The Story of Selma Fudd

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Did you know that Elmer Fudd’s wife was a Scottish prostitute? Selma was her name. Elmer met her when he was filming a failed hunting show in the Scottish highlands show and she had been employed to give the cast and crew de-stressing blow jobs. In those days she went by the name HJ Helga. No one knows what her real name was. Elmer took a real shine to Selma because truth be told, he loved a blow job. As time went on, the two of them would rarely be seen apart. The show was particularly stress full for Elmer because despite having a wide array of animals to hunt in Scotland, he just didn’t seem to be able to hit any.


The day came where the producers had finally had enough of the shambolic hunting show and they went off to a local farm and bought themselves a huge Aberdeen Angus cow. The cow was nearing the end of its life and didn’t really move much anymore. They figured that Elmer could just walk up to it and shoot it between the horns. Long story short, he approached the cow on his tip toes from behind it. He lifted up his gun. This was it, he was going to finally shoot something. He aimed and muttered something under his breath. The crew fell silent and then the shot went off. Elmer missed. He had the gun the wrong way round and shot himself in the face. Covered in black suit, he looked at the crew, shaked his head and walked off stage to find HJ Helga.

In Elmer’s trailer he was shooting a load onto Helga’s tits when it came to him. He was a terrible hunter but maybe he could be a world class pimp. He decided that he was going to marry Helga and have her name changed to Selma and from there he could market her around Scotland and make a shit ton of cash.

2 months later, Elmer and his new wife opened several massage parlours around Edinburgh and he put the bitch to work. Everyone he spoke to loved that her name was Selma Fudd and soon she became the best known hooker in the country. Her name drew them in and her experience and overall keenness kept them coming back. The two of them started earning decent money and it wasn’t long before Selma’s tastes changed from Cider to £10 bottles of wine and shopping trips to Debenhams.

For a long time things were good. Then the day came that immigration came knocking and they found that Elmer didn’t have a visa and had been staying in the country illegally. He would have to leave with immediate affect. Of course he was upset at having to give up a lucrative business but he couldn’t complain. He had made a good pile of cash and maybe it the time was right for him and Selma to try and break the states, the way that a young girl or boy band might.

The pair moved to the USA and bought a property in Colorado. Once again he put Selma to work. There was a problem though. No one in the states got the joke. Selma Fudd was just a name out there and soon she became just another aging prostitute, who, don’t get me wrong, knew how to treat a man, but she was naturally starting to look like a lady who had been treated with Botox i.e. fucking terrible.

By this point, Selma was starting to cost Elmer money. Now that she had tasted the slightly better things in life, there was no way she was going back to shopping in charity shops and drinking cheap cider. Tensions between the two of them began to flair up into full scale battles. Elmer decided that this couldn’t go on for much longer so he decided to have his wife ‘taken care of’. Over the years he had amassed a huge number of contacts in a range of industries. He trawled through his address book to find someone who could do the job. He needed it taken care of by a professional but at the same time, Elmer was a tight ass and didn’t want to pay top dollar. As he flicked through that address book all of a sudden one name jumped out:

The Wylie Coyote

After years and years of chasing the Road Runner and failing every fucking time, the Wylie Coyote’s confidence was in the toilet. He had long since given up the dream of catching that bird but that period of his life had scarred him badly. All he wanted to do was forget about Road Runner and get on with his life but it is never that simple. For a long time that was his life. He’d rarely sleep longer than a couple of hours a night when he was in pursuit of Road Runner and all he would think about was where he could buy acme paint to paint fake tunnels and acme bombs to blow the fucker up. Now that he had stopped that, he still struggled to get the whole infatuation out of his head. He would close his eyes and all he would hear is meep meep. Meep meep. Meep meep. Meep meep. So in the end he had moved to New York where there is always the sound of traffic horns and he used that and cocaine to drown out his past.

Elmer found him wondering around Washington square park. He was looking thin and twitchy and it took the coyote a couple of seconds to figure out who was speaking to him. After a warm embrace, Elmer took the coyote for lunch and a drink and he discussed his plan for getting rid of Selma. At first the coyote was reluctant as he didn’t think he could do it. His confidence after years of failure was low and all he wanted to do was forget about all that chasing and hunting stuff until he was dead. Elmer convinced him though that Selma was no road runner. She wasn’t fast and she certainly wasn’t as clever as the bird. Elmer offered him $1000 cash, flights plus transfers to Colorado and 4 grams of cocaine right there and then. The coyote did a couple of lines of the coke and eventually agreed.

The next day the Coyote flew out to Colorado. He had been awake for 28 hours prior to meeting Elmer in Washington Square Park and hadn’t slept since. The whole time, he was in a sort of trance and his head and body felt numb. One thing he did find was that he wasn’t hearing the meep meep as often as before and the idea reached him that maybe this kind of work was a way of pushing the past to one side. He arrived in Colorado and checked into a Motel where there were at least 3 other hit men staying that night.

The Coyote dumped his bags and went on a scouting mission around the local hills. He didn’t know how he was going to do it and was open to options. He shut his eyes and pointed his head towards the sky. When he opened his eyes he saw the highest cliff in the region. This was where it was going to happen. He would arrange to meet Selma in the exact spot that he was standing and he would be at the very top of the cliff. When she arrived his plan was to simply drop a huge boulder on her head. It was a plan he had tried a million times before but as Elmer said, Selma wasn’t nearly as quick or smart as the Road Runner.

The Coyote went back to his Motel, grabbed a drink from the bar and made the call to Selma. He couldn’t really understand her accent but he made it clear where and when he wanted to meet her for sex. After a short conversation, she repeated back the meeting place and time and said she would see him the there and then.

The next day came and Selma showed up on time. As her work had dried up and even Elmer wouldn’t take head from her anymore, she was quite looking forward to getting back in the saddle. She did her lip stick again and squirted have a tube of ky jelly up her twat in preparation.

At the top of the cliff, the Wylie Coyote stood there with a pair of binoculars and spotted her arriving. She was standing in exactly the right spot as he began to push the boulder towards the edge of the cliff. He was obviously out of practice and he found the boulder to be really heavy. Despite this though he managed to move it closer and closer. He used his hands to push and then he used his back. Finally it was at the tipping point and just needed a small nudge. He checked his binoculars again and she was still there. He felt good and he pushed it over the edge with his little finger and he smiled to himself as it made the whistling noise towards Selma Fudd.

As the shadow around Selma grew in size she looked up and realised that this was it. She was going to be crushed by a giant boulder. She accepted her fate and closed her eyes.

Just at that point Bugs Bunny, Elmer Fudds arch enemy, dived from nowhere and pushed Selma out of the way of the boulder. They lay there on the ground and she was so happy to be alive. She kissed Bugs over an over again screaming

I am alive, thank you than you thank you.

Meanwhile the coyote looked down with his binoculars and he cried. All the penned up emotion came streaming out of him. He took the remaining cocaine from his pocket – almost 2 grams – and snorted the whole lot. He died of an overdose 8 minutes after the boulder hit the ground.

Selma and Bugs became very close and they moved to Hollywood. The two were married not long after that and using Selma’s new name, Selma Bunny, they opened a pet shop that specifically sold rabbits. This may sound like a happy ending but if you consider that bugs was selling his own kind to people, then you will realise that he was no better than a slave trader.

Elmer was furious at the whole situation, especially because Bugs once again got one up on him. To this day, he plots his revenge.

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Getting My Lazy Ass To Stand Up

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Here I am, back with another ego induced blog about me and specifically my recent clumsy entry into the world of Aberdeen ’s comedy scene. Some of you may know that a couple of weeks ago, I took to the stage at Snafu and performed around 7 minutes of hilarious side splitting jokes that may or may not have been either hilarious or actual jokes. Since then, I have been asked several questions about it. So with that, I thought I would do a little blog explaining the background to my decision and details of the actual experience.

Am I really pretending to poop in front of the general public?!

Am I really pretending to poop in front of the general public?!

I’ll start with the why.

If I am honest it is something that I have wanted to try for a long time, even going back to my time at St Machar Academy where I wasn’t telling the jokes, I was the joke. As a kid I was always fairly into music as most kids are but the thing that had a bigger impact on me growing up was watching Eddie Murhpy’s Delirious Stand Up Movie. Holly shit that was funny and I remember we took it out of the video shop about 4 or 5 times and cried laughing at it every time. Not long after that there was a school thing on one afternoon and I can’t remember exactly what it was for but I remember that myself and another kid (who shall remain nameless because I don’t know where he is these days) asked if we could get up on stage and do a stand up double act. For a few nights before it I went up to his house and we sat in the room with the intention of writing jokes and all that good stuff but instead we spent the night passionately kissing. Na, not really, I just wanted to see if you were still paying attention. Instead we just talked about the usual stuff that teenagers talk about. Football and girls that we would try not the creep the fuck out of as we stared at them in the playground and drooled like slavering mutts.

The day of the performance came and I remember we were standing next to the stage with nothing at all planned and I was so nervous. I think that this was probably the first time that I had really felt panic before. As the afternoon wore on we were wondering if maybe we were up next and we were trying to think what we could do. I seem to recall that at one point we planned to custard pie a teacher in the face. Then as the thing grew to a close, it became apparent that we weren’t going to be getting up on stage. Thankfully the teacher that had arranged for us to go on probably said yes to humour us or thought that we were joking. Whatever it was, thank god! We might still be trying to live that down to this day.

After leaving school the idea kind of left me for a while as there wasn’t an avenue for me to try it in Aberdeen . Instead I went off into the real world and got a job that would give me enough beer tokens to go get pished at the weekends. It wasn’t long after that, that I discovered Bill Hicks and he changed my thinking forever. At this point I wasn’t thinking about getting on stage but because of that find and then getting the internet, I was led on to find other great comedians like Doug Stanhope and Joe Rogan. For a few years I had all the Bill Hicks CDs and would listen to them religiously and then I got an Eddie Izzard video for Christmas and was blown away. I loved the fact that comedy could be utter filth or political but also about pandas and washing. Of course I found other funny people along the way but between the early 2000s and say about 2010, it hadn’t really crossed my mind to give stand up a try and for some reason I wasn’t really aware that there was a local scene. Then I went back to playing football for the Masada bar and an old goal keeper came back at the same time. That goal keeper was Gus Tawse who for a while seemed to be the top comedian in Aberdeen . In addition, to comedy, he was also, by far, the most, lets say, passionate / mental goal keeper I ever played with. His handling was always great but he seemed to be able to grab a throat like an absolute pro.

It was probably being around Gus at the time when a little spark was lit in my head that maybe I would like to give stand up a shot. From 2005 I had been writing blogs about traveling the world and having babies and I had always enjoyed that and got some nice feedback about them. I liked having a platform to sit around and come up with stupid shit to put onto the internet and so after the last baby blog was finished I decided to get my own site and just start producing some content for the hell of it. At the time I was listening to a lot of Kevin Smith and Joe Rogan podcasts and both of those people were hugely influential in me coming to my decision. They would talk about writing and telling jokes and introduced me to a ton of American comics like Bill Burr, Joey Diaz, Tom Rhodes, Henry Philips and Ari Shaffir, who are all off doing their own things and it to be honest, it just sounded like fun.

With that in mind, I decided to write my blogs to get ideas written down so I could expand them initially and come back to them later if needed. If anyone enjoyed reading them along the way, then that was great. For a while I was doing quite well and was churning out a blog every few weeks but as so often happen, life gets in the way of hobbies, especially when kids and the good lady wife are involved. In addition, I also got a bit lazy. The blogs became less and less but I was still having silly ideas and I have always made sure that I send myself one line emails with things like

Worms , what do they think when they see another worm melted to the pavement?

Then one night a few months ago, I was on the Facebook and I noticed a poster on Breakneck comedy that said something about get in touch if you want to try stand up. For some reason that I can’t quite figure out, I said fuck it – lets do this. With that I got in touch with Naz at Breakneck and he came back to me quickly saying that he would be more than happy for me to do it, just name the Tuesday that I want to do it. Tuesdays earlier this year were a bit of a nightmare with my eldest boy’s swimming lessons taking place then and I then attempted 5 asides after that. So I got back in touch to let Naz know that I wouldn’t be able to do it until the summer holidays had started but I would be back in touch then. I don’t know how many email he gets like that and I expect he probably thought I had bottled it and that I wouldn’t be back in touch. I was determined to make myself do it however and once summer kicked in, I got back in touch to say that I could do it on the 23rd of July if that was any use. His response?

Hey Mike, okay your in for 23rd. Thanks – see you then

A man of few words but those few words immediately put me into composed panic mode. Was it really just that easy? You know that old analogy about the duck on the surface looking calm while its little leggys go like hell underneath the water? Well I was like that except I was pooping at the same time.

Thankfully I got it together and over the next couple of weeks I managed to pull together enough jokes to keep me on stage for around 7 minutes. I had most of it in my head but a couple of nights before the big day; I practised in front of the wife 3 or 4 times. This felt awkward as hell. It is weird enough doing it in front of strangers but having my wife sit there and listen to what I proposed to say in public was bizarre. The one thing that was putting me off saying these jokes in front of her initially was that, despite how weird she knows I am,  I was thinking that she was thinking – is this really what goes through his head?! My answer, yeah it is.

So then it was the 23rd of July 2013 and all during the day I was quite happy with what I was going to say and I was trying to be as relaxed at work as possible. Occasionally though I would be reading something and a thought would come in my head:

In a few hours you are going to stand up and tell jokes in front of people and you aren’t prepared and your jokes aren’t funny!

Aye, cheers self sabotage for that!

I just kept telling myself that it was less than 10 minutes and all I was going to be doing was being silly in front of people.

The other thing was that I had told next to no one about what I was going to do and I did this for purely selfish reasons. The main one being that I didn’t want to make people feel like A, they had to come and B, that they had to laugh if it wasn’t going well. So that night all I had in my camp was my poor lovely wife along with Bridget (Super Star Musician) and Kev (he needs to do stand-up) from work.

I got there in plenty of time and the place was really busy. I don’t know the numbers but all the seats were taken and there were folk standing at the back. Its fair to say that from the moment I arrived that my heart was racing like Keith Moon was off on a drug and alcohol induced drum solo. The first couple of acts went up during this time and I remember next to nothing about what they said and my mind was all over the shot. It was really difficult to try and focus on what I was about to go up there and do. Then I was told that I was on next and the heart racing went from lots of fast beats to one massive pipe band drum beat every 5 or 6 seconds – BOOM…….BOOM…….BOOM.

And then my name was announced and I just got up on stage and started my material. Thankfully as I had rehearsed a few times I was able, for the most part at least, to stick to the script with a minor glitch in the middle where I sort of lost my place. It was also the first time that I had ever held a microphone in my life and I think I was standing too far back on the stage because the lights were right in my eyes and I could barely see the audience. Regardless though, people laughed when they were supposed to and it went ok. When I came off it felt good and I started to relax. Although the experience was pretty terrifying, I know that if I hadn’t done it, I would have regretted it in years to come.

Following the first week, I also went up last week and although I was still nervous, it wasn’t anything like the first week and I felt that I performed the material better than I had the first week. Now I know that I will need to get up there a hell of a lot more times for me to get any good at this but as it stands, that is something that I really want to try. Its fun as hell being up there being sick about stupid stuff.

So as it stands, I have another spot booked for next Tuesday at Snafu again where I plan to try out some other jokes. In the long term, I don’t know what will happen but I have ideas and some ambitions that I would like to try and achieve. I say ambitions but they aren’t actually that ambitious. It took me a long time to get her but who knows what will be harder though – getting up in the first place or achieving the things that I’d like to achieve?

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Work and the death of inspiration

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Early mornings are underrated! There I said it. The working week consists of 5 mornings where I have to be out of the house around 7am and after I get over the initial wakening resentment at having another dream shat to pieces, things start to pick up. In the shower my mind has a chance to explore thoughts and I can try to focus enough to remember the dream that I was having. I can even work through ideas like how I would go about asking for a boob shaped bouncy castle for my 35th birthday. It’s a nice relaxing environment and because the kids aren’t in full flow its probably the only time that I have to myself to think on a daily basis. That or when I am going number two I suppose.

Then I get to grab some breakfast and a glass of water before I head into the car and become another piece in the traffic river into Dyce. River might not be the right word as rivers generally move. More like Pond. More like a tsunami that has gone as far as it can and just stopped. I swear to god I have seen people snort cocaine off their dashboard just to stay awake. I have seen them snort line after line before finishing what they have and vacated their car so they can grab another sack of the stuff from their boot. I have seen them finish that sack too and talk to themselves for another hour before they eventually pass out. I have seen cars rust, men go bald and people try to blow the car in front of them up using only their minds.

The traffic doesn’t bother me any more and I have learnt to live with the my life slipping away from me as I sit there in my little Saxo. Not even the extortionate petrol that I have paid for evaporating into the environment gets me down. (generally because I don’t think about it).

For a long time now I have been listening to podcasts in the car. I download them onto my phone and play them through the blue tooth. They are free, they don’t have annoying adverts (some of them have sponsors but the good thing is, you can fast forward through them) and best of all, they are things that I actually want to listen to. I don’t have to hear the latest Olly Murs song on Northsound or Radio 1 and have the time to concoct a way to get him to do a bungee jump using his braces. I can see him now standing there on a wooden bridge in Queenstown New Zealand. The braces have been tied together to extend their length with the top of the “bungee chord” tied round his right ankle. He looks a little nervous as the camera pans back to reveal a 500 foot drop to the gorge below. There is a ton of press standing behind a barrier and a few hundred fans have made the long journey. He signs a couple of autographs and seeks a little reassurance from the instructor:

“And you are sure this is safe?”

“Course it is mate. Its understandable that you are nervous but we have done this thousands of times. Just don’t close your eyes, man up and jump”

“Ok mate you are right. I CAN do this. I’ll do it for my fans!”

He steps to the edge. He looks confident now as he wipes a bead of sweat from his brow. A look of determination comes across his face and he says a little prayer before turning again to the crowd and raising his arms in the air.

“LETS DO THIS” he screams before turning back and falling forward.

It isn’t long before the braces are at full stretch and they don’t give way immediately. No, he reaches their full extension before they contract… a little. The adrenalin is in full flow now and the braces are extended for a second time and for a few seconds they have given as much as they are going to give and he just swings there.

By now he looks relieved but still scared. Someone makes a move to pull him back in but the supervisor (god bless him) stops the person and tells him to wait a second.

Olly is swinging and spinning…….then the knot that sealed them together just rips in two and he falls for what seems like an eternity. He falls and falls and you can hear him clearly on the television screaming before the roof of his head smashes against the rocks below.

The fans are in shock. Everyone is in shock really but thankfully the camera men are professionals and they record the whole thing from a multitude of camera angles.

From then on I picture myself with a nice cup of green tea watching the YouTube clips of my 5 favorite impact moments as his song ‘When I was your man’ plays on a loop. In the song he is anguished for not buying some bird flowers and my only regret about the whole scenario is that he only got about 15 seconds to be anguished for bungee jumping using his braces. Later I find out that the braces have been recovered from the wreckage and put on eBay. I bid and bid until finally I win them. When they arrive I inspect them carefully and I find a lumpy white bit in the material which could be a bit of stone but regardless of what it is, I pretend that it’s a bit of tooth. Those braces then take pride and place about the tv in the living room.

Anyway, I went off on a bit of a tangent their from my podcast bit. I was talking about how I quite enjoy sitting in the car and listening to podcasts as they are a great source of entertainment and education. Here is what I have been listening to in the last few weeks (amongst other things) –

• Genghis Khan and his barbaric empire
• The fall of the Roman republic
• Kim Dot Com talking about internet privacy and the US government
• The origins of Scientology and how ruthless they are with people
• Bill Hick’s brother talking about super Bill
• A facilitating interview with an English UFC fighter called Dan Hardy as he talked about his trips to Peru to take part in an ayahuasca ceremony.

When I listen to these things, as you can imagine, mentally you are transported to somewhere completely different. When I drive into the car park and switch off the engine I am pulled back to reality without a fight. I sit there as reality comes back and grins with it’s stupid smug face as it stabs my imagination in the eye and I resign myself to another 8 hours of work. Now don’t get me totally wrong. I don’t hate my job. As far day jobs go it’s a good one. We have a laugh in the office, we say so much stuff that we shouldn’t and we do some good work but like everyone else, it is still a day job and I’d rather be doing really cool stuff than sitting in an office.

So like I said at the start. Early mornings are underrated but I should have included a clause – until you have to do stuff that stops you from living the dream.

If you have made it this far, here is a list of the podcasts that I mentioned above. These might not be your cup of tea but there are so many shows out there that there is no reason that you need to listen to Olly Murs anymore! Also, feel free to click on the T shirt hell banner at the top of the page and get your partner an appropriate t shirt. Alternatively you could click on the Ann Summers link if you want to buy your work colleagues a dildo.


I need a lot of chat to get me through the traffic

I need a lot of chat to get me through the traffic The story of Genghis Khan and his march across the world. That dude killed a shit ton of people. Also, the fall of the Roman Republic. Fucking awesome stuff!

• Tom Rhodes Radio – An interview with Kim Dot Com about internet privacy, the US government’s illegal attack on his home and internet piracy. An interview with Jamie Dewolf – Great grandson of L. Ron Hubbard of Scientology fame. Really interesting discussion about the origins of that weird cult and its alien ruler. Also, an interview with the brother of Bill Hicks – Steve Hicks. As a Bill Hicks groupy, this one gave me goose bumps!

• The Joe Rogan experience – I have been listening to this podcast for a couple of years now and 99% of the time they are excellent. His guests include people like Sam Harris and Neil Degrasse Tyson but he also has crazy Alien conspiracy people, big foot hunters, some great stand up comedians and UFC fighters. These podcasts cover a ton of subjects but themes are – magic mushrooms, UFC, health and fitness, funny stuff, conspiracy stuff, internet privacy / civil liberties and masturbation

• Bill Burr’s Monday Morning podcast – This is generally an hour of Bill talking to himself about things like gold digging whores, American sports and things that annoy him. He also gives advice to people who write in. He is excellent!

• Hollywood Babble On – Kevin Smith and Ralph Garman do a weekly round up of Hollywood news. Warning, there is a lot of talk about anal, Lindsay Lohan. Sometimes both at the same time.

• Joes Diaz and the Church of whats happening now – Joey if a stand up comic and is just funny being himself. Brought up in New Jersey / New York, he has spent time in jail for kidnapping, is a former coke addict and smokes a ton of weed. – A good example is this here –

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Is There Any Point Cleaning The Toilet?

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Whats the point in cleaning the toilet? Could it be that the germs side of things is just a sham? Just a con from the bathroom products industry to make you buy their stuff? Me not being a scientist and having managed to live 34 years without seeing a germ through a periscope or a stethoscope or a microscope, I cannot confirm their existence. My scientist wife probably can but who listens to her anyway? She is always like carry my bags, clean the toilet, stay still so I can hit you! Germs though are not the point of this blog. No, the purpose of this blog is to try and uncover a valid reason for cleaning the toilet, especially if you have guests coming round. Here is my thought (and I only have one).

Old Faithful

Surely the last thing you want to do is have someone come into your home and feel comfortable enough to have a shit in your toilet? It might not be so bad if you only have a couple of people round but let’s say you are throwing a party. The current thinking behind this is you clean the house and make it look like you actually take pride in your residence. You have to hoover the floors and the kids, move the sofa and put all the old foosty bits of toast in the bin and last but not least, get them marigolds on and scrub all the dried in yellow and brown marks off the dump catcher – as the wife calls it.

So now the house is clean and the sausage rolls are all cooked, its time for the guests to arrive. You give them some drinks and some food and then they start going to the bathroom. If the bathroom is nice and clean, they might get comfortable on the bowl and maybe start reading their twitter feed whilst the stuff that they have dropped into your nice clean toilet has a chance to embrace the bathroom area with its warm stranger poop smell. If you didn’t clean the toilet though, they would think twice about hanging about and might do the decent thing and leave early so they can have a crap in the bushes on the walk home. Just a thought I suppose. I don’t even know why this came into my head because we never have guests. It could be because I just want a friend so bad that I imagined that I had some. That or maybe I just don’t want to clean the toilet.

If you are a guest in someone else’s house then here is some good advice that was passed onto me by good friend and former colleague. Mr Graham Murdoch once talked me through having a poop in someone else’s house where you want to keep up the pretense that you don’t do that sort of thing. Maybe a new girlfriend’s flat or a boyfriend’s parents house. Here is what you do. You sit down and get the first load out the way as quickly as you can. Now here is the important bit. PRE WIPE – I REPEAT, PRE WIPE, you should swivel round and flush. By doing this you ensure that the smell doesn’t get a chance to linger. Then you finish up and head out like a champion. Now instead of thinking you were doing a number 2, all people will think is that you had a cheeky wank.

I really don’t know why I choose to A, write any of this down and B, post it on the internet. Also, feel free to click on the T-Shirt Hell banner at the top of the site and buy some offensive T Shirts for the work place!

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My Patchy White Head

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I don’t know whether its because I just got my haircut or because my patches are spreading like the Nazis across Europe but there seems to have been more questions asked about the white bits on my head than I generally get. Questions like:

• Are those patches intentional?
• Were you painting over the weekend?
• Do you know you have white bits in your hair?
• Does it bother you?
• Did a seagull shit on your head?
• Did you get that from sniffing glue?

Although infrequent, I have been asked those questions before and quite a few times recently. Well except the glue one. I made that one up.

This is why I no longer sniff glue

This is why I no longer sniff glue

With the wife out again (I Know right!? She is out heaps?) and with a packet of Rich Teas by my side I am feeding my self obsession tonight and blogging all about me and my white bits (not tan lines, my skin is paler a dead old lady). Maybe I’ll be able to answer some questions that people might have and maybe I’ll just ramble and throw in some references to filth along the way.

Before I go into detail and just because I can, I want to state that they weren’t caused by that old wives tale. You know the one. The one where your mum tells you when you are a teenager that if you keep getting cum in your hair and the wind changes its going to stay like that.

Here goes

I didn’t always have these retarded bits in my hair. Round about the tail end of 2005 myself and my now good lady wife buggered off round the world on a mission to do as little work as possible. We quit our jobs, left our families and took off. For some weird fucking reason, this must have played on my mind a bit because perhaps through stress perhaps through God hating me, a wee chunk of my head went bald. Just a tiny bit where some of the white hair is located now. Shortly after that though, it grew back in white and a after another stretch of time it reverted back normal. Great!

Then the first kid came. This time it didn’t go bald, it just went white and then slowly gained some territory on my stupid fat head. That’s it.

The most common question I get though is “Are those bits there on purpose”. To that, I really have to answer that in the form of a question right back. Do you think that I would go into a hairdresser and say “Can you randomly colour my hair white on the back right of my head so that I know that its there but I can’t really see it? Can I pay you for it and can I come back every 6 weeks and have it re-done?” Some things in life you just have no control over. For example, in my life I have no control over:

• The patchy bastards on my head
• The living room tv remote control
• My social life
• The sexual harassment that I have to endure daily because of my sexyness

The other question that I sometimes get is “Does it bother me”? To be honest I don’t really think about it and because it is pretty much out of sight, I don’t really see them. In saying that, there are not many advantages to having them unless I want to camouflage myself in a herd of zebras. Even then though I’d still have to get a horses panto suit, paint it blank and white and find someone to be the arse end.

The main disadvantage that I find is that people remember me. They won’t say it out loud but if I meet someone for the first time and then don’t see them again for a while, the first thing they probably think is – Oh yeah, I met that weirdo before. Whats with the white bits. Does he know he has them? He doesn’t seem to speak about them much. I wonder if he will get off with me?!

And being remembered wouldn’t be great if I ever tried to mug a Granny in the street. See the video below for how that pans out!

All in all I would say that I would rather that I didn’t have this terrible affliction but it could be worse. I could be ginger or English!

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Time on my hands = solutions to some serious problems

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Here I am, on my own in my flat with the wife at work and the kids at nursery. So with the dishes done and soup souping away nicely I decided its time to start coming up with some solutions to the world’s problems.

Solution Solving Head Quarters

There are some horrific things that take place on this planet and the human capacity for causing misery and suffering seems to be in grained in us. But I suppose if you consider that we are still a primate that hasn’t fully evolved beyond certain ape like habits, then it does sort of tie in. After some thought though I think I have found away to take two truly awful things, combine them and solve some problems. Here is an example.

Take the stoning of people to death because they commit adultery. Its hard to get your head around that in some parts of the world people are systematically stoned to death for such things but by jings it happens. A simple youtube search will take you videos of women and men getting bricks launched off their heads by a self righteous angry mob who believe that they are doing gods work. If that is what god’s work involves he can, as the weegies say, get tae fuck byraway big man.

Now don’t get me wrong, I am not completely against the idea of stoning people to death in the right circumstances and I’ll come back to that later. First off though, we have to sort out these fools. So here is what we do. We get everyone in a room and we ask the question:

Is it wrong to kill people for adultery and such like offences by stoning (or any other means)?

If anyone says

“No it is not wrong”

Then we take them to a little room with some beer, maybe some spirits and possibly some marijuana and we ask them to take their time and think about the question again. Here we are civilized and we believe that people deserve a second chance. Take what you want from the bar and just come back when you are ready.

So once that person has had some time to reflect and they come back into the room, we ask the question again.

Is it wrong to kill people for adultery and such like offences by stoning (or any other means)?

And if that person says anything other than yes, even a ‘well, I don’t completely agree’ then a brick falls from the roof onto their noggin, their eyes roll back into their head and they drop to their knees. I mentioned previously that we are civilized but I also mentioned that we are primates so here is what happens next.

A selected gentleman approaches the kneeling, semi conscious barbarian and viciously mouth fucks them to death. When the selected gentleman is close to climaxing and the last drop of air is chocked out of the douche bag, the gentleman will open the douche’s mouth wide, like a baby bird waiting for a worm, and then drop a civilized ejaculation into the lifeless body before throwing it to the floor. The selected gentleman will then zip himself back up and head back to his seat, maybe a little sleepier than before, whilst a little green lizard man from another room drags the body out of the room by the hair like in that old game – Barbarian. For reference see 1min 33 of this youtube clip

And that continues until everyone agrees that stoning people to death for adultery and other such nonsense is fucking insane.

So, now we have gotten rid of them and we have all these rocks lying around the place just sitting there doing nothing, it is our duty to put them to some good use. The first thing we do as we have all the people in one room is phone in Justin Bieber and stone him to death. I’m sure you will agree that as bad as his music is, it isn’t really a crime however, with that being said, it is more of a crime that adultery. Then we just come up with a list of other people who are generally terrible. George Osborne anyone? Oh Oh wait, anyone that works for The list is pretty much endless. And here is the great thing about stones. Unlike oil and gas, and trees and bullets, we will never be out of stones. Here is what happens if you miss with a stone.

1 – You pick up another one and throw it
2 – You walk the ten feet past the target, pick up the stone and throw it again.


I have one more example where we can combine two terrible things to make something positive. A negative plus a negative equals a positive after all.

In Africa they have a heart breaking situation whereby they have child soldiers fighting in wars. The wars can be for anything from territory to religion to just general shitness from people in power. What happens is children are taken from their families at a young age and they are then forced to commit horrendous acts. They will have to kill people indiscriminately. Assist with the torture of men, women and children and here is what happens when they grow up. They don’t turn out to be nice individuals, they turn out to be rapists, murderers and they will continue to kidnap children to ensure that the cycle continues.

Even if a child soldier is pointing a gun at you, it would still feel like a horrific act to try and stop one of these kids. They are after all children. It would take a real shit bag to do what needs to be done to prevent these child soldiers from carrying on. Luckily for us, we have the solution right here in Britain and we seem to have it in abundance right now. Paedophiles! And here is the great bit, the paedos kill the child soldiers but also, the child soldiers kill the paedos. Its pretty much win win

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Gay Marriages, Nick Clegg and Chicken Soup

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Something that I won’t do very often in life is defend a politician. I could quite happily moan about their selfishness, their sleaketness, their awfulness and most of all their horrible salesmen like approach to speaking to the general public. Gordon Brown’s smile during the last election. The one that made him look like he had two people above him at all times yanking on fishhooks lodged in his either side of his mouth. George Osborne’s general ghastliness, laughing away as he dictates that we all have to take the hit for greedy banking cunts screwing over the country. How many of those douche bags have gone to jail by the way? Oh that will be none will it? Jolly oh, lets cut back on disabled benefits shall we? What they gonna do? Chase after us. Ho Ho Ho. Eugh, the list of these deplorable people goes on but it isn’t the real purpose of this blog.

The purpose of this blog is to try and work through the thinking behind Nick Clegg’s decision to remove the word bigot from a speech that he was going to make regarding gay marriages. The speech was released to the press, there was a backlash about the word bigot and he was forced to change the wording and essentially make an apology The quote was:

“Continued trouble in the economy gives the bigots a stick to beat us with, as they demand we ‘postpone’ the equalities agenda in order to deal with ‘the things people really care about’. As if pursuing greater equality and fixing the economy simply cannot happen at once.”

People don’t generally like being called bigots. Its not a nice thing to call someone and they can have their feelings hurt. So lets take a look at the dictionary definition of the word bigot

a person who is utterly intolerant of any differing creed, belief, or opinion.

Don' t hate me

Quite a strong sentiment really. Now before I start delving into this is any sort of way I would like to clarify. I do not want to get gay married. If I did then that would be fabulous but I don’t.

The main objection that I keep hearing regarding this issue is that it offends religious people. Gay isn’t natural. God says that two men lying together is wrong bla bla bla. So when Nick Clegg comes out and calls them bigots for not wanting equal rights in this country for everyone, they get offended. How dare Nick Clegg infringe on our religious freedoms! The thing is, he didn’t. The church would not be forced to perform any service that they didn’t want to and neither should they be forced to. So my question to anyone against this would be:

On a day-to-day basis, how would two dudes getting married affect you? How would it really affect you?

Now given that if you do a quick Google search for gay 69 you will see what gay people do in the privacy of their own homes (or maybe a park or a rest stop) all the time. This will be going on somewhere in hundreds of locations all over the world right this second. Gobble gobble, slurp slurp, spat and splat. So with that in mind, other than the fact I have probably put images in your head (that may have been there before), what difference does it make to your life? What difference will it make to your life that two men or two ladies can get married, have the same rights as others and can be as happy or as miserable as the rest of us? Erm, that would be none. Unless of course you get an invite to the wedding then you either have to get dolled up and go dance to the Scissor Sisters or you have to make an excuse not to go.

The thing that seems to come across about people is that they don’t have much of a say in who you like to get it on with. You just like who or what you like. You can’t control it, you can’t force yourself to like something you don’t, you can’t choose to be born white and you can’t chose to like chicken soup. It all just happens.

Lets say that god came to me last night whilst I was sitting on the toilet having a poop and he said that he wants me to start a church and that people who like chicken soup are not natural. People who like chicken soup should not lie next to another person who likes chicken soup. I then write my bible and start to lobby the government that it is against my religion for the chicken soupers to come anywhere near me and God will strike us all down if they ever get married. Would Nick Clegg be right to come out and call me a bigot? Yeah, but dummy might be a better description.

Some religious people will tell anyone that listens that homosexuality is a sin. Ok, well lets say that is indeed correct and the word of God. If that is the case then it is also the case that the bible promotes slavery. Here is an actual quote from the old testament (there are a lot more like this!):

If you buy a Hebrew slave, he is to serve for only six years. Set him free in the seventh year, and he will owe you nothing for his freedom. If he was single when he became your slave and then married afterward, only he will go free in the seventh year. But if he was married before he became a slave, then his wife will be freed with him. If his master gave him a wife while he was a slave, and they had sons or daughters, then the man will be free in the seventh year, but his wife and children will still belong to his master. But the slave may plainly declare, ‘I love my master, my wife, and my children. I would rather not go free.’ If he does this, his master must present him before God. Then his master must take him to the door and publicly pierce his ear with an awl. After that, the slave will belong to his master forever. (Exodus 21:2-6 NLT)

It seems strange that they spend so much time trying to stop the gays from marrying when they could be going all out and getting themselves some slaves. Hold on a minute….you don’t think do you?……they have so much time……..and the bible endorsers slavery…….you don’t think that they have slaves do you? Sneaky bastards!

To be fair, slavery is something that I could probably get behind. Six years of some Hebrew dude doing my dishes and I get to pierce his ear with an awl! I don’t even know what an awl is but it sounds awesome!

Regardless, was Nick Clegg right to call them bigots? I think personally he was well within his rights and the definition is fairly spot on. I just think it is a shame that in order to play the game, he can’t actually state what he really thinks.

Bit of a random blog tonight but it is something that I find so absurd in this day and age and in this country where we are full of far more educated people than I, that this is even an issue. Wouldn’t we be better moving on from this topic to grabbing the bankers and hanging them from lampposts – upside down so the change falls out of their pockets. Does that make me a bigot?

Love n Hugs

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The Not So Sunny Day – Is This The End For My Superman T-Shirt?

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My old friend

We used to be so close but now I feel smothered

I totally fell out with my Superman T-shirt at the weekend and I don’t know if there is any going back. I was out on Saturday with the family, wondering around the streets of Aberdeen and enjoying the sun. Sun? Yes sun. We had sun on Saturday and boy was it nice. There are times when it is sunny in good old Aberdeen when you think to your self “You know what? This place isn’t so bad”. In the centre of town, families pass you in the street and they look happy. New young couples walk down the street hand in hand and you know that regardless of what happens in the future, they will look back on this moment in their relationship as a good one. Staff that work in retail complain jokingly about how they are working till 4pm and can’t wait to finish. There is the smell of barbecuing hamburgers on every street. People enjoy time with their friends in beer gardens.

Ok, we get it already! Your mood picks up when the sun is out, get on with it please.

I was just saying is all! Sorraaaaaaay!

Well, I was walking around wearing my grey hoodie and after about 10 minutes, my brow began to get a bit moist and my belly button was starting to act like a little swimming pool for the blue fluff. So I decided to take off the top revealing to the world my Superman T-shirt. (Oh the irony) So as I stood in the centre of the city with me hands on my side and me right foot in front of my left, I started to feel a little self conscious and a little bit restricted. I soon realised that my T-shirt was hugging me like I was away off to war or something. It gripped on for dear life.

“Don’t leave me. I’ll wait for you, I love you”

It was all rather embarrassing! When I got home I decided to have a heart to heart with my faded blue Superman T-shirt that had served me so well over the years.

Listen, I said, its not me, its you. I can’t go out with you in public anymore. Where you have stayed the same, I have moved on. I need a T-shirt that can adapt, that can help me grow and I am afraid you are not that T-shirt anymore. Sure we have had some good times but you are still acting like you belong to a man who hasn’t given up on his appearance. You have turned into the Wonder Bra for my tummy! You make it look bigger than it is. Take this Aberdeen 1984 XL Super Cup replica T-shirt. Fits me like a glove it does and it doesn’t smother me the way you do. Its time that we both moved on.

What do you mean, its not me, its you, the shirt said. Have you seen what you eat on a daily basis? Do you think that because you read up on exercise that you are actually exercising? Don’t blame me for you looking like you have a hunchback in your gut. Don’t blame me for the fact that your moobs jiggle when you brush your teeth. And don’t call me a gut Wonder Bra! I am a Superman T-shirt, not a SuperFatSelfDeceptiveMan T-shirt. Just put me in the drawer and be done with it!

You might think that this T-shirt makes a good point but you know what? Fuck that T-shirt! Its not like they don’t make Superman T-shirts for people with a luxurious stomach. I’ll just buy a new one. Oh, and maybe I should also stop conversing with my clothes!

Bizarrely enough, I have the opposite problem with my underpants!

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Crazy Ass Drunk

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Its Saturday night and like most people out there in the business of raising children and dreaming of a life that received a bullet between the eyes after daring to raise it’s potential, I am sitting on my increasing mass looking at stuff on the internet. So with that I thought I would do something that is slightly more productive and do a wee blog. And seeing as it is Saturday and anyone worth his or her salt is out drinking I thought I would make this a booze based blog. Also known in the industry as a BBB.

How does one start a BBB? Maybe by pouring oneself a drink. Good idea, why didn’t I think of that. There was a pause there as I went to get myself a medium to large glass of Balvenie but the beauty of blogging and writing is that you never see that pause and there wasn’t even really a need to point that out.

Like most people there was a point in my life where I lived for going out at the weekends and getting as drunk as possible. It is almost a right of passage, especially in this country and I have absolutely no regrets about doing that. There are too many funny stories and happy memories from that time that are brought up whenever the squad get together. Getting shit faced – brilliant.

However, with time and the evolution into family life the chances for going out become limited somewhat. On the occasions where I do get a free pass to go out and stay out I normally seems to start drunk, get more drunk and then lose all sense of where and who I am. I can become preachy, cheeky and disgustingly offensive before somehow getting home, waking up the next day and being drunk until 4pm and left feeling shameful for about 2 days after. The aftermath is strange because back when I were a lad, I didn’t used to get punished with the aftermath. Sure there were hangovers and declarations that I would never drink again but I didn’t feel the same level of self loathing. I put a lot of that down to having kids. There is something inherently wrong with waking up in the morning and having to try and do things with your children when you are still on planet steamboats and you smell like a tramp that has been urinated on by 6 other tramps. I always sort of feel like I have let them down somehow which I know isn’t right because there ain’t nothing wrong with enjoying yourself. This got me thinking. Drinking is one of the craziest things we ever do to enjoy ourselves and here is why.

On a daily basis in my brain I have a group of decision makers. A sort of boardroom of directors. I have this little weedy finance director, with a balding head and dull spectacles. He keeps me going to my job to pay the bills, put food on the table. Whenever I have had job offers or there is a chance of promotion then this little so and so will be one of the main voices that I hear (that and the wife’s of course but for the most part they can be the same person). This chap tells me when I can buy the stuff I might want and when I should forget about it.

Then I have the Operations director who determines how I spend my time when I am not at work. This dude is quite respectable. He plays golf and irons his shirts. Generally he gets me to do my chores around the house, helps with trying to raise my kids to be good people and he generally keeps things ticking over nicely.

Then there is the sex director who is always talking. Yap yap yap. Chatter chatter chatter. Because he is my sex director he wears tracksuit bottoms and a vest and calls everyone darling. The less said about him the better.
Then there is the Director of Creativity. The other 3 don’t really take him very seriously although they all think he makes a great cup of tea. He will say things like “ I have this really good idea. I think you will agree if you just sit down and figure out how we can action it” This is met with “Sure, put the kettle on and we will have a chat” When they come back with the tea, the other 3 have decided that the no longer have time to speak about this because something really important just came up.

Between of these 4 I generally manage to hold it together on a day to day basis. However, lets get back to my point about how drinking is crazy.

When drinking we introduce the possibility of a new member to the boardroom. This new member doesn’t normally take a seat if you are genuinely just out for a couple of beers. However if you find that a couple turn into a few more which turn into a few few more or your intention from the outset is to just get hammered then they not only have a seat, they can also shit on the carpet. This new member I have named simply:

The Terrorist

This is what has happened the last few times I have been out.

A board meeting is called. Everything is civilized. The budget is set quite clearly from the Director of Finance. The topics of discussion are set by the Director of Operations. They are all just getting nicely relaxed and I cruise into my first couple of drink when all of a sudden there is an explosion. The boardroom doors burst open and there stands this hairy guy dressed up in army gear holding a machine gun in each hand. He speaks with a foreign accent. He comes in and despite his entrance he is quite charming. He talks to the directors and tells them that he is here to take over and they can stay so long as they are quiet. He takes control of the decisions. Firstly he goes after the topics of conversation. The Operations director chips in at this stage. “Excuse me” he says “but you can’t talk about strippers at this time of night” and the next thing you know the Terrorist has shot the Operations Director in the heart and he dies a slow and painful death in his chair as the Terrorist is shouting “ANYONE ELSE GOT ANYTHING TO SAY BITCHES?!”.

Then he takes you to the bank where you go over the budget by over 50% and that’s when the Financial Director can’t take it anymore. “You can’t take that money out. You need that money for your kids swimmi”. Before the last word comes out of his mouth he is sprayed with bullets and lies dying on the boardroom floor. The Sex and Creative directors kneel next to him as he breathes his last breath. The Creative Director decides that he is too scared to take control so he grabs one of the machine guns and blows he brains out. The Terrorist at this stage decides that the Sex director can stay because he is so pathetic he makes him laugh.

By this point in the real world I can be found on the top chair, top 4 buttons of my shirt burst open, singing a Top Loader song and screaming to anyone that will listen about how boobs are amazing and can only be bettered by the latest batman trilogy.

As the night draws to a conclusion I somehow get home and the Terrorist has decided that his work is done. He kills the Sex director stone dead by acquiring a military tank from somewhere and driving over him before ending himself with a swift cyanide capsule.

The next morning the board of directors come back to life and look at the mess that their business has become. They have formal letters of complaints to deal with, legal forms to complete and rubble everywhere. At that point they start to pick up the pieces, write apologetic emails and delete everything posted on Facebook in the last 14 hours.

Thinks that’s about it. Off for another quick drink before bed.

Mike (I wish I wasn’t such a twat) Van Nistelrooy

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We are all dead and forgotten about. Another positive blog

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Freedom is knowing that know matter what you do or achieve in this life, you will always be forgotten. It sounds pretty tragic really. You live your life 100% as you. No matter what you do or what you try you are always looking out of the same pair of eyes and being controlled by the thoughts going through your head. As you are all you have ever known it seems impossible that you are completely insignificant in the grand scheme of things. It is kind of like this.

Before I went traveling, for 99.999999% of my life, I had lived in Aberdeen Scotland. Now I knew that it wasn’t the centre of the world or anything like that but when you begin to navigate your way into other cities, countries and cultures you soon find out that people have not only not heard of Aberdeen but some haven’t got a clue about Scotland as a country. Isn’t that weird? All I know is Scotland, how can these people not know about Willie Miller or Braveheart or kilts or professional drunks that can construct sentences almost entirely out of swear words? Not only that but we would travel through cities that were home to 9 million people, or 16 million people, that we had never heard about before planning the trip. Both cities had a population that makes Scotland look like a village. And these were cities; they weren’t places where people lived in tin huts. They had buildings that any other city would have. They had bridges and cars and restaurants. They had good people, and horrible people. They had chewing gum on the pavements and bars where every night people would go and get drunk. These bars you will never ever hear about but for some people they are home to stories that people will talk about for years after they occurred. Remember that time when Jimmy got so drunk that he told his boss that he would rather be a male prostitute than spend one more day at his desk? Where is Jimmy now? Jimmy as far as you are concerned might as well have never lived for all the affect that it had on your life but somewhere in some bar he will come up in conversation for as long as those people are still living.

Because you are your own city it can be quite hard to really accept that you are going to be completely forgotten about. It doesn’t even really take that long if you think about it. How many people can tell you the names of their great great grandparents? A few generations go by and their lives are lost. Especially back then before accurate records were kept. These people lived full lives where they were babies, that grew into kids, that began to work, that met someone that they spent at least 3 or 4 minutes grinding up against, had kids they raised – or didn’t, that retired – if they were lucky, that died. Who were these people? Who knows, they are lost now. OK you can get some circumstantial details about maybe where they lived and worked and how many times they got married but, and here is the but, does that really define them? Does those details define you? Are you your job title or are you someone else who works as a means to an end?

So in the end, we are all dead and we are all lost.

But it isn’t really that tragic at all. In reality it is freedom to live our lives as we want to. It means that all the bull shit office politics that you have to tread carefully over is actually the last thing you should be thinking about. It means that worrying about the future is about as useful as having a conversation with yourself and expecting an answer. Sure bad shit happens to good people but you cant plan for it. Go out and get the stories that you and your friends will talk about for the next 30 years. Get on and travel the world. Go back to university and fill your brain full of cool shit about space and plants, talk to old people and make sure that their forgotten about period gets a contract extension. Shit, just do good stuff and make this life as enjoyable and varied as you can. Don’t worry and be happy.

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