make sure that's what they come back as. I'll then start chanting and sprinkling piss all over them with soft music playing. When it's all done, I'll smile warmly and say 'Enjoy your next life as a gibbon', or whatever they've chosen. I'll even sell them lives as people who have already died, if they're stupid enough. So, if they want to come back as Hitler or Little Lord Faulkneroy, they can cough up some cash the same as all the people who want to be trees and whales and so on.
I think it would be good if people just started being the animal they want to be in their next life now. I mean, why wait? I think if there's some Harvard professor who wants to be a tapir or a big smelly goat he should just start walking around tomorrow, screaming 'NYAAAAAA!' at random moments. Animals seem to do that sometimes. Just scream 'RAAAAAAHHH!!!!' for no reason. I think it's brilliant. I think shouting at random times is like the definition of true freedom. But I can understand why lions and tigers roar. It's usually when they're angry or frightened. But birds just seem to sing for no reason. Maybe they are all gay and think they're in a musical.

Idea for a Reality TV Show

I have an idea for a good reality TV show. About ten contestants have to go through their everyday lives, going to work, seeing their partners, going to the cinema and so on, but they aren't allowed to wash. They can brush their teeth, but they can't use soap, deodorant, face wash, perfume or anything like that. They can wipe after they take a dump, but that and the toothpaste are it. They can't go swimming either. And they can't tell anyone why they have stopped taking care of themselves. The show would follow them around, documenting their lives as they fell apart for our amusement. Picture it. Boy gets dumped by his new girlfriend for smelling like a rotten fart. Girl loses her fiance because she hasn't put soap near her cock wallet for weeks. Boss loses the respect of his staff because his skin is falling off in sheets. The show would be called Stinkers, and would be on TV around dinner time.

New Invention

I've had a wicked idea for a new invention that could be made and marketed, given a sufficient advance in neuroscientific techniques. It would be a chip or something like that that goes in your brain. It would be connected by radio waves or whatever to a small fleshy button in the palm of your hand. The idea is that if you make a decision, and then slap your palm into your forehead, you can't change your mind. You HAVE to do it. If you don't follow through on what you've decided, you start to shut down like Robocop when he tries to disobey Directive 4. So, if you want to stop smoking, or lose weight, all you have to do is decide in your mind and then smack yourself in the forehead. There's no logical reason why it should be your forehead. For the sake of argument, it could be your nuts instead.

I'll bet by now you've thought of an obvious drawback to this device. Getting it inside your brain is difficult. Well, don't worry! It would come packaged with a set of instructions that even your granny could understand. And a small axe.

I think this device would make the world a better place. All I need is about forty million dollars for research and development. Unfortunately, I don't have forty million dollars. That's where YOU come in. I would be really, really grateful if you could find someone with forty million dollars and tell them about my idea. Thanks.

Obama Again

Chaos Theory

Here's the thing about chaos theory. Actually, I hate the expression 'Here's the thing about X'. As if there's only one thing to be said about something, like 'Here's the thing about the universe...It exists'. But what seems strange about chaos theory is that, although it's a theory about how seemingly unrelated events might influence each other, the example is always something like a butterfly flapping its wings and then a bridge collapsing. Why is it always a small event indirectly causing a big one? Actually, I don't know anything about chaos theory. Is chaos theory always when something small causes something slightly bigger and then slightly bigger again until something massive results? That can't be true. Because then every tiny event would spiral out of control and combine together into a raging whirlwind that destroyed the world. If it's only very few small events that snowball into much bigger ones, then who cares about the theory at all? Fuck it, I say, if a butterfly farting occasionally causes an earthquake. If it happens so seldom, then it's insignificant. And even if someone fucking up a skateboard trick led to 9-11, it's not like anyone could have guessed and done anything about it. So that leaves us with influence in both directions, from the small to the big and the big to the small. If that were the case, and it works both ways, shouldn't we sometimes hear examples like 'If a bridge collapses, somewhere a butterfly is flapping its wings'? Or, 'Maybe, World War 2 made my dog fall the river'. I might read a book about chaos theory.

Obama's Nobel Peace Prize

Why do I have to work?

Why do I have to work? It's stupid. Everyone's stupid except me. Why can't they just give me some money every month for doing nothing, and then I can just do whatever I want every day? In fact, why do I have to do anything? If I just stopped altogether, I wonder how long I would last. I reckon if I just lay on my side in bed like a sausage and didn't do anything my mum would start coming over and feeding me and opening my mail for me. She'd have to push the food into my mouth with a kid's plastic spoon, and then rub my throat like when the vet wants a dog to swallow some medicine. I wouldn't even make the effort to go to the toilet. I'd just let people turn me over and hose down the bed when it got full of turds. The mail would just pile up. At first, people would come and open the mail and then place it next to me in bed, but then it would slowly dawn on them that even then I didn't intend to do anything about it. So, if was a cheque or something, they'd have to cash it for me. If it was a bill, they'd have to take it to the post office and pay it. I think the ideal situation would actually be to be fully conscious and on life-support, so you can still watch DVDs and stuff while the machine breathes for you. Also, I want something that will blink my eyes or keep my eyeballs moist for me. I didn't ask to be born, so I don't see why I should be subjected to all this shit every day.

Try singing the alphabet song, but with random letters instead of in order. It's really difficult.

Gash Things About Work

I have to go to work today. One thing that's rubbish about work is that you can't fart whenever you want. Some people get away with having a certain obnoxious character trait just because they are them, and everyone's used to it. For example, there's some guy who is really sexist but he's of a different generation so everyone just shrugs and lets him do it. But there's no way you can fart and pick your nose and eat it at work. Picking your nose is one of the last tabboos in society. Even women who admit to masturbating don't admit to eating their own snot when no one's around. You can't even discuss it with people. It's like interracial marriage in Victorian England probably was. But everyone does it! I don't.

Here's one of the film ideas I came up with while I was daydreaming the other day, but not at work:

Vin Diesel plays a man who has his memory erased by a terminator. The only way he can get it back is to kill his past self and consume his own brain, so he has to build a time machine out of meat and old car engines he finds at a radioactive dump at a former nuke testing site in the desert. However, the test site is guarded by a tribe of forgotten rebels called the Sub-Humans because they live subterraneously. They agree to help if he will first travel to the north pole in order to bring back the ancient crystal of Xygor, which is inside the Dark Lord's overcoat, so he has to wake the Dark Lord and do battle with him, get the crystal, give it to Sub-humans in order to get them to build his time machine, go back to the past and eat his own brain to get his memory back. Except when he gets back to the past he can't remember where he used to live because his memory has been erased, and he just gets murdered over the twelve dollars in his back pocket.