How To Apologise For The 21st Century. Just Like This…

Yep. We will fuck up in a style that denotes how we refuse to see what sits in front of us. A little bit like World War 1.

The difference is, this time it will largely revolve around sugar.

Apologies for the sugar.

I swear that all that diabetes wasn’t my idea- it sort of just happened.

Whoever’s idea it was to keep putting sugar into things- identify yourself!

Yes. Stand up, you owe use a great deal of our own teeth back, and I WILL COLLECT.

I don’t really want to, I’ve never been overly possessive of my teeth or other peoples, but I do love calling in a debt, particularly when it’s a righteous calling.

Most of that sugar could likely have been left where it was. I mean, sugar- there’s nothing quite like it to sprinkle over your- whatever you want to sprinkle it over (perhaps your missus/cereal/foot)- but I feel that for the most part it could have been ignored.

It’s easy if your try- that’s why you get people who are slight. ‘Slight’ the classy variety of skinny.

Only, we’ve been made to remember sugar as though it is an essential aspect of our lives. It goes beyond being considered an aspect of our diet- it is now a component of our social circles.

“Who’s bringing the sugar?” is a phrase rarely heard but fits in nicely owing to the regrettable fact that we all assume that sugar will be bought to our gatherings.

Think of a gathering- any kind- you will find sugar is present in the pockets, handbags and huge gaping holes in the hinds of the teeth of those gathered. Klan rallies will have some sugar beneath the hood, politicians in the throne rooms of dictators will have luxurious access to the famous white grain, and children will see it everywhere.

The access to it, the ubiquitous presence of sugar, is why you may have that feeling that “life is shit- avoid if possible”.

Avoid sugar- it will bring you up and throw you down, in ways that pale in pointless comparison to crystal meth or crack cocaine, but it will ruin your innards and, at the end of the day, what else do you really have? Be proud of you guts- aside from your actions, they sum you up.

Your body has a great deal more sway than you might like to believe.

For example, you don’t want to vomit…but…whatever- it’s happening anyway and it’s up to you to deal with the cold, clammy aftermath with a mop.

“Aftermath with a mop”- the sign of a body having taken charge.

Indulge the body a little more in the direction of what it wants so deeply, not in the direction of slowly dissolving it in sugar.

Sugar makes you dissolve slowly, whilst being fast enough to ruin your smile and remove you liver.

Instead- do a little back scratching.

Back-scratching, where the metaphor works.

It feels great because we should be doing it frequently, whereas actually we are neglecting our body’s physically-social needs.

Scratching our backs (which is actually most of our body- remove it and we’d just be necks bobbling about upon arses) feels tremendous in a sort of “where’ve you been all my life” way, because our body expects it to happen and the scratch is supposed to be by another person.

Your back being scratched by another, from your body’s point-of-view, means social interactions, which means safety in numbers of more than 1, which hopefully means procreation, which finally in turn relates to some kind of meaning- I don’t know what- but that’s irrelevant for now- I’m talking about backs and what they want me to do for them.

What’ll happen if we don’t indulge in a little back scratching? I don’t know that either- maybe it’s already happening. Maybe it’s global warning? Maybe it’s all that sugar we’ve been dissolving ourselves with.

I recommend that you withdraw all wall-hanging backscratchers from your environment and go and get some good sturdy people that won’t abandon you when the flood water rises and you need a rub on the back.

Rather than filling yourself up with that gross grain called ‘sugar’, go and negotiate some community with your neighbours.

I’ve said this before- but doing this will really help you in basically all that you do (aside from being lonely).

If we don’t start to go about these natural instincts with the gusto that they deserve, and instead distract ourselves with the ugly-ugly, then- who knows what will happen next?

I’m not saying that Hitler just needed a pat on the back more often, but…fuck- maybe he did!

Then again, maybe that back of his being caressed (as it just might have been) actually encouraged him to do all that he did.

In which case- perhaps FDR needed his back to be scratched in order to enter WW2 earlier. I’m sure he could have created an industry out of it- Mr New Deal and all.

Either way- if we ignore these healthy natural instincts then we’ll without a doubt start to become a funny shape.

Take the Catholic Church and the repression of sexual instincts in male-exclusive communities.

Evidently it doesn’t work.

You know what I’m struggling to do? Finding another example of natural instincts being withheld, that’s what.

This means two things.

  1. The Catholic Church should stop it… (“STOP IT!”)
  2. In all other areas, we know that not doing what’s natural is bad for us.

So, I think we should all apologise for the what’s going to happen, owing to what we’ve done (or haven’t done) thus far.

Sorry for the sugar kids.

Sorry for not scratching your ancestors backs.

My fault.

(P.S. As for creating an industry to aid natural instincts being fulfilled; as I mentioned earlier with FDR…some of you are going to start thinking about prostitution. Well…if you can pay someone to massage your shoulders with their thumbs, why can’t someone be paid to massage someone’s penis with their vagina? Answer me!

And…obviously don’t get an STD or hit a prostitute as that’s a serious hole in my argument.)

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Smelling: A ‘Thing To Do’.

The target audience demographic that I belong to is starting to disappoint me: I’ve realised that I’m poor because the TV I watch doesn’t feature a lot of yacht advertisements.

Cigar advertisements seem to pass me by seamlessly, as do leaflets enquiring as to whether or not I have enough bullion in my life. I have no vault. Vaultlessly yours…

Not once have I been approached by someone trying to get me to finally give in to purchasing another person. “Hey- I’ve gotten to that point in my life, wealth-wise, where buying someone is not a sign of snobbery. It’s neccessity. I cannot be expected to carry my own furs and I can’t stand cotton.

So, let’s make a little money- shall we? To bring this all about somewhat more actually, rather than the mere hypothetically motions I’ve been going through so far.

This is the premise of my financial future: ‘Bring back smelling. Bring it all back’.

You used to do it. Yes you did. Once there was what began as your passive smelling in which you let loose your own distinct whiff that would make your mother know you’re hers, and then what would come throughout your life as your own distinct smell- the reason why your dog knows you’re home whilst you’re still in the car.

And then there came the act of smelling- that cute thing you do with your nose- and good reasons to do so.

In the times as of late you have three main smells we’re bothered to associate ourselves with- and they are undoubtedly the most appropriate.

Number 1. The smell of food, tasty and not, your attraction to it and a reminder of your need to get some.

Number 2. The smell of pussy (recently transposed into the smell of perfume, which eventually leads to the smell of pussy), tasty and not, your attraction to it and a reminder of your need to get some. For the ladies- it would be the musk of mankind after they’ve stabbed a deer to bits pieces.

Number 3. The smell of shit, and your need to avoid it.

What I am trying to get across here is that this is a whole genre of business that is really being limited to the sophistication of substances being bottled. Sure- a lot of very nice things come in bottles, but the best stuff doesn’t.

Such as?

How about the guy that was making holes in running meat? I mentioned him earlier- the fellow that comes home slinging bison-remnants over one shoulder and his dick over the other. This man cannot be bottled, and if you would try- you would end up thrown over whatever shoulder he has remaining and that is a place for only the most very private of property (bison-remnants and genitals). Women want this, and men want to be this. Nothing else matters. Here endeth the bullshit lesson.

Another thing un-bottle-able…the opposite of the man with occupied shoulders. The woman with berry juice running down her chin. This woman cannot be found in a city street, for she can only be found where the wild wind blows and the nights are the celebrations of the day. Men want this, and women want to be this- only a little deeper down than their Mankind-counterpart.

Women suffer from a stiffness of how they are presented owing to a long history of not having much else to be in charge of. Men also don’t have a time limit- whereas a woman’s needs are defined by them. Women need to relax, and need to remember that there is nothing wrong with not-breeding. Having a baby is less helpful than you might think it is- just look at the mess it makes and all that noise. The woman with berry juice trickling down her chin gives zero fucks about this…good.

Dab, dab, behind the ears and upon skinny wrists, doesn’t work, can’t be done- for the same reason as with a man. You try to put her in a bottle and she will reject you in a manner that will remove all hope of a jolly ending from your entrepreneurial insides. This kind of rejection, and the fact that it does not come from most women- seeing as most women have been sophisticated to the point of inhibiting natural instincts (‘It is most improper for a gal-most-female to allow berry juice to trickle down her chin. Blue berry or red, she is NOT ACCEPTABLE!)- stings and makes you want to run home. You should.

My advice to you is, shower every three days, and make the most of your ability to sweat. It won’t ruin things- really. Be sure to give the genitals a good scrubbing every day though as, all notions of natural pride aside, no guy or girl is going to lap up that genital cheese that only comes from lack of washing and thoroughness. Girls- if you’re going to wash at all, then you have to go inside by at least two inches. Men- do what you know you need to do…never allow a build-up of cheese. Swipe your penis as though it abandoned you, but make sure you do it with a damp cloth.

And then I’d make money out of it.

Well, no- not quite, but it would give me a platform from which to just keep talking and as long as you’ve got something to say- what else could you need? Social movements- makes money. Dr King would have been a millionaire by now, if it hadn’t been for all that racism and bullets. Fucking assassins are just the worst when they’re racist. And so are you.

Before eating- raise your fork to your nose and have a good sniff of it. Do this with everything else too, though don’t prop it up to your nose with a fork and that’ll ruin most things.

From your breakfast to your wife- smell what there is to be smelt because…if you had no nose…how would you smell?

Redundantly- that’s how you’d smell. You’d smell redundantly and now you pale even further when compared to Labradors.

My friends- smell whilst you can and you will realise that the triggers this sensation has upon your memories is tremendous- I highly recommend it, although (of course) it can stub the toe of your heart when you are reminded, by scent, of one you once loved. I once loved a girl, and her scent has ruined the enjoyable smell of pizza-dough for me. The hardworking bitch. She’s why I’m writing masculine beauties like “stubbed the toe of your heart” to express myself. And to think I used to be happy with a scream, or even a dandy little yelp.

To realise that your prime smelling years are behind you is not something to be sniffed at (HA!), and I hope you’ll never have to live through something like that.

You know the way that summertime just smells like summertime? That’s why we should smell more- so I highly recommend you get to it. If that smell was my ancient history and all I had to look forward to with my nose was it being a handy way to locate the centre of my face- well then, prospects are disappointing all round. Although it would be a handy place to keep things- like loose change. Hmm.

Have yourself a little odour that you didn’t get given for Christmas. Unless of course you got it from rubbing up against something like a fern, in which case I’ll wish you a merry one and think of you whenever I’m hiking through Norwegian woodlands.

But I might take a hike from walking in the wild so often, owing to my most recent little adventure in which I had barbed-wire nudging my balls.

I was climbing down a little trench and realised I when I got to the bottom that it was fenced, not with a modestly respectable fence but with rails of barbed-wire that never seemed to like me anyway.

So I made a little bridge and flung one leg over, at which point everything turned very spikey and I made a noise most involuntary. Whatever I’d placed my flung-leg onto had crumpled as I applied my weight, meaning that my descent was imminent and my landing was to be squeamish. A few months earlier I’d fallen over (“OH NO I’M FALLING” were my exact words at the time) and damaged my meniscus- the muscle joining the shin bone to the thigh bone, and my healing was not yet complete by the time I encountered the barbs I have since come to dislike so.

Basically my knee was on about 40% strength, so as I began to fall- I stopped myself by stamping my leg down. My knee, being weak, was unprepared for such a hefty request as my spends-a-lot-of-time-sitting physique was putting on it quite suddenly.

Now, my knee didn’t break, but it did bend, and lately I’ve come to realise that’s not entirely a good thing.

My knee slowly bent, I slowly descended- no sound coming from me aside from the ‘pop’ of a barb penetrating my jean’s groin, and, then, the secondary, dimmer-pop as my underwear gave up the fight also, and then silence (particularly from my horrified self) as the barb came to, and rested…gently prodding, though not ‘popping’ my very own testicles.

I have never been gladder to have as much upper-body strength as I do, though I swear that I only lifted and broke free somehow because I screamed loudly enough. Following this I broke a hedge in retaliation and resourcefulness (in fact I was proud I found something to aggress onto so quickly) and I re-built my bridge and ran all the way home- stopping only to…’feel’ (without actually touching) my bollocks- just to make sure a prodding was as only as brutal as my mid-morning walk had been.

If I’d had a weaker upper-body, or if I’d been a tad bit shorter- that might have been the end of my groin as we’ve all come to know and love it.

I’m just so happy that I didn’t get penetrated by some rusty-tetanus-infested-barb that I’ve never even met before and would much prefer to keep at a friendly distance.

My word- the slowness and the quietness…I’m a fucking fable of making sure your bridge is secure. And to avoid barbed wire as long as you value your valuables.

I could still be there, all alone, entangled and heartbroken, the casual and very adorable whimper emanating from this thicket in a trench that no one’s ever going to investigate…

But then…*sniff sniff…wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo*, and by my lucky stars the cops and doggies have found me, having latched onto the trail of my scent with such apparent ease that the blood-hound actually recoils a tad (poor thing)

Guys and gals…I’ll sum up here because I’ve got a mud-puddle outside with my name on it (and there’s nothing better for cooling the blood)…

Love the senses that nature has gifted you, and implement the sweet good-grief out of it. Apply the act of smelling to your workplace, to your family and to your model-plane crafting hobby, and in a mere 50 years our children (if you simply must have them) will be talking about how splendid their day smelt.

It’s simply another aspect of life that I intend to flaunt fully and, of course, add a little to the culture. Not to mention, again- of course, that it’ll remind me of her and how beautiful life is, even if it hurts sometimes, because of that very beauty. Hardworking bitch.

Do you smell what I’m cooking?

Sam


How To Play Pool As If You Were A Good Person.

By all means, avoid the blue ball.

Glasses will smash, noses will be blooded, and conversations will be rudely interrupted, all on account of the blue ball not actually being there whilst you swipe full-force at it.

The red, yellow and white however- they’re you’re business. Like the colours of the flag of pool (we’re going to need one of those).

First things first, you need to step back, then forward again so as to assault the table in every sense of the word. Whether or not people are watching you- either they’ll remember you, or the table sure as hell will.

Then we’ll leave you alone, once we’ve dragged you away from the green and that’ll be that for a while.

You’re a good person now, so just give yourself five minutes to enjoy that feeling and then breathe deeply once and make your way back inside.

Although fact that the table is inside is part of the problem.

Naturally- you’re drinking throughout your pool performance. The violence is natural, the pool is natural and the drink is natural- all you need now are some natural surroundings, so a nice meadow in which to enjoy a game of pool is increasingly important now. Have yourself a pool table, and stick a meadow underneath it.

The reason for the act of violence being natural is that it’s svelte, not the violence, the pool table. The violence is not so much svelte as much as it is loud and eventually leaky.

We rarely encounter that which is svelte in our day to day lives. Apart from babies- they’re fairly svelte, but they haven’t got the arrogance of a pool table. If violence feels svelte to you- then you must’ve been practising.

A pool table will stand there as though it’s clever to have four legs and no skirt on, arrogant and obviously pompous- because somehow it’s winning without playing, whilst also swallowing my balls and not giving them back. It only gives the white ball back, but only so that you can prolong your own agony as you don’t succeed in potting the correct ball and wishing that the blue ball was real.

The house always wins, but you can change the interior before you are made to leave. This doesn’t mean that you should wallpaper the walls, but it does mean that you should take some wallpaper home with you, and perhaps a couple of bricks. The same method applies to pool. Make sure that this cheeky table remembers you- you’re going to lose but leave it a pretty little scar.

That is good pool. Though it may well sour relations with the next player who might well, and justly so, enquire as to why their pool table is scarred and why you have a mouthful of wallpaper. You’re appropriate response is: “Go and do likewise fella, now excuse me…I have a need to flee”.

So the violence is natural.

The pool is natural too, and ties in very smoothly with the naturalness of the drinking.

Drinking is natural owing to the fact that…here it is! Nature is a matter of opinion, with “death by natural causes” being the most debateable.

If I’m eaten by a mountain lion (fine- as long as I truly deserve it) then there really is little more-natural a death to be had by this talkative ape here. But, the police, and hopefully my family, would freak out at the fact that technically I died from being chewed. For some mountain-born kid in the…mountains…it’s likely that being eaten by a mountain lion is comparable for him to a kid in New York dying from being hit by a car. Tragic, and it doesn’t happen to everyone (someone has to be the driver), but- it’s not unnatural. Maybe what’s natural is what’s common in your habitat.

Drinking is happening all around; my town has a raging alcohol and budding weed problem. So it’s natural.

I believe that we have an urge to flaunt the mind’s capabilities when we are drinking, and so either some strong conversation, testy little quiz or a bit of hand-eye co-ordination is what we need at the time of the consumption of alcohol. This is why darts boards, quiz machines and pool tables are found in bars and pubs.

Conversations can also be found here, although they tend to be free of charge. Maybe they won’t be for long, as good conversation can be hard to find and lonely people are plentiful- a very valuable resource for those that sell things in the place of a social life. ‘Whoring your vocal chords’ is how it must be put, since ‘whoring your mouth’ is rather more misleading and much more popular.

All in all, to ensure you’re playing pool as if you’re a good person; be sure to leave the pool hall a little different to how it was when you arrived. Preferably with other people leaving their mouths open as they watch you waddle out with in a funny fashion because you groined the table in a moment of 17 century sexuality- in which you became so aroused by the sight of naked table legs that you grabbed a leg and beat it with it, whilst also beating, with the aforementioned leg,…off.

But how does this relate to you being a good person?

Well, aside from doing what is natural (apologies for not being able to find an alternative word for ‘natural’), you are making a difference.

Change is good, whilst change is also bad, eventually in a good way. If it hadn’t been for the horrors of the holocaust, then the best of human nature would not have been displayed, nor would we have the option to generally be against the holocausts- a cause most aggressively espoused by more good people than bad. So, as an aside, if you want to play pool as if you’re a good person, then play it whilst also being against the holocaust.

Make change of the world’s arse (GHETTO LANGUAGE USED IN WIT- THANKS FOR READING), and then things will be continuing exactly as it always has- constantly changing, hopefully evolving, possibly just changing- lacking a point for which to do so being the reason for it being so.

Sudden and shocking action, unto a room unexpecting it, is a favour to all. Particularly if you don’t know any of them as it is the finest of conversation starters.

Think of it as a social call to those few others that might be there want to contribute to the sudden action. Having a point to the action, let us call it…’momentum’…is something that might matter, as opposed to most things that happen, and do not matter.

Play pool as a good person by making a difference; any way you choose, but I recommend the sudden and shocking method as a call out to the people that might also want to leave the room, which is temporarily the world, a little different from how it was when you first arrived.

That’s about it. The ethos of ‘make change’ prevails above most others- even the one about helping old ladies cross the street- and change is natural, change is good.

You are natural; you are good.

Be natural.

Sam