When Life Hands You Lemons; Do Whatever the Hell You Want
Posted: April 7, 2016 Filed under: culture, writing | Tags: aarrgghh, attitude, Culture, fashion, flags, lemonade, lemons, philosophy, positivity, T-shirts Leave a commentLemons?
Nice one.
Lemonade?
If you insist…
I, however, will be knocking the sour bejeezus out of those lemons and over my garden wall because; thanks for the lemons but I’m going to have to destroy them now.
Thanks though.
I’ll knock those lemons into the river.
Sour-up some fish.
Put it on a T-Shirt and promote the hell out of it.
“Go Sour Fish!”
Why not put it on a T-shirt?
There are people who criticize things on T-shirts:
“Oh really? Is that cute little T-shirt supposed to sum you up?”
Yes – motherfucker. Why else do you think I’m permitting it to lay upon my canvas?
Sure my torso’s a canvas. It’s the only real billboard I have and I’m going to have to use it to sum myself the fuck up owing largely to the fact I’ve nothing to utter but: “Aarrgghh!”
https://samsywoodsy.com/2013/11/06/how-many-as-is-appropriate/ shall tell you more; though my spelling has altered somewhat.
Of course I see the chest as a flag.
Let it remain brightly.
So, offered lemons; perhaps you could make lemonade.
I, however, designed a really rather nifty T-shirt and flag.
I think it’ll suit the masses marvellously.
And they really deserve a break.
You need not make just a T-shirt and flag.
One could demonstrate the outer limits of human imagination and ingenuity and go about staunchly and unapologetically creating lemonade.
I’m not ashamed of making lemonade; it’s just that I’m more of a T-shirt and flag kind of guy.
That’s what my friends say about me.
Flags are our history and T-shirts are our expression of extremely personal nationhood.
No man is an island (including the Isle of Man), unless he T-shirt lets you know otherwise.
Should his T-shirt state: “I’m Up and Dressed! What The F**k More Do You Want?!” then fuck that guy and his life choices.
Imagine the scene of the purchase:
1: “Louis! Look at this here shirt! We have to get that for you!”
Louis: (laughing) “Oh come on you guys! I know I like a lie-in but that T-shirts got swearing on it!”
I’m sure you’ll appreciate my “fuck that guy and his life choices” comment.
And although what one wears might not necessarily denote what one is; it is a truth that a guy who looks awesome is a guy who looks awesome and the looking-awesome guy who looks awesome probably has a degree of insight and input into looking so awesome-guyish.
Essential; a funny or expressive phrase upon your T-shirt says something about you.
Hence, therefore and thus; make it something awesome.
Be awesome.
Beats making lemonade.
Sam
With a Bowtie I Could Remain Much the Same. You’ll See
Posted: April 6, 2016 Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: aristocracy, bowtie, bowties, horses, identity, manhood, masculinity, morality Leave a commentBowties should be taken back by the lower classes who never had them.
I just want the aristocrats to have one less thing.
They’ve got so much.
They have horses.
Just ask yourself: “Where the fuck are all the horses?”
My answer: “Near the aristocrats! Want to go get some with me?”
And you can reply with: “No bitch; I’m bow-tying tonight!”
You know those horses will go splendidly with your bowtie; but you’re not at that level yet. The horse and the bowtie will clash and you’ll just be standing there; being ridden and worn (EVERYTHING’S GONE WRONG!)
Though I do like the idea of bowties being some you do; just as much as wear.
If you BOWTIE; you assume permission owing to morality.
You don’t ask a lady if she’d really-rather-awfully-wouldn’t-mind if you were to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre mid-choke. There’s only so much a good woman can do as far as multi-tasking goes. She’s already trying to breathe whilst simultaneously and distinctly not breathing; it’s a wonder she can flail so much as she is!
So your course of action?
You grab her like you’re going to educate her in the ways of the windpipe and heave.
Heave.
Heave so hard you forget why you’re heaving.
And when she regains enough of a lung-full to launch some appreciate your way, just utter: “Madam, surely you could tell by the way I wear my bowtie?” and leave her feeling charmed and ashamed for not acknowledging your BOWTIE a little earlier.
Pre-choke appreciation is the kind I’m looking for.
All else is too earned to be considered real manners.
That’s about it.
Does the BOWTIE make the man? No, but not all men can make a BOWTIE.
How shall we be able to discern them apart?
A little lower than the chin and most of a foot higher than the nipple; see there.
One of my favourite bodily areas since it gets such little praise.
If you need me; I’ll be in my BOWTIE.
…BOWTYING.
Sam
(PS. Why? Because I’m moral.)
How I’d Like to Go…
Posted: April 5, 2016 Filed under: culture, writing | Tags: ethics, explosions, Humour, life, living, morality, mortality, suicide, terrorism Leave a commentWhat about if I were to simply explode?
I don’t think one can argue with dramatics at a time like that.
Plus the mess I make post-pop could provide work for the workless (I will be swept and mopped), meat (a tad hairy) for the hungry (I’m looking at you, lucky vultures) and a reminder of me as I used to be; wet, showing too much flesh and gradually making my way down your wall.
I can only apologise for the mess. If offended; feel free to concern yourself with the less-fine cuts.
Fertiliser is fertiliser after all.
Apologies also for the windows; at least we have people to deal with that for us; window washers. I hope they’re trained to such a degree as limbs on the pane.
If it weren’t for window washers we’d have to go about that extraordinarily simply task all alone with a sponge.
“All alone with a sponge.”
Let these words haunt us like the remnants of me snail-pacing myself down your window.
A real curtain-shutter.
I don’t know about you guys but I want to stab and burrow the little dot of an exclamation mark deeply into the Earth before I depart.
“BOOM” suits me nicely.
Just to be clear here; I’m not advocating any terrorist activity.
Don’t do that.
It’s bad for your health and the economy.
In particularly, MY health and economy.
Don’t touch my economy.
Terrorism in the form of faux-martyrdom (annihilating oneself and as many as possible of the unsuspecting non-believers around you) is cowardice in its most vulgar and blatant guise.
Heroes also suffer the throws of slings and arrows whilst they burden the daily and die slowly in an effort to improve the world (though relative).
If destroying yourself and the lives of those you haven’t even spoken to is your best method; you should really get out of the world-changing game because you are woefully unarmed on a planet currently dealing in and thriving on words and ideas.
Courage is all the more essential in matters that are slow and are accordingly all the more un-noted.
Exploding yourself and killing others is capitulation to the rigours of a worthy fight.
Not to mention that you disembarking a few dozen/hundred/thousand folk from the planet’s surface really is testament to how petty you are.
If all I’d achieved in my life was the murder of others; I’d consider the life a wasted one. Fortunately and tragically never to return.
Blow yourself up; leave the world unchanged (though of course there is now one less cunt in it).
I’d rather be all alone with a sponge.
Seriously.
In the meanwhile; I believe I was talking about my own preferred means of departure.
REAL CLASS is lacing oneself with explosives, enjoying a final meal of rare steak and (please) no lit candles, before making my way out into the desert/mountain top/bridge of your own cute little boat (let’s keep it secluded, eh fellows?) and having a good long think.
Follow that think, whatever it might have consisted of, and push the button.
Probably the red one.
Exploding must be one hell of a sensation; though admittedly brief.
They say a head decapitated is still open to thought and sensation for several seconds.
Curious.
Perhaps it is alike to the chicken running headless around the farmyard in what it hopes is the least axe-like direction.
Time to kill, post-suicide, eh?
If only my head remained; I think my options would become wonderfully limited and clear.
Can’t say “Ow” (though appropriate). Can’t sing (though appropriate; exploding really is breath taking). No final soliloquy.
Only one thing for it.
Give the sky a big kiss and continue rolling.
Mwah (you get one too).
It won’t change the world, but since it’s your life; do as you choose with it.
Plus; worms need grub too.
Bugger off in the style you deem most appropriate.
That’s what I’d like to do.
That’s how I’d like to go.
I would, of course, fiercely recommend living that life first.
It is ever-so-somewhat the point.
Mwah,
Sam
(PS. I likely have much more to say on the variety of topics covered here; I’ll get to them at some point. Probably not sponges and window washers though; I don’t know how they happened.)
Donald Trump; On His Level
Posted: March 20, 2016 Filed under: Donald Trump; On His Level | Tags: donald trump, Drumpf, Trump Leave a commentDonald. Having a small penis is no excuse for behaving like that.
Donald Trump; On His Level
Posted: March 20, 2016 Filed under: Uncategorized Leave a commentDonald. Is this true that small change once beat you up? Was it pesos?
Donald Trump; On His Level
Posted: March 20, 2016 Filed under: Donald Trump; On His Level | Tags: donald trump, Drumpf, Trump Leave a commentDonald. You’re a threat to international security and you’re not even good at it.
Donald Trump; On His Level
Posted: March 20, 2016 Filed under: Donald Trump; On His Level | Tags: donald trump, Drumpf, Trump Leave a commentDonald. You’re a threat to international security but to me you’ll always be a silly bitch.
Donald Trump; On His Level
Posted: March 20, 2016 Filed under: Donald Trump; On His Level | Tags: donald trump, Drumpf, Trump Leave a commentDonald. Really; money does love you back. Don’t listen to those mean poor people.
Sam Wood; Lately
Posted: March 19, 2016 Filed under: The Greatest Human to Ever Live | Tags: belvedere, denver, engaged, iceland, Kent, northern lights, oxford, sponsorship, ufc Leave a commentI holidayed in Denver, began a new year, moved to London, boated about in Oxford, was profoundly English in Iceland, got engaged beneath Northern Lights upon a different boat, moved to Kent, got promoted and remembered I write articles on the internet and that I should really probably at some point like actually (“totes”) get around to that one day soon with a little bit if “ish” on the end.
How’ve you been?
You inactive pussy you.
Only joking; I’m sure you achieved a great deal.
Like winter.
Congratulations on winter. If you didn’t make it through; you should have tried nudity.
Nudity is a barebones means of communicating to the elements that there’s no real point in trying; your penis can get no smaller and nipples no stiffer. Taking all the puff out of the wind as it were.
I did winter twice and only fell twice, entirely clothed both times just to show how tough I am. Perhaps I should have been naked; just to make a point; a means of ‘point-making’ I am only too happy to put across.
Denver is tremendous; I caber-tossed in the Rockies and defeated every Texan I met at Beer Pong.
Aside from that I have to say a UFC competitor is an extraordinary occupation to hold.
Stepping into a shape (let’s not quarrel over squared circles, rings and octagons) and professionally punching faces. A bad day at the office consists of not punching the other’s face enough; in which case either try harder or yoga. Now; before more fists happen to you.
Plus sponsorships.
Why not sponsor yourself? If you don’t then you have no self-belief in the product.
Upon your trunks should be an emblazoned “ME….motherfucker…”
What a point that emits and a good one at that: “ME….motherfucker…”?
“ME.…motherfucker…” speaks scrolls of worthy output that “Nike” can only dream of.
Oxford is superb; if you haven’t fought a woman in terms of boating and actuality then you haven’t done what I did that day. Maybe this is a recommendation; perhaps it’s just an admission that I fought my now-fiancé with an oar.
As for Oxford…….that’ll do. Plus breakfast was lovely; as were the locals.
I moved lived in South London for a while, commuting into Swale every day.
Commuting is a profitable hobby, for it was whilst I made my way most merrily (and…not really) at 5am from Belvedere (BBEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLVVVVVVVVVVEEEEEEEEEDDDDDDDDDDEEEEEEERREEEEEEEEEEE!) to work; I remembered reading was an option. I now intend to indulge fully in the art form.
The art form of reading, that is, as opposed to writing (as you can tell).
I’m not a hushed reader; I like to encourage the author along; offering a whoop of appreciation and excitement as the chapters come to peak. It is a robust and healthy method of reading, although the rest of the carriage did turn against me and I was forced to begin to smoulder with intensity in retaliation.
I recommend you do the same. Otherwise I’d be weird and alone on a train.
Plus self-sponsored.
Plus becoming somewhat over-excited about my own enunciation of “Belvedere” (BBEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLVVVVVVVVVVEEEEEEEEEDDDDDDDDDDEEEEEEERREEEEEEEEEEE!).
Oh I’ve sighed in my life; but I’m a superior screamer.
So…Iceland was engaging.
Because I got engaged (fuck puns today).
I asked my girl, the focus of my dreams and the bewilderment of my reality, to be mine for the rest of our lives and she said “Yes.”
Beneath the Northern Lights which danced for us as though tumbling from the heavens and upon us, purely so as to exacerbate the point that life is distinctly going my way and I have no excuse for this.
Perhaps it’s because I just kept smiling.
I don’t deserve any of this; but I’m not giving up a second of this for a lifetime as any tiger-like living there could be; likely since I’ve found my tigress.
And she lays with me.
I intend to write in detail about all of Denver, Oxford, Iceland, engagement and other vital subject matters such as have been scarcely penetrated here (poor buggers); but this will do for now.
Forgive my absence; I’ve been deservedly busy and inexcusably cheerful.
Smiling helps.
Plus I’m the Greatest Human to Ever Live.
And so are you.
Mwah,
Sam
Donald Trump; On His Level
Posted: March 16, 2016 Filed under: Donald Trump; On His Level | Tags: donald trump, Drumpf, Trump Leave a commentDonald. You are unintelligent but far more stupid. Nor too bright. Plus an idiot.