Of All the Mindless Insanities

Can I ask you a question? Supposing you were to be standing beside an A4 sheet of paper with MR MISCHIEF written on it in big bold block caps; would you draw a cock on the white space?

Don’t lie. Of course you would! You’re human.

I should explain why there is a picture of Mr Mischief in a secondary school. Each section of the school is plastered with posters of Mr Men characters and each Mr man is awarded a shiny gold star if the area he lives in is kept clean by all the enthusiastic boys and girls. It wasn’t like I’d added gender clarifying genitalia to the picture of Mr Mischief (primarily because it had already been stolen) was it?

Although I cannot be entirely sure what possessed me to draw on the page in such a vulgar manner, I’m guessing it was one or a combination of: playful childishness, momentary insanity or just simple minded mischievousness. It’s hard to tell.

But, anyway, before I could add the splashings of seamen and reallocate myself away from the crime scene one of those half-teachers (teachers that write for those who cannot write, talk for those who cannot talk and shite for those who cannot shite) comes bounding up the corridor seizing her moment of power.

“What do you think you are doing young man?” she huffs in a hugely self important tone.

“Well I was er…” I giggle sheepishly, half contemplating finishing my sentence. I saw he look at the drawing.

“Do you really think that is appropriate for a boy of your age?”

“No.” I say shaking my head in embarrassment and self disgust looking at the floor and swinging my leg in shame.

I could tell she was amused and that she’d leave within seconds, and probably implore one of the janitors to replace the poster. But she didn’t. Instead one of the senior management team decided it was time to stroll up this particular corridor and enquire.

“What’s going on here then?” he may as well have had the prefix “Ello ‘ello ‘ello…” I was actually almost shitting myself. He’s one of those teachers that has a mild appearance but will kill you with hammers for any minor infraction, and let’s face it this was about medium on the misnomer scale.

“And do you think that’s appropriate, George?” he said in a disturbingly calm voice.

“No.” I say shaking my head in embarrassment and self disgust, looking at the floor and swinging my leg in shame.

“Well what do you think should be done about it?” he asked as if I was four.

“Erm…” I responded as if I was four.

“Well I think you should go make a new one. You can do that, can’t you?”

“Er, yeah.” I lied. Burning with humiliation. They left. I ripped the poster off the wall in frustration only to be greeted by an equally expert drawing of a penis.

A brief explanation of the Labels

To the Right of the main blog words you will see, among other things, the list of labels. So as to avoid future confusion I shall explain what I mean by them and what you can expect from blogs labelled with them.

Truth: By truth I mean things that are true. Things in this category will, hopefully, still have a comical slant but will be entirely true.

UnTruth: Things marked out as UnTrue, are not lies (as they would be in Newspeak). They are things that have a strong basis in truth but have been distorted or exaggerated for purposes of satire and comedy.

Lies: Things that I call lies are frequently things that actually have a slight basis in truth or a truthful idea but like the story of Noah’s Ark has grown out of anything that can be called true.

Utter Lies: Much like Truth but the exact opposite.

You may also notice that I will mark things with my user name (Orian57) this is to show that it was written by me and not just posted by me as on occasion I will write things “in character”, by which I mean I will be writing things not as myself but as a fictional character or in a satirical view of someone else.

The unfortunate incident of the queer and Dr Evil in the daytime

Woop! It was bound to happen eventually but today I lost my queer bashed cherry!

James, you know James – everyone should have one (they’re all the range in Japan), just eighteen and already bald and shorter than most children. Adheres to silly republican opinions that he thinks are worthwhile; compensating for his height seems to widen and has an enormously hyperbolic sense of self-worth. A typical James. Obviously it would be upsetting being a James and so they tend to have a far lowered boiling point.

Like Madonna I feel sorry for disadvantaged foreign children, and so I gave it a hug (well I can’t afford to adopt it) that lasted no more than 3 (4, 5, 6, 7) seconds. This however, was clearly the row-boat that broke the whales back.

It went berserk.

Started thrashing the place and mutating like some retarded Chernobyl victim and it really unnerved the first years.

“ROAAAAAAR!” the killer bear roared “ROOOOOOAAAAAAR!” it said emphasising its point. Pumping up its ‘muscles’ it stumbled after me, shouting “Stay the fuck away from me! Stay the fuck away from me!” in a pseudo-hard ass accent. While trying not to let my bladder weaken out of sheer mocking laughter, I stayed put. Until the he shoved me away from themselves.

A friend intervened separating us before I had chance to retaliate (for the best I suppose).

“For fucks sake, man! What the hell is wrong with you?” I casually enquired, not even attempting to wipe the grin of my face (Jameses are so funny when they’re angry).

“Stay the fuck away from me!” he recycled.

“I hardly think I could do that.” I said coyly.

Now it is hard to miss a fat white fist coming at your face but, like if a baker were to fire raw dough at you from a spud gun, it’s also hard to avoid.

I could hardly move it was so funny. It felt more like an incredibly obese fish slapped me. But the James felt that it had won and plodded off to the other end of the room (apparently getting the fuck away from me.)

Within ten minutes it was after me again.

“Whey, it’s Stuart Retsis.” I greeted my friend (Stuart Retsis) before launching into the story of the unfortunate incident of the queer and Dr Evil in the daytime as said fictional character look-a-likie growled behind me. Giving it all the attention it deserved I carried on flaunting my wit and explicitly implied its parents were brother and sister.

“ROOOOAAAAR” it replayed. Shoving me (face first) into the wall and trying to hold me as if I were some sort of perp from “The Shield”.

“Don’t beat me!” I begged “I’ll get an erection.”

“You stay the fuck away from me!” he said pushing me against the wall as he pushed away. Chortling to myself I walked away. “You stay the fuck away from me!” he sounded like he was begging now. Smiling nonchalantly I turned around and said: “Oh come on James, don’t be embarrassed. You’re my best customer.” At this point I thought I’d better quit before I got raped and so I ducked into Mr Stuart’s room redy for an invigorating English lesson.

Directions

I’m sure we’ve all seen that deodorant advert, for the new Lynx fragrance. The one where he put it on and then turns into that hideously fattening lump of chocolate with the heinous smile. Then he walks around having girls biting chunks of his ass off and stealing his arm. That one.

Well being the corporate whore that I am, I bought that deodorant recently. And yes it smells nice but I haven’t turned into chocolate man or had girls chasing me. Let me make it clear that on neither account am I disappointed, I just feel I’ve been conned somehow. Conned and then insulted.

Reading the back of the can, as all people do. I find the “directions”: a fancy and patronising word for “instructions”. The tell me to “hold can 15cm away from the body to spray”. Which is unhelpful. Unhelpful because I don’t know what fifteen centimetres looks like and unhelpful because it doesn’t tell me how to spray the deodorising mist from its pressurised prison; it simply tells me what to do before this.

Following this statement and several others it goes on to say “do not spray on a naked flame” again this isn’t particularly helpful and comes about six years too late. Me and a group of friends decided it would be fun to imitate a TV show and use a deodorant can as a flamethrower, we made it interesting as instead of the undead we decided to torch an eraser. Near a wooden fence. And a stack of dry wood. And several houses. That’s by the by though we never got that far before Dean’s leg almost caught fire.

The piese d'resistance: “Chocolate scented body spray. This is not food. Do not ingest.” It’s actually highly depressing that obesity has reached such a critical state that manufacturers have to put “don’t eat me” on their deodorant. Although *cough* I *cough cough* thought that *cough cough coughack* thought it was a breath freshener.

Starting Again

The observant amongst you may have noticed that I have recently obliterated the blog that used to reside at this URL. This is because it was what Tarquin Middleton would call “word syphilis”. And because I hated it. In a moment of blind inspiration I decided that I needed to just start again.

I am hoping to make this blog more clearly a comical blog. I shan’t be talking about myself anymore as I want to write a blog filled with stuff that people will want to read. So with a clearer direction and a fundamental basic idea we press forth.