We went to go and see Josie Long do stand-up on Monday. I was going to write about it, but Lucy has done a better job than I would. Why not read the entertaining account of the whole experience on her journal?
The journal is rather funny, I admit. But she doesn't do enough jokes about Jesus or paedophiles for my taste.
***
I'm continuing this blog after starting it some time ago, so it will probably be dated incorrectly. I like that. I can make references to things that have only just happened (it's Monday now), but it will appear that I have predicted the future.
So, Spurs lost 2-1 to Stoke, huh? Shit. I mean, woooooooooh (that's my psychic noise).....
Spurs will lose 2-1 to Stoke, and have two men sent off!
Wooooh....
I probably shouldn't have prefaced my prediction with an explanation of how I did it. Who am I, Penn and fucking Teller? Surely I can't be both.
It's a good thing I didn't get my psychic noise confuse with my psycho noise (REE! REE! REE! REE!), or you would have got confused. The psychic noise is the same as my ghost noise, however. And my Ric Flair noise.
I'm finding the written word too constrictive (that's a word, right?). I might start putting little sound clips embedded in the text, so you have an appropriate soundtrack.
You can't get a full sense of my meaning without audio as well as visual input. In an ideal world I'd be able to convey taste, smell and touch as well, but technology hasn't yet enabled me to embed those senses.
As an attempt to convey them, I'll provide descriptions. This entry:
- sounds like hail-stones hitting a monkey
- tastes like champagne and Frazzles
- smells like freshly-cut cocaine
- feels like a sandpaper phallus
It's also room temperature (but providing you're in a room, this won't require synthesising).
No comments:
Post a Comment