Last night I was finishing an OU essay until some stupid time in the morning, and throughout this young year I have been fighting various ear infections, bugs colds, and (my doctor says this unlikely, but I’ve got to go with my gut) a small but virulent dose of the black death (I managed to keep the Black Death from improving its death stats on Killer Disease Top Trumps by virtue my superior ox-like physique and a self invented rub of mashed frogs and acorns, but as I say, the doctor remains unconvinced. And that people should not look like oxen. But screw him, I like the horns, they help with getting space lunch queues and cinemas and the local watering holes. I think more people should have them, the graceful swept back horns of a gazelle for the young lady hipsters out there; a pair of poky giraffe horns for people not yet entirely ready to forsake deely-boppers; great curling ram’s horns for erm, people who like to headbutt other people (and other rams I guess). I think that horns would maker a great and potentially unisex addition to our current facial choices of giant lumberjack beards and neck tattoos. However, I think the Devil has probably kiboshed the PR on this idea before it’s even begun (that Beelzebub, such a thoughtless prick. Fucking ugly red source of all evil, dicking up my plans for horned humans; Fuck you Satan and all your little wizards!). Oh well.). These events have all managed to result in a towering wall of goo inside my head, and has left me looking slightly deranged; a combination of the satisfaction of getting the essay handed in (twice, I managed to review and re-write again this morning), the woozy and intoxicated feeling of had too few hours sleep for too many nights, and my hearing having pulled up stumps and ran, has left me constantly squinting and leering at people. I also appear to have little or no control over my interior monologue and my voice volume control knob; it is stuck on UNNECESSARILY LOUD. I am now merely a bad Patrick Moore impression shouting at people.
“Good Morning Stevo” a man who I can never remember the name of will say.
“GOOD MORNING MAN WHO LOOKS LIKE ROY HUDD!!” I will reply.
‘Bit cold out there today.’ says a man still surprised by February weather despite his advancing years.
“I AM TURNED ON BY FLORISTS IN ILL-FITTING CHINOS!!” I thunder back at him
“Did you have a good evening?” my colleagues might enquire.
“I HOPE YOU DON’T NOTICE THE SMALL WEE STAIN ON MY CROTCH!!” I roar back at them.
“Are we having breakfast today?” A nice woman with a prominent crucifix asks me.
“THIS GOD STUFF – IT’S LIKE THE EASTER BUNNY AND FATHER CHRISTMAS FOR GROWN-UPS, SURELY!!” I howl back, which is a shame, as I quite fancied bacon today
“Argh!” says a smallish woman who I have accidentally fallen on with a state of gracelessness that belies even my normal graceless frame.
“SORRY, I APPEAR TO HAVE FALLEN ON YOU ACCIDENTALLY, AND THINK I MAY HAVE INADVERTANTLY BRUSHED AGAINST THE LACY MATERIAL ON YOUR LEFT BRA CUP!! PLEASE DON’T THINK IT WAS ON PURPOSE, I’M SURE YOU HAVE LOVELY BRA CUPS, BUT I DON’T THINK I HAVE THE RIGHT TO TOUCH THEM IN A FIRST MEETING, ESPECIALLY WHEN THAT FIRST MEETING IS ME FALLING ON YOU!! PLEASE DON’T TELL MY MUM!! OR MY WIFE!! OR YOUR HUSBAND!! OR WIFE!! I’M NOT TRYING TO IMPLY ANYTHING, BUT AS A GUARDIAN READER I FEEL I SHOULD AT LEAST ALLOW FOR POSSIBILITIES BEYOND WHAT WE CONSIDER ‘THE NORM’. I SHALL NOW TRY TO GET OFF YOU!!!!” I bellow back at her.
I started off think that I might post a blog ranking the nuts in order of bestness, but to be honest, I lost interest in the whole project (Pistachios, almonds, cashews and pecans at the top, Brazil nuts, peanuts (I know they’re legumes, but sod off) and tiger nuts at the bottom (if you have never tried tiger nuts, please never do. I was once on a trying-to-eat-more-healthily-because-of-my-ox-like-physique type of thing and was rendered dumbstruck by the many overpriced bags of healthy-ish products at my local Earl Barretts and Geoffrey Hollands. One of these exotically priced bags was full of tiger nuts, and hell, every one wants tiger nuts inside them (I’m pretty sure there’s a Charlie Sheen joke in there, but it’ll all feel a bit contrived and half-hearted and his Dad was the best president ever, so let’s leave him to his debilitating STDs and violent addiction problems) so I got them. They tasted like hard thistles. I read the instructions (instructions on how to eat nuts?) on the bag and apparently you’re supposed to soak them in water. Overnight. So I did. They then tasted like hard thistles that are wet. Tiger nuts, you suck and a re at the bottom of nuts list, so HaHaHa! Screw you!), and now am looking at a blog post that seems to go nowhere, is riddled with perplexing interruptions and seems to have no natural end.
Apart from this one.