Fun fact

Fun fact: or as I prefer to say...

Enjoyment Truth: because enjoying stuff is rad, and every bit as good as having fun, and truth is like a fact that is real! And enjoying a fact that turns out to be real, means your enjoyment is real, and when your enjoyment is real, then dude, now we’re having fun. And who doesn’t want more fun? 

So hell yeah - here’s an enjoyment truth that will blow your mind: ready?

I bet ‘Sorry I’ve blanked on your name’ - would be a badass NAME to have! 

Kapow. 

Now THAT was enjoyment truth that shits all over fun and factual shit. 

Cause think about it. Every single time there was an awkward running into of two acquaintances YOU would be the star of the show. 

You! 

Because they’d be all like ‘sorry I’ve blanked on your name’ 

And EVERYONE has awkward running intos with acquaintances from time to time. EVERYONE. 

That’s means. Yes yes. I know some of you are getting it already. Congrats if you’re one of them... but don’t feel bad if your not, even I’m not, and I’m writing this...

But that means 

EVERYONE will be talking about YOU (at least occasionally, in situations which are awkward).

Boom. 

Explosarific. 

Now you’re not just tasting success, but you ARE success. 

And I know what you’re thinking. ‘If I want to BE success, why don’t I just name myself ‘success’. 

Well I’ll give you three reasons why.

1. You don’t name yourself, your parents do.

2. You think everyone is talking about success? Ha ha. Hello Mr or Mrs Naive

3. Yep, that’s right, I just named you Mr or Mrs Naive. That’s your name now. Cause that’s how naming people works. 

4. What’s success if you can’t taste it, and if you’re tasting yourself you’re just a normal person, because your mouth is FULL of you. So yeah, if you’re tasting the yourself you’re just a filthy norm. And who wants to be a filthy norm? I wouldn’t even want to be a clean norm. And the only way to take a filthy norm and turn them into a clean norm is to douse them in monkey urine. And do you know how they acquire monkey urine? With a spatula. Um ‘spat’. Um ‘ula’. Um Gross. 

5. Except me. I want to be normal. And I think I’ve proven my normality with this blog.

6. I might even be the worlds MOST unique normal dude. 

7. Fuck yeah! 

So to sum up. Have you just been born or are thinking of being born soon? 

If so make sure to have your parents name you ‘sorry I’ve blanked on your name’. 

It’d be rad. 

The middle name and/ or surname are irrelevant by the way. Although I recommend ‘Meredith’, ‘Drew’, or ‘Queen of Scots’ for both. Depending on your feelings about Scots. And how you think you’d feel about Drew Barrymore marrying the fictional character Nancy Drews. Personally I’m all for it. But I’m just me. Well 99.9234% me, and 0.2145% the worlds leading mathematician. Obviously. 

Also if you know what success tastes like, can you please describe it for me, I’m thinking of starting a lollipop company, and I bet if we had that flavor we’d be rocking in no time! And by rocking I mean ‘enjoying truth’ and wow, that a fun fact I could take to the bank! (Or ATM, depending on YOUR definition of fun :) 

Highway Robbery - A Poem

Here’s a poem. Which is awesome. Because poems are literature. Which is a word meaning ‘literally words’. And almost everything truly great ever said ever was said in words. Except all those rad speeches made by Mumbler The Great of Macedonia. Who everyone found super motivational, until the one day someone finally stood up and said ‘I’ll say it, I don’t know what he’s saying, do you?’ And everyone in the room let out a huge sigh of relief, followed by ‘I thought I was the only one’ collectively sighed by all present. And it was ON that bubble of air formed from that very collective sigh, that the first Hot Air ballon managed to reach the stratosphere for the first time, killing all on board, cause oxygen tanks hadn’t been invented yet. But it was those hero’s accidental death that in part LED to the invention of oxygen tanks. Yes. All because of words. 

Highway Robbery - A Poem 

Samantha, a future actuary, was literally born DURING a highway robbery. 

‘This is highway robbery’ yelled Samantha immediately after taking stock of the situation. 

‘Woah’ Said the highway robbers, well ghapsed, well, no that’s not right either. Um collectively sighed? No. They ‘woah’d’. That’s what you do when you woah. Why doesn’t that word properly exist yet literature? You dick. Well I’m making it happen. 

‘Woah’ they woah’d. Kapow!

As they lowered their guns.

And climbed off their horses.

‘She was just born this moment and she can already talk?’ They said in deep southern drawls. Southern being the most popular drawl of the era. Although apparently it would soon be misused in Macedonia for speeches. Which is why drawling is no longer popular now. 

‘You can have her for 10 gold bars’ replied Samantha’s mother. 

‘10 gold bars!’ They yelled, I mean drawled, loudly. 

‘TEN gold bars?’ They reintegrated. Having forgotten the word ‘reiterated’ momentarily.

‘TEN GODDAM GOLD BARS!’   

‘Why that’s god damn a regular back road fair price!’ replied the highway robbers. 

It was an unsatisfactory conclusion for word play lovers everywhere. Some were so mad they called this whole endeavor highway robbery! Kapow! 

The end 

Thank you words. 

Eve my ass

Drinking Drinks with Dave

Come for the promise of drinks.

STAY for the mother f’n DELIVERY of said promise ! 

KAPOW! 

Fly me to the moon you lunatic – A poem

Sadly they forgot where the moon was.

Sure it was visible

But that didn’t explain truly “where” it was

And they were Moonologists!

Self confessed moon experts

If they didn’t know were the moon was then who did?

NASA. Obviously.

And of course the estimated two million plus amateur astrologists out there.

But “screw them”. They said.

If THEY didn’t know – then NO one should know.

So they blew the moon up.

Out of spite.

It was only after the explosion.

That one of them piped up and asked “um, if we didn’t know where the moon was, how did we manage to blow it up”?

“Oh fuck” came the reply “I guess we did know where it was”.

Then a tidal wave killed them. 

Hornets - A poem

Jonathon got attacked by a giant swarm of Hornets 

He killed three 

And got stung by eight hundred and seventy two 

The people of the town wanted to feel bad for him 

But everyone was just so happy that Sarah, who’d owned and managed the local Hornet Ointment Emporium for the past twenty three years,

Finally had a customer  

Say it with me... Berg. Berg. Berg. See wasn't that fun?

I’ve always been intrigued by animals that get around on floating icebergs. “Why an iceberg?” I’ve been known to wonder to myself from time to time. Often even times when thinking about animals on icebergs!

Well this week I decided to wonder know more, and instead go out and meet one for myself. 

What I found turned out to be intriguing indeed, but also sad, fascinating, scary, and even intriguing. 

You see, the first animal I managed to spot drifting into the harbour atop of an iceberg somehow turned out to be an animal which had stowed away on an the wrong iceberg which had led it to the WRONG continent!

Furthermore, as the first person to intercept it on its approach to land, I was now the person who’d lucked (or unlucked) into having the responsibility to tell it it’s mistake.

You can imagine my abject terror. But there was also fear. Reservation. Malaise. And even also mild terror. Which on top abject terror, made it somewhere between extreme terror and obscene terror, but I was too scared to deal with extreme nor obscene terror, so I isolated my two branches of terror onto two branches, carefully making sure that even though I obviously knew the trunk of these terrors was the same, the branches themselves were individuals, and as individuals they had the right to compartmentalize themselves anyway they wished. In this case separately. So I could calm the fuck down.

Besides, this wasn’t all about me, it was only half about me, the other half being my responsibility to this animal. Plus fractions terrify me. So how could I possibly be expected to isolate the sums of all the terror and properly label it now? Seriously.  

I decided that instead of sucking into myself, I should blow out of myself, towards the poor lost animal. And it wasn’t hard, for I did have lots of questions. Questions such as:

- Where did you THINK you were going? 

- How does one power a berg anyway, ice or other sort of berg? Wind? Petroleum? Nuclear? 

- And ARE there bergs in non-ice categories?

- Because if there are some god damn nuclear-powered margarine-bergs out there we deserve to fucking know! 

- And if there is not, then just call them all bergs, forget the f’n ice.

- Seriously.

- Just go with berg!

- Berg. Berg. Berg. 

- What’s so hard about that?

- It’s even fun to say.

- Beeeerrrrgggg!

- Go on try it.

- You’ll see it’s fun I swear.

- Go on then.

- Say it with me.

- “Berg. Berg. Berg”.

- You didn’t go.

- Do you not WANT to say it?

- Is that it?

- Or is it something else? 

- Cause frankly you haven’t answered ANY of my questions! What’s up with that French Fry?

- I’ve decided to nickname you French Fry by the way.

- And I know it doesn’t make sense! Yeah. Exactly.

- So what is it?

- Too good to talk to a human? 

- Oh fuck you! 

- You think you’re better than me?

- Because YOU’RE an Elephant!

- Yeah.

- How’s that better than me?

 - Plus how did you even get on an iceberg? 

- And what made you think it was going to take you to California?

- And who told you California was a continent? Cause whoever it was, was an idiot. And I don’t want you hanging around with idiots.

- Cause idiots are morons.

- And if you say ‘nah, I was just listening to the Mommas and the Poppas and got whimsical for the West Coast, I’m gonna tell you this - YOU’RE LISTENING TO THE MOMMAS AND THE POPPAS ALL WRONG MAN! It’s a fantasy. You’re not supposed to try and LIVE it! 

- Also were there penguins on this berg when you got on? Cause if you’ve started eating birds I’m going to be very cross with you.

- We like you Elephant.

- Us humans.

- I know I suggested just before that I think I am better than you because I am a human and you’re an elephant.

- But that was just anger talking.

- Truth is we like you.

- Us humans.

- We like you a lot.

- But that’s partly because you DON'T eat birds. And because you DON’T take the Mommas and the Pappas literally. NO ONE likes an animal that eats birds and misunderstands the meanings behind an entire bands’ body of work. They’re so damn majestic! (birds and bands).

- So if that’s what you’re telling me, then why don’t you turn this berg right around?

But that’s when it hit me. I was in no position to judge. I myself had arrived in Australia for the first time stowed away on a floating mattress that I thought was headed for Oklahoma. And I was a Muskrat when this took place. And I’d been inspired by the body of work of The Kinks, which I had misunderstood to be summed up as telling the world “why buy a waterbed, when you can just be on a bed in water?” And having interviewed the Kinks subsequently they told me “You’re missing the point man, our body of work was supposed to be understood to be summed up as “don’t float on a mattress to a landlocked American state where cowboys ride, because if you do, one those cowboys may have a bull that will puncture your mattress, and then how are you going to get home? A flying car? Yeah right!” (the lesson is always meet your heroes, they have so much wisdom to share).

So I hung my head in shame. And I told the elephant the bad news. Rubbing his trunk in commiseration (and sneakily checking for penguin breath. There was none. So feel free to keep liking Elephants). And I shoved him back towards California. With a “farewell” and “safe travels”.

And you know what?

The elephant did speak back to me finally.

Just with his eyes.

But they clearly said…

“Berg. Berg. Berg. Yeah that is fun. Thanks so much for that. And if on my travels I see any Muskrats floating out at sea on a mattress, I’ll tell them, what the Kinks told you, we’re all in this together you see. Animals. Humans. Birds. Bands. And even Idiots”.

The next time I saw that elephant, he’d taken human form and was about to interview the ghost of Momma Cass from the Mommas and the Poppas (I think she was one of the Mommas) so I knew he’s going to be ok.

And my terror drifted away.

Like a French Fry on a nuclear-powered margarine-berg. And that’s something we can all enjoy.