Postmodern Haiku #3

I think I'm aheading for an anthology.

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Shimmy up the pipe.
Shimmy further up the pipe.
Until you fall off.

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I quite like the Sysiphean imagery in this one. OH GET ME.

You, who do you fancy?

I was well up for a drink last night. In London there are literally kagooglezillions of pubs, ranging from the god awful to the sublime, and in each category prices can range from the bargainous to the eye-extractingly exclusive. The website I wanted was the very good Fancy A Pint, but as I was making my way there (in true stand-up comedy fashion), look what happened:



Oh dear. What a damning indictment of (specifically British) society. I wouldn't normally mind, but I was secretly ashamed of myself at the 'fancy a bum' reference, pointed at a particular section of Friday night cringe-fest Balls Of Steel, which, as puerile as it is, actually makes me laugh, mostly due to the relentless nature of the interrogation, and the chap's incredibly serious facial expression. Judge for yourself:




Sorry about that.

Letters Page #4

That's right, kids! It'd the return of the BBBPPP retard gawp-o-thon. Seriously though, stop laughing. It's not funny. Gogol would have argued that you're just laughing at yourself - that's bad enough. But the truth is you'd be laughing at the utterly horrific absurdity of modern society, which also includes injustice, ignorance and devoted self-absorption. Welcome to the 21st century - look how far we've come.

LOOK DADDY, NO BRAIN CELLS!

Take, for example, this particular specimen:

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Dear BBBPPP, if you had a row with your ex and a few weeks later ask her come for a drink with you and she texts you saying: "Seriously now, why would I meet up for a drink after how you have spoke to me?" What does she want me say? What is she saying?

BBBPPP: She's saying that she's surprised to have found someone as idiotic as herself. The tragicomic irony is that due to this idiocy, she is yet to work out the significance of it all and you are yet to work out that she is a tit.

Then...

Dear BBBPPP: If a girl says shes over her ex when you get with her and says she's falling for you. Then you end it and she says she still loves her ex and wants him back, but he has a new girlfriend and is happy with her. Then the girl is supposed to be dating someone else now. What should you do and whats going on in her head?

BBBPPP: Bleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep. You should alert the nearest nurse as you've got a flatliner on your hands. In the mental sense, there is nothing going on in her head. She has still got the audacity to be suckling on the planet's painfully finite resources, yet manages to contribute nothing but migraines.

Then...

Dear BBBPPP: Why would your ex-girlfriend, who you ain't spoke to for a month and she says she doesn't want you, start to have ago at you when you have just spoken to your mate, who she says she kissed last week but he denies it, asking why I was having ago at him then she starts to cry after you have ago back at her then tells everyone you pushed her when you didn't?

BBBPPP: Because she's an attention-seeking psycho? Honestly, maybe she's right, and you're just forgetting how much of a spurt you are. Maybe you did push her. Anyone who hasn't yet decided to move on with their life has a mental imbalance and could be capable of anything.

Then...

Dear BBBPPP: Why would your ex say nasty things that hurt you?

BBBPPP: Because you won't leave her alone and maybe word has got out that you're spending all your time querying this issue to third parties. TIME TO MOVE ON, BUDDY.

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Love, eh?

Postmodern Haiku Alert

If it can't be done in 17 syllables, get over yourself.

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Utility's great!
Makes things useful, like shaving.
Shame it's my penis.

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See? Easily done.

Less-than-20 word story

Citizens! Less is more!

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"Ouch!", squeaked mum.

Rory looked agog with the harsh realisation that he had clasped the wrong anus.

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End transmission.

The Man is not for Twitting

I ruddy hate Twitter. Everyone babbles on about it like it's the second coming. In a way it is - it's the technological equivalent of a circle jerk that everyone can get involved with, thus guaranteeing multiple orgasms. However, I do like pop blog Popjustice as it is rather irreverent, a bit like I am. So imagine my utter aghastment when someone pointed out something of particular interest to me, spaffed out by Peter 'Popjustice' Robinson on interweb multigasm facilitator Twitter! My goodness! Will my head explode?!:



Allow me to explain. Many moons ago in the Greater Liverpool area, there was this band called Trilby. Their former drummer's uncle was Paul McCartney. Trilby were quite good and they had this rather good song called 'Edith'. However, fame did not come a-knocking, but Trilby have plodded along in various guises ever since, over the last 8 years or so. Their most recent incarnation, The Hot Melts (yes a band, not an aspirational sandwich solution) have received a bit of coverage. Very good news, I agree. It's nice to know that hard work pays dividends, even in the cold, cruel tundra of the music biz. But wait! Not all is as hunky-dory as once seemed. It appears that The Hot Melts have pulled 'Edith' out of the bag once more, one last throw of the pop-rock dice, before casting it into the bowels of hell, or at least the bargain bin. I can't work out whether the constant peddling of this song is a testament to its innate quality, an admirable perseverance, or just a general irritation. Help me out, here.

Do listen to it though, I'm still rather fond of it. And perhaps P-Rob would have been, had he listened to it. I doubt it though - for as amiable as he is as a chap to talk to, he knows what he likes and I don't think this is it.