Land of Diskgrinder

I'm 43, white, male. And yet still I come up against situations for which I have no easy answer. This is unfair. Surely all my hurdles should have been cleared by the age of 12? No, that's right, didn't go to public school, therefore don't have the cultural entitlement thing going on. Therefore explained. Sorry I wasted your time.

Bunnies wearing nylon tabards and gambolling through robust economies, variously complaining about the energy surplus in Russia. (I'm channelling radio 4 news in part and fractions) The market wants to pull the capital flight from the war, nonetheless, in the global economy. And now the sport. Fuck you, Australia. We won more medals than you sitting down.

buy my car

What I chew when I'm thinking of stabbing you in the eye. Better than Mephistopheles Menthol - minty sharp dagger.

I'm not a zeitgeist type of prole, or nebbish , I don't have a stick with electrics in that with which I can talks to persons more than many yards away. In fact I find the shouting over chain-link fence, from one to another, suffices in the hard-sunshined backlots hereabouts. "Hey, Cletus , you got the sack out the basement yet, ya motherfucker," is all I have to say to communicate to my social network. Cletus, redneck, redface, always responds with "Fuck ya facebook, I'm blocking ya friend request, cocksucker, I got to friend me some clart on the social me applification." "Yeah, poke me, ya fucker," I say. I crack open another beer and wonder if I can piss on my dog again.

The continuing descent into senescence of our hero, the de-centred self, as he/she becomes something or other, but with a plot. The story so far: Albonia sucks Fusel is dead but knot forgotten Bêbe is bereft This all a dream and can I wake up now? Trees have teeth From this imaginary travels

Little observed and unique behaviour captured in our amygdala sharing cousins: Furry beaks Harvard MBAs Chocolate stains on the smoking jacket Holiday plans

After having done something fairly heroic. Maybe involving fire, or subsequent seismic movements in the underground: one complete rock grinds against another mile high piece of thing thrusting and pushed up plate tectonics. And me in a cape and tights (but not zentai) do the laser eyes thing, and all is set to rest.

Time I cleaned that one out .

Self-harming fish goes on long journey of discovery. Gets trapped in a big glass prison. Is not understood by fellow inmates. Escapes through toilet. Other things happen. Estranged father finally finds him. Goth fish flips him off.

Continuing intersections in mathematical sense, it involves digits anyway (see what I did there?) Smartarse, me.

So if someone says you have 2 choices does that mean you have 4 options? As if you have a choice there are (clearly) 2 things to choose from

I particularly like 8 Because it has some resistance on the upper reaches before you bite down on its hips.

So, a completely random post now. The digits of PI defined by the increasing sparks of information transmitted up the M4 motorway by the serried ranks of sodium lamps. One off, one on, dimming in the twilight, and like a synapse, inhibited or excited by the inputs of the lamps up the slip-roads from the A roads. B roads are a chemical embrace around the roundabouts that circle under and around the dendrite length of the motorway where big LED signs sometimes express (reify) the messages from one end to the other - the M1 communicates its displeasure 200 miles in each direction.

Fucking eight legged bastards Play cards better than me Never play gin rummy with arachnids They practice to deceive

Massive pope sighted rising above moon. NASA sends jesuit-based probe to investigate. Two of holy trinity spotted, holy ghost indistinct. Tiny saints in orbit around massive lunar pope are identified as early martyrs. Auto da fe is filled with petrol and sent to investigate. Massive lunar pope is posited to be extrusion of the godhead into local quantum space in Capricorn, Saturn. Astrologers suicide in droves. Massive lunar pope grazes van allen belt. Northern lights say "eeee, thez sparkles in t'atmosphere". Patrick Moore is canonised. Massive lunar pope touches down in arctic waste. Russians stick flag in it, but out of a submarine. Massive lunar pope beatifies small dogs. Dobermans, Dalmatians and Great Danes mount protest, and each other. Really big dog is produced.

I don't believe in fish either. We may have evolved from them, granted: that's not the fundamental principle I'm trying to espouse right here. No, instead I'm trying to explain my lack of faith in our aquatic cousins in a general, kind of over-arching way. Fuck fish, in other words.