You're all very welcome. I hope you'll enjoy what I have to say. After a few posts of writing things with a point (a cardinal sin), I have no idea what I'm going to write about today. So you could say I'm going old school. Unless you don't have the power of speech, or don't speak English, or are gagged or muffled in some way. In which case, sign language is entirely acceptable.
The only thing I've thought about including here is the following video. It's a song called I Did Crimes For You and is by Deerhoof. It's my favourite song for the past nine days or so, and this video is delightfully odd.
What else, what else?
I know! It has been a while since I did a compendium of recent hilarious tweets. That was 13 days ago. I must have tweeted something good since then, right?
This should become a regular feature. The last time I did this it proved exceptionally popular. How popular?
That popular.
I probably need a name for this feature. How about: That Was The Tweet That Was?
Or Elite Tweets?
Or Twecap?
The trouble is that all tweet/Twitter wordplay has already been done. I'll work on something for next time.
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Whenever anyone makes an utterly inoffensive statement, I tell them they're treading on very thick ice. Like, seriously, GLACIER thick.
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I don't know, man. I think the clock rental industry is living on borrowed time... #recession
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The starter's pistol is a mainstay of athletics. But the finisher's pistol was only used once, in the bloody Commonwealth Games of 1958.
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I'm going to start bringing a sleeping bag to work. If questioned, I'll claim it is an "activity sack".
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I think the spiritual successor of Michael Jackson is probably Michael Jackson's ghost.
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A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. Which is why snakes are notoriously housebound.
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Of course Shia LaBeouf translates roughly as "wary of cow meat".
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You like potato and I like potahto, You like tomato and I like tomahto Potato, potahto, Tomato, tomahto, I think our marriage is in trouble.
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What does an Irishman call his grandson? Boy O'Boy.
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Office chat extract - ME: "I'd like to have a giant plant I could carry round with me, to hide myself. Or a hedge maze." COLLEAGUE: "..."
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Every time you say goodbye, I die a little. So can you just say "bye", or wave or something?
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How many hips do you have? A quick checklist: Hip? You need 100% more hips. Hip hip hip? Too many hips. Hip hip? Hooray.
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We've installed a hair-magnet in the ceiling, which has caused a lot of raised eyebrows.
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Apparently, the Rolling Stones are releasing a new version of You Can't Always Get What You Want with the subtitle 'Well, YOU can't'.
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Yesterday I was hypnotised into fabricating hypnotisms.
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This Week on Pointless Rhyme Theatre: see slender Brenda mend a blender.
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My friend is a male model, but has brittle bone disease. He's a snappy dresser. (Also he's a crocodile and a type of furniture.)
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I'm undressing myself with my eyes. It's tough going. I've got a bleeding iris, and haven't even managed to undo a shoelace.
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2011 is the Chinese Year of the Month.
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I'm slipping in and out of conscientiousness.
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I used to own a badminton racket, but I don't know where it is now. It might end up being my Rosebud.
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FANTASTIC JOKE WASTED AT THIS TIME OF NIGHT: Q: Who is the most edgy comedian? A: The Two Dodecahedronnies.
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The 'u' has really fallen out of favor.
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During the Renaissance, it was spelled: "lawnmo'er".
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If you're dating a florist, don't buy them flowers. It's basically unpaid overtime.
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There was a tense atmosphere at the World Denial Championships. "Calm down, it's not a competition," I said, eyeing the gold.
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Well that's it. I thought that my Boy O'Boy joke was probably the pinnacle of my comedy achievements, until Lucy pointed out that the Irishman's grandson might have been the son of his daughter.
Sadly being born is not hereditary.
Is this indulgent and lazy - repeating tweets? I just don't want to forget them.
Just so you know, I'm a purist, so I don't edit these in any way (except for correcting my misspelling of Renaissance, which was shameful). So if these seem clumsily phrased, or incoherent, or poorly thought out, it's just the result of spontaneity. Just that. Not anything else.
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It's Sunday night. The worst of all nights. I'm hoping to write something so spectacular, so groundbreaking, so revolutionary, that it will soften the blow of the impending week.
On re-reading this post so far, I haven't quite achieved it yet.
I think I was really cooking around the bit where I said "I'll work on something for next time.". I mean, that's pretty amazing. But still not quite good enough to compensate for Monday.
What if I include one of my patented 'Random Images That Seem Apropos of Nothing, Making Me Seem Unique and Offbeat, When In Fact It Just Demonstrates My Lack of Imagination'?
Maybe that will give me the shot in the arm I need.
Hmm. No, it didn't work.
Really, to make me feel better I need less a shot in the arm, and more a shot in the kneecap. Something that will get me some paid sick-leave. (Getting shot in the arm doesn't constitute a debilitating injury. It says as much in our contracts.)
Oh forget it. I'll just buy myself a treat on the way home tomorrow, like an expensive cake or a novelty watch with all the numbers on the inside.
Thank you for reading/listening/having this described to you by a guide dog.
If it's the last of those things, your dog is incredible and you should buy it a treat.
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