Red

I don't think I'm easily annoyed.

Easily depressed, yes. Easily discouraged. Easily cowed. Easily deflated. Easily defeated. Yes, yes. All of those. But not easily annoyed. Not by most people's standards.

But today I am annoyed.

I've been thinking about getting back on Twitter. I changed my profile pic and everything. But today has reminded me of one of the reasons I left in the first place: endless tedious jokes on the same subject.

Today is Valentine's Day, so there has been a landslide of 'roses are red, violets are blue' variations.

I don't understand why people are doing them. They're all terrible, and they've all been done before.

Perhaps a joke is like a jazz standard, and people are just putting their own spin on it. Perhaps we can learn about the comedic thinking of a person by how they choose to deal with a certain framework. Perhaps originality comes not from form, but from...

No.

No, no, no.

They're terrible.

The 'roses are red' variation is the most basic, entry-level joke format in the world. It's something children do. All you need to do is find a word that rhymes with 'blue' and you've got a hilarious joke.

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Bum bum bum bum
Bum bum bum bum poo

Depressing.

People realise this on Twitter, so they go for a postmodern version that doesn't rhyme, or is dark. It's a deconstruction of the trope.

Except for the fact that these clever meta versions account for NINETY-FIVE PERCENT of the tweets.

Roses are red
Violets are blue
I got thrown out of the florist
For stating the obvious

Ahahahaha.

Ninety-five percent.

Are these people not seeing the same flood of jokes as I am? Are they not following the same people? Do they think they're being original? If not, why are they doing it? Do they just want to be part of something, like the people who watched Nelson Mandela's funeral?

And if that wasn't bad enough, you get a further billion tweets that are self-consciously mocking their own lack of originality.

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Everyone else tweeted this
So I thought I might too

That's an extra step of self-awareness. Except that there are thousands of people doing that too.

EVERYONE HAS DONE YOUR JOKE, YOU IDIOT.

THEY DID IT FIRST, AND THEY DID IT BETTER.

BE ORIGINAL, YOU FUCK.

Then again, I also got annoyed when ordering clothes from Next online, so maybe I'm the one with the problem.

My obsession with originality is probably stifling my development as a writer.

Also, I don't really do any writing. That's stifling my development as a writer.

Jesus, Twitter.

It's like watching a group of animals eating, defecating, eating, regurgitating and lionising the same carcass. Let it fertilise the soil and move on to something else.

I don't know what that means.

I'm easily annoyed today.

Oh, also stop thinking you're funny by combining two current news stories into one joke. It's not as clever as you think it is. It's not even as clever as I think it is, and I think it's pretty fucking unclever.

That's right. Two fucks in the same blog post. 

"But Paul, you don't like to swear in your posts. I don't remember the last time you swore on the blog."

I don't like to swear. You're right. But I'm a terrible human being, and I'm being riled by all of the other human beings who don't realise how terrible they are.

Breathe.

***

I'm breathing.

***

OK.

I feel a bit more calm now. God bless Twitter. There are a lot of funny, informative and generous people on there.

I'm glad it exists.

Breathe.

I'm breathing.

I'm breathing.

Just so you know, I checked to make sure I hadn't done any 'roses are red' tweets. I was worried that I'd done loads of them. I probably started the whole derivative ball rolling, I thought.

How am I going to live this down?

But no. I'm valid. I'm really valid. I'm a valid man.

I did do some jokes about roses, though.

***

I got my girlfriend a baker's dozen red roses. He's furious.

***

There's no more romantic gesture than bundling your loved one into a hot air balloon whilst dressed as a dozen roses.

***

There. The first one's probably been done before, but not the second. Not the second.

I really am a terrible person.

A terrible, valid person.

If I was a clay pigeon, I wouldn't even take the trouble to shoot myself. I'd just leave me to fly into the woods and die of exposure.

No, I don't know.

I'm the problem, not you. Your rose joke is fine.

I'm breathing.

***

Looking forward to the weekend, everyone? I am!

Saints are on the telly, and I've got some sherbet lemons on the way.

I used to like them when I was a child, but then I went off sweets.

But a few weeks ago, I bought some on a whim, and I'm right back on the sherbet lemon train. I like to bite the end off and suck the sherbet out. Nothing wrong with that.

They do make me worry about my teeth, though. They must be ninety-five percent (NINETY-FIVE PERCENT) sugar. I think eating three sherbet lemons is equivalent to smashing out all your teeth with a hammer.

I'll just make sure that I cover my teeth in protective foil before eating them, like my dentist suggested.

Of course, it's not just football and sweets. I'm also going out on the town for a large drink or several with tha lads, perhaps! Wrecking up the town centre - rowdy as heck. Don't wait up, Baroness! I may be some time!

What am I talking about?

You see, this - THIS - is what happens when you put originality on a pedestal. Meaningless bullshit. That paragraph was better than a 'roses are red' joke, was it? No. Of course not.

I've just remembered a dream I had last night. I was on some television programme with Penn Jillette that was a nice, friendly, comedic conversation. But at the end, I just shouted "FUCK LIBERTARIANISM". It caused him some distress.

I think I apologised. We made up, maybe.

I also remember using the phrase: "I get the credit for the joke, you get the blame for the punchline!"

That's where I am now. I'm telling you about dreams I've had.

Nothing annoys me more than myself.

It's good to write these things down, though. It's good to publish them online. It's healthy.

I'll feel a lot calmer afterwards.

I need to relax. I'm all hopped-up on sherbet and righteous indignation. I like to bite the end off and suck the righteous indignation out. Nothing wrong with that.

I'm still breathing.

Oh God, it's Pancake Day in a few weeks. I dread to think of all of the terrible pancake puns people will write. If I have to read through them all, I think I might just...

flip.

...


...



***

And that was the end of the blog post.

You can stop breathing now.