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Dead... In Other Words

Why are people shocked when someone dies? It is the one sure thing in life, that and Superhero movie reboots. “Spider man died again? I just died from the shock of finding this out” which inevitably triggers a domino effect of humanity completing itself. Which is a true thing that will definitely happen.

I heard a podcast…. doesn’t everyone?... about meditating on your death daily to give you more appreciation for your life. I like this idea but I don’t know how to do it. My current version of meditating on death everyday would, maybe, perhaps, be something like this…….. “TOTES OMG I AM LIKE TOTALLY GONNA DIE LOL”... Now, right, let's put that hilariously capitalized piece of hypothetical ponderage aside. I really have no idea how to do this. So I suppose with anything a person does not know how to do, one should start by just trying to do that thing. So this is me now, in this moment, attempting to meditate on death. The following is one big quotation cause that’s what you use when someone is thinking or talking in letters.

”Mmmmmmm….I’d better meditate on death today…... because, for reasons not forthcoming, I, as a being of agency have decided it would be a, quote unquote, good idea……. AH AH hem...hem….ahem……. I will be dead, I will be nothing some day, you (as in me) might as well……. I don’t know, work hard?... that doesn’t sound right… hmmm… I will definitely be dead some day so I might as well…..enjoy this banana like I’m having sex with a goddess made out of morphine and muffins…. Mmmm … performing this kind of joy eating a phallic shaped fruit might jeopardize my current relationships with the humans in my close proximity, (not that there is anything wrong with enjoying this, just time and place you know (brackets in brackets in a quotation?)) therefore making the short remaining time of my definitely finite existence somewhat, as you might say, totes awks………..AHA I have it…. I am going to be nothing some day so I should keep writing the words “No! This Moment?” in my new journal until I am the aforementioned nothing. That will be quote unquote, hilarious. Fuck off tweets. Yours sincerely, one cantankerous young human male penis owner.

Are you really thinking when you (as in me) say “Mmmmmm…”

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Toxic, in other words..

I fart a lot, like I mean a lot. Maybe like 70 times a day. I drank a lot of goon over the weekend. Goon is an Australian delicacy. It consists of very cheap disgusting wine housed in shiny silver bag in quantities of 4 liters or more. I told some strangers at a party that I was drinking leprechaun blood. It was a deep red wine. Goon bags are silver and have a medicinal quality, so proclaiming its contents where the vital fluids of a vertically challenged Celtic myth person did not seem any further from the truth than that of leprechauns actually existing, in fact it may have improved the case for their validity. Goon, like almost anything else I consume provokes the wrath of my arse for days.

My wife just sang, to the tune of Tom Jones’ “Sex bomb” - “Stink bomb, stink bomb, you’re my stink bomb” after I inadvertently crop dusted our sitting room, where my wife and dog are trying to relax and watch the BBC murder drama story time eye smasher “BroadChurch”, or as I like to call it “The Crying Game Show” Nothing to do with the 1993 Neil Jordan directed Irish movie “The Crying Game” but everything to do with being as sad as you can for 48 minutes. “BroadChurch” the game,  involves seeing how many times one can squeeze water out of your eyes per episode. Who ever cries the most is proclaimed the winner and gets to pretend that someone close to them has died. They then receive hugs, attention and condolences from all other participants.

Melon collie porn at it’s very finest. The stench of death from my arse was the perfect compliment to the experience, I added the farth dimension.

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When solving a problem leads to bigger problems...

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Closet problems. Skeletal memories.

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Easter time

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I saw the witch doctor and this is what he said.

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Metal Gear Patrick. Happy st metal off/on day. 

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Am I right ladies?... Or am I left....Ladies!? Ahh ladies, come back... I can;t remember what..... are you my father? 

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Sketch of a blargablip needs to be cleaned up and coloured and delivered to the mighty Jesus cakes.