Proof that horoscopes are a bag of shite

Back at the turn of the year I came across this horoscope in a copy of "Marie Claire" magazine, which claims to predict not only the course of my career in 2006, but also my love life.

Firstly, let's clear a couple of things up: I found the magazine in my kitchen - I certainly did not buy it myself, and anyone who says I did is lying. I am not the kind of moron who regularly devours women's magazines in the expectation that he will eventually understand what part of his abject persona renders him so unappealing to their kind. That is definitely not me.

Also, I am not the kind of cretinous fuckwit who ever takes any notice of what "psychic sandra" has to say about the movement of "Saturn (the planet of stability)", just as I do not believe that the moon is made of cheese. But for some reason I cut this out and kept it in my room, pinned to my noticeboard. I wonder why?

I couldn't give a shit about the career, money and success bullshit: we all know I'm practically already a millionaire. But if you notice, the 28th February is my "LUCKY LOVE DAY". That's interesting, because that's tomorrow. That's also unfortunate, because the girl who I am currently somewhat besotted with no longer wants to see me. How are you going to get out of that one horoscope? I'm waiting...

You never know, it is Shrove Tuesday tomorrow. Perhaps I shall fall in love with a pancake, we shall marry, and have lots of sticky, sugary babies that I shall probably eat.

I have issues with birds right now

I sliced my finger open today - on a teaspoon. A fucking teaspoon. Despite the pain, I was somewhat impressed by the incongruous nature of this mishap, until that is, I realised that I had dribbled blood into my cup of coffee. A dash of bodily fluids does give coffee a zing, but not in a good way.

Later, I cycled over to the gym in order to do 15 hard rounds with the punchbag. It was close, but the bag took it on points. On the way home I spotted a crow's nest up in the trees. It was an unimpressive sight: a slapdash collection of large twigs that appeared to offer no protection whatsoever from the elements. Crows may be big, but they certainly are not clever, and they are very shit at building nests.

I was reminded of this quote from Jesus (Matthew 6v25-26):

"Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them."

Birds: fucking arrogant feathery freeloaders. I bet they don't even have a pension plan. Oh sure, it's fun flying around in the sky right now, but what are you going to do in twenty years time when your income dries up? Eh? I'm certainly not going to support you.

This "heavenly Father" needs to show those birds some tough love, otherwise they'll keep right on watching daytime TV and living off these "divine handouts". You know, I bet they're also claiming disability living allowance on the sly, as well as working down the local hairdressers for some extra cash in hand. Would God be so generous if he knew the birds were ripping Him off behind His back? I doubt it.

Birds had better watch themselves - I feel a little smiting coming on.

I am the patron saint of mediocrity...

Marvin Gaye, however, is just about the slickest human being who ever lived.

Enjoy this rare Marvin track, courtesy of Gilles Peterson:

Marvin Gaye - Where Are We Going?

Where is this blog going? I don't know, I'm getting kind of bored of it. My attempts to produce regular humorous posts have foundered upon the rocks of lack of inspiration.

Perhaps I'll start to post more about things happening in my life, rather than attempting to be completely abstract. My fear, however, is that like many other blogs out there on the Interweb, my writing will become merely a dull chronicle of my insignificant life. This would be a bad thing.

Chance Encounters

So, three days off from "work" and I'm determined not to piss them all away in a haze of fecklessness and indolence. Watch me do just that.

Thus far, I have already discovered that enlightenment and everlasting happiness is probably not to be found watching lots of porn and eating chocolate, just in case you were wondering. Now, although I am still unsatisfied with my general lot, I am also a bit sore, and also a bit fat. Arse.

Over the weekend I had not one, but three random encounters with ex-girlfriends, two involving the same girl in the confined environs of a train carriage. Awkward. Especially when said ex has good reason to think you are a complete bastard. And especially when you inadvertently end up in the seat opposite them. And the journey lasts for four hours. And then the same fucking thing happens on the return trip! Fate hates me.

This kind of thing happens far more than you might expect in this hovel of a city. All I want is some measure of anonymity from the people I have let down, hurt, or pissed off. How hard can that be? Sure, I have run out of fingers upon which to count my failed relationships, but I still have about eight perfectly serviceable toes still to go! I'm not a bad person, I just have a natural talent for being a c**t.

Yet still, like athlete's foot, these acquaintances just refuse to give up their mouldy grip upon my pasty life. That said, I still haven't yet tried smothering them with a liberal helping of antifungal lotion - perhaps that's where I am going wrong. The voices in my head tell me that maybe if I weren't such an emotional retard things wouldn't be so tough. What do they know?

I don't need no negativity when I'm going to Co-op to buy myself some milk! Am I condemned to be constantly assaulted by my past failures? Can't these people go and live somewhere else? Move them on! Like gypsies who've just been told their planning application has just been refused by the council.

My immune system is overrated

This illness shit is really getting me down. It's fucking ridiculous: I've been ill for over ten days now and I'm still not better. I think my body has outsourced my immune system to a team of Albanian immigrants in order to save money on healthcare. Unfortunately, most of them speak no english and only a couple seem to have turned up for work over the past fortnight. The rest appear to be busy claiming state benefits and living in a skip round the back of the bingo hall. After all, you know what they say: "You pay peanuts, you get... Albanians". Or is it monkeys? Same difference I suppose.

Before I became unwell, I was looking pretty buff. Girls used to stop me on the street and ask me where they could buy tickets to "the gun show". Ok, when I say girls, I mean one girl that I know. One girl did that. Who then laughed at me. But my point still stands - because I could tell through her laughter that secretly she wanted me.

But in the last week I've lost practically all of my muscle. Right now I look like an anorexic Ethiopian with AIDS. It's not a good look...

What no posts?

Lots of people have been writing in to ask where I have been over the past week. Well, I've been very ill. I've had the bird-flu.

It all started when I met my new girlfriend on holiday in Thailand. I was so busy freebase-ing crack that I never noticed she was actually a chicken... I just thought the beak and the wings were all part of some fucked-up trip. And then the fucking avian whore gave me bird-flu! At least the little feathery slut didn't have bird-AIDS - it is only the nasty gay chickens that have that over there.

Now I've got feathers all over my ass and they won't go away. The problem is... I kind of like it. Don't judge me.