Second Chances

They come to me. I never know when or how many or why, but they come.

Sometimes in bunches like grapes. Sometimes like a solitary pearl shining defiantly in the murky deep.

Tweets.

140 characters.

Some use them to communicate. Others to learn about the world around them. Some impart wisdom. Others encapsulate small chunks of their lives.

And lots of them use those 140 characters to do terrible jokes. Ones that are obvious or nonsensical. Jokes that destroy the nature of comedy. A waste. An affront. A travesty.

I am one such person. And I humbly display my filthy wares before you.

That's right! It's another edition of:

The Tweetest Plum

(Click on the Tweets label at the bottom of this post for more, or go to twitter.com/diamondbadger to get them unpasteurised, straight from the horse's tweet teat).

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Biting nails = pensive. Biting nipples = really, really pensive.

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I take double-yellow lines seriously, which is why I never park on a bee.

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I'm not bitter, but the less said about I Can't Believe It's Not Butter the better.

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Saw a dead hedgehog on the street this morning. I sense that by the time today has finished, I'll be looking back on that as a highlight.

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Triplets always happen in threes.

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I don't think the MBTI is completely useless. But on the spectrum from Wisdom to Bullshit, I'd label it as a strong B.

[Note: This refers to the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator. I resent having to explain things - Editor/Paul]

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I've made some great strides. One was elegant and dignified, the other involved mailing my shoe to Rhyll and stretching my foot to meet it.

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Why is it that you can never find a pen when you need one? These sheep are EVERYWHERE.

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I'm jealous of the overzealous.

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If you're young, a loud noise may startle you. If you're old, a loud noise may finishle you.

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I feel ready for anything the world throws at me today. (I'm bluffing, but the world doesn't have arms - I think I'll get away with it)

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I don't get on well with subordinate sailors. We never seem to see aye to aye. #whatashame

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I've been playing a game of Simon Says for the past nineteen years. But I haven't been taking it very seriously. Not since Simon died.

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Books on tape are great for consuming literature on the go. Even better? Books on tapeworm. But watch out - Clarissa might kill you.

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There's nothing to do when standing at the urinals in our office toilets. It's boring. That's why I always carry a kaleidoscope.

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I've always considered myself the even one out.

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Being the black sheep isn't so bad in a family of sheep. But if you're the black sheep in a family of sheepdogs, you're a real pariah.

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When playing the game 'pick up sticks', there's an unwritten requirement that you must first play the game 'put down sticks'. #Newton

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I'd never eat a bear's porridge. Think of all the hairs! Goldilocks was a madman.

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God, I miss the Deutschmark.

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I wish I could grow another beard. Imagine that! Double beard! I'd be so manly I'd have to be chained to a wolf.

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A "high five" is a sign of playful exuberance. But apparently it's a no-no to sidle up to somebody & whisper a request for a "big, low one".

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Don't make a mountain out of a molehill, but barn conversions are fine. I don't understand the property market.

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Just been to see Green Lantern - a film so unremarkable that this tweet doesn't even exist.

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Things I enjoy more than clothes shopping: a) eating ash, b) detaching scrota w/ nail-clippers, c) cramp, d) loneliness, e) Glee.

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It's a beautiful day. I can't help but feel I've missed out by pushing my face into the freezer and defaming the peas.

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I'm not prepared for future events. I shouldn't be buffetted into work/obligation/adulthood. I should be able to bloom like a flower.

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I resent it. I posted a letter expressing as much. I re-sent it. Just to be sure.

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It's difficult to shake your own hand. But easy to shake your own conviction. I've already lost faith in that first sentence.

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I've got two left feet. As cufflinks. Ironically, their weight makes it difficult to dance well.

[Note: This is an ugly sentence - Editor/Paul]

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I think the number of injuries caused by stepping on Lego is comparable to the devastation of Pearl Harbor. We should nuke Denmark.

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My left arm feels like a fireplace. I'm worried I might be having a hearth attack.

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I can play the guitar and the piano off against each other.

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If you're a REAL republican, you'll go to Furniture Village and ask for a Cromwell-sized bed. Complacency is the enemy of revolution.

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Much like Little John, Little Richard is enormous. He has a custom-made piano for his massive fingers. Keys the width of bowling lanes.

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I speak fluent skittish.

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"I don't know. I think the 'Home Sweet Home' sign is a bit too on-the-nose" - Gretel.

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I was really popular in the kitchens until the creamy potato incident. After that I was persona non gratin.

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Right. I'm going to give you all eight minutes to retweet my 'persona non gratin' joke. If no-one does, there's officially no Jesus.

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[Nine minutes later...] 

Nietzsche was right.

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I can't be bothered to go to the water cooler. You can drink ink, right?

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Yes, coasters do a good job protecting table-tops. I just wish they weren't so blasé about the whole thing.

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Life is just one long poorly-edited montage.

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Just joined a pleasant army. I'm in Good Company.

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People like funny cat things on the internet. I'm going to start tweeting funny things about cats. ... FOUR LEGS, HUH? #cats

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Imagine a cat trying to make toad in the hole. And its face is all like: "I'm a cat - I shouldn't be doing this". #cats #toadinthehole

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Hm. It isn't as easy as it looks. #ICanHazSelfRezpect?

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I'm going to have a shower. "A shower? At 8:14pm?" Yes. I have it on good authority that Batman showers at this time also.

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If you're reading this, your eyes are open.

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I just had an out-of-your-body experience.

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Consciousness isn't really my milieu.

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That last tweet of mine annoyed me. I don't write Frasier, for God's sake. From now on, my tweets will be incredibly crude.

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Mmm... legs. Right, lads?

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(I don't think I'm followed by any 'lads')

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Do you ever use a highlighter pen as fluorescent lighting for a grasshoppers' strip club? Me neither.

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We're ALL on the 'Top of the World'. It's a SPHERE. The Carpenters were IDIOTS.

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I've had a Sigmund Freud action figure in my desk draw for months. Every time I search for a paperclip I realise I've let my father down.

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Look - here he is. Surrounded by rubber bands, which probably symbolise the libido or some shit:

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Whenever anyone says of the deceased "well, he had a good a innings" I like to imagine they're talking about belly-buttons.

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That last tweet didn't make sense, but then neither do shoes made of helium. And the latter are everywhere.

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Ever since I watched The Fugitive, I've wanted to be in a big pipe with Tommy Lee Jones. But according to Make-a-Wish, you have to be ill.

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Switching between Glastonbury and Wimbledon. Because I like to watch failure at both ends of the laundry cycle.

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A cycle doesn't have ends? Well, what about a BIcycle? Does that have ends? Where do you put the lights, then?

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Tennis is the most minimalist of cultural endeavours. Human interaction reduced to a ball exchange.

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I wonder what Ray Liotta is doing right now.

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Morrissey looks like a sitcom dad, forced to perform after losing an implausible bet. #glastonbury

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Watching #wimbledon and #glastonbury, creating a composite being called Murrissey. Of course, it's impossible to be Scottish and vegetarian.

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Fill up ice-cube tray. Place in freezer. Leave overnight. Remove from freezer. Leave for six hours. And bingo: WATER CUBES. #domesticgod

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 Sighs isn't everything.

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It's a grey morning. I hope I can liven things up by dressing as a circus ringmaster and going to space.

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The corners of our coffee table are lethal. Why are they so sharp? Our door handles aren't needles. We don't keep swords in the fridge.

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I bought some shoes, but didn't take the box. Why? Because I care about the planet. My actions have saved a Komodo dragon or something.

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Misquoth the raven, 'We should do this again sometime'.

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Who's more annoying: a) people bragging about the joys of being at Glastonbury, or b) people proclaiming how happy they are not to be there?

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THE ANSWER IS: c) Me, for being irritated by happiness.

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This temperature is ridiculous. Who's up for desecrating the grave of Anders Celsius?

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[On the Race for Life:] 

All those women running in pink. It was like watching the city of Oxford digesting a milkshake.

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But of course the REAL winner of the Race for Life was... I dunno... some woman probably.

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Know you this: sequencing words matter doesn't.

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#youcantdateme unless you cut me open and count the rings.

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If you heat a solid, you get a liquid. If you heat a liquid, you get a gas. I'm roughly at the gliquid stage right now.

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I've just eaten a winter coat's worth of naan bread.

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It is possible to have too much of a goo thing.

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Give a man a fish. Go on.

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Nothing like some scaldingly-hot black coffee to show Johnny Hotday who's boss.

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This self-hypnosis tape is TERRIBLE for gift wrapping.

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When you say "I like iced tea", I hear "I would happily murder my husband".

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My new jeans have an unfamiliar and unwieldy button fly. I struggled at the urinal. It would have been quicker to solder them shut.

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When a car kindly waves me across the road, I give a 'thank you' so meek it would be imperceptible to the most powerful electron microscope.

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All day on Twitter, when I've read the word 'hot', I've mentally replaced it with the word 'sexy' and now I'm in prison.

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Surely we should have a siesta this afternoon. For the sake of the economy. My sweat-drenched lethargy has already cost Britain £4m.

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My feet are too hot (i.e. sexy). I shouldn't have worn such thick socks. And furry boots. And shouldn't let this St Bernard sleep on me.

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What's your favourite bird call? Mine is when a Ptarmigan excitedly telephones to tell me he's been promoted.

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Getting the hang of the button fly. Though I did just accidentally attach myself to a small boy's duffle coat. Hoping for a credulous mum.

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What? Why is Usagi Yojimbo playing at #Wimbledon? Oh. It's Rafael Nadal.

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Because he... he looks a bit like a... a rabbit. He does. ... Look, it's hot, OK?

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Someday a real rain will come and wash all this scum off the street. And return these parched azaleas to their pomp! #middleclasstaxidriver

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I'm doing a rain-dance-dance. But no rain dances seem to be coming. No-one's dancing at all, except that idiot in the mirror.

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I think it's generally accepted that the Top 3 Words With Superfluous 'I's In Them are: 1) Liaison, 2) Plagiarism, 3) Pompeii

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Any font where a lower-case L is indistinguishable from an upper-case i is an abomination. TWITTER MUST ACCOMMODATE MY NUANCE.

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For a left turn, use your indicator. For a RIGHT turn, use your vindicator.

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I'm easily distracted today. I'm like a hummingbird: constantly moving, attractive to look at, sipping on nectar. Humming.

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Bookshops should never stock copies of Utopia. Always leave them wanting More.

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I genuinely once met someone whose siblings were so afraid of Santa Claus being in the house, they opened their Xmas presents in the car.

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Of course, fear of Father Christmas is a common phobia. There's a charity set up to help sufferers. Its patron was Noël Coward.

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I wish people would stop venerating "the taxpayer" as though it's some endangered species. Might as well talk of "what's fair for the biped"

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You don't hear much about the ozone layer anymore. Must have been a baseless panic like the MMR or the rainforests being destroyed.

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Has there ever been a sexy Alastair?

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I never repeat jokes on Twitter due to an absurd false integrity that benefits no-one.

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The word 'bruschetta' is really unappetising. It sounds like bristles and razorblades.

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If you're looking to tighten the skin and loosen the tongue, the best drink to order is a Collagen & Tonic.

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"Oh, that way madness lies! No. No, sorry. Not madness. Bicester. That way Bicester lies." - King Lear giving directions.

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Contract lenses can read their own small print.

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I don't know why anyone would ask for anything other than a waffle cone.

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The most polished play I've ever seen is The Importance of Being Burnished.

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I never think of the witty comeback until AFTER the cremation.

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I could cope with a cape, but couldn't handle a mantle.

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My favourite aspect ratio is 0.0004:90. It's like watching a film through a crack in the door.

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Muppet Babies was based on a play by Arthur Miller. It's all a big allegory of Communism. Also, it's where we get the phrase 'Nanny State'.

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There's a name for people like you. (Don't ask me - check your birth certificate)

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HAPPY NOW?

Tools

I couldn't think of anything to write. I was just staring at the empty box. The 'New Post' box. Nothing was there. Nothing was coming.

My brain was empty. I searched every nook and cranny for something to write about, but everything was nothing, and nothing was everywhere.

But then I looked outside the 'New Post' box. Just outside it. To the icons that sit atop its vacant hectare.

Whenever you post a new post in the 'New Post' box, these are your tools. They are Hephaestus's hammer, they are Vishnu's mace, they are Antonie van Leeuwenhoek's microscope.

They are Flavor Flav's clock. 


All have a mystical purpose. Each can only be wielded by one who is pure of heart and swift of finger.


Many people have crashed into the rocks of blog disaster, having failed to recognise this simple button lighthouse in the fog.


It has taken me nearly four years to master them. But now they are like an extension of my body. A fourth arm, if you will (my third arm is my left leg).


But wisdom is not to be hoarded like the dragon's gold. It is to be spread freely like the libertine dragon's gold. I will take you through their uses, so that you might one day harness them for your own ends.


But make sure these ends are not of a nefarious nature. The icons have a way of sensing ill-will. If used improperly, they will consume you. 

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First up, we have The Blue Arrows:




Though seemingly simple, these icons enable the blogsmith to manipulate the very course of time. The first arrow allows you to travel into the past, to relive the events of your youth, to right wrongs, to spend one last evening with your lost loves.

The second arrow is greyed out. We cannot know our future.

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The next couple of icons may be familiar to you. 

The First American F was invented by Benjamin Franklin (the old-fashioned typeface is testament to its age). Franklin sought to create a letter that could house freedom. Sadly, he died before it was completed.

But thanks to the technicians at Blogger, The First American F is up and running. By pressing this button, a writer can equip his or her prose with a free-flowing elegance that emulates the carefree flight of a beautiful bird.

(I have not used this button.)

The second of these buttons is TTimms's Folly. Liam TTimms hoped to piggy-back on Franklin's work with his own button. He hoped to create a letter that could house two cups of tea (one small, one large).

But this was not to be. It was a ridiculous idea. The button's only function is as a reminder to forge your own path, and not mooch off the genius of others.

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Next up, what are known as insistence indicators.

Use these depending on your level of frustration. Proclaim B, implore I, stress U, and then, maddened by the inaction of others, just reject the whole concept of an alphabet.

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The next ones are self explanatory: Apple and diagonal pipe (if you're feeling devil-may-care):

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Next on the toolbar is a family of related icons.

The Link button summons the ghost of the caveman from the classic 1992 all-star film California Man (or Encino Man in America). The caveman was called Link. That's the connection.

Use this button if you need a caveman for some reason.

The other buttons are related: California Man picture (for a still photo from the set), California Man outtakes (the clapperboard is the symbol of celluloid failure) and Torn Script (this can be from any film, though California Man is the most popular).

You may think these are rarely used. You're right. But if you are writing a blog post about California Man, these are a life-saver.

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And briefly, the rest:

Lines of Irregular Length, Shopping List, Shopping List in a World Without Numbers, Two Open Blue Tins, NEVER WRITE A T and the Alphabet Approval Button.

You must utilise all of these in every post if you're to be considered a serious blogmonger.

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I hope this has been a useful tour through the Blogger 'New Post' toolbar.

You are now ready to start your own blog. I suggest blogging on the following subjects:

Cats

Higher Function

It's been a day of peaks and troughs. But that's what you get when you sell military hats to pigs.

Ahaha.

I could have tweeted that. But I saved it for you because I love you.

I've been so productive that I need to unwind. That's what this is.

I'm going to be quick - like one of those fast cartoon animals. The Roadrunner. Or Speedy Gonzalez. Or Sprinty Von Raccoon.

I'm just going to impart some wisdom, leave you astonished, and then get the hell out of here. No messing around.

Waffle? Ramblings? Digressions?

Not on my watch.

(I don't have a watch - too much wrist weight makes you sluggish)

[My friend - let's call her 'A' - said I use too many brackets in this blog. I can take constructive criticism. I appreciate it.]

{Actually let's call her 'A (bitch)'}

So here is my fast, sudden, lightning-bolt truth bullet:

COMEDY IS A STANLEY KNIFE

Impressed?

It's true. As true as anything I've ever typed.

I will elaborate on that.

Right on it.

But then I'll go.

I have a plain to catch.

That's right - a plain.

I've bought a big flat net.

Waterproof? To catch the rain?

No need. No Spaniard, I.

COMEDY IS A STANLEY KNIFE.

You might think I mean that allegorically. Comedy is the precision tool with which we slice and trim everyday life. The knife cuts through hypocrisy, it takes off the ridiculous edges of convention, it forges new paths and sections new... uh... sections.

Comedy is best when sharp and wielded by an expert hand. Like a graphic designer or an architect. The blunter the knife, the more banal the observations, the more pointless comedy becomes. Michael McIntyre's comedy is less of a knife and more of a flannel.

(I have no opinion of McIntyre - I've seen very little of him - but he seemed like the easiest reference there. I don't have time to be obscure.)

But I don't mean that. I'm not analysing the function of comedy through a tool-based metaphor.

What I mean is that COMEDY - the word 'COMEDY' - looks like a Stanley knife.

Look at it.

COMEDY.

The 'C' is the rounded handle, and the right-hand fork of the 'Y' is the blade.

COMEDY IS A STANLEY KNIFE.

Let's rotate it, and you'll see what I mean.

See? C-handle at the bottom, Y-blade at the top.

The word COMEDY looks just like a Stanley knife.

If you're attentive, you'll notice that this only works for upper-case COMEDY.

Lower-case comedy has that annoying stalk of the little 'd'. And a vague little 'y'-tail stub.

comedy is not a Stanley knife.


COMEDY IS A STANLEY KNIFE


I sense your mind has been blown. And rightly so.

Now I'll make good on my promise, and leave you to clean up the cerebellum smeared all over your computer screen.


Meep meep! 

¡Andale! ¡Andale! ¡Arriba! ¡Arriba! 

Guten Tag! Ich bin ein schneller Waschbär!

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And like THAT...


...I'm gone.

Two Wrongs Make a Write

Frustration + Low Productivity x Coffee = Blog Post.

MATHS.

Here are some things I HATE:

1) combination washing/answering machine. IMPRACTICAL.
2) poisoners
3) A Film Where The Main Character Refuses Magical Fruit
4) gun nuts (I'm allergic)
5) curbs that are too high
6) inconsistent capitalization
7) James Bondi Beach

That was stupid. I'm always writing lists. They're easy.

I bet I'm repeating myself too. I've probably made that gun nuts "joke" before. I should be ashamed of myself and am.

But what can I do? Get on with my day?

Man up? Grow a set? Develop some other form of misogynistic bravery?

I should be an adult about things.

But I'm not. I'm typing like a petulant teenager stomping on his bedroom floor.

Stomp stomp stomp.

I have no power, but I can make the light fittings shake. I can make your afternoon slightly less pleasant.

Yes, maybe I am being petty. Petty and caffeinated. Like all the great heroes in history.

Stomp stomp stomp.

I'm frustrated with my position in the world, so I'm making a statement. This is like civil disobedience. I'm disobeying the conventions of not being an idiot.

Stomp.

You know what?

YOU KNOW WHAT?

I should just take a deep breath and stop being such a child.

Who is this good for? Nobody.

But then, isn't this what the internet is all about? Humorous lists and adolescent rebellion? Grown men acting like children? Strings of questions? Self-referential follow-up questions? The World Wide Web as punching bag? A voice for the disenfranchised? Or just the lazy enfranchised?

Isn't it that?

Isn't that it?

I'm just doing what's expected of me. Free will is a myth.

We live in a deterministic world, and I have no choice but to fail to live up to your expectations.

And you have no choice but to skim this, dismiss it as "one of the weird ones", and flatter yourself that you've given me a chance.

Thank you.

Genuinely: thank you.

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I wrote this earlier today. I don't know what to think about it.

To be fair, I haven't read it yet.

I'll read it. Afterwards, I might know what to think about it.

While I'm reading it, listen to this song:



OK, I'm back.

I just read the first part of this entry.

I don't know what to think of it.

It's probably genius. That's a fair assumption.

It's tough having to spend as much time with myself as I do. Though our menstrual cycles have become aligned.

I'm going to bail out now. I'm pressing a little button that will catapult me up into the night sky, and then a parachute will open.

I assume.

I mean, they didn't mention any parachutes when the eject mechanism was installed. But they wouldn't sell one without a parachute, right?

I mean, that would just be a death trap. Without the parachute, the whole system is fatal.

So I assume there must be a parachute.

And there's only one way to find out!

Check for the parachute.

Ah.

Yes.

I can see the parachute.

It's smaller than I was expecting. And isn't connected to the chair.

And it seems a bit tiny and thin to effectively harness the cushioning power of wind resistance.

Ah.

Ah.

No.

No, that's not a parachute.

It's an eyelash.

THAT WON'T SAVE ME.

But we've had some laughs, haven't we?

Feel free to bury me where I land.

Just one thing before I bail out...

Ah.

I just made an eyelash wish.

I think everything's going to be OK.

And a little someone might - just might - be getting a mountain bike.

Funny Flakes

Another compilation of my least bad recent tweets, you say?

You don't say.

But I'm trying to not leave it too long between instalments. Not because of the clamour (and believe me, there has been clamour), but because it takes a surprisingly long time to log all the sort-of jokes, sort-of-ideas and sort-of sentences that I've published online in the past week.

So pour yourself a stiff drink (custard), kick off your shoes and football matches, sit back, relax, wonder if you've left the tap dripping, realise that you haven't (it's loud bleeding!) and do something useful with your time. Close this browser window and read a book or something.

But later, in a dark moment, come back and read this.

L33t Tw33ts of the W33k

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Mediterranean politicians should concentrate on winning over artichoke hearts and minds.

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There'th thomething on the tip of my tongue...

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I've set myself some goals for today: 1) Avoid Madame Tussauds, 2) Respirate, 3) Give the thumbs up to myself in the mirror. I'm optimistic.

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I think I need some clothes. I'm wearing trouser. And this Easter Witch hat isn't seasonal at all.

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I've forgotten what it's like to not wear odd socks. Today's are particularly incongruous. One is an owl puppet and one is an entire lake.

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I don't think there's anything mystical about the Mummy. He's just a vain man who wears WAY too many belts.

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Have you heard anything about my reprieve from National Envelope Service? No? Well, keep me posted.

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My favourite section of The Crystal Maze was the Comfort zone. People tended to find the tasks well within their capabilities.

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"O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell, and count myself a king of infinite space." - I hate trying on clothes.

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You crave reassurance? Yeah, well you just keep telling yourself that.

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Happy Thursday, everyone! Sorry I haven't had time to send out cards this week.

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I'm drinking soup, not eating soup. I'm not using a spoon. But isn't a cup really just a big, deep spoon with no handle? Isn't it?

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People always misquote that famous Hamlet line. It's actually: "Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Fellatio". Then 3 mins of awkward silence.

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"All my life I've been wishin', to own my own Titian, please will you siiiiign my online petition!" It's hard to get funding for musicals.

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I'm It's finding probably it because difficult I to spend pay too attention much to time just on one Twitter. thing at a time.

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When I die, I'd like all of my teeth to go back to their rightful owners.

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If boredom was Furbies, I'd be 1998.

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Whoever came up with the abbreviation 'combo' for 'combination' was an arsehole. I don't care how common it is now. Arsehole.

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I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed by sensory information today. I might donate one of my senses to the needy. I can do without smaste.

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There's an empty cherry-picker parked right outside. Hope it's not just the clumsy compromise of a perverted but flightless ghost.

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For a time in the late 80s, Ninja Turtles made sewers sexy. Just like The Third Man did forty years previously. It's cyclical. Like yo-yos.

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The original advert catchphrase of the Milkybar Kid was "The onus is on me!". But children found the word 'onus' unappetising.

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I think we need to clean our kettle. Looking inside, I could probably build a full-scale limescale model of Winchester cathedral.

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If I were you, I'd have ten seconds to get off my property.

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Funny never sleeps. But sometimes it's resting its eyes.

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"When in Cairo, use a biro; when in Toulouse, a ballpoint must you use". #internationalpenmnemonics

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I don't believe words should have more than one 'h' in them. But I may not have tought that trough.

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Remember when they made a Dances With Wolves video game based on the Parappa the Rapper engine? #90snostalgia

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Sometimes I worry that I'm just using myself.

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Look, I don't want to tell you how to do your job. I don't even know what it is.

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The most mysterious beverage is Anonymitea.

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My mug needs to be cleaned, though it is nicely sepia-toned. What's more important: bacteria or nostalgia?

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I'M ASHAMED TO HAVE THOUGHT OF THIS: "Would you like to explore the Hundred Acre Wood?" - A.A. Milne, aroused.

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If I was a celebrity I'd drop my own name.

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Ugh. I've spent the last three days trapped in a cupboard. What a waste of time. Still: ask me anything about coats.

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If I was ever in a coma, I'd hope someone would notice.

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If at first you don't succeed, claim to have been attempting failure. #success

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I could release my own range of greetings cards, but I'm not very neat at colouring or folding cardboard. And I'm not allowed scissors.

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Plike it or plump it.

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Are Rice Krispies really spelled with a 'K'? I don't like it. Ks belong to racists and the Slovaks. They don't belong in my kereal bowl.

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I just washed my mug. It looks unfamiliar now, like a friend that's had plastic surgery, or been washed.

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"Give me a 'B'! Give me a 'B'! Give me a 'B'!" The crossover between beekeeping and cheerleading is limited.

***

I'm trying to psych, mess, build, wake and wrap myself up. Simultaneously.

***

My complaints aren't repetitive. They're vintage, like a fhine whine.

***

Don't you hate it when you're trying to collapse a deckchair and you get your finger trapped and you realise nobody loves you? #annoying

***

For a while, I refused to use the metric system, but was really just shooting myself in the foot. Now I shoot myself in the 30.48cm.

***

The only thing you're sacrificing by throwing yourself into a volcano is your DIGNITY. #advice

***

I like to start a sentence saying: "I'll tell you one thing..." and then tell them TWO things. Because blowing minds is a full time job.

***

I love the outdoors. I much prefer them to doors that keep their sexual preference a secret.

***

To serve an infinite amount of soup, you need an INCALCULADLE.

***

My working hours could be greatly improved by removing the 's'.

***

The people in my office are either unable to read my thoughts, or just don't care about the instructions contained therein. #telapathy

***

The best way to drink from a water bottle is to completely fill your cheeks before swallowing. That way, people will respect your moxie.

***

I can't decide if this thing in my eye is a glint or a twinkle. Whatever it is, it's certainly indicating my ever-prevalent joie de vivre.

***

I never thought I'd say this, but I'm beginning to think my LeAnn Rimes tattoo was a mistake.

***

I'm spreading myself thick.

***

Someone just prematurely gave me part of a bike wheel. Spoke too soon.

***

I reckon I could be a drummer. Not sure if I'd be great at the 'rhythm' element, but I'm certainly good at making people feel uncomfortable.

***

"Value" is so close to "Valve". The 'u' and 'v' are cousins: the former slow and soft, the latter sharp and vicious. They should swap: Ualve

***

THINGS I'VE NEVER BOUGHT INCLUDE: an umbrella, matches, 9/11 conspiracy theories, a poncho, charcoal briquettes, leggings, the farm.

***

There's a small child singing loudly outside our window. I eagerly await his next tune: the Just Got Hit On The Head With A Flowerpot Blues.

***

"I'm on a roll!" - Me, moments before being thrown out of the bakery.

***

An Australian returning an unwanted dessert: "Boo! Meringue!"

***

When watching a murder mystery, I always yell "You did it!" at every single character. Even extras. That way I've covered all the bases.

***

To write mysteries, start at the end and work backwards. Good advice. I spent the last week spending all my royalties. Next up: the book!

***

I don't wear a watch or any other wrist accoutrements. I need some patches of my skin clear in case someone asks what race I am.

***

I advocate the 'head in the oven' suicide method. Aside from the homely charm, the smell of fresh baking will attract potential house buyers

***

Sometimes my tweets are 141 characters and I have to remove the final full-stop. It's an awful sacrifice, like losing a toe to save a foot.

***

Alternative use for a whisk: A CAGE FOR AN EGG. Don't ask me how you'd get the egg in there - I'm not a locksmith.

***

I should cut my losses and focus on this afternoon, I think. Mornings are basically just an airlock on the Starship Productive Afternoon.

***

What's the best music for a dull data entry task? Something steady and hypnotic. The worst? Trout Mask Replica.

***

Data entry: tedious on Earth, sensual on the Starship Enterprise.

***

You think I'm easily distracted? Think again. Just call me Mr Cheap Orange Juice, 'cause I'm MADE FROM CONCENTRATE.

***

Hmm. I forgot what I was doing... Hey look, a paperclip!

***

Each tweet is a single subtle wink to just one person. Isn't that right, GARY. ;-)

***

I use 'Otis Redding' as rhyming slang for 'beheading'. It doesn't come up much, which is why I always steer conversation towards Henry VIII.

***

Of course, even then, people more naturally get to 'beheaded'. So I have to steer them towards the present participle.

***

Sometimes I think it's not worth the effort. But rarely.

***

I hate it when people say 'put the date in your diary'. My diary came with every date already included. As standard.

***

Unless it's a date far in the future. Or a fictional date (eg. Twunday πnd Martobery). That's where WH Smith falls down.

***

My Elizabethan costume business is going nowhere. I'm stuck in a ruff.

***

HOME IMPROVEMENT TIP: If you want higher ceilings, just wear thinner socks.

***

There's something primal about eating Marmite. Especially if you do it in the nude.

***

I feel like a god, eating dark matter. Or dense, creamed nebulae.

***

I mean, I'm not a god, and I'm not eating Marmite, and I'm not in the nude. This is just something I've been thinking about. For an hour.

***

I'm thinking of buying a sawn-off shot glass. I like my booze short and jagged.

***

I'm gonna wash that man right out of my hair. But that other man and those three hikers can stay put.

***

It was a mistake to hide all my valuables inside a Ronnie Corbett sitcom. Still, I learned an important lesson: better safe than Sorry!

***

If I ever win more than five Oscars, I'm going to need to buy a new shelf. #annoying

***

I just blanked myself.

***

A comparison without meaning is like a curtain rail without a curtain: basically just a big stick.

***

You shouldn't say things you can't take back. Which is why I never mention Sale items.

***

Met a chicken today with whom I had an instant rapport. We just clucked.

***

What shall we do with the drunken sailor? Well first things first - we should revoke his boating license. Then... I dunno, an intervention?

***

Remember when Facebook had "is" at the start of status updates? I think Twitter should, by default, end all tweets with ", you know?"

***

I like to take risks with my tweets. Sometimes I'll use two apostrophes '' instead of a quotation mark ". And SO WHAT if I run out of charac

***

Minutes. There's one born every minute.

***

I'm highly frustrated. (My frust has a lot of critical acclaim).

***

Butterfly: the only swimming stroke that's also a type of cake. (Except for Swiss Roll)

***

My new Affirmative Action Man figure is as upbeat as he is Caucasian.

***

I've only attended universities with an 'x' in them. I think it might be because I'm LIVING ON THE EDGE.

***

Bristol wanted me. God knows they did. I said if they changed their name to Brixtol I'd give it some thought. Their loss.

***

It's the same futurepunk approach that means I only enter restaurants that have a neon sword in their logo.

***

On the other hand, I never eat anywhere with a legible menu, and would never study at a university that contained the word "ortsmouth".

***

I can't find the Wine Menu button on my remote.

***

You need to pull your socks up, Lad. All the way up. That's right. You need to be able to clip them to your collar.

***

I'm going to eat some Bran Flakes. Because cereal isn't about the bling and the sugar, it's about SUBSTANCE.

***

After launching a thousand ships and burning the topless towers of Ilium, I imagine Helen's face needed some moisturiser.

***

Well.

Well.

The best thing about my tweets is that about 12% of them actually make sense, and work as jokes. Which leads people to think that the rest of them must make sense too. But they don't.

I like to imagine intelligent people scouring every minor linguistic element of my tweets, searching in vain for meaning.

Of course, no-one is doing that. Imagine! People reading my tweets!

Jaundice

I went to the doctor's today.

I don't know about the apostrophe placement there. Is it the place of the doctor? Or the place of several doctors? Or is it just a plural? Maybe you go to the doctors in the same way you go to the wolves.

Wolf Health Care is of a poor standard, though they've successfully combated child obesity by removing chunks of flesh. This may seem excessive, but it is in keeping with their lycanthropic oath.

Anyway, I went to the doctors's's's.

I wasn't too happy to be there. But I did keep thinking: there could be a blog post in this.

I think in italics.

Things I have thought are of greater significance than things of which I have not thought. I need to indicate this in text formatting.

But my thoughts aren't bold.

I don't have that kind of conviction.

People who went to public school think in bold. Just like their fathers did.

Another inky string to their nepotistic bow.

You can't become Chief Executive of a major corporation if you think in italics. It's the natural order of things.

I did keep thinking: there could be a blog post in this.

In the doctorz, I mean.

But nothing particularly interesting happened. I thought I might get involved in a Curb Your Enthusiasm-style argument with someone in the waiting room.

"Excuse me! I was reading that magazine."

"Whaddaya mean you were reading that?"

"I was reading it! You want me to draw you a picture?!"

"But you put it down!"

"Only for a second. I was gonna pick it back up!"

"If you put it down, you put it down. It's up for grabs!"

"I ONLY PUT IT DOWN FOR A SECOND!"

"OH, SO, WHAT -  I SHOULD NEVER PICK UP A MAGAZINE, IN CASE SOMEONE MIGHT BE READING IT?"

"IT'S MY MAGAZINE!!"

"IT'S COMMUNAL!"

"THERE'S A WHOLE PILE OF MAGAZINES THERE!"

"IT'S NOT ABOUT THE MAGAZINES! I DON'T EVEN WANT TO READ A MAGAZINE! IT'S THE PRINCIPLE!"

"OH, FUCK YOU!"

"NO, FUCK YOU AND YOUR GODDAMN MAGAZINE, YOU SELFISH PRICK!"


But that didn't happen.

There was a mother and her young daughter in the waiting room. We didn't get into an argument.

I really enjoy listening to parents talk to their children - especially if they're nice and thoughtful (the parents, I mean - children are amoral at best). It's really interesting hearing how people chose to explain the complexities of the world to their offspring. Their choice of words, the level of detail they go into, the comparisons they use - all demonstrate something about the person's character.

I enjoyed listening to this mother talk to her child. At one point, they started reading a story book which turned out to be about the Nativity.

The mother said something like: "Do you remember hearing this story before? About the special baby?"

SPOILER:
The special baby was Jesus.

I love the idea of referring to Jesus as 'the special baby'. Because it's entirely accurate, and conveys a lot about the story, but doesn't quite commit to him being the son of God.

I liked that mother.

The only other interesting thing that happened in the doktuhss was when I was waiting in the... doctor room? There must be a more specific name for that.

I was looking at the shelves and saw, right at the top, a yellow ring-binder, which was labelled 'Yellow Fever'.

How devilishly apropos, I thought. And then tweeted, amused by my own turn of phrase.

Also, yellow fever seems like a really old-fashioned disease. I don't even really know what it is. I always thought it was when a white man lusted after a Chinese girl.

AHAHA. RACISM! PURE, UNADULTERATED RACISM!

I'm Chinese. So, who's racist now?

Me?

Well yes.

But what about now?

Still me?

Oh.

Damn. I just looked it up, and that racist expression isn't even original. It's even on Wikipedia.

I can abide racism only if it's entirely new.

I looked up the disease on Wikipedia too, hoping to get some funny material out of it. But it's just a horrible disease.

I need to start choosing my battles more carefully.

I choose The Battle of Edgehill!

(This is like an episode of Pokémon)

So, my DOCKtourSS trip didn't yield too much fruit.

I then bought a light bulb that was the wrong size and came home.

I don't like buying light bulbs. I think it sends the supermarket staff a subliminal message that I'm out of ideas.

I'm not out of ideas.

I may run out of energy, patience or good will, but I'm never out of ideas.

Look, I'll show you:

IDEA #1

A "Really Crazy Golf Course" that has black circles painted on the ground instead of holes. When you complain to the staff, they insist that there are holes. You get angry, they call the authorities, everything gets out of hand (especially your putter, which is made of ketamine).

IDEA #2

A new tax system based on the number of DVDs you have of the series Scrubs. (If you have any Scrubs DVDs, you pay 98% tax. I call it the Fraudulent Imagination Tax.)

IDEA #3

A cross between a lake and a rake (sabotage your neighbour's bonfire).

See? I have ideas. And a light bulb that doesn't fit. But still, who needs a light in their bathroom? Everything in there is better done by touch.

That was my day.

If this was Curb Your Enthusiasm, I'd have contracted yellow fever on the way home. And would perhaps have got into some kind of misunderstanding about a 'special baby'. But luckily, this is real life.

Interesting stuff, you might be thinking.

Or interesting stuff, if you went to Harrow.

Running

It's late. I started watching the film Marathon Man, but there was something wrong with my recording and it skipped about an hour and a half of the film. At first I thought it was just a interesting experiment with non-linear narrative.

But rather than testing the conventions of film-making, it was merely testing my patience.

My patience failed the test.

My patience is always failing tests. It only has two GCSEs - and they were mostly down to the coursework.

I should go to bed. But I'm worried I might stumble on something useful.

What if I want to do a bit of stand-up material about missing the middle of Marathon Man? That would be a real hit with the old and old-at-heart.

"I found it difficult to find on DVD, because they changed the name to Snickers Man in 1990!"

*AUDIENCE LAUGHS (YES THEY DO)*

"Hey, what's the deal with Dustin Hoffman?"

*AUDIENCE CHUCKLES IN ANTICIPATION (MMM-HMM)*

"What was he, like, dusting off... a... man...?"

*AUDIENCE SORT-OF LAUGHS. THEY MAKE A NOISE LIKE "HEHHHHHHH"*

"My patience has two GCSEs!"

*CONFUSION*

"I'm... should I go to bed? Imagine that! Imagine me going to bed in the middle of my set! I'm anti-comedy."

*A WOMAN AT THE BACK OF THE ROOM REMEMBERS SOMETHING THAT HAPPENED TO HER WHEN SHE WAS NINE. HER AUNT PAM HAD DRESSED AS A CLOWN AND REFERRED TO HERSELF AS 'AUNTIE COMEDY'. CUSTARD PIES WERE THROWN. TEARS WERE SHED. THE CLOWN COSTUME WAS RETURNED TO THE WITCH FROM WHOM IT WAS PURCHASED*

"Maybe I'm asleep right now! Haw-phew! Haw-phew! I'm snoring!"

*ALL AUDIENCE GOODWILL IS GONE*

"Men and women are different, aren't they? Men are useless. Absolutely useless."

*GUFFAWS RESUME*

***

Then I'd probably end on a song. I'm just piecing this together. I think I'll have an hour ready for Edinburgh next year. It will mostly be about Marathon Man and gender politics. And sleeping. And that bit about GCSEs (which doesn't strictly fit in with the theme, but is too brilliant to lose).

I smell a Perrier!

French water... I ask you: why?

***

I should definitely go to bed.

But I seem to be cooking now.

I'm sitting on the hob.

I'M SITTING ON THE HOB!

(I'm not really sitting on the hob)

Definitely cooking...

I got distracted whilst writing this. Maybe I'm not cooking as much as I thought I was. That smoke was probably just plumes of dust. That sizzling was just my brain shutting down. That delicious aroma was just me. Raw, untrammelled me.

So I should sign off, man (like Hoffman) and make a gracious exit.

***

Someone should make a documentary about me. I'm open to offers.

Stardom

 

Shortly after writing my last post on the internet (it was both on the subject of the internet, and transmitted via the internet), I was linked to a great old Douglas Adams article where he makes some of the same points as me, but much more succinctly and eloquently.

That's the trouble with always being right. (I'm right about everything except this very assertion.) There are always people out there who have thought the same things as me, but have the talent to better express them, and to reach a wider audience.

Then again, I'm sure I've written things that no-one else has thought of. Even if they are just as right as me. I'm probably too hung up on originality (mistakenly believing novelty is better than quality - especially in large quantities). Sometimes I'll tweet something almost incomprehensible, just because I'm sure I must be the first to say it.

So sometimes I'm right and redundant. And sometimes I'm revolutionary and unfathomable.

The trick is in getting the balance right. That golden ratio of the obvious to the obtuse. It's a thin line. I'm thinking of building a summer house there.

In the opening sentence of this post (remember that?), I spelled 'internet' with a lower-case 'i'. In my previous post I spelled it with a capital 'I' (not to be confused with a lower-case 'L').

It seemed wrong at the time. Capitalising 'internet' seems like capitalising Grass. Or Unease.

But the spellcheck highlighted my lower-hopeless-case errors, and I changed them like a sap.

Later, I was linked to this manifesto, outlining basic principles about the i/Internet, most of which I agree with. This is at the bottom:

ps – The 11th principle is that it’s “internet” not “Internet”. We capitalize technology when it’s new and scary. It’s time to decapitalize it, just like radio, newspaper, and television.

Yeah! That's right! Up yours, Blogger spellcheck (useful though you are)! No more capitals for the internet. Capitals are tools of The Man. Without them, he'd just be the man. And no-one would take him seriously. Or the woman.

***

I took a few days off Twitter and I think I've forgotten how to do it. I'm worried I've stepped outside the bubble of myself, and can see it for the shimmering, fragile, bitter-tasting orb that it is. I hope I haven't ruined the magic.

And it is magic.

I'm sure I'll get used to it again. Just as I got used to unicorns being extinct. It was a shock at first, but to be honest: HORSES.

***

Those three asterisks are like a personal trainer, trying to motivate me to go a few extra feet.

"Come on, Paul!" they say, in unison. "You can do another chunk of text! It doesn't have to be funny or make sense. It just has to be some words. What about us? You could put words in the mouth of asterisks! I bet no-one's ever done that before!"

I think you're underestimating the number of people in the world. And the number of people who have come into contact with asterisks. There must be billions.*

I bet at least one of them has anthropomorphised asterisks. I bet there are over ten people who have compared the three asterisks to Snap, Crackle and Pop.

I bet there are four people who have imagined them with Scouse accents.

YOU'RE NOT HELPING HERE, YOU LITTLE STAR JERK-OFFS.

"Sorry. Just a suggestion. You shouldn't have used that last term. It has changed your tone from whimsy to abuse."

You're right. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to swear.

"With language like that, you'll end up writing the matchday programmes at Accrington Stanley".

Who are they?

"Exaccchhhkkly."

***

You've made your point.

Lots of points. Six each. Eighteen in total.

Or so it seems. Maybe it's just this font.


*Scientists estimate nearly three billion people have encountered asterisks. They have done experiments and made charfs and pie graphs on this very subject.

Scare City

Because of the Internet, we can no longer think good.

So says IDIOTS.

There's a curious tendency amongst people from all over the political spectrum to be suspicious of modern technology and to question the implications it has for the way we think.

Our attention spans are too short. We can no longer form real relationships with people. There's too much out there and it's too easy to get hold of. Cats doing unlikely things aren't that funny.

Well, I agree on the last one.

Except for the really funny cats.

People say the Internet has changed the way we think. And this might well be true. There are lots of experiments on the subject. But it's never clear whether this is a change for the worst. It's just assumed that it is.

Do you think the general intelligence of the population is significantly lower than it used to be? Are today's children more isolated, emotionally disconnected, and unable to deal with sophisticated ideas?

I don't know. I think it's unlikely, though.

There's a strange impulse amongst adults to disenfranchise the young. Ours was the last true generation. Modern music is rubbish, exams are getting easier, playing video games kills your imagination, kids are obese, apathetic drones.

Not like it was in my day.

Of course in my day, the same arguments were going on. And I suspect they always have been.

People criticise new technology as a matter of course. Before video games were ruining our youth, television was. Before that, radio was.

People complained about the printing press. "Our children," they probably said, in clogs, "are going to be slaves to the printed word. What happened to remembering things? How can we expect our children to engage with the world if they have it stored in books instead of neurons (which haven't even been invented yet)?"

Surely we won't know the ramifications of technological change until we've lived with it for decades. This Luddite fear of the new is dangerous but seemingly inevitable.

I'd feel patronised and oppressed if I was a modern youth. Thinking the world is against you is a cliche of the rebellious teenager. But guess what? IT'S TRUE.

On the video game example, people are always talking about how it robs children of their imagination. They're just brain-dead automatons numbly shooting people with massive guns. This is the assumption made by people who have no idea what they're talking about. They don't like games, so assume they must be damaging.

But let me tell you, I played a lot of video games when I was growing up. And - whilst I may have a litany of other social, physical and mental disorders - lack of imagination has never been a problem.

The idea that there's too much information, too freely available is ridiculous to me. I think people remember their childhoods, where you had to wait a week for the next episode of your favourite programme, you had to search through record shops for the obscure new album you wanted, you had to write people letters.

[Stewart Lee made me think of this. I think he's amazing, but his attitude (or the attitude he presents) to the modern world annoys me. He's always making unfair comparisons; citing the things he liked as a young man - alternative, good, interesting art - and relating them to the most banal mainstream media of today. There's probably more to write about him, but I just thought I'd vent a little.]

I can see why people like the idea of things not being immediately presented to them. I like finding rare things in rare shops, I like collecting things. But this is still going on. The Internet doesn't mean the joy of the hunt is over - it's just taking place over a different landscape. People are still finding interesting art, niche sub-cultures and minority opinion, it's just that they're searching online rather than onfoot. And this is a global search.

Not only that, but people still do go to record shops and search out rarities in the physical world. The Stewart Lees of this generation are still going to record and comic shops, but they also have an huge world of possibility open to them online.

Too much possibility, some might say. But some are dicks.

Imagine this scenario: a thirteen-year-old is standing in the British Library. Almost all literature is available to her - more than she could ever hope to read in a lifetime. All manner of subjects and opinions, epic poems, classic novels, books on how to make the perfect fruit salad. Books are everywhere, and she has free reign to explore any avenue her mind presents to her.

Now is anyone imagining this situation and thinking: "That poor child."?

I hope not.

Scarcity is not inherently valuable. If your locked in a windowless room for your whole life, you may develop a deep understanding of the room. You may become an expert on skirting boards. You may be able to concentrate for long periods on a single picture-hook.

But it would be better to unlock that door.

The Internet is fantastic. Well actually, the Internet is neutral. But the possibilities are fantastic. Just as they are for all technology. As long as prissy middle-aged worriers don't keep shutting off these innumerable yellow brick roads just because they didn't have them as a child.

Yes, your childhood was magical.

So was mine.

And what's more - and I know this may be hard to take - the children right now, the youth of 2011, are having childhoods just as full of wonder, mystery and depth as yours were.