IN THE WORLD OF TOMORROW

IN THE WORLD OF TOMORROW:
Everyone will try to get on TV
and they will get on TV
in a show on TV
about them trying to get on TV.

IN THE WORLD OF TOMORROW:
People who are overweight by 120 pounds
will repeatedly spend 120 pounds
in failed attempts to lose 120 pounds.

IN THE WORLD OF TOMORROW:
People will avoid getting old
by acting like they are young
and end up seeming older.

IN THE WORLD OF TOMORROW:
We will use shops for parks
and parks for car parks.

IN THE WORLD OF TOMORROW:
A dog will bark at a postman
so the postman will sue the dog’s owner
and then the dog’s owner will sue the dog.

IN THE WORLD OF TOMORROW:
A nation of child killers
will condemn another nation for child killing
and they will go to war
and kill more children.

IN THE WORLD OF TOMORROW:
Everyone will worry that there will be no tomorrow
but there will be a tomorrow
and everyone will worry more than they did the day before.

IN THE WORLD OF TOMORROW:
We’ll give kids lots of toys
and then resent them for having too many toys
and kids who never had any toys
will spend all day making the toys.

IN THE WORLD OF TOMORROW:
Everyone will have their say
but no one will have anything to say
except for what they’ve been told.

IN THE WORLD OF TOMORROW:
Everyone will drive cars
and spend most of their lives in cars
driving to and from work
to pay for their cars.

IN THE WORLD OF TOMORROW:
Everyone will own a house
that belongs to someone else
who owns lots of houses
that belong to someone else.

IN THE WORLD OF TOMORROW:
Everyone will have lots of money
because everyone will owe lots of money
but no one will have enough money to pay the money back.

IN THE WORLD OF TOMORROW:
People will belong nowhere
and nowhere will belong to people.

IN THE WORLD OF TOMORROW:
The great void will spill forth
and eat up all matter
and replace it with antimatter
and no one will even notice
that there’s anything the matter.

And that is how it will be. And that is how it is. Today and every day, IN THE WORLD OF TOMORROW.

REDACTED

That F.o.I. request I put in has finally come through. Click on the letter to see the image and then click the tiny weeny link on the bottom left to enlarge the image.

Well, all seems to be above board and my suspicions unfounded. I can rest easy now.

CRAP MAN'S TRIBUTE TO MATHS

From little Jimmy to old man Crabtree, everyone loves maths. Here is Crap Man's take on the subject. To read the story click the link under the image, just like the great hero commands.

LINK: CRAP MAN ISSUED 22

AUNTY FUGGER: MORE PROBLEMS SHARED

In these difficult times, when people are finding difficulties difficult, AUNTY FUGGER likes to lend an ear and give some advice to the troubled readers of this blog. Let’s face it, if you’re a regular visitor to this blog you probably are very troubled indeed.

Here are a couple of examples of what I’m talking about:

Dear Aunty Fugger,

I fear everything. I fear floors, ceilings, furniture, windows and doors. I fear being inside and I fear being outside. I fear all animals, vegetation, minerals and synthetics, not to mention the sky, the earth and water.
I risk starving to death as I fear food but the thought of dying scares me so much I often eat (an activity that terrifies me) and get something into my stomach (an internal organ which I also fear).
My stomach isn’t the only part of myself that bothers me. I also fear each of my limbs, my hands and feet (and the toes and fingers found upon them) my torso, my head and my toilet bits (the fact I refer to my toilet bits as ‘toilet bits’ is somewhat telling I feel and that too is a scary feeling). The sight of my reflection petrifies me, as does the general idea of ‘me’. My past, my future, my present, my wisdom, my stupidity, my greed and occasional generosity all make my hair stand on end.
I could go into more detail but expressing myself causes me extreme fearfulness as does holding a pen and leaving ink upon paper.

Please say you’ll help me?

Yours, Fearful.

Dear Fearful,

Sounds to me like you only fear one thing, and that one thing is fear itself. This, like most anxiety, is irrational. I suggest you stop being such a pussy and sign up to do some voluntary relief work in the Congolese east (see image above). Then you’ll see what real fear is.

Dear Aunty Fugger,

I keep having a dream where I go into labour and give birth to a cash register. Everyone in the dream is really pleased for me but when I place my nipple in the till so the register can suckle I am suddenly struck by this horrible empty feeling.

What does this all mean?

J-Lo, (formerly of the block)

Dear J-Lo,

It means that somewhere deep within your shrink-wrapped soul you realize that all your hard work (jumping around in your undergarments singing about keepin’ it real) was a waste of time and that, despite being enormously wealthy, your life is entirely worthless. Buy a new coat or something. That should cheer you up.

Dear Aunty Fugger,

From a young age I planned my future to perfection, the result being that pretty much everything has worked out for me and I have no real problems.
My life just trundles along in a contented but very very monotonous way, so monotonous in fact that my lack of problems has itself become a problem.

Any ideas?

Yours, Mr. Perfect.

Dear Mr. Perfect,

Overcoming challenges is what largely defines us as human beings. Set yourself challenge: get a jigsaw, a big one.

Well that’s those readers sorted. If you have a problem why not post it as a reply and I’ll see what I can do for you too.

Now fuck off, I’m busy.

GLYNDWR MICHAEL PULLED HIS SOCKS UP!

People are always moaning about their lot. ‘Oh, my arm’s been sore all week’, they whinge to their boss. ‘Oh, my mummy never hugged me’, they sob to their analyst. These people make me sick. I don’t care how tough you have it; there is always someone worse off than you out there. Someone worse off with their sleeves rolled up trying to do something about their situation. Take Glyndwr Michael.

Glyndwr’s dad cut his own throat after becoming unemployed and the barely literate 15 year old Glyndwr had to sign the death cert. This formative experience cast a terrible shadow over Glyndwr causing him to become depressed and eventually homeless. In January 1943, deciding his dad was right and that life was indeed a load of bollocks, Glyndwr drank a bottle of rat poison and died in an old warehouse in London’s King’s Cross.

So there we have Glyndwr, after a life of misery, lying dead in an empty building. It doesn’t get much worse does it? But did Glyndwr let that hold him back? Hell no! Glyndwr got up off his rear end and did his bit for Queen and country. Posing as a drowned British intelligence operative, Glyndwr had his body dumped off the coast of Spain. Knowing he’d end up in the hands of the Nazis, Glyndwr cunningly had forged documents placed upon his person. These documents gave Mr. Hitler and his chums the impression that the Allies were planning to attack via Greece so off they went, leaving Sicily unprotected. The Allies took Sicily without much bother in August 1943 and the knock on effect was a disorganised Nazi push that eventually led to defeat for Germany. PWNED! And all thanks to Glyndwr’s can do attitude!

Glyndwr Michael took a look at his life, saw a dead misery-guts of a fella and decided to pull his socks up and regain some bloody dignity! So, think about Glyndwr Michael next time you’re considering staying in bed all day just because you overheard someone you fancy at work say that you look like a Cro-Magnon savage.

NATIONALISM

(pictured above: The national flag of Insania)

Nationalism is great isn’t it? I think it is anyway. It’s cute. You have a bit of a fight and win your land and give it a little name like something-land or something-ania or just something. You make a little flag with a picture on it or maybe just a few colours or maybe a barcode and you put it up a pole and salute it in your little military outfits with the buttons all polished and you invent a little march you can do and blow a trumpet and sing a little song about your nation with little words about how great everything is and how good you are at fighting and how God likes you the best and all that. It really is very sweet the whole nationalism thing and practical too.

The practical element is the morale boosting that nationalism provides. I mean, if you didn’t have nationalism how could you muster the will to go off killing wogs just because they threaten your sweet deal on hot water bottle imports? (Oh dear, I’ve just realised I typed ‘wogs’ out loud. Please forgive me. I’m not racist or anything, it’s just the nationalist fervour.) If you didn’t have nationalism you might find yourself on a battlefield wondering just what the Hell you’re doing ramming a bayonet into a complete stranger. Where would your hot water bottle imports be then? I’ll tell you where, at the mercy of Wogland that’s where! The wogs would be exporting hot water bottles to you for top dollar and using the money to buy bayonets so they can stick them into you.

Of course, seeing as there would be a demand, you could always start making bayonets and selling them to the wogs. This might actually start good trade relations. Some important wog nation dignitaries might visit your nation and exchange gifts with your nation’s dignitaries, little tokens like a tasty cabbage or a fancy ornament or a fancy ornament of a tasty cabbage. And the wog nation’s dignitaries could stay for a few days and go see a few important statues or something and it would be on the telly and then the wog nation’s dignitaries would invite your nation’s dignitaries to Wogland and you’d be glad because the wog nation’s dignitaries liked your nation’s dignitaries.

National dignitaries are so called because they are dignified enough to represent their nations, unlike the rest of you. You’re not dignified like national dignitaries at all. You’re just normal undignitaries, shuffling around the place, blowing your noses and stuffing used tissues into pockets filled with old bus tickets. Jesus, when I think of it, the state of you. Really! All you’re good for is getting bayonets stuck into you. At least that way you’re doing your nation some service. Going forward.

HELSINKI

All the clocks in my house are set to different times. None are set to your time. They are set to different time zones. I have a few that have completely stopped. When people ask about the stopped clocks I tell them the clocks are set to Helsinki time. When people point out that the clocks are all stopped at different times I just laugh and say ‘that’s Helsinki for you’.

There’s a strange smell in my house. Actually, there is no smell. No smell at all. That’s what’s so strange about it. You probably think you wouldn’t notice the lack of a smell but you do. It’s like when fridge buzz stops and you’re suddenly aware of the silence. When you walk through my door you are suddenly aware of the lack of smell. People say to me ‘hey, why doesn’t it smell in here?’ and I answer ‘maybe no one farted’ and give a little laugh.

People get a bit freaked out at my house. There are no pictures on the walls. I have no curtains or blinds or light shades or even lights. When I have guests and the sun goes down I’m usually asked to turn on a light or at least get a torch or a candle. I refuse. I tell my guests we’re better off in the dark. ‘You don’t want to see what’s in here with us’ I say. They ask me what I mean. I tell them they know exactly what I mean. They say they don’t and get worked up and demand to know what’s in the room with us. ‘Each other’, I tell them. ‘Isn’t that bad enough?’ I ask.

I keep this huge owl in my bathroom. He’s kind of the boss in there.

There’s a room upstairs in my house that people sometimes wander into by accident while looking for the bathroom. There’s a trampoline in this room and a really skinny lady is bouncing on it and weeping. ‘I’m so hungry’, she pleads. Visitors tell her to come down off the trampoline and get something to eat. I tell them that there’s no use trying to reason with her. ‘That’s my wife’, I explain, ‘she’s addicted to the endorphins released by the bouncing. She’s like a crack addict. She can’t stop. I’ll throw her a sandwich later. She can eat it while she jumps.’

I have an office in my house. I’ve got a lot of files in there. People wonder what’s in the files. I tell them that files are in the files. Then they ask what are in the files in the files and I tell them more files. This usually goes on for a while until they discover that there are a never ending amount of files within files and that the office stores infinity. The files have names on them, ‘MacCruiskeen’, ‘Pluck’, and so on. ‘Why do the files have names on them?’ I’m asked. ‘Why does anything have a name?’ I ask back. I’m pretentious that way.

My house has no garden but I mow the lawn daily. Just to be on the safe side.

As you enter my house, you see a huge electrical pylon to the west. When you leave it’s to the east. Everyone notices this. No one mentions it. It makes me laugh.

People tend not to stay too long when they come over to my house. They grow tired of my cryptic pronouncements. The constant squeaking of trampoline springs plays upon their nerves. They can’t piss with the owl staring at them. They usually end up bumping into something when it’s dark. Even when it’s daylight, the strange architecture of the place makes them uneasy, spatially discombobulated and a little dizzy.

People don’t stay long and rarely visit but that’s OK with me. I’ve got things to do. I’ve got clocks to unset and owl shit to clean up. I’ve got to make a sandwich for the wife and sort through infinity by name. Don’t let that put you off though. I mean, it would be OK if you wanted to pop around for a cup of something. You’ll take the cup and put it to your lips. Then you’ll spit the contents out in disgust and say ‘what the hell was that?’ I’ll just laugh and shrug and answer ‘something’.

Why not come around on Wednesday? I’ll be pretending that it’s Tuesday. It’s always Tuesday in Helsinki.