Like Two Things that Fucking Mystify Me

This post was going to be called: Things Which Puzzle Me That I Could Solve In Seconds Via Google But I Don't Because I Want Some Mystery to Remain in the World.

I thought that was too long for the title bar, so compromised with the shorter, more swear-y, piratey version. It also started off saying 'Five Ordinary Things that Fucking Mystify Me', but I can't commit to anything, so now it's two. The gist is the same, anyway. Said gist being that there are things in the world that just make me scratch my head and WONDER. Why? Why do these things exist? Who invented them? What manner of people have purchased them in such numbers as to keep them on the shelves of shops? Most of these things aren't products, just things that flit through my mind at any given moment in time, usually when I'm supposed to be doing something more important, like keeping my attention on the road and my hands at ten and two.

It's generally all manner of random shit. I spent an entire car journey wondering about the classification of Jaffa Cakes. I don't know if this is an England-only product, so for the rest of the world, I have drawn in glorious technicolour and MS Paint a stunning and entirely accurate picture of what a Jaffa cake is:

Very scientific

And just in case there are some MAD people out there who aren't blessed with immediately clarity due to the professionalism of my depiction, here's a photo I guess.

Not scientific. I think we can all agree mine was the superior depiction

So, yeah. That's a Jaffa Cake. It looks like a biscuit - it lives with the other biscuits on the biscuit aisle at the supermarket, and yet it is not called a Jaffa BISCUIT. Perhaps the whole packet is a cake, and I've just been going about it all wrong my entire life. It's entirely possible you're supposed to take them all out at once and eat them corn-on-the-cob style.

But NO. They don't really possess the qualities needed to qualify for cake status. It's not big, there's no icing, you can't stick a birthday candle in one. On the other hand, they're not really biscuits either. They're far too soft to be a biscuit. You wouldn't dunk that in your cup of tea, you'd end up with melted chocolate and the sponge would suck up too much liquid and then there'd be nothing for it but tears and recriminations and regrets.

CLEARLY, Jaffa Cakes need some new name, some new classification. Or, fuck it, I don't know, we could just go on calling them Jaffa Cakes because that's their name. Whatever.

That's the prognosis I came to during my car journey, in any case. I also spent at least fifteen minutes wondering if someone made a massive Jaffa Cake (I'm talking Kayne's ego big) and dropped it in the ocean, would it float?

The answer to that, I came to quite quickly: "Who the fuck cares, what is wrong with you - seriously, I think you need to see someone."

Other shit that frightens and confuses me:

Fingerless Gloves

Look at all the things I can do! How warm is your palm right now? I bet it's hot, I bet it's burning.

Like I said in my waffle of a preamble to this list, I'm not looking up the origins of these things until I've made some wild stabs in the dark of my own, so if anyone is thinking 'JUST GOOGLE IT, YOU IDIOT' well, you can just go Google your face. Yeah. Drop the mic and PEACE.

Uh, right, so, fingerless gloves.

Who in their right mind sees a chilly morning, then looks at their gloves and snips the fingers off? Gloves are supposed to cover the whole hand area, INCLUDING THE FINGERS. THE FINGERS ARE ALWAYS THE FIRST THING TO GET COLD.

I literally can't think of a single reason fingerless gloves were invented, unless Hollywood purposefully made them so that when we see homeless men warming their hands over their fire-barrels in a movie we know they're really, really poor because they can't even afford a whole pair of gloves. It's plausible, I suppose, that there is some kind of glove shop in Hollywood that will sell homeless people either one full glove, fingers included, or two gloves without the fingers for the same price. But what the hell is he doing with all those disembodied glove fingers? Hat for a snake? And no, that wasn't innuendo but now I can't stop thinking about it.

Woolly condom. That's just wrong. Just wrong. I'm pleased to say after very tentatively searching around the internets for a little bit, that there are no woolly condoms on the market. The only thing I could find was this:

I don't know what the fuck is going on here, but that lady is really not happy about it. HER EYES ARE DEAD.

So, okay. I admit defeat. I can't think of a single useful use for fingerless gloves other than to perpetuate a homeless stereotype, and possibly if there's a Russian violin player out there who is forced to perform outdoors and he needs ungloved fingers to play.

Let's Google this bitch and find out what they're really for.

The first result is not really what I'm looking for, but it might be the best question I've ever seen asked on the internet, though it provokes a whole lot of other questions:

So, at least we've established that fingerless gloves were not invented to help lizards in their fly fishing competitions. WHAT THE ACTUAL SHIT, YOU GUYS. Who ASKED that question?! And WHY?

You know what, I don't want to know what the real answer is. I'm not going to adhere to the person who responded to the lizard fishing question. From this day forth, if anyone asks me what fingerless gloves were invented for, I shall say 'To help lizards catch fish'.

I can't top that. Moving on.

Pigs as Pets

There's a chance I might offend some people with this particular mind-bender of mine, but I'm sorry guys, I just don't get it. I like pigs, don't get me wrong, but I like them because they're delicious, not because they make good pets.

I am specifically talking about 'Teacup pigs'. I play a lot of Warcraft, and an online friend of mine is obsessed with motherfucking teacup pigs. I don't even know what they are. I'm pretty sure the clue is in the name, but like, the honey badger is badger, not honey, so how do I know that these aren't just teacups decorated with pigs?

Well, that's a silly question, because my pig-obsessed friend babbles about how awesome they are and how she wants one to dress up in tiny clothes and fucking Instagram photos of it or something, I don't know, I tune her out after a while. I think if she is so set on dressing up a small thing she might as well have a baby. Human clothes are supposed to go on humans, and while it's hilarious to see grumpy cat in a Santa outfit, there are people (as with any portion of the population with similar interests) who go batshit crazy with dressing up their pets, making them get married, and on and on.

A dog can't tell you "No thank you, I do not wish to marry the poodle, in fact every time I see her I want to kill her. With my face." And I'm pretty sure there's no doggy divorce cou-- HANG ON A SECOND - WAS MARRYING DOGS TOGETHER LEGAL BEFORE GAY MARRIAGE WAS?

God, I got a bit taken off guard by that. But since I very much doubt a dog wedding is legally binding, it's all good. Jesus fucking Christ I was talking about pigs, how did I get to doggy weddings?

I have no idea what is happening, but it doesn't look consensual.

So, anyway. The vague promise is of teeny pigs that never outgrow a teacup. Now, I'm no farmer, but I call bullshit immediately. TO GOOGLE!

Oh, hey, guess what? It's bullshit!

Hilariously, the very first hit Google tossed my way is 'NEVER BUY A TEACUP PIG'. Interesting. Go on? Yeah, they get big. I mean.. heavier than a Great Dane big, and they'll eat you out of house and home. Turns out - and you're not going to believe this - that teacup pigs are tiny because they're BABIES, and until Hollywood figures out how to halt the aging process altogether, everything has to grow up. These guys grow up, all right, up and out and down and around.. Holy shit, these pigs are fat.

Obligatory before and after shot. That is one delicio-- I mean big, pig.

There's also the fact that, sorry, pigs just don't make good pets. They're fine if you're looking to change your occupation to 'evil mob boss' or whatever, because they'll eat fucking anything, including peoples. If I fall asleep with my dog, all's cool. If I fall asleep with the cats, they'll plot and attack my feet, but that's because they're assholes. I don't want to fall asleep with a pig in case it figures I've been still for long enough and starts trying to eat my leg or whatever. They're also herd animals, so they'll be fucking miserable if you don't get a..

Shit.

What's the name for a group of pigs? It's a herd, right? Ah, shit, I better check.

'A drift, drove, litter (young), sounder (of swine), team, passel (of hogs), singular (refers to a group of boars)'

...

WELL, THANKS A FUCKING LOT. THAT DOESN'T HELP AT ALL. ACTUALLY, IT DOES HELP, BUT IT HELPS TOO MUCH. (A streak of tigers? A tower of giraffes? A business of ferrets? This is made-up, right?) All right, through my advanced technique of searching (AKA clicking on more than one Google result) I have discerned that a group of pigs is PROBABLY a drift or a drove.

The fuck was I even talking about? Oh, right.

Pigs are herd animals and will be miserable unless you buy a DRIFT of them to pal around with. Cats and dogs are traditionally predator animals, and have been domesticated for centuries as pets. Pigs are traditionally prey animals and have been domesticated for centuries as dinner. A happy dog will greet your friends with a wagging tail; a happy pig will treat your friends like something that probably wants to eat it. And you, too, probably. I mean, if the world got turned on its head tomorrow and I got adopted by a tiger, no matter how long he was nice to me, I'd still know he had teeth.

In conclusion: Pigs are food, not friends.

Ahahahaha, a 'rhumba' of rattlesnakes. Who makes this shit up?

That's it, I'm done. Here is the collective list of other things that I was going to write about, but don't care enough to bother with:

What the fuck did cave-women use as tampons? Or did they use anything? Why did I think about this?

Who made up words and why do we still use them? There's got to be a point where were collectively say 'fuck it' and don't bother with all the silent letters anymore, surely.

What are cotton buds for if you can't put them in your ears? Nothing as satisfying, probably.

Why don't horse owners have to pick up after their horses when they shit? I mean, dog owners can legally be flayed alive for not scooping the poop. Horses have a lot more shit. Like, a lot. Is it really just because it's all biodegradable hay? Shit's shit, man. It all stinks.

If traffic cones became cognitive and evil would we all just die like sheep? Or is this already happening, I don't even know.

Where do shoes on telephone wires come from and why? WHY? WHO TAKES THEIR SHOES OFF, TIES THEM TOGETHER, AND THROWS THEM ON TELEPHONE WIRES? EXPLAIN THIS BULLSHIT.

TELL ME YOUR SECRETS, ABANDONED SHOES.

Oh my God, it's a whole thing.

Et tu, brain?

Don't you just love it when not only the world conspires to keep you from sleep (Too hot! Too many loud idiots outside! Cats are playing war on my bed and my feet are the enemy!) but also your own brain decides to chip in:

"Oh hey, I know you want to sleep, and Imma get to that, but first, here's a clipshow of all the embarrassing stuff you've ever done? Ready? Ok, good."

Cue montage. That time I fell of my motorbike in front of a group of lads because I was showing off. I was going like 5mph, I didn't get hurt, but my bike was too heavy to pick up on my own.

Sigh.

The time I was a waitress and was asked to take a bottle of wine to a table. The manager didn't put it in an ice bucket, so I did it myself. It was red wine. I was like fifteen, I had no idea. I remember the conversation as I walked away from the table: "Is that red? We asked for red, didn't we? Why is it chilled? Perhaps it's to improve it." Yes. Yes, go with that. It's to improve it, nothing to do with the waitress being an IDIOT.

Hey, remember that brief period when you were eighteen and you thought it was cool to go everywhere with a red headscarf bandana thing wrapped around your right hand like you were part of the goddamn Crips or something? Ahaha! You looked so stupid!

And on, and on, and on..

Honestly, brain. There's no need to be such an asshole. I just wanted to sleep.

On the upside, I've woken up to discover Ramsay's new series of Hotel Hell has started. Fuck yeah, let's go bitch at people with G-Dog. I'll even recap it.

And another thing...

So, generally the stuff I talk about here isn't particularly ground-breaking and I don't intend it to be. My last post was about how Two and a Half Men is shit, and that's not exactly an insanely off-the-wall opinion to have. What I want to say today, though, will be trickier because it has a lot of buzzwords that make people's hackles rise as soon as they hear them.

I read an article on inspiring feminist digital campaigns yesterday. Some of them were awesome, you know? Good work, fellow boob-havers, march on, etc etc. I was sort of going to gloss over this part, but since I'm giving examples to the contrary in a moment on the same sort of thing, let's be fair and say that it's a VERY GOOD DAY when Amazon is compelled to stop selling t-shirts that encourage rape and violence.

I mean, REALLY. You can't try to hide the message by making it a pink t-shirt, you tools. It would take someone a deal braver than I to wear one of these ironically, and I think it would take an actual caveperson to wear them proudly.

Scroll down a little further, though, and there's a similar story which rubbed me the wrong way. Apparently I get all hot and bothered about t-shirts, whatever, that's something to jot down for my future therapist. I have already written the second part of this entry, all lit up with righteous fever and defending the freedom of speech and stamping my feet about silencing a portion of the community just because someone doesn't like it, and yes, you could call me a hypocrite for wagging my finger at one example and overriding another, but come on: there is a difference between arguing the merits of suggesting a good idea for keeping one's calm is to punch one's wife, and arguing against the wholesale removal of Disney t-shirts because the girl option didn't include the alternative of being Thor or whatever.

I think we can all agree that the rape tshirt removal wasn't censorship - like, I'm sorry, are we offending the rapist portions of the community here? GOOD. But there's more to these Disney t-shirts that were forced off the line. Let me show you them:

So, the one on the left is the girl's choice, and the one on the right is for boys. Apparently this means 'Girls can't be heroes'. I suppose no one thought of buying the blue one for their daughter.

None of the heroes on the red t-shirt are women. They're the Avengers, and though I cannot back this claim up with comic book knowledge, my thorough awareness of the movie (Read: I watched it a bunch of times) tells me that the only female Avenger is Black Widow. If you're going to get pissed off that there's only one girl in the Avengers, go and tell Marvel or whatever. Maybe Disney started off thinking: Okay, we'll have the boys on the boy t-shirt and Black Widow on the girls' t-shirt, grand, good, marvelous.

And then they saw Marvel's Black Widow.

"Sup."

Okay, so she could have been zipped up and cleaned up a bit and de-gunned or whatever, but she still looks like she's made up out of boobs and black leather, and while that's cool with me (Costumes. Aw yisss) and more than cool for teenage (and older) boys, it probably isn't what the very same people who had these tshirts removed from sale want to see on their daughter's chest.

I have gone WAY off topic. Again. I am trying to get to a place to segue in the stuff I wrote earlier, but I keep galloping off in the other direction.

I'm not going to be able to find a smooth way into it, and I don't want to erase it because it felt important when I was writing it. I think in the end I was kind of mad that Disney, who seem to be taking such strides in the right direction with their movies (Tangled had the princess rescuing the prince, Frozen's act of true love was between sisters) getting slammed for what was probably an off-hand decision. Sometimes a t-shirt is just a fucking t-shirt.

There is no easy way to segue into what I wrote before, it'll have to be a smash-cut. Here it is:

They're telling you censorship is a victory when it never is. They're saying that their freedom costs the voice of others, and that isn't freedom, that's profane and they're only doing it because someone is watching. No one is forcing them to put these clothes on their children.

A solution could have been to make both versions of the tee for both genders, because you know what? Some girls want to be rescued. Yeah, sorry. For as many women there are who don't think men should be allowed to be saviours, there are girls who grew up with their minds in a tall tower, their hair tumbling down the vine-strewn sides, waiting to be rescued - not because they were tricked into that damn tower or because society made them think they had to brick up the doorway themselves, but because they wanted to be there. And for as many princesses there are, there are self-rescuing princesses, like me, who realised one day that 'Hey, if I hook my hair around this winch I can just climb out myself.." and then off they go to find a Prince, or a thief or a sailor or whoever they want. Whoever I want. Even if that's just me, because you don't need the Prince in the story to finish it.

And you know what? Silencing everyone because you don't like what you hear doesn't lead to evolution. It just leads to silence. That's not the answer, otherwise what are we all doing here? Why have a voice if you can't speak? In the end words are just words, and the only one who can give them power is you, how you react to them, what shapes they weave in your mind when you read them and you can't blame someone else for how you react. That's a whole different world of brothers and fathers and rape cultures and victim blaming and all of it is important, but not all of it is important all the time - I mean of course, that perhaps you're not angry because a little girl is wearing a t-shirt that says 'I need a hero' emblazoned across it. Let them want a hero, if that's what they want. We're not all Buffy, some of us are Snow White and what am I even saying, I'm doing it too, I've just realised. Look at where we are. Look around at how far we've come. It's not always a Princess in that tower. Sometimes it's a Prince. So why can't a boy who knows at ten who he is better than I will ever know myself wear a t-shirt that says 'I need a hero'?

Look how big the world just got.

And now, some pictures of the Avengers as women:

Okay, this is just what they'd look like if they were POSED as Black Widow always is.

And.. yeah, pretty much just because it gives me a lady boner.

No context.

Insert Dr Horrible's part of 'On the Rise' here.

So I have this big post I'm working on, which seemed like a good idea at the time, but since I underestimated my incredible powers of procrastination, confounded further by an attention span which can only be likened to that of a goldfish, it--

Ooh, something shiny.

Sorry, what was I saying? Oh yes. The big post. It's taking more time than I thought it would, mostly because of my inherent need to waffle on about things to a ridic extent. I touch-type extremely quickly, which means that something I had intended to confine to a sentence morphs and bloats into an entire page of alarmingly sharp tangents and mini-rants which have nothing to do with whatever it is I'm writing.

They announced the list of what fledgling shows have been cancelled about a week ago, and also which new and ongoing shows have been renewed. I'm not going to lie, I was pretty pissed about it all.

I watch all the shows. All of 'em. I'm supposed to recap them, but a good 90% of the time I do not, because I am the laziest person on the planet. There were some promising new sitcoms, in particular I was enjoying 'Surviving Jack' and 'Growing up Fisher', which have both been taken out back and shot in the head.

Look, sitcoms these days are generally just vaguely amusing ways in which to kill 22 minutes. I'm not holding them up to sky-high standards, but there's a big difference between a likable cast with chemistry and motherfucking Two and a Half Men, or Anger Management, both of which make me actually feel depressed thinking about them. The idea of watching an episode is mortifying.

Look what being on this show did to the kid. He's literally turning into a caveman and/or an inside-out conker shell.

I have watched episodes in the past, mostly because I think it's dumb to offer an opinion on something you've never experienced yourself. I'm pretty sure I'd love zorbing, but I've never done it, and thus I do not give my opinion on the greatness or shittiness of rolling down hills in giant inflatable balls. So, because I've watched Two and a Half Men, I am allowed to call it as I see it - and what I see is hell. There is nothing funny about it. Not even in the slightest. It's soul-sucking. The poor writers have just given in to the banality of it all and written out every (even tiny) sliver of reliability or redeeming quality in John Cryer's character. I actually hate Alan Harper. There is also revulsion in there. He has become what they used to joke he was, which I guess makes him a joke. A bad, unfunny joke.

"Hilarious." She deadpanned, knife in hand.

There have, so far, been TWELVE seasons of this shite, and not even Charlie Sheen's meltdown could stop it. I like Ashton Kutcher's body as much as the next perv, but I can't even LOOK at you anymore, Kutch. I can't do it.

Speaking of Charlie Sheen, he moved on to another depressing sitcom in which he STILL plays a guy named Charlie and we're STILL supposed to be able to suspend our disbelief to such an extent to believe that attractive women want to have sex with him. Why the fuck is he called Charlie in everything he plays, anyway? Can he just not deal with a character name, or is he just admitting he plays himself in all these fucking shows?

Anger Management is in its second season, and it's just hit SIXTY episodes. That 'clunk' noise you heard was my jaw hitting the desk. Firefly gets cancelled one season in, Game of Thrones only lets us have ten episodes a season, and fucking TWO AND A HALF MEN has been on for TWELVE SEASONS and Anger Management is on a SIXTY EPISODE PLUS SEASON?

Fuck this. Fuck everything. Everything is shit.

I only had to watch two episodes of Anger Management to nail it for what it is - shit. The characters are so painfully generic it makes my teeth hurt just thinking about them. Let's see, we've got the old, white homophobic racist; the pretty, dumb, mean girl; a guy who looks like Shaggy and who is a stoner; and a gay male fashion designer. WOW. That's some GROUND-BREAKING STUFF, they really threw the book out of the window to come up with these exiting new characters. The only thing in this awful, awful show that isn't predictable is, again, how in the hell Charlie Sheen gets to bang a new beautiful woman every episode.

Impossible. There's never any plot.

I'm going to go and wash the rage off me now, with fire and brimstone and those little shell-shaped pumice stones.

PEACE.

I would have preferred to find a dead body. Or a serial killer. Or the dead body of a serial killer

"Ey, blanca. You in the bad part of the garden. Forget what you saw and keep walking, bitch."

This happened to me today.

It was pretty awful.

We're having our annual ten minutes of sun in England at present, and thus I was inspired to try and pull up some of the weeds that have taken over my back garden in a complex and insidious society. Once I'd yanked the large, more powerful players in the Game of Weeds, the smaller ones came out easily.

I was left standing on the battlefield. Alone. Victorious.

Around me, the strewn corpses of my fallen enemies lay in varying degrees of wilt, littering my garden with their flimsy little bodies.

No problem, right? In England we're supplied with a big green bin in which to dump all our gardening folderol, and so I waded towards it, a great lump of my weed massacre under one arm, and lifted the lid with my free hand--

HOLY MOTHER OF GOD! WHAT IN THE NAME OF FUCKING FUCK IS THAT? IS THAT A FUCKING RAT?

No. It was just a spider BIG enough to be a rat.

I guess when you don't open a bin for six months, the King of all spiders moves in and makes it his territory. Actually, he was more of a drug lord cartel leader than a king. He had murder in mind as he looked at me with his cluster of gross eyes that might as well be FISH EGGS and wrrrrkkkkk that's why I don't eat roe anymore.

Kingpin druglord spider had no fear of me. It just looked at me as I froze, and sniggered when I let the lid go and ran screaming through the neighbour's fence, leaving a Jen-shaped hole in my wake, as is necessary in all comedic situations.

I think the fucker had a machete too, you know.

Lazy Tuesday Picture Show

Soo.. A new season of Hell's Kitchen has started, and I should probably be recapping that, and Believe, and whichever of the other hundred or so TV shows turned up lately. I should be, but it's Sunday. It's, uh, God's day. I'm sure it says somewhere in the Bible about not recapping shitty reality TV on the seventh day. (That is to say, it was Sunday when I started writing this post, but then I fell asleep and stuff and then my time was taken up by staring at some trees or something, I don't know.)

With that in mind, I skimmed my 'Shit from the web' folder and picked some photos at random to share with you and possibly/probably waffle on about them a bit.

SO WTHOUT FURTHER ADO:

Yeah.. I don't really know what to say about this. I don't even know what newspaper it came from because I found it floating around the internet and engendering reactions from people akin to being told a loved one has died. People are just shuddering and passing it on, as I am doing now, to you. I'm not entirely sure WHY they're passing it on. It's not one of those mildly threatening chain-Facebook-mail letters: "BUY FROM GREGGS. OR YOU'LL GET THE GREYJOY TREATMENT!" (I've just noticed it says 'SUNDAY SPORT exclusive' in the middle, so I guess that's the mystery of what newspaper it came from solved.)

Fancying food is weird. I mean, I get the appeal of chocolate sauce when engaging in bedroom shenanigans, even whipped cream; but that's because I get to lick it off cut muscles and strong arms and it gets licked off my-- Excuse me, I need a moment to fan myself with my hand and swoon a bit.

Ahem. Sorry, got a bit distracted there. Anyway. Let me look this up and see if it's just urban legend, we?

OH GOD, YOU GUYS, IT'S A THING, It's not even only one thing, it's a couple of different branches of the same gross thing. Apparently the urge to have sex with food is called sitophilia. By that, I don't mean having sex with food involved, like the aforementioned whipped cream and whatnot, I mean having sex with pasties like the gentleman in the photo above, or when Jason Biggs fucked an apple pie. (Although, to be fair to JB he wasn't sexually attracted to the pie, he just wanted to know what a ladygarden felt like.)

So I guess licking chocolate sauce off someone is mildly kinky, but wandering through a supermarket and getting a semi because the French sticks look so damn sexy is sitophilia.

Look, I generally don't give a crap what consenting adults do with/to each other. But for the love of all that's holy, if you're dumb enough to scald your prick in a pasty, do not go to a newspaper with your story. I did not want to know that there are people out there who purchase Greggs food for anything other than eating. Actually, considering the disgusting crap that place churns out, I presumed people just bought the stuff for the satisfaction of throwing it in the bin, not for any other kind of satisfaction.

“I have been into Greggs many, many times and never have I seen a sign warning you not to put your penis into one of their products – especially after it has been reheated. “That, to me, is a clear case of negligence and I intend to sue. I ran my helmet under cold water straight away but I’m still in agony and can barely walk. It’s covered in blisters. I may never be able to have sex with a pasty again."

If this guy actually does sue, let's just hope he's laughed out of the courtroom lest it starts some kind of precedent. I really don't want to have to walk into a restaurant and have to deal with a little disclaimer at the bottom of the menu: "For oral use only. Management is not responsible for any injuries you may sustain if you misuse our food. With your dick."

I don't know why I find this so hilarious, but I do.

That's generally me most days. Only replace 'lazy' with.. well, with most of the words, really. 'Too lazy to sleep. Too lazy to human,'

Too lazy to lazy.

Man, I'm tired.

That's it. I got nothing else. I burnt myself out with the rant about the pasty-fucker up at the top there. I'm going to have a nap because quite frankly, writing blog posts is exhausting and I need one of those large, shiny muscular men with big leaves to fan me gently while I'm doing this.

Everything is so hard.

Peace, lovelies.

Writings and things

So, here's the deal. I'm a pretty terrible comedic writer, and I'm OK with that. I waffle, I ramble, I meander off-topic and never quite find whatever point it was I was trying to make.

What I am pretty darn good at is fantasy fiction. I've been writing it since I was able to write, and I'm halfway through a manuscript which is frankly guaranteed to make me tens of dollars.

This was going to be a long post full of vaguely interesting writing tips and maybe even some snippets of what I'm working on; bit I did not sleep AGAIN last night which is making every word some kind of agony to write.

I seriously can't keep my stupid eyes open,

Don't laugh, it's a serious condition.

Here. Have all my NOPES.

I'm not dead, I swear. I'm just a lazy asshole. I was going to post this whole thing yesterday but my intricate and frankly incredible drawing in Paint somehow disappeared and I lost the will to live.

Instead, I offer up this mini-post that is mainly comprised of a photograph which terrified me to the depths of my soul and made me think of Amber, because her fear of spiders makes my own seem like an insignificant sort of mild dislike, rather than the violent, hysterical phobia it is.

So, sorry, Amber. But this is almost certainly your own fault. Every time you blog about spiders, one appears in my home. This is merely the age old tradition of a cluster of eyes for a cluster of eyes: