MA CREATIVE JUICES ARE FLOWING!

When one's creative juices are flowing like the stormy seas being poured forth from the cup of the Gods over the lands, I believe one should write. Or type. Or somehow release these magical energies into a neanderthal's left boxing glove. No, not his good pair, the slightly small ones made of sabre-tooth fur.

 Okay, now that we've got all that sensical tedium out of the way, let's talk about what really matters in society today. Puns. Puns are fun, that's why they rhyme. Don't even ask why Reich and bike rhyme, that way doth Madness lie. So unless you like their hits such as "Baggy Trousers" "House of Fun" and "It Must be Love", then i definitely wouldn't recommend it. If you do, well can you ask them why dyke also rhymes with that? And I mean the canals, not the lesbians.

Anyway, who do you think coined the term "dike" for lesbians? Let's look it up. No, wait, even better, and much more logical and rationally, let's guess. Maybe it's because in the Netherlands all the lesbians congregate to the dykes for lesbian activities such as golf and scissoring, so they were called, in Dutch "Dikengathereren". When the English and American peeps came over to Dutch-land to fight the power of love, they shortened this word to "dike", and thus the term was born. You're welcome.

Now, let's return to the original topic of this post: Jesus. Jesus is a great man. He fought bravely for what he believed he should fight for. Ahh, yes, Jesus, aka AAron Aguilera, a wrestler who during his time in the WWE made up 'Los Conquistadores' with Uno. Didn't expect that shit of a knowledge bomb, did ya?

Okayokayokay, this time, something actually substantial. Let's go for silly similes. Or silliles. Not to be confused with the Sill Isles, just off the Window Peninsula or the Sillilillies, a particularly foolish plant. Wordplay is fun. As is other stuff that rhymes with it, such as birdplay, curdplay, Kyrgplay and the much under-appreciated Microsoft Zune. I kid, nobody likes the zune. I don't even know what it looks like/is. Seriously.

You may have noticed that at the beginning of each paragraph i mention something, but by the second sentence i get distracted. Let me tell you why. When a man and another man love each other very much but not in a way where they want to put various things in each other, they usually eventually end up buying a small Chilean man together, cruelly naming him Jorge (no, Jorge!). Now, like a giant wood in summer with a couple of tits perched on it, this is slightly dirty. Except the simile was much dirtier. Especially considering that birds rarely bathe, and when they do it's in those little bird-bath things filled with rain water and other bird's shit.

Okay, enough for now, I'm not sure if anyone will read all this random shit. But my creative juices are flowing, all around my mouth and starting to drip down my chin. Now I have to do that thing where you kind of wipe it away with your wrist, but you're holding the juicy fruit in that hand and fencing against a young Singaporean Rapscallion armed with a fine Toledo blade with the other.

Don't do drugs, kids. And don't do kids. Young goats have enough on their plates.

I'm bored, so i wrote a song!

...about Gordon Brown. Actually I just changed a few of the lyrics to Golden Brown.

Gordon Brown, texture like snow,
Always sad- for all that he knows.
During the day,
laugh though he may
Always a frown with Gordon Brown.

Everytime, just like the last,
Troll like face shows his scars past,
outside he's hard,
like Charizard.
Always a frown, with Gordon Brown

Gordon Brown, quite a temptress,
Though he failed to charm Nick Clegg.
So did he go
on the morrow
Always a frown, with Gordon Brown

Always a frown, with Gordon Brown
Always a frown, with Gordon Brown
Always a frown, with Gordon Brown
Always a frown, with Gordon Brown

And there you have it. A song about Gordon Brown. With a pokemon reference.

I miss him. Sometimes at night I think about him and just hug my pillow tighter that much tighter....

ANYWAY, I enjoyed doing that, so I'll probably end up doing another parody thing with someone else. Maybe even the G Meister himself again, you never know. 

SUCCESS! (partially)

That's right, my letter to Glenda Jackson has received recognition! Admittedly not from her yet, but from her office. Something about Parliament anyway. Well, here's the reply:

Dear Mr Shapiro,

Thank you for contacting Glenda Jackson. Unfortunately, we do not have a record of your postal address. We request this for two reasons. Firstly, to confirm that you are indeed Glenda's constituent as Parliamentary protocol prevents us acting on behalf of a non-constituent. Secondly, when we contact another agency or Department with an enquiry, they usually respond in writing and we would like to pass their response on to you.

Given that your email indicated a high level of personal distress, I suggest you contact http://www.britmycolsoc.org.uk/Who may be able to give you mushroom related advice.

Best Wishes,

Mrs Rebecca HenneyParliamentary Assistant to Glenda Jackson MP
T: 020 7219 4008
M: 07507 864 873
F: 020 7219 2112

Good, eh? However, as you may have noticed if you clicked on her link, it led to a website about real mushrooms, which, as we all know, are infinitely less cool. Here's my reply, it's short and boring, but I'm hoping it'll get the job done.

I live in [CENSORED, I LIVE HERE, DON'T YOU INTERNET RAPISTS BE FOLLOWING ME. THAT'S RIGHT, I'M LOOKING AT YOU] . And I'd like to clarify that the mushroom in question whose disappearance I am outraged at was in fact a plastic mushroom, not a biological one. Thank you very much for your time.Chris Shapiro

So we now just play the waiting game... again...

Also note that I tried to be polite and not go way over the top, because I want my suggestion taken seriously. Just because it's jokes.

Abusing Democracy

Well, I realised that this weekend I had a slew of homework to do, I though I should write a letter of complaint to my local on a matter which has affected me deeply. Here is the letter I sent:

Dear Ms Jackson,
I am a concerned member of the Hampstead and Kilburn society, who has recently been outraged by a travesty that has occurred in the area. This cruel abomination has wreaked untold havoc upon my life, and a journey which I make twice a day has become a painful odyssey, though for me it used to be a calming and relaxing part of my day. As a result of this horror I have felt much more stressed out and depressed than I ever used to! I know I am not the only person to be affected by this loathsome offence, as I have discussed the matter with many people who have also had their minds torn asunder due to the severity of this inhumane atrocity. I would rather live under a Napoleonic dictatorship than be part of a society which allows such a sordid and vile thing! I believe such an act should be punishable in the same way that disregarding the Geneva Convention is, and that the perpetrator of the crime should be forced to recompense all those affected by his reprehensible offence!
I think you know exactly what I'm talking about. Yes, the red mushroom which previously stood on the wall opposite the Spaniard's Inn just before the phone box has been removed! I am sure that this isn't the only letter you will receive about this, as I am well aware that the Spaniard's Road is used by a plethora of people on their daily journeys, who used to enjoy their routines but now must make Herculean efforts to repeat it daily. This hellish torment must end, and I must regrettably inform you that if this travesty is not addressed, I would be unable to bring myself to vote for you again. I feel as though I am suddenly being interrogated by some sort of Spanish Inquisition, and as I did not expect this, it is doubly troubling. 
I believe that this vile act of vandalism must be repaired! Though I accept that to rebuild such a monument will surely take time, if it is not replaced by September, I will be forced to move out of the constituency, and maybe even the borough itself. I do not mean to place such a burden upon your shoulders, one which even Atlas would be unable to carry, but it is these weighty issues which you, as an upstanding and proud member of the community, has chosen to tackle, and I commend you for it! 
Many thanks, Chris

 Yeah, so I'll tell you all how that goes. Apparently she's legally obliged to reply to me, which makes it all the more fun. And apologies to Dan for not including him in this, I thought it would just take too long, and we do need this subject to be addressed as soon as possible. This took precedence over coursework. Plus I can do this without being a hypocrite because democracy is stupid and too romantic a political notion to work properly, like communism, but much, much, much, much, much, much, much, much, much, much, much, much, much, much, much less stupid. Because everything is.

Literally pure filler

Well, since I haven't done a blog post for almost a month and am currently so hungover that I'm trying to book a flight to the Dignitas clinic in Switzerland [EDTIOR'S NOTE: not to be confused with whatever abomination this is] (don't know why I linked either of those), I thought I should do one before the full month. In a humble gesture towards Matty, Ben and Dan, who've all done stupid blog posts, I'm going to do a combination of them all, and write about one of my days last summer, in a really sarky tone, which is completely fictional and has undertones which imply that I'm a disturbed psychopath. Not that you get generally normal and fine psycopaths. Hmm, that could open itself up to a massive tangent... but it won't.

SO, last summer I went to...um... the unforgettable...Canada (it's the middle way between Poland and America), and loads of DEAD BABIES WHICH I SEE EVERYWHERE kept implying to me that they wanted to know what happened (obviously they were implying it, I'm not just a massive cock who thinks that jokes are all subtle implications of something. A cigar is never a cigar either). So I decided, completely originally and not at all in a way which piggybacks off of an age-old idea, to write about my best and worst day, because since I left nursery school (for strangling the hampsters) I've missed doing stupid redundant exercises about my holidays.

Well I say it's my worst day, it's still a day which I will cherish, because it's helped form me in a way which isn't overused by everyone and so incredibly cheesy that lactose-intolerant people can't even be near. So, I'd been staying with a friend I met on this online forum for a few days, and I was meant to head on to a far-removed shack in the woods owned by another friend I'd met online, though I met this friend here. Anyway, so in the morning I woke up needing the toilet, so I had to make my way to the outhouse, carefully avoiding all the dead squirrels we had tortured and left to die in the garden the night before(as you do), and as I was doing this, I tripped on an amputated squirrel arm, and fell straight into the mud! But it was really great and I got in touch with nature, so I was not at all annoyed.

Anyway, after I left the house, on my way to get the bus, I passed a really close friend of mine I'd had chats with on this internet forum, and I decided to run away from him to avoid an awkward conversation, because I'm like that. Luckily, he's in a wheelchair, so I was soon able to escape him, but I realised that in the process of running, I'd become lost. I checked my phone for GPS, but being a massive idiot, I'd let it run out of battery! Let me stress how much of an idiot I was here. I was in a foreign country where I didn't really know anyone well, except from the internet, and I'd forgotten to do this basic single thing which would have made my life SO much easier. Wow. So. Fucking. Dumb.

So, I kept on asking people where the bus stop was, but people didn't seem like they knew, they'd avoid looking into my eyes and would mumble "sorry, I don't know" as I wandered around, dead half-eaten (by me) camel-baby slung across my shoulder. So I started walking around, but I couldn't find it myself! Eventually a homeless person, who later introduced himself to me as Crack-pipe Rick, stopped me as I was following the helpfully placed signs which said "bus stop" and indicated a direction, and told me that the government were lying to us with those signs, and not to trust them. To me, I assumed that his explanation was probably more logical and likely than the idea that I couldn't follow a simple fucking arrow system. Anyway, he told me to follow him to the bus stop, so I did, because that isn't how at least 90% of missing people are found dead in a river. We got to the stop, with a brief detour as he stole all my money and raped me-which I have to admit, I enjoyed- but as the last bus had already gone, I decided the best and most logical thing to do here was to tie myself down to the bus stop and sleep. However someone unzipped one of my bags and just took all the stuff out of it, and unfortunately for my later pleasure, it was my camera which he stole, full of pictures from the squirrel re-enactment of the Spanish Inquisition from the previous night.

I didn't sleep well because i kept on rolling onto my bag, and the cat which I kept in there to vent my frustrations, sexual or violent, on kept on miaowing really loudly. Eventually a bus came, which I promptly got on, which was swell. I was planning on catching up on my beauty sleep on this bus, as I was well tired from running away from my crippled compadre, but there were loads of interesting people on the bus who I spoke to. I met a black man who helpfully told me all about the break mechanism and all the terrible scenarios that would play out if they failed, an asian woman who told me she was an aspiring actress before offering me a handjob for twenty dollars or head for fifty, and a group of drug addicts who were going to knife a businessman for money for their next hit. IT WAS SO AWESOME.

Anyway, when I got off the bus my friend called me [ED: please don't complain about continuity here] and told me I couldn't stay in his cabin tonight, which was a weird call, because I heard a woman in the background screaming "Help me! Please! Don't kill me! What are you going to do with that knife?" So I wistfully smiled and said sure, I'd join him tomorrow, and went around looking for somewhere to stay. As I was short of cash, I decided to whore myself out as a nice, healthy 17 year-old boy. I tried 3 or 4 people, but they all asked me how old I was and if I knew that prostitution, especially child prostitution, was illegal, upon which point I promptly ran away. What dicks. Eventually though I got a client, and I just slept over at his house.

I was going to do my good day after this, but I'm such a massive dick that I won't, I'll just do it later. Now I have to go pluck all the feathers from a sparrow which got caught in my trap, then throw it in water to see how its birdsong changes.

Rant #1: DC's BS

First in a series of little rants. Enjoy.

David Cameron's "Big Society" is a society where the people help run their local governments and can therefore tailor their needs. It means that people will vote for the actual party they want to vote for, rather than being torn between self-interest in their local government and their higher political ideals. Now, as political philosophy goes, great idea I guess, improving the voting system, making everything more democratic. But, as Mr Newton constantly reminds us in his set (especially Jack Cohen), politics has to be practically sound as well. That's why democracy completely falls flat on its arse, but that's a rant for another time. Anyway, let's look at this from a more realistic perspective. What Cameron is doing is, for all intents and purposes, removing any party policy from mattering in local politics, as well as making the local politician a puppet to the outspoken in the community who decide to harass him into voicing their opinions. Which I guess is what English democracy needs. But then the local politician becomes redundant. So why pay him so much? Or at all? And surely the whole idea behind the big society, put into layman's terms is just a typical childish tantrum, saying "Well if you're going to make fun of me while I'm doing it, I'm not playing any more! You do it!"

The whole point of a local politician is to run things while OTHER PEOPLE DO THEIR JOBS. I mean getting everyone to pitch in and help is a lovely idea and all, but so is giving everyone a jet-pack so we can all fly around everywhere, but we all know that's stupid. So what we're doing is letting the guy who's supposed to be running our borough relax while everyone else does the work. Which is basically like splitting the country up into tiny, really shit autocratic states, whose rulers are basically puppets who get paid to do nothing. So just scaled down version of England as it is now.

The professional politician, the expert, is being told to stand down so that the people he's meant to be helping can basically do whatever they want. Now, does nobody see how imbecilic that is? How about we introduce this to all aspects of life? Instead of having doctors who actually know what they're doing and are part of the NHS, we should just get everyone who wants to pitch in come round the hospitals and give the diagnoses on patients and tell the professional doctors what to prescribe them and which operations to perform on them! That's a great idea!

Don't think so? No shit.

(Also love how Big Society can be abbreviated to BS)

The Summary

As I promised, I'm going to write about Matty's last night. It actually turned out to be quite a good party, nobody going over the top or anything, no massive mess in the morning, everyone had a good time, no random militant guys tried to crash it. Oh, wait...

I'm only going to include stuff which I haven't been begged by someone not to ever tell people about, so it might seem a bit brief. Think I'll do this person by person rather than with a timeline, it's easier and I can't remember the exact sequence of events.

Well, at first when people started arriving it seemed fine, all was good, but then after about an hour, the brilliant and wise Jack Stuart got so drunk we had to drag him upstairs to Matty's sister's room, where he spent the night vomiting and trembling, which we assumed wasn't a good thing. At like 4 I got a text from his mum asking where the fuck Jack was, and apparently she didn't sleep at all last night, so I assume he's fucked. He woke up at like 6 and went home, with a phone full of missed calls and frantic texts, and lacking a sock. At least he didn't do any whaling.

Actually, you know what, shoulda started with me. Well I got there early because my internet was down at home, and had a lovely chat with his sister, in which, despite Matty and my best efforts to censor me, drugs, paedophilia and threesomes came up. When people came, as I said, it was mellow, I had a few of my massively shit self-rolled fags, mostly to stay outside away from the people I hated. Alas, my plan failed, as they soon followed me out, but I bore through it mostly. Later I went to get Lucy from KFC, where I met a rabid Wolff. After getting back we mostly stayed upstairs, chilling with caterpillar cake. We heard the doorbell go, and me and, I think Laura, went to answer it, upon which some guy we don't know tries to get in. I grab his arm and ask him to leave, then he does the same and starts getting militant. Now, I was holding caterpillar cake and some beer, so I didn't particularly feel violent, for once, so I basically just kept on asking him to leave, even offering him caterpillar cake, albeit belittlingly (couldn't resist myself, I'm not a total pacifist). Anyway, one of his mates comes and tries to get him to leave a well, and after a couple of minutes, they dragged him out. After that, not much happened again for a while (which I'm allowed to speak of), mostly just making jokes with Lucy while Calyx got angry at us. There was a bit of fun with Jack, but that might have been before the guy trying to come in. Anyway, much later, the guys tried to come in again, but this time Joe answered the door, and when I came they were squaring off with each other, so I resignedly sighed, shared an eye-roll with my counterpart in their group, and started to break things up, which basically worked, except when we shut the door he did bang on it like he thought it was Keira Knightley. Anyway, a bit after this, downstairs, I was sitting with Calyx, and I was suddenly struck by how fucking hilarious the whole night was, and I started laughing. A couple of hours later, I stopped. You never really think about it, but laughing works your whole upper body out, including your face, arms and neck, so right after I stopped I became incredibly tired and in pain. After that not much happened with me, I declined the offer of making food at 3 am and instead chose to go to sleep, which mostly consisted of lying on a bed in pain. In the morning, not much happened, we just cleaned up a bit and left.

Fuck it, here's just a list of other stupid shit which happened:
-Batu arrived with these two, for lack of a better term/any elegance, ugly dog-women, and started getting off with one for ages;
-Flaxy got head from, what is now forever in my mind known as, the sperm whale outside on a bench;
-Not sure I'm allowed to mention this, but Joe and Laura got a bit "friendly";
-Amber took about 10 minutes to try and figure out how to use a camera, which took Jack (not yet paralytic and having a seizure) about half a second to work;
-I have a feeling Hannah and Dan did something (not together, I mean something stupid and funny, not dirty and v. wrong);
-A Christian was thrown to a Wolff, very Nero-esque, but slightly more French (wow, I'm so sublte. I could write the lovelines in the Broadsheet).

Anyway yeah, that's a brief summary of all I can be really bothered to remember about yesterday. There were way too many people I hate though, including Penny, King-size Penny, Aryan, and more!