I'm thinking of taking a hammer to my laptop: could be sort of liberating. Or maybe I should just give it to a kid. Also, I might go down Trafalgar Square
You know what the problem is? Last week I had the chance to go and visit an uncle of mine who owns a chicken house near Tewkesbury - but the price of the train ticket went up at the last minute (to more than twenty quid!) and so I thought, blow that. Instead, I found a bus going to Aldershot for £1.60 and being as I know this gypsy farmer who lives down there and who's always told me I could do stay for free I thought I'd give that a go. And that's where the problems began...
...I thought I liked him; but I was wrong - it just turned out that I didn't know him properly. I thought, you know, this guy's got a lovely farm, fourteen-hundred head of cattle, good cheese, his life's all sewn up. He even drives a convertible Mustang - the car of my dreams. I guess I wanted to be him - but then he turned out to be a complete arse. It seems like they all are. Now I'm wishing I'd never set out on my voyage to the sun. But I think I might have sailed a bit too far to ever get down again.
The other problem is - and I hesitate to say this, knowing your background and everything - is the goddamned Jews. Or, rather, not the Jews but people who keep banging on about the holocaust, Auschwitz this, Hitler that - blah blah blah. It right gets on my tits. So Farmer Joe (I've changed the name to protect the innocent) is right in the middle of a holocaust movie season - back to back, 24/7 - and there's me a year to the day having vowed never to watch another holocaust movie in my life. I'm just like: enough already! I feel like the child that woke up especially early to sneak in under the tree to eat all the Christmas chocolates - ie, sick. I just really really really think, like, why don't we just get over it? What's done is done and all that. Also, whenever I see an orthodox Jew - penguins, as my friend Mandir calls them - I really want to cut their hair. Isn't that terrible? And that's just the start of it!
Well you've really opened a can of worms now. I've also got this little yelping dog that's been following me everywhere. He keeps jumping up and nipping at my ear every fifteen seconds or so and it's really getting me down. But I do love him too. Or, rather, I'm sort of used to him; I think I'd feel a little bit empty if he wasn't there. Every now and then I feel like kicking him in the head and throwing him over a bush but I, of course, repress that urge, and stick it deep right down in the bowels of my body where I'm hoping it'll one day resurface as colon cancer of the very worst kind, if I'm lucky. Either that or I might strap a 2 by 4 to the back of my neck: anything to buy a ticket off this place.
Phew. Well that feels a bit better. But what of the rest of it? Those interplanetary troubles I kept hinting at? For it seems that some sort of weird-ass being has been creeping up on me in the night and trying to inject his semen (or something) into the back of my neck. I really can't tell whether it's good or bad. Or if I've brought it on myself. Do you think it's got something to do with that bumcrack spanner I bought the other week? No doubt there's some connection there.
Well, I mean, I suppose I could go forever about this. About the bloody Himalayans trying to poach my backdoor eggs every second Thursday. About the day last week when I got caught up in the back legs of a horse and had to follow him all over bloody London while he went on pointless errands which turned out to be more or less about him wanting to merely appear to be doing something when all he was doing was filling time before his upcoming death (though some years off in the distance). Clapham Junction at rush hour! You ain't never seen nothin' like it. Made me want to puke little bits of plastic all over everyone's umbrellas.
You know what we should do? We should all go and live in a commune in a field somewhere and just spend the whole day, day after day, just pissing on each other. Imagine it! Piss piss piss piss piss, day after day, year after year. We'd get old and some of us would die - and we'd just keep on pissing. Pissing and laughing. And people would come from far and wide and stand and wonder - and some would join, and many would shake their heads - opening minds! raising awareness! - and we'd just keep on pissing. I've seen the future baby! And it looks and stinks and tastes like - and is, in fact - piss.
Thank you for listening: you've given me hope. Hope that I can raise myself up. Hope that I can one day eat a biscuit without soiling myself. And hope that - maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon, and for the rest of everyone's lives - this planet will become a place where little black boys can piss on little white girls without people jabbering their fists and throwing manky onions at them. I mean, that's all anyone really wants, right? Oh, I can't tell you how long I've dreamed of that!
PS Anyone needs a tap fixin', come to me. Ignore Jim. Last time he tried to fix a tap he got a load of people pregnant and caused widespread panic among several million Glaswegians. Not to mention Rwanda
That made me want to punch the screen: I been thinkin' o' this for months. I can just see myself, when it happens - bam! bam! - and then I'll go rushing off into the forest and launch myself right up in one mighty bound to the top of some tree - and from there, onto a cloud. Whoosh! Whoosh! Flying now through the air all grinning glorious and glee for the liberation of laptop imprisonment. Don't flying sound groovy? But first I gotta take that step...
No comments:
Post a Comment