Ploughing through the Gobi desert in your lovelife is never a good thing. We would all rather be simply ploughing, period.
The Gobi is arid, it's hot, dry and all together rude but the worst thing about being stuck in the middle of the desert is there is absolutely no way out for miles around. No train timetables to look at, no cabs just around the corner, nope you're stuck there until one day you keep on trucking and just over the ridge will be some type of civilization. In this analogy I am imagining an old Western cowboy town, where John Wayne would be walking through the streets awkwardly as if he had a pineapple tucked snuggly up his arse. Then as you come round the corner, hopefully you'll be saved by a massive sign with the words tattoed on it "You are now entering Fannybrough. Please drive carefully through our village".
How long until you re-virginise? You know, let's say someone hasn't had nothing more than a cheeky dick flick in the last coupla months, do they then suddenly revert back to the days before A-Levels or if you're from Glasgow, pre 11+. Sorry Glasgow, actually you all can hardly read and will be under about ten feet of snow so you've got bigger problems. Anyways, one digresses on the more trivial aspects of life. Who rights the book on how long is too long?
In the back of each and every one of our minds we all know what is just a purple patch and when it becomes a touch more than that. How do we all know this? Society tells us but not overtly, it's not publicised through the media and it isn't pushed at us all in schools or in textbooks. Then, how do we know what the optimum time is between relationships? Between shags? Between cheeky snogs?
"THEY" tell us. No-one has ever figured out who the these mysterious "THEY" are. Is it the same group who create these crazy urban myths that circulate like if you have sex with a girl ontop then the sperm can't swin upstream and therefore she can't get pregnant or that Prince Harry does coke with a dollar bill because he doesn't want the guilt of doing drugs off of his grand-mother's face. Probably.
With a final sentiment: how long is too long? If I could ask "They" I would. Actually whilst I'm there I might ask them why the Easter Bunny gives everyone oversize eggs from a finely made whicker basker. Surely it should be a chicken?! Where the fuck did the rabbit come from!
Tuesday, 29 December 2009
Sunday, 27 December 2009
Comedy or Tragedy?
Ever wondered whether or not you are simply stuck in a Tragedy or Comedy?
Life is a play to be acted out on the world stage with everyone watching and criticsing. Wondering which way you are going to turn next, enter stage right, will he end up in the final act with the lead damsel in distress wrapped with her legs around his waist or instead lying there on the stage floor having been stabbed by his bestfriends around him? The curtain then draws down across the stage with it's ever resounding finality and the public so enthralled by what they had seen, wonder back off into the busy streets around them, trying to figure out what the fuck just happened and whether or not that has affected them in anyway shape or form. Often in the noughties or the teenies as we are about to enter, the answer is a resounding: NO. Perhaps that's a tragedy in itself.
Tragedy or Comedy: the older I get and the increasing amount of days that whizz past me I wonder.
So let's start with the comedy in this hypothetical, life-changing analogy that no-one will ever read but it would be rude not to contribute to the world just because I assume that no-one could care less. The irony of it all is that it could well be the case that due to pumping out words into the never-ending ethos of the internet, where words don't actually mean anything anymore - it almost renders anything said absolutely useless. Back to the first question: Ironic Comedy or Unequivocal tragedy?
Indeed, as we all walk through the streets and look at the dregs of society trotting through the high streets, listening to the drivel that is pumped out of the nearest HMV or Primark, is there anyone out there who has any idea what it's all about? We are all being fed the same rubbish from music marketing companies, PR film management firms and the worst of all the press releases that through spnsorship now dictate what our newspapers and tv channels produce.
Ergo, the tragedy is that no-one even realises that everyone from Tescos to Habitat, ITV to fucking Simon Cowell (the subject of another blog on the Twenty-first century Maccheavellian prick)are pushing at us what we would should say, think and buy.
The ultimate tragedy is that we will all march to our own inevitable lonely deaths, without ever having made a decision.
Thus, is it comedy that there is someone looking down or up, hell even across laughing at our own naivety or a tragedy that we don't even realise it.
Fuck it could be both. Tragic.
Life is a play to be acted out on the world stage with everyone watching and criticsing. Wondering which way you are going to turn next, enter stage right, will he end up in the final act with the lead damsel in distress wrapped with her legs around his waist or instead lying there on the stage floor having been stabbed by his bestfriends around him? The curtain then draws down across the stage with it's ever resounding finality and the public so enthralled by what they had seen, wonder back off into the busy streets around them, trying to figure out what the fuck just happened and whether or not that has affected them in anyway shape or form. Often in the noughties or the teenies as we are about to enter, the answer is a resounding: NO. Perhaps that's a tragedy in itself.
Tragedy or Comedy: the older I get and the increasing amount of days that whizz past me I wonder.
So let's start with the comedy in this hypothetical, life-changing analogy that no-one will ever read but it would be rude not to contribute to the world just because I assume that no-one could care less. The irony of it all is that it could well be the case that due to pumping out words into the never-ending ethos of the internet, where words don't actually mean anything anymore - it almost renders anything said absolutely useless. Back to the first question: Ironic Comedy or Unequivocal tragedy?
Indeed, as we all walk through the streets and look at the dregs of society trotting through the high streets, listening to the drivel that is pumped out of the nearest HMV or Primark, is there anyone out there who has any idea what it's all about? We are all being fed the same rubbish from music marketing companies, PR film management firms and the worst of all the press releases that through spnsorship now dictate what our newspapers and tv channels produce.
Ergo, the tragedy is that no-one even realises that everyone from Tescos to Habitat, ITV to fucking Simon Cowell (the subject of another blog on the Twenty-first century Maccheavellian prick)are pushing at us what we would should say, think and buy.
The ultimate tragedy is that we will all march to our own inevitable lonely deaths, without ever having made a decision.
Thus, is it comedy that there is someone looking down or up, hell even across laughing at our own naivety or a tragedy that we don't even realise it.
Fuck it could be both. Tragic.
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