A Spot of Bother

Ah!

Let's start with that and move forward.

Is it a scream of pain? Of epiphany?

Who can tell? Only Galileo, and he's well dead.

I've feeling a bit agitated, and a bit exhausted. Those two things do not go hand in hand. Or, if they did, one of the hands would be hanging limply, and the other would be slapping it repeatedly.

***

Damn! I just stopped writing for a while, and now I've lost my momentum.

Yes, I had momentum.

***

Damn! I just fell into a coma for thirty years!

The future is weird. You'll never guess who the Prime Minister is!

Go on, guess!

I've no way of knowing if your guess is correct. Leave your guesses buried in the quad of OUP, and I'll dig them up in 2040.

***

Damn! I found a time machine and posted the above message here. Which is why you can see it in the past.

***

Darn! I've become a Born-Again Christian and have started to object to blasphemy.

***

Shit! I realised my mistake. Damn!

***

Damn! I just woke up. All of the above was a dream. I'm still here, but have wasted a lot of time.

***

Damn! No, it wasn't a dream - it was all true!

***

Damn. No. No, my mistake. It was a dream.


***

Damn!

I left the iron on.

***

Damn! I left the iron ON MY FACE.

***

Ow!


***

Damn! I just slipped into another coma. It's transported me to the past for some reason.

I'm living in the Old West. (Not to be confused with the East, which as everyone knows is the New West)

Do not - I repeat - DO NOT attempt to come back and rescue me. I'm living as a blacksmith, and enjoying life. There's a teacher who looks like Mary Steenburgen here, and I think I'm safe, as Ted Danson won't be born for another 62 years.

***

Damn! I slipped out of my coma, through a polished ballroom and into two new comas. I shouldn't have greased myself up so much.

Now one foot is in a psychedelic Yellow Submarine-style coma, and the other foot is in one of those comas where you're awake, but can't move or speak. Luckily my head isn't in either coma - but is still in the Old West. I'm trying to shoe horses with my teeth.

It ain't easy.

(I've picked up some contemporary slang, Daddio! Yeah - I'm a real hep cat!)

***

Damn!

This device is going on a bit too long! People are starting to lose interest!

***

Damn.

All my experiences have been for nought. They were imaginary, poorly-conceived and hastily strung together.

At least I've been able to write about them. My autobiography will be a real bestseller - I'm talking Hipsville, Pilgrim!

***

Wait a minute - now that I look around, I see a horseshoe! And sheets of paper, guessing who the 2040 Prime Minister is! And the skeletal head of Ted Danson!

You Maniacs! You blew it up! Ah, damn you! God damn you all to hell!