I appear to be in someone else’s flat at first because I don’t recognise the kitchen but as it happens it’s my kitchen only a little different.
I think I’m trying to eat breakfast. There’s just me and the two people I’m sharing the flat with. One of them takes my twelve inch vinyl of Minus the Bear’s ‘Acoustics’ EP and starts to rip open not only the plastic still covering the record but also the cardboard sleeve itself. I scream into my shredded wheat, “What are you doing?!? There’s only five thousand of them in the entire world!”
The person tearing apart from precious vinyl shrugs and throws it on the counter. He then wanders off. I pine for this mess lying in front of me before I get a tap on the shoulder. The guy hands me thirty pounds in five pound notes and wanders off eating a Nutrigrain bar.
When I look further inside the cardboard sleeve I realise the record is in fact only a seven inch and right at the bottom, squeezed in at the bottom, is a mug and a blue t-shirt / jumper with a strange logo on.
It was late on the Thursday of the 6th May. I had just returned home with my small counterpart and pushed some nutrients into my face when I discovered a strange card lying on my bed. It appeared to have some writing and possibly some diagrams, both of which were illegible. In order to carry on with my evening I placed them to one side.
Imagine my surprise then when a further nine arrived on my doorstep the next day. Each contained a number and again further words and pictures that seemed to be describing some event or events to which I had not been part of. I hadn’t a clue where to start even after referring them to one of the younger generation who seemed to relish the indescribable and the incoherant.
Then came Saturday and further shocks. Two more cards were left hanging from my postbox. I now appeared to have a full set of something. Several evenings have passed by since then and I am determined to discover the fiend or fiends who are toying with my mind. Any fresh evidence will follow.
Today I have been spending a lot of my time catching with 80’s singer, musician and apparently model Yazz.
We are all aware that Yazz is known best for her 1988 number one single ‘The Only Way Is Up’ but what followed the success of this breakthrough? Not at lot as it seems. Despite three other successful singles from the same album it would appear that the only way was down. The next releases were few and far between and the world appeared to forget about Yazz. Even a cover of ‘How Long’ with Aswad wasn’t enough to get the general public panting like puppies.
What does Yazz do now you ask? According to Wikipedia she has found faith, is an active member of the Calahonda Baptist Church and lives in Spain. It would appear that she is and has been married to husband Jazz Summers. Yazz and Jazz are rarely seen in public but it might be due to the fact that criminally nobody is looking for them.
I, personally, am gutted that the United Kingdom missed out on the French only release Yazz Megamix back in 1990 and that back in September 2009 when ‘The Only Way Is Up’ was re-released I didn’t know. I will leave you with this information. Go forth and spread some.
I have decided to take one of my more obscure business ventures and actually make it happen. Having visited a local bank I have managed to secure a small loan in order to get us up and running. I won’t go into too many details because there are rivals constantly watching me, trying to steal my ideas. Know this though: if they strike me down I will become more powerful than they could ever imagine…
Nah I’ll just do it now. I am going to open two shops: one selling eagles and one as an opticians with a twist in the centre of town. After people constantly mishearing what I am saying on the phone at work it was inevitable. The eagles we sell will be the best. The opticians will all be dressed as birds. This time next year Optimum Eagles and Opticle Seagulls will be raking the money in.
A lot of people aren’t old enough now to remember one of the great wars of the last twenty-five years or so. Some still take precident over others and it is because of this phallic and intrinsic obsession with the Middle East that only a few people now can recall the devestating affair that resulted because of the Coca Cola Wars.
Before we start touching that though let us set the scene. It was around the eighties; texts are now few and far between which account for just how it all began. Two drinks industry giants stood tall, dominating the US and indeed most other countries around the world with their carbonated beverages. But then something happened. Mr Coca Cola was sat in his study enjoying the warm summer breeze floating in through the window when, apparently, Mr Pepsi stormed in and cut his head off with a scythe. When Mr Coca Cola’s head was later re-attached at Washington State Hospital he decided that such an unprovoked attack could not be ignored.
Back at his base, Mr Coca Cola organised his troops and sent three of his Coke Ninjas into Pepsi HQ to deliver a message. This message was fatal to anyone who came across it. Luckily nobody actually came across it because they left it in the men’s changing room that nobody used anymore and when it was located it was by a cat who had been trying to take her life. Mr Pepsi immediately identified who the message had come from. It didn’t say anything other than a picture of a smashed bottle. Anyone else would see this as some sort of poetic visual display but Mr Pepsi knew what it meant. It was war.
(the following exert was provided from ‘Suck On This: Coca Cola vs Pepsi (in a war)’ by Blardy Blardy Bloomer)
Having recently watched a copy of ‘The Lion King’ which was not hastily bought from Ebay for twenty quid or more nor a bad illegal copy without the shiny shiny on the front, I thought it was time to see just how bad the main bad guy from the film was. Bad bad.
Eighty-five minutes is not a long time to whip some shizz up but Scar seems to do it quite well. Having waited for the right moment to unleash hell, which sees his brother become king and then his nephew become the heir to the throne, he then waits even longer until the child is at the gullible age to believe he actually gives a damn. Thankfully we are spared the long silences where Scar sits, rolls over, scratches his welcomes and thinks, “F*cking hell, this is taking forever!”
First he sends Simba off to the elephants graveyard in the hope the hyenas will eat his face off, then he perfects a plan whereby his brother gets run over by a herd of buffalo on the M1 and pushes Simba out of the pride hanging a huge cloud of guilt over the small boy’s head (as he makes him believe he is responsible for his dad popping his clogs). Scar then promptly takes over, brings in his army of hyenas and proceeds to eat everything within a five mile radius.
In the end with everything hanging in the balance, and Simba still a force of nature despite being turned into a namby-panby insect eating hippie by Timon and Pumbaa, Scar slips up and reveals it was his dastardly plan to kill Mufasa. Then the hyenas tear him to bits.
All in all he does do a very good job. Not quite Cruella DeVille of course however with the standard British baddie accent you can never do wrong. 8 out of 10.
It’s the discount pebble sale here at Marshall’s World of Pebbles! Come on down to our Discount Pebble Warehouse for some kerr-azy discounts on pebbles at prices you can’t afford to miss!
Big white pebbles! Ideal for poncey minimalist flats where graphic designers and marketing executives live, with whitewashed floorboards and arty candles and that sort of shite. You might like to get an enormous jar of these pebbles and put it in a corner. Yeah, cos that’ll be individual. £12 a dozen.
Little brown pebbles! Super for sprinkling on cakes and other desserts. Or get a whole truck full of them and use them on your driveway, if you want to spend the rest of your life raking the damn things back into place again. Supposedly a good security measure but a shotgun is better and makes less noise. £42 per hundredweight.
One huge pebble with swirly bits! Lots of fun for the whole family can be had if your whole family are some sort of mentalists who take pleasure in looking at rocks like this one. If you are then you’ll probably appreciate being able to buy one off us at stupid prices instead of just picking up armloads of them for free at any beach. Just £150 a pop.
So come on down for all your pebble bargains to Marshall’s World of Pebbles! Carcroft, Thorp Arch and Denby Dale. Offer must end Sunday.
This morning I woke up and I decided to lie in bed a little bit longer before I got up at my usual time. My usual time is 8:12 because I like the even numbers. If I wake up at an odd numbered time I immediately close my eyes and pretend to sleep until the time flashes to an even number, than I wake up. Titter titter.
For breakfast I put two pieces of bread into the toaster and heated them up until they weren’t white anymore. Only two minutes and out they came, brown as brown, hot and toasted somewhat. After opening the fridge I decided upon two different spreads for my toast; butter and jam. It was a tough choice between strawberry and blackberry but in the end strawberry won for the following reasons:
1) it has strawberries in it
2) it tastes like strawberries and
3) the other one doesn’t have strawberries in it
I put the layer of butter on before the strawberry jam because that is very important. If you don’t put the butter on first then it goes very wrong. I spent several minutes deciding whether or not to remove the crusts from the pieces of toast eventually ending on the decision to leave them on because my hair is already curly and anymore curliness won’t damage my hair. I then moved my attentions to the kettle where I stood for the next hour…
(to continue at a time when it becomes more exciting)
