yay obscure pop culture references

Bob the devil and god

I looked down at my corpse. It was a bad way to die, on the bog. I hoped no one would make a big thing of it. Then again, it was how Elvis went. And at least I wasn’t halfway through anything. Still, it did lack a certain panache to it.

I turned to the tall cowled figure that I knew would be there. “Allo”
“Hello Bob”
“Don’t fancy a game of chess do you?”
“No”
“Ah, right. Didn’t think so. Maybe some guitar hero?”
He shook his head. There was an air of finality to the movement, but then I guess that was to be expected.
“Fair enough” I said. BY THE WAY. WHY AREN’T YOU TALKING LIKE THIS. COPY WRITE INFRINGMENT?
He looked at me. Then he swung his scythe.
“I liked you better in the books!” I yelled as I drifted away into nothingness

I appeared in a dazzling white plane of infinite majesty. It hurt my eyes a lot. Once I adjusted to the glare I saw there was a queue of people. Seeing nothing else to do I queued with them. In front of me was a guy in a gorilla suit. Or maybe it was a woman. Or maybe it was a really shabby gorilla with a zip stuck to it. I tapped him/her/it on the shoulder.

“scuse me” I asked “what are we queuing for?”
“Huh?” he (it was a guy) turned and looked as confused as only a man in a gorilla costume could. I repeated my question.
“Dunno. Heaven I guess. I just got ere myself”
“Ok…and why the gorilla suit?”
“It’s what I was in when I died. I think that’s how you appear here. And I’m hopin that’s why you got your walaper out”
I looked down and saw I was still undone and dropped. I hastily pulled up.
“Sorry”
“S’ok. Lotta folk I seen ahead aint got anything on at all.
“Really? Any of em foxy?” I craned my neck to see.
“Nut”
“Ah well, I guess perving in a queue for heaven isn’t that smart anyways”

We waited for an eternity. It wasn’t so bad given that time no longer existed. Plus I’d been to Disney land, so I knew a thing or two about queuing. Through tact, bartering, subtle nudging and delicate social manoeuvring I managed to skip at least 50000 people. It was amazing what the naked ones would do for a sock. After what I assumed to be 27 years, based on no evidence whatsoever I found myself at the doors to a massive emerald palace. It reminded me a lot of that time I tried to get into a really swanky club.

I approached the door man and smiled. “allo”
He took out a list and consulted it “Name?”
“Bob Teresa. Mother Teresa was my great aunt”
“No shit? can you show me some I.D then?”
“Maybe I could show you this” I reached into my pocket and pulled out my other sock. I hoped it had the same value here as it did in the Queue. He took it from me, looked furtively around and pocketed it. “All right step inside”
I did so. Inside…was another queue. Smaller this time, only a few miles long.

After a few days I came to a set of massive pearly gates. There was a figure bathed in golden light in front of them. I put on a pair of sunglasses which I had exchanged yet another sock for-it’s a good thing I always carry a few spares. It looked like meatballs with eyes and noodley appendages. I approached

“Behold the gates of heaven!” It boomed “Are you not blinded by the majesty of them?”
I wasn’t, but then I had my shades on. Sides, it sounded like a rhetorical question.
“Now comes the time of judgement! Your multitude of benign sins will be weighed against the pitiful amount of good you have done during your life. Then we shall decide if you are worthy, or if you will damned to eternal torment! But first, tell me. Do you think you have sinned greatly?”
I thought about it “Umm not really. Does masturbation count as a sin?”
“Yes!”
Crap “Well do you count it as a one off, or separately each time?”
“Each time!”
Shit. Well that was that. I was screwed. Damned by my own hand, pun intended. Unless…
“You don’t want any socks do you?”
“Silence! Now await your judgement”
I awaited. The scales of justice slammed so heavily to one side, they cracked the ground. Christ, twice a day really added up after 10 years.

“You have been judged! Hell awaits you” the figure pointed at me and lightning shot out its noodley appendage

There was a rushing sensation. Like being on oblivion at Alton towers. It was kind of fun really, if you forgot the destination. The golden light was turning a dark dark red. And I fell and fell and fell. Then I hit the bottom. But landed on something fairly soft. I looked down. It was J.K Rowling. She was unconscious.

“Who enters the kingdom of hell” a sinister voice asked from the crimson darkness.
“Who wants to know?” I asked suspiciously.
“Me” a fat bearded old man stepped towards me. I stared in slight puzzlement.
“Surprised worm? After all, what better way for I to renounce god than to take all meaning away from his only sons birthday”
“Plus there’s the anagram” I said helpfully
“Quiet worm, now begins your torment. You must have sex with J.K Rowling…for eternity!”
I thought about it and scrutinized J.K Rowling’s unconscious body for a while. She wasn’t all that unattractive. Plus older women knew things…
A thought occurred to me.
What if I challenged you to a rock off?”
The old fat man sighed “What are your terms and what instrument?”
“Guitar hero”

soon to be edited

your hearts so busy and crowded
you best take care who you let in
your face is all masked and shrouded
I can't tell the costume from skin

no this didn't happen to me

He shivered and shuddered as the snowy ice went into the gap between his hat and his shirt. It slivered down his neck mixing with sweat. It felt horrible, all hot and cold and sticky and wet. And he was too tightly bundled up to take off any of his many layers. Too many layers. Thick and heavy and slow. That was why he had been hit by the snowball. Too slow and hot.

He wanted to cry. His nose was running and his eyes were wet from the cold anyway. Instead he bent down and scooped up his own wad of snow. Cupping it close he formed it into a hard smooth ball. His gloves were sodden from previous attempts, hands wet and wrinkling, growing number. He breathed hot air onto them and tried to suck out some of the wetness.

He looked around for a target. Everyone was running and screaming and skidding and falling. Most had formed into gangs, temporary alliances in the heat of battle. But he had only been at school a few days. He didn’t know anyone and so he didn’t know who he should throw the snowball at. Not a girl obviously. Most of them had stayed inside anyway. Not anyone much bigger than him either, or much smaller. He stood dumbly with the ball growing wetter and colder in his hand, wandering what to do.

Smack! This time a snowball hit him on the ear that was poking through his hat. It burned cold pain into him. He burned too, angry and furious red. He saw who threw it, a big kid with a stupid grin. I hated you I hate you I hate you. He threw his missile with all the strength the cold cold day hadn’t sapped from him. It sailed towards the big stupid kid and his big stupid face.

But the big stupid kid was fast. He ducked, still grinning and laughing. The ball sailed past and smacked someone else right in the face. They fell to the ground and let up a wail. It was a little girl, small and pretty and crying. She was so loud that the playground monitor quickly ran over and scooped her up. She shot him a disgusted look and took the loud crying pretty small girl inside.

He got hit by a lot more snowballs after that.

hats and women, my two greatest weaknesses

women will do terrible things for hats. they will lie, cheat, steal and bribe. I have witnessed this first hand. big deal you say. well yes normally it wouldn't matter. but unfortunatly, i am whats known as a hat enthusiast. pirate hats, fezes, bizzare lepoard prints, i have them all. but do i wear them? NO! i cannot even enjoy the simple pleasure of wearing an amusing and slightly racist hat in public without fear of reprisal from some dasturdly self centred femme fatal. My brother (a likeminded hatophile) confirmed this idea when, during a call, he commented that some woman actually assulted him for refusal to give up his hat. of course being a gentleman he walked away with only a cursory rude word.

lock up your hats men

morality bytes, or why my essays suck

I've always been very intrested in morality. whats right and whats wrong, who decides yadeeyada. now time for my very genral and vague (like all my essays) views on such things.

I was on youtube watchin the most awesome jack johnson preform his laid back accoustic love (truly he is my idle) when scrolling down i saw someone had left a negative comment! Ignorance online? surely not! it went something like this

"All you people that like jack are just sheep Baaa Baaa. he's sooo mainstream and unorginal"

Seems to me that things become mainstream because they are good. its like their reward. and originality for originalitys sake alone seems a bit pointless to me. fair enough of your making a statement, but don't critise something purely because its "conformist". and i would suggest that theres a few conformist ideas that are pretty good to subscribe to. for instance, geneocide beiung bad and not setting fire to dogs. sometimes the masses do get it right.

Then again that raises a tricky issue. say the vast majority of folk decided it was a good idea to set fire to dogs. wouldn't it be percieved as a good thing. after all morality soemtimes seems to be nothing more than a sort of democracy. you vote on what you think is a bad thing and if a significantly high percentage (say 70%) says it is, then it officially becomes so. course there are grey areas like abortion (where the splits kinda in the middle)

But like all democracys theres a problem. what if mostly everyone is STUPIDO!? (I don't think they are but just bare with me) after all 1000 years ago 70% of everyone thought rights for women were a bad idea. so it "officially" became one. and about 200 years ago everyone though slavery was a good idea (except the slaves presumably) so it "officially" was. Point is todays evil might well be tommorows good. so place your bets and invest your cash carefully.

course this takes the argument into a full contradictory circle. like me essays. YAY.

dr5y

!

Worst laid schemes

bah I've been such a fool. less hair means more cold means getting a cold means my comparatively work free drink heavy weekend is in double jepordy. Who the hell cares if I'm well groomed when theres mucas threating to engulf me in a phagocytotic betrayal (oooh big words)

thought of the day-I want to know what a boocookie is but i'm afraid to google it