The only thing worse than waking up in a pool of blood is not waking up in a pool of blood after falling asleep in a bed full of the stuff.
Where did it go? Has somebody mysteriously cleaned it up? Or did I do it without knowing, in which case where are my sheets?
I hate mysteries so am likely to be in a foul mood today unless someone can help me get to the bottom of this. Normally, of course, I would call the police, but lately they seem to be more concerned with 'locating the body' and 'informing the relatives' than sorting out my bedsheet problems which I find very rude indeed.
- Mr Winston
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Friday, June 23, 2006
The 8 Coolest things I did this week
1 – I finally managed to play the entire McFly album whilst circled the neighbourhood in my sporty Renault Clio with the windows down. In total I went around the block 21 times sustaining only critical injuries. My previous best attempt was last Thursday when I got up to track nine before somebody threw a live Kestrel in through the back window and it managed to claw at my face so much that I crashed into Mrs Vickerson’s swimming pool where the bird, sadly, drowned.
2 – I learned the Monday edition of Westwood’s Radio One show off by heart.
3 – I smoked an entire pack of cigarettes by myself down by one of the local underpasses just to prove that I don’t only do it when other people are around. I was sick for three days and can’t feel my tongue but it was worth it.
4 – I successfully made the lovely and beautiful Carly cry by insulting her family and throwing tin cans at her dogs. A few more weeks of this and she’s guaranteed to know how much I adore her.
5 – I watched every single world cup game this week, even those that were on at the same time then recited Alan Hansen’s opinions about England’s defending weaknesses to the kids that hang out down the ally in town. At first I though they were accepting me, but then I realised I was shaking hands with a knife.
6 – I used up my entire month’s worth of text messages in one day of conversation with Shenka that ended in an argument about which Big Brother housemate we would rather sleep with. He said Aisleen but unfortunately the only name I could remember from the show was Pete, he hasn’t spoken to me since.
7 – I slept a total of 85 hours this week, which is more hours than I was awake.
8 – I went playing down the park and successfully made it across the monkey bars and the rope bridge without falling, at the fifth attempt. Things went downhill after that though as I managed to get my arm jammed in the merry-go-round for over three hours before a kindly gentleman released me, called an ambulance, and stole my wallet.
My cool thing to do next week is find the kid that fastened my sleeve to the middle bar of the roundabout and blow spitballs at him until he either cries or gets his older brother to punch me in the face.
- Toledo
2 – I learned the Monday edition of Westwood’s Radio One show off by heart.
3 – I smoked an entire pack of cigarettes by myself down by one of the local underpasses just to prove that I don’t only do it when other people are around. I was sick for three days and can’t feel my tongue but it was worth it.
4 – I successfully made the lovely and beautiful Carly cry by insulting her family and throwing tin cans at her dogs. A few more weeks of this and she’s guaranteed to know how much I adore her.
5 – I watched every single world cup game this week, even those that were on at the same time then recited Alan Hansen’s opinions about England’s defending weaknesses to the kids that hang out down the ally in town. At first I though they were accepting me, but then I realised I was shaking hands with a knife.
6 – I used up my entire month’s worth of text messages in one day of conversation with Shenka that ended in an argument about which Big Brother housemate we would rather sleep with. He said Aisleen but unfortunately the only name I could remember from the show was Pete, he hasn’t spoken to me since.
7 – I slept a total of 85 hours this week, which is more hours than I was awake.
8 – I went playing down the park and successfully made it across the monkey bars and the rope bridge without falling, at the fifth attempt. Things went downhill after that though as I managed to get my arm jammed in the merry-go-round for over three hours before a kindly gentleman released me, called an ambulance, and stole my wallet.
My cool thing to do next week is find the kid that fastened my sleeve to the middle bar of the roundabout and blow spitballs at him until he either cries or gets his older brother to punch me in the face.
- Toledo
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Uncle Pete
At first I found that Uncle Pete only spoke to me at times of the day that, on a digital clock, added up to prime numbers. Now I don’t know why that was, and anyone who has had a conversation with Pete knows that you would never dare ask for fear of losing an important (sometimes vital) body part.
At first it would just be whispers, he would come to me and ask how my day was, remind me that the gas bill needed paying, ask me how many times I’ve felt like killing the remaining shards of my immediate family this hour; but after a while things took a turn for the worse. Now I’m not sure if this was before or after the robbery, but I remember being hauled up in that dank room with those bottles of whisky for two weeks straight, and he appeared to me on every single day. Sometimes we would share a drink, squinting up at the shafts of light that would sometimes creep in through the cracks in the floorboards, at others he would sit quietly in the corner and tell me stories of such pain and anguish that it near on broke my heart and we would weep together until the tears stopped and sleep took us.
Uncle Pete would never let me speak of him though. When the police shouted through the hatch Pete held the bottle to my throat and nodded solemnly as I replied that it was just me; it was at those times that I became afraid. When I finally decided to leave peacefully Pete was the one who rigged the light switch and emptied the barrels.
For the next three weeks we wouldn’t speak. The screams haunted me in my dreams and when I would wake Pete would be sitting there, silent but watchful. I became afraid to go to bed, I tried to escape but he lured me back with his whispers of the ‘good times’. He knew my secrets and I couldn’t escape his presence. Eventually I submitted to his will, and at that point he vanished.
I have not seen Uncle Pete since that day, but the scars from his frequent bottle attacks and severe liver damage from that fortnight in the cellar are daily reminders of his existence. If he should ever appear to you dear reader then my thoughts and prayers are with you and those closest to you.
- Mr Winston
At first it would just be whispers, he would come to me and ask how my day was, remind me that the gas bill needed paying, ask me how many times I’ve felt like killing the remaining shards of my immediate family this hour; but after a while things took a turn for the worse. Now I’m not sure if this was before or after the robbery, but I remember being hauled up in that dank room with those bottles of whisky for two weeks straight, and he appeared to me on every single day. Sometimes we would share a drink, squinting up at the shafts of light that would sometimes creep in through the cracks in the floorboards, at others he would sit quietly in the corner and tell me stories of such pain and anguish that it near on broke my heart and we would weep together until the tears stopped and sleep took us.
Uncle Pete would never let me speak of him though. When the police shouted through the hatch Pete held the bottle to my throat and nodded solemnly as I replied that it was just me; it was at those times that I became afraid. When I finally decided to leave peacefully Pete was the one who rigged the light switch and emptied the barrels.
For the next three weeks we wouldn’t speak. The screams haunted me in my dreams and when I would wake Pete would be sitting there, silent but watchful. I became afraid to go to bed, I tried to escape but he lured me back with his whispers of the ‘good times’. He knew my secrets and I couldn’t escape his presence. Eventually I submitted to his will, and at that point he vanished.
I have not seen Uncle Pete since that day, but the scars from his frequent bottle attacks and severe liver damage from that fortnight in the cellar are daily reminders of his existence. If he should ever appear to you dear reader then my thoughts and prayers are with you and those closest to you.
- Mr Winston
Monday, June 19, 2006
No looking back
Ask any of the so-called lifestyle gurus that hang about posh restaurants and quaint coffee houses run by cheery white haired ladies who frequently provide them with biscuits ‘on the house’, and they will tell you that having a girlfriend (or boyfriend) is one of the greatest ways of increasing your happiness. Why else, they argue, would thousands of people go out night after night looking for someone? Why else, they purr softly over their mocha latte espresso coffee drink, would millions of people get married and have families, if such things did not bring happiness? Then said Guru’s would sit back in their comfy arm chairs and fold their arms in the universally recognised symbol of smug satisfaction, safe in the knowledge that they are right,
They are, of course, completely wrong.
Having a partner does not, by itself, make us happy. I mean think about it, if I am unhappy and I start going out with somebody then surely all that will happen is that I will end up dragging her down into my own despair before finally crushing what little spirit of hope and opportunity she had left inside her fragile body, before casting her aside and thus providing the world with one more unhappy person.
Times that by tens of thousands and you see the problem this county is facing. Until we are happy with ourselves, and by that I mean perfectly, unattainably happy we should never be allowed to get together with someone, and even then we should get together with someone just as happy as ourselves to avoid slippage.
Of course the problem I face is that whilst I have achieved complete happiness myself, I am fairly certain no woman has so far equalled my accomplishment. Such a fact has led me to wallow in singleness for 27 years now, a fact that has a high chance of ruining my supposedly perfectly happy existence. No matter how many happy attractive young women ask me out I am doomed to turn them down one by one, until a perfectly happy one comes along. You may wonder how I will know such an individual should she appear, to that I would simply laugh and point out that it is in asking such a question that it becomes clear how far behind you really are, but in a nice sympathetic way.
-
I could see that my answer was not quite what the young woman who started talking to me in the dry cleaners was looking for when she asked if I was seeing somebody. In fact it probably didn’t help that I finished the above speech by standing atop of the tumble dryers, removing my shirt and shouting the words as loudly as I could.
I chased her for near on ten minutes before the bus hit me. I suppose I should be grateful that she didn’t look back and see me lying on the road, my legs bent at unnatural angles, but then again at times of such great loneliness sometimes all even the happiest of people need is a quick look back from a beautiful woman that isn’t filled with disgust or hate.
- Toby
They are, of course, completely wrong.
Having a partner does not, by itself, make us happy. I mean think about it, if I am unhappy and I start going out with somebody then surely all that will happen is that I will end up dragging her down into my own despair before finally crushing what little spirit of hope and opportunity she had left inside her fragile body, before casting her aside and thus providing the world with one more unhappy person.
Times that by tens of thousands and you see the problem this county is facing. Until we are happy with ourselves, and by that I mean perfectly, unattainably happy we should never be allowed to get together with someone, and even then we should get together with someone just as happy as ourselves to avoid slippage.
Of course the problem I face is that whilst I have achieved complete happiness myself, I am fairly certain no woman has so far equalled my accomplishment. Such a fact has led me to wallow in singleness for 27 years now, a fact that has a high chance of ruining my supposedly perfectly happy existence. No matter how many happy attractive young women ask me out I am doomed to turn them down one by one, until a perfectly happy one comes along. You may wonder how I will know such an individual should she appear, to that I would simply laugh and point out that it is in asking such a question that it becomes clear how far behind you really are, but in a nice sympathetic way.
-
I could see that my answer was not quite what the young woman who started talking to me in the dry cleaners was looking for when she asked if I was seeing somebody. In fact it probably didn’t help that I finished the above speech by standing atop of the tumble dryers, removing my shirt and shouting the words as loudly as I could.
I chased her for near on ten minutes before the bus hit me. I suppose I should be grateful that she didn’t look back and see me lying on the road, my legs bent at unnatural angles, but then again at times of such great loneliness sometimes all even the happiest of people need is a quick look back from a beautiful woman that isn’t filled with disgust or hate.
- Toby
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Conversations
Toby: ‘What the hell’s going on?’
Mr. W: What?
Toledo: Yeah quiet bro, you’re interrupting the world cup, the coolest cup in the world!’
Mr. W: ‘Go away, I’m angry… and also drinking gin…’
Toby: ‘You two have been posting on my site!’
Mr. W: ‘What? That’s not your site, it’s named after our house, it 's for all of us to abuse...’
Toby: ‘I did that just cause I felt bad paying for it out of the house kitty’
Toledo: ‘What? I thought those sites were free?’
Toby: ‘Yeah right, us lifestyle guru's know that nothing in this life is free….. so uh who’s winning the football?’
Mr. W: ‘He doesn’t care’
Toledo: ‘Sure I do, I may not know the names but I’m a huge fan’
Mr. W: ‘OK then, who are you supporting?’
Toledo: ‘You know, the underdogs. I’m supporting that small county that only has one player, dressed in black. He’s been chasing the ball all game but just can’t seem to get it, poor guy’
Toby: ‘Look just stop posting on my blog OK, I need it to spread the word about my book, and you guys are ruining that…’
Mr. W: ‘What book? You mean those three scraps of scribbled paper open your desk? Anyway I’m unemployed, what else do you expect me to do expect pour my bitter soul out onto the internet?’
Toby: ‘How about you get a job?’
Mr. W: ‘You cheeky little (CENSORED) If I wasn’t so drunk I’d… I’d…. ah screw it….’
There is a bang, a shattering of glass and a loud thump. After a few seconds of silence we hear snoring in the background.
Toby: ‘Well that’s fantastic, I’m not moving him into bed tonight, it’s your turn’
Toledo: ‘Hey, no way man it’s thurs…. damn it’
Tape ends.
Mr. W: What?
Toledo: Yeah quiet bro, you’re interrupting the world cup, the coolest cup in the world!’
Mr. W: ‘Go away, I’m angry… and also drinking gin…’
Toby: ‘You two have been posting on my site!’
Mr. W: ‘What? That’s not your site, it’s named after our house, it 's for all of us to abuse...’
Toby: ‘I did that just cause I felt bad paying for it out of the house kitty’
Toledo: ‘What? I thought those sites were free?’
Toby: ‘Yeah right, us lifestyle guru's know that nothing in this life is free….. so uh who’s winning the football?’
Mr. W: ‘He doesn’t care’
Toledo: ‘Sure I do, I may not know the names but I’m a huge fan’
Mr. W: ‘OK then, who are you supporting?’
Toledo: ‘You know, the underdogs. I’m supporting that small county that only has one player, dressed in black. He’s been chasing the ball all game but just can’t seem to get it, poor guy’
Toby: ‘Look just stop posting on my blog OK, I need it to spread the word about my book, and you guys are ruining that…’
Mr. W: ‘What book? You mean those three scraps of scribbled paper open your desk? Anyway I’m unemployed, what else do you expect me to do expect pour my bitter soul out onto the internet?’
Toby: ‘How about you get a job?’
Mr. W: ‘You cheeky little (CENSORED) If I wasn’t so drunk I’d… I’d…. ah screw it….’
There is a bang, a shattering of glass and a loud thump. After a few seconds of silence we hear snoring in the background.
Toby: ‘Well that’s fantastic, I’m not moving him into bed tonight, it’s your turn’
Toledo: ‘Hey, no way man it’s thurs…. damn it’
Tape ends.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Hooking up with girls at clubs and bars
One of the easiest things to do if you are cool is to go to a bar or a club and hook up with a beautiful girl. Girls’ like to hook up with cool guys; in fact I’d wager that it’s practically impossible not to do this, if you happen to be a cool guy such as myself. But you see, this is why I truly am the coolest guy there is. Toledo does not have to hook up with beautiful women to prove this well known fact, in fact Toledo deliberately doesn't do such things so as to show up other so-called 'cool' guys for the phoney’s that they are.
You see night after night Toledo has been going to bars and clubs and not hooking up with women, which as I said is very hard to do. Toledo practically has to remove the women from him once he is inside, but I simply say “I’m sorry ladies, I know I am very cool and alluring and that you cannot help but throw yourselves at me, but you see I am so cool that I cannot hook up with you, much as I would like to. This is the curse of being so supremely cool.” After this I will go sit in the corner of the bar and sip away at my pint staring longingly across the room. Such a display only gathers me more female attention as women love nothing more than a noble broody man who denies himself pleasure for the greater good.
The only downside to my supreme coolness is that after months and months of not hooking up with women in bars and clubs people have started to doubt that Toledo can do such a thing. To those who say that I usually just laugh, or, depending on how much lonely beer I have had, smash the nearest bottle and lunge for their throat screaming with rage.
- Toledo
You see night after night Toledo has been going to bars and clubs and not hooking up with women, which as I said is very hard to do. Toledo practically has to remove the women from him once he is inside, but I simply say “I’m sorry ladies, I know I am very cool and alluring and that you cannot help but throw yourselves at me, but you see I am so cool that I cannot hook up with you, much as I would like to. This is the curse of being so supremely cool.” After this I will go sit in the corner of the bar and sip away at my pint staring longingly across the room. Such a display only gathers me more female attention as women love nothing more than a noble broody man who denies himself pleasure for the greater good.
The only downside to my supreme coolness is that after months and months of not hooking up with women in bars and clubs people have started to doubt that Toledo can do such a thing. To those who say that I usually just laugh, or, depending on how much lonely beer I have had, smash the nearest bottle and lunge for their throat screaming with rage.
- Toledo
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Sleep Murder
EDIT: I knew it!!
________________________________________________
Is sleep murder possible? This topic ironically has kept me awake these past few nights, and sleepless nights are not good for an already cranky and angry man such as myself. Sometimes I’m so full of rage that all I can do as I lie their waiting for the sweet release of sleep is to imagine killing various celebrities and former co-workers with large heavy and quite often blunt objects. It’s really quite worrying, I mean the thoughts themselves are relieving, I often find myself grinning as I start laying into another Big Brother contestant, but what if it was possible to hate so much that you could commit sleep murder?
By this of course I mean the murder of somebody in your sleep. Seeing as people have been known to drive a car, cook a meal or watch TV in their sleep, I’m willing to bet that it’s just my luck that the answer is yes.
Now technically if such an event did happen, I couldn’t be held responsible for my dreamt actions could I? How would I prove that I was asleep at the time of the murder? Now since being unemployed I have watched many, many episodes of CSI (the original and New York not that awful Miami one that makes me want to randomly hammer the buttons on the remote to get as far away from it’s smug pale imitation glow as possible) and I’m fairly certain there are no scientific tests for such an occurrence, which would mean I would have very little defence if such a case went to trial.
My only answer so far has been to strap myself into bed and make sure all the knives in the house are securely locked away, I may be bitter twisted and wish Paul O’Grady dead on a daily basis, but truth be told I’d hate for it to really happen one night when I was asleep….
No, if I was going to do it I’d want to be wide awake.
- Mr Winston
________________________________________________
Is sleep murder possible? This topic ironically has kept me awake these past few nights, and sleepless nights are not good for an already cranky and angry man such as myself. Sometimes I’m so full of rage that all I can do as I lie their waiting for the sweet release of sleep is to imagine killing various celebrities and former co-workers with large heavy and quite often blunt objects. It’s really quite worrying, I mean the thoughts themselves are relieving, I often find myself grinning as I start laying into another Big Brother contestant, but what if it was possible to hate so much that you could commit sleep murder?
By this of course I mean the murder of somebody in your sleep. Seeing as people have been known to drive a car, cook a meal or watch TV in their sleep, I’m willing to bet that it’s just my luck that the answer is yes.
Now technically if such an event did happen, I couldn’t be held responsible for my dreamt actions could I? How would I prove that I was asleep at the time of the murder? Now since being unemployed I have watched many, many episodes of CSI (the original and New York not that awful Miami one that makes me want to randomly hammer the buttons on the remote to get as far away from it’s smug pale imitation glow as possible) and I’m fairly certain there are no scientific tests for such an occurrence, which would mean I would have very little defence if such a case went to trial.
My only answer so far has been to strap myself into bed and make sure all the knives in the house are securely locked away, I may be bitter twisted and wish Paul O’Grady dead on a daily basis, but truth be told I’d hate for it to really happen one night when I was asleep….
No, if I was going to do it I’d want to be wide awake.
- Mr Winston
Monday, June 12, 2006
The great yoghurt scam of 2006
Supermarkets can often hold the keys to moments of happiness, something not many people realise. In fact too often they become synonymous with boring after-work tedium and Jamie Oliver adverts. As a self confessed Lifestyle Guru I have taken it upon myself to help you, the general public in your daily pursuit of happiness, by alerting you to the subtle attacks placed upon your happiness by society every single day.
Many things within a supermarket can bring happiness, such as a variety of colourful fruits, freshly baked bread, the latest series of the O.C on DVD or even a special offer that saves you money.
But what if this was a scam?
Whilst perusing the shelves of my local supermarket just yesterday I came across a great bargain, 3 yoghurts for £1.20. My face lit up – this had caused me happiness. As a guru of such a subject I recognised this sign and made a mental note of the time.
However, being the expert that I am I inspected the deal closely, and found to my horror that the yoghurt were only 38p each. Which, thanks to my quick maths skills (and the calculator function of my new mobile phone), I discovered worked out as 6p cheaper than the supposed deal. Furious I went to find the manager.
Now you may wonder why such a small matter should concern me, or ever you, but dear readers this is why I am such a specialist. As I mention in my soon-to-be bestselling book ‘How to stuff your happiness starved face with joy cakes’, whilst other ‘lifestyle gurus’ focus on the larger complex web of life and the pursuit of inner peace, I know that it is really these little incidents that make the difference. How can we be happy whilst corporations constantly trick and deceive us? Nobody likes feeling like a fool and that’s why I am writing this, to spread awareness, and therefore happiness, to the world. Contrary to popular belief ignorance is not bliss, it is the cold unfurnished basement that sits below the luxury apartment of knowledge.
So after speaking to the manager I was told that there were no plans to change the offer and that I was so smart I should just buy 3 yoghurts individually. I laughed in his face of course and informed him that his deceit will not bring him happiness in this life or the next.
Sometimes, in order to prove a point one must go to extreme lengths, I normally do not condone vandalism, but when the public’s happiness is at stake it is something I can live with. After I had picked myself up from the parking lot where the security guards had unceremoniously dumped me I came up with my plan. Initially I was to write a message in the car park using a tin of the supermarkets own brand raspberry jam, but there was not enough in the jar for the phrase ‘don’t buy the yoghurts, the deal is a happiness stealer’ and after my first two words were promptly parked over by a very inconsiderate Ford Mondeo I reconsidered.
Grabbing a trolley I proceeded to smash apart the kids postman pat van that sits outside the entrance to the shop. Repeatedly ramming it I soon left it and the trolley on the floor, a tangled mesh of twisted metal and flashing lights. I stood back proud that I had made my stand, and that, although nor directly relating to the yoghurts, maybe my message would get through to people.
Unfortunately it was only at this point that I noticed the child who had been inside the small red van at the time of my attack lying amongst the rubble, his body contorted unnaturally. As I look back now I think it was probably both the ambulances and the rather heavy handed arrest of myself by the police that will remain in people’s minds of that day, and not the message of happiness I had intended to spread.
- Toby
Many things within a supermarket can bring happiness, such as a variety of colourful fruits, freshly baked bread, the latest series of the O.C on DVD or even a special offer that saves you money.
But what if this was a scam?
Whilst perusing the shelves of my local supermarket just yesterday I came across a great bargain, 3 yoghurts for £1.20. My face lit up – this had caused me happiness. As a guru of such a subject I recognised this sign and made a mental note of the time.
However, being the expert that I am I inspected the deal closely, and found to my horror that the yoghurt were only 38p each. Which, thanks to my quick maths skills (and the calculator function of my new mobile phone), I discovered worked out as 6p cheaper than the supposed deal. Furious I went to find the manager.
Now you may wonder why such a small matter should concern me, or ever you, but dear readers this is why I am such a specialist. As I mention in my soon-to-be bestselling book ‘How to stuff your happiness starved face with joy cakes’, whilst other ‘lifestyle gurus’ focus on the larger complex web of life and the pursuit of inner peace, I know that it is really these little incidents that make the difference. How can we be happy whilst corporations constantly trick and deceive us? Nobody likes feeling like a fool and that’s why I am writing this, to spread awareness, and therefore happiness, to the world. Contrary to popular belief ignorance is not bliss, it is the cold unfurnished basement that sits below the luxury apartment of knowledge.
So after speaking to the manager I was told that there were no plans to change the offer and that I was so smart I should just buy 3 yoghurts individually. I laughed in his face of course and informed him that his deceit will not bring him happiness in this life or the next.
Sometimes, in order to prove a point one must go to extreme lengths, I normally do not condone vandalism, but when the public’s happiness is at stake it is something I can live with. After I had picked myself up from the parking lot where the security guards had unceremoniously dumped me I came up with my plan. Initially I was to write a message in the car park using a tin of the supermarkets own brand raspberry jam, but there was not enough in the jar for the phrase ‘don’t buy the yoghurts, the deal is a happiness stealer’ and after my first two words were promptly parked over by a very inconsiderate Ford Mondeo I reconsidered.
Grabbing a trolley I proceeded to smash apart the kids postman pat van that sits outside the entrance to the shop. Repeatedly ramming it I soon left it and the trolley on the floor, a tangled mesh of twisted metal and flashing lights. I stood back proud that I had made my stand, and that, although nor directly relating to the yoghurts, maybe my message would get through to people.
Unfortunately it was only at this point that I noticed the child who had been inside the small red van at the time of my attack lying amongst the rubble, his body contorted unnaturally. As I look back now I think it was probably both the ambulances and the rather heavy handed arrest of myself by the police that will remain in people’s minds of that day, and not the message of happiness I had intended to spread.
- Toby
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