Sunday, July 19, 2015

WASTED WORDS: Six Years of Fugger!

Fugger first blogged on this day, six years ago. That's six years of words arranged in grammatically dodgy order for reasons best known to absolutely no one, least of all me. All I know is that six years is a lot of words. Too many words. But what the Hell, it's Fugger's birthday so here are some more...

For this anniversary post, I thought I'd do something special and let you know about the word quota. Everyone has a certain amount of words assigned to them for use in their lifetime. Did you know that? Yeah, there's a word depot that stores a limited amount of words for each person's use. Once you use up your words, you can no longer speak or write. You are struck dumb. You never get to communicate again - beyond pointing and waving or using facial expressions or nodding and shaking your head. Consider that next time you waste a load of words complaining about the shite on telly. You might run out of words before you've said what you really want to say. It happens. Having said that, I'm not sure if running out of words is a bad thing at all.

Words drain life of value. Honestly. When you recount an experience in words you reduce that experience to just words. You even start to consider the experience as a story that you tell and forget the actual sensation of the experience itself. Emotions become syntax. Then you start to embellish things, to add a bit of sparkle to what inevitably becomes a jaded narrative. You might even discard reality completely and make something up. I'm not sure if anyone knows for certain why we do this. Maybe we do it to entertain others so they'll like us. Being liked feels good. Being liked makes us feel safe. Being liked sometimes brings rewards or gives us a chance to procreate. Or maybe it's not about being liked at all. Maybe we exaggerate just because, you know, because. For reasons we can't put it into words. We're a funny species, sometimes on purpose.

To keep experience authentic, the less you say the better. The only way you can properly convey an experience is through telepathy and we can't do that, yet. Once we master telepathy, we'll consider words as insufficient and rudimentary a means of communication as smoke signals. Dishonest smoke signals at that. With telepathy we'll know exactly how each other feel and we'll understand each other's motivations and no longer have a clutter of words clouding our mutual comprehension. Despite the odd embarrassment, this will be for the best. There'll be a certain amount of awkwardness because people you dislike will know that you dislike them and, worse still, people you love will know that you love them. Your silly preoccupations and insecurities will be on show for all to see, but then so will everyone's. This will probably lead to a lot of empathy in the end. We'll all see how silly we are and have a good laugh. You might even stop disliking those you dislike and come to love them, now that you've come to truly understand them.

(This post isn't very good is it? I should be putting a narrative on all this and packaging these concepts in some kind of amusing scenario, with a set up and a pay off. There'll be a funny bit at the end, I promise, but it should be less of a slog getting there shouldn't it? I should try harder to hold your interest. Holding your interest is my aim I suppose because, you know, just because. For reasons I can't put it into words.)

But where was I, oh yes, the word quota. Some people, those who talk too much or write a lot, like yours truly, often exhaust their word supply before death. If you keep an eye out, you sometimes see these wordless people around the place. You might see them paying for items at a checkout and smiling politely but saying nothing when they are handed their change. Most are elderly, but some are younger, living out decades incommunicado. I've a theory about these people. I reckon they find it liberating to be without words. I can't say for certain of course because wordless people aren't able to confirm it, but their knowing smiles and zen demeanours could well be down to their word lack. They look free to me, whenever I see them. They seem unburdened. I say 'hello' and they just nod sagely.

Anyway, this brings me to the funny part of this sixth anniversary post. 'At last,' says you. OK, so, there was this fella right, and he was always going on about this and that and whatever and never shutting his yap and it's his first day at work in a new place and he really needs a shite. He's busting to go, absolutely dying, but the building is huge and he can't find the jax so he goes to ask where it is, but then he finds that he's run out of  

Tuesday, July 7, 2015


Life isn't to be enjoyed. It's to be tolerated. I think that's undeniable. You can breakdown in the face of this truth or you can man up. If you choose to man up, you get your head down. You get your head down and you get your work done and you pay your way. There isn't much joy in it, but there is dignity in it. Don't be a freeloader. Don't expect anyone else's share. Take care of yourself. It's about competition, not cooperation. The only time you cooperate is to beat the competition. We're all rivals and you know it. Deep down, you know that only too well. Sure, the minus is that no one owes you anything, but the plus is that you don't owe anyone anything. Just get your head down, provide for yourself and try not to die in too much pain.

You see, you've got to be a tough guy in this world because this world is tough, guys. You don't measure the worth of your world with intangible notions like personal contentment and a sense of community. That stuff isn't quantifiable. You don't see that shit on graphs. Community can be best validated by measurable collective economic stability. That way we keep the road to the workplace smoothly tarred. Anything else and you're on your own. You've got to man up and compete. You've got to generate the income to partake of resources. There isn't enough to go around so you've got to earn your share. There's a scarcity and even if there isn't a scarcity, we should act as if there is or else there will be. Got me?

Way back in the way back when, F.W. Taylor knew that internal gratification didn't get us anywhere. He knew that external reward is the way to go. You're not a craftsman, you're a cog, but you're a cog that gets paid a heck of a lot more than a craftsman and shit gets made quicker too. Where would we be without quick shit? Waiting, that's where. It's about efficiency guys. Efficiency trumps all and if you're efficient you get paid more and you can spend your pay on quick shit.

Of course, I know what you're thinking. You're complaining that your income has been cut despite your hard work. If your income has been cut you man up. Work harder! The frontiersmen of old didn't bitch when their crops failed. Oh no. They steeled themselves for a hungry winter and tried again next year. People died, yeah. People die all the time. The cog gets rusty and it's replaced. Big deal. The machine has to keep running and that's all that matters because without the machine, well, without the machine we'd all have to go without wouldn't we? Yeah, we would. We'd all just be spare parts with no purpose. We'd have no reason to get our heads down and we'd have to look up and look around and if we did that then who knows what we'd see. What would we see then? It could be anything. Anything under the sun. The thought is too awful to contemplate. Just get your head down, that's the only way. For the love of God, whatever you do, get your head down and don't look up. Don't look up, just man up! Man up and get your head down!

Monday, July 6, 2015


Do you remember those mad cartoon characters The Technocrats? They were on every Saturday after the ThunderCats. They wore well-cut suits and expensive watches. They always had mildly bored expressions on their faces and pushed their glasses up their noses. They overcame sovereignty with their powers of austerity. At every commercial break, you'd be reminded to stay tuned when The Technocrats pointed at you from the screen and told you to 'stick with the programme!' Ah yeah, The Technocrats were mad. Do you remember them at all?

They had a robot that was the comic relief. The robot was called KEN-E. KEN-E was a clueless sack of mechanical crap that barely worked. The Technocrats were always playing tricks on him. In fairness, KEN-E was a very loyal robot. Even though The Technocrats didn't take him at all seriously, KEN-E would always obey their commands. 'The Technocrats demand my loyalty,' KEN-E would say, 'I must stick with the programme.'

The Technocrats had all these enemies too. Alexis Feckless was the worst. He was always coming up with stuff so he could escape paying his way. He wore a leather jacket with the collar turned up and he had a shiny bald head. He looked really evil in a lazy kind of way. He was terrible. We'd boo and hiss him when we were kids. We all joined The Technocrats Club too. You'd send away your name and address and then you'd be billed for all sorts and sent budgetary advice. They'd tell you how to spend your pocket money and recommend that you sell all your toys to wealthier kids and then rent them back. After a while of renting the toys back you'd run out of the money you made from selling them. Then you'd write to the club requesting further advice and you'd get a letter back telling you to 'stick with the programme!' That's all the letter said. 'Stick with the programme!' This was just advice of course. You didn't have to do what the letter said, but if you didn't you'd be thrown out of The Technocrats Club and no one wanted that. All the other kids would laugh at you. You'd have a bit more pocket money for sweets though.

I'll never forget the shocking final episode when Alexis Feckless revealed that The Technocrats were completely broke. He was a real dick about it. 'You're all broke,' he said laughing. 'I've got the proof and you're all completely penniless and always were. You're all a sham! A complete and utter sham! YOU'RE ALL JUST A LYING, CRIMINAL, TYRANNICAL, SCUM SUCKING SHAM!' Then the show got cancelled so we never discovered how The Technocrats got out of that spot of bother. I'm sure they figured something out though. The Technocrats always came up with crazy plans. Some would say outright deranged plans, completely fucking demented plans. But, whatever happened, The Technocrats always looked like they knew what they were doing. Even if they didn't have the slightest notion what they were at, they always looked like they did. That was their main power. I'm sure they were OK in the end. We never found out though. The whole series was scrapped and I've since heard that every episode was taken and incinerated and the ashes were flushed down a toilet because the people that commissioned the show found the whole thing really embarrassing and shameful. Actually, the animation was a bit shit now I come to think of it. The plot continuity was all over the place too. But when you're a kid you don't mind that stuff too much. You're naive and pretty stupid and you'll accept any hopeless old God forsaken shit that's peddled to you. That's why the kids were so fond of KEN-E. They identified with him. KEN-E liked the reassuring demeanor of The Technocrats. I suppose the robot was comforted by their certainty. No matter what half-arsed bollocksology was afoot, us kids and KEN-E always stuck with the programme. We remained loyal. That is, until The Technocrats show got scrapped, burned and flushed down the fucking crapper where it rightfully belonged.

Friday, June 26, 2015


We don't make history anymore. History just occurs. It kind of spills out all over the place and we have no say in it. History is like a pint that gets knocked over by some really drunk fella. It lands on his lap and makes it look as if he's pissed himself. Sometimes it leaves a stain in the shape of a country.

Nobody is in charge anymore, for good or ill. It's all just cause and effect, but we're not sure what the cause was and we don't know how to deal with the effect. A lot of people are talking but nothing is being said. Most people are arguing about things that may or may not have happened and the factors that may or may not have caused these things to happen or not. I doubt anyone really cares though. Just as long as their opining is heard. As long as they are seen to stand out from the herd ...for whatever reason. No one knows a thing. We are all just caught up in a domino effect and we don't know who pushed the first domino and we can't tell which one will be next to go.

Take the example of ISIS. I really don't know who ISIS are. I don't think anyone does. ISIS themselves don't even know. All they know is that they are history, occurring. They are just delighted to be 'trending'. This is humanity in entropy, where being click bait is the sought after currency. ISIS are like the rest of us but instead of doing the Ice Bucket Challenge, they chop off people's heads. The Islamic Wahhabi state matters about as much to them as whatever charity the Ice Bucket Challenge was in aid of mattered to us. By the way, did we #GetKony in the end? No, I didn't think so. That met a sorry conclusion. Naked on the road, wanking and roaring.

We are all Jason Russell. Remember him? You probably don't. History quickly fades these days.

Future historians will look back at our times and try to figure out what happened. They're going to have to pick their way through an abstract mess. The course of history by Jackson Pollock. A tangle of twine and you can't find where it starts or where it ends. And what an end. Might this be the end? Or is it just a stupid transition? Maybe we'll wake up, like the pissed fella that spilled his pint, and feel a bit disgraced and look out the window and see a brand new day and swear never to do it again.

And then we'll do it again.

And then we'll swear never to do it again, again.

Thursday, June 18, 2015



My sitcom about a writer of superhero comics who aspires to be the next John Dee has been commissioned. It's called 'Incorporating Alan'.

In episode one of Incorporating Alan, Alan hilariously sets out to prove that Paul Daniels is not a proper magician.

In episode two of Incorporating Alan, Alan is unamused to discover his publisher merchandising plushies of one of his edgy rapist characters.

In episode three of Incorporating Alan, Alan struggles to find a polite way of getting his friend Warren to stop dressing like him.

In episode four of Incorporating Alan, Alan struggles to find a polite way of getting his friend Grant to stop pretending to be him.

In episode five of Incorporating Alan, Alan refuses to partake in a Q and A at a Batman convention unless it is entirely conducted in Enochian.

In episode six of Incorporating Alan, Alan is at loggerheads with his publisher when he decides to kill off their most popular character again.

In episode seven of Incorporating Alan, Alan kicks off his two-year stewardship of the Pokémon comic by placing Snorlax in Chapel Perilous.

In episode eight of Incorporating Alan, Alan is infuriated when a critic describes his new experimental writing style as 'Krypto the Super Doggerel.'

That’s it for the first series. I was asked to produce more episodes but I referred the broadcaster to the occult properties of the number eight, saying that any other amount would exhibit preternatural ignorance.