Tales of nonsense and items of little interest, sometimes true, always poorly thought through. Less sophisticated than most newspapers and magazines.

Saturday, March 10, 2007

The Night Terrors Are Back

I got a nice email from Lambent yesterday who said:
“You’re a fucking cunt and I’m going to kill you with a fucking spoon.”

Thanks mate, that’s my weekend fucked. I have a deep rooted fear of spoons. I flinch whenever one is brandished or pointed in my general direction. I cannot use one, not even a spork. I have had to invent an alternative spoon like utensil for the purposes of spooning, which due to an agreement with the International Brotherhood of Utensil Manufacturers, I cannot show you.

I know you are all dying to know what possible series of events, what kind of trauma or experience would cause such an unreasonable fear of an everyday household item. Well, I don’t like talking about it, but my therapist says that it’s good to talk and that by getting it off my chest, I may someday be able to once again enjoy soup. So, here I go…..

The burning body of a girl had been found dumped on a golf course just outside Manchester. (Why do they always dump them on golf courses?) A number of youths, both male and female, were arrested and tried for the murder of the girl and the story that came out in court was intriguing to say the least. One of the female members of the group had lost a prized pink jacket and had spotted the unfortunate victim wearing a jacket of the exact same colour and style. The defendant claimed that the girl had stolen the jacket and hatched a plan with her group to seek revenge.

The group decided to kidnap the girl and kept her in the home of one of the group, tied naked to a mattress spring, where they proceeded to torture her. The torture was the worst part for my acid and ecstasy addled mind. They had strapped some headphones to her head, injected her with speed then made her listen non stop to one of the popular techno albums of the day, Void Dweller by Eon. If you don’t know, Void Dweller, with tracks like Fear: The Mindkiller, Basket Case and Spice is not an album to fucked with if you don’t like techno, especially if you are being forcibly injected with speed and are tied to a bed frame at the time. Anyway, as if all this wasn’t bad enough they also set about beating the shit out of her with a wooden spoon. I remember thinking “How bad could that be? How much damage could you do with a wooden spoon?”
One night, shortly after reading this, my friends and I were tripping our tits off round at somebody’s parent’s house while they were away for a weekend in Prestatyn or somewhere like that. I went into the kitchen to make a brew and saw something that totally freaked me out. Hanging on the wall above the stove were these:

Instruments of death

A gigantic wooden spoon and fork set. I backed out of the kitchen, visibly disturbed by what I had seen. My friends, sensing that summat was up, asked what the problem was. I told them the story and pretty much ruined everybody’s trip as we spent the next couple of hours trying not to think about the girl’s ordeal.
A short while later, I went for a piss and some fresh air, when I returned I was pounced upon by a couple of the lads and held down while one of the others fetched the dreaded implements from the kitchen and another changed the CD and turned up the volume. The track? Fear: The Mindkiller. I just want you all to know, I didn’t cry.

With friends like these, you don’t need an enema.

Thursday, March 8, 2007

What Am I Bid?

I saw that the brown cloak worn by Alec Guinness as Obi Wank-Enobi in Star Wars just sold at auction in London for $104,000. It was bought by an anonymous telephone bidder, as were many other items of clothing worn at one time by celebrities in various movie roles. A tuxedo, worn by James Bond, a dress, worn by Madonna in Evita, and some other less memorable items all sold for ridiculous amounts of money. These kind of auctions, usually at least one a year, are always popular and usually offer the most bizarre items for sale to the saddest of high bidders. A friend of Mrs. Waring once owned a felt hat worn by a munchkin in The Wizard of Oz, knowing what I know about this person, I shudder to think what depths of depravity he may have sunk to while wearing it.

Anyway, cash has been a bit tight in the Waring household these past few weeks and I am seriously contemplating offering for auction one of my prized possessions.

I have so far resisted the lure of eBay, preferring instead to keep hold of said item as a nest egg for some security in the future, a college education perhaps for the younger Waring, or to finance an expensive crack addiction, or maybe even a nubile young “housemaid” when the wife finally wises up and leaves me. What is this golden ticket, you ask? What could you possibly have that would be worth so much? Is it a family heirloom? Could it be property in a prime location? Is it the secret to eternal youth or a perpetual motion machine? No, it is none of the above. It is Marlon Brando’s underpants.

Yes, I own a pair of Mr. Brando’s underpants. Not just any pair, but his favourite pair, his lucky pair. Brando wore these in many of his most famous movies. The Cat From Outer Space, Herbie Goes Bananas and most notably Apocalypse Now! In fact, they are complete with shit stains due to a rather loud explosion on the set of Apocalypse Now! after which Brando discarded them outside of his trailer where they were later found by a janitor with a wayward eye for celebrity cast offs. How they came into my possession, I cannot say, but if they were stolen at any time in the last 3 years I had nothing to do with it. The pair of 5XL Fruit of the Loom boxer shorts are not in the best of condition, mostly due to the skidmarks and some shredding of the gusset, but are priceless to collectors of celebrity under garments and should fetch a pretty penny if sold in the right place at the right time.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I start the bidding at $1.75……do I hear $2?

It was BBQ for lunch on the set that day

Monday, March 5, 2007

The Priviledged Few

I am not one of those people who takes up a disabled parking space, thus denying a less fortunate citizen their right to park near the front doors at the supermarket or the post office. Here in California, the $500 fine is more than a deterrant. It just isn't worth it. I would rather watch a seemingly healthy person climb down from their H2 Hummer and make their way effortlessly up the steps at Dodger Stadium and bite my lip than to be accused of harrassing a disabled person. Many disabled people do just fine and abuse their situation for the priviledge of good parking spaces. If the rules are to be followed to the letter, the fuckin Bionic Man and The Terminator would qualify for a blue badge. Oscar Pistorius, double amputee world record holder in the 100, 200 and 400 metres could get one if he wanted. This guy ran the 100 metres in 11.16 seconds at the 2004 Paralympics. For those of you who don't know, the record at the 2004 Olympics for normal folk was 10.93 seconds. My personal best over 100 metres is about a minute 30.

Oscar "Fastest Thing on No Legs" Pistorius. Like shit off a greasy shovel.

Even though I refuse to park in a disabled parking spot, I do enjoy shitting in a disabled stall when I visit the bogs. As far as I know there is no fine for this, if there were, I probably wouldn't risk it.

Why Eddie, I hear you ask, must you shit in a disabled toilet? Well, I like to spread myself out a bit. There is always lots of room, they are never out of bog roll and there is a conveniently placed bar for you to hold on to for those "white knucklers". So, given a choice of a regular, cramped, no bog roll stall and one of palatial dimensions with a hand rail, I'm taking the latter.

This policy has only ever backfired on me once. I was in an office building downtown and needed to drop the groceries off urgently. Most office building bogs are kept locked to keep out the undesirable element (me), so I hung around in the corridor for a few minutes until someone came out then rushed in before the door closed again. There were only 2 stalls, one disabled (per the Americans with Disabilities Act) and one for normal people. Naturally, I opted for the spacious and shiny chrome handle barred disabled bog. After sitting there for a few minutes, enjoying the silence and contemplating the uncontemplatable I heard the door to the bathroom open followed by the click, click, click of crutches on the tiled floor. Bollocks, I thought, hopefully the lad just needs to piss and he can use the urinal. The clicking stopped and I could see the lads foot between two crutches underneath the cubicle door.

I heard him mutter "Fuck!" before he tapped gently on the door and said "Will you be long?"

"Er....I dunno mate, having a bit of bother, might be while," I said, hoping he would out of necessity have to use the other stall, allowing me to escape with no embarrassment.

"Okay....I guess I'll have to wait then...."

"Can't you use the regular stall?" I asked hopefully.

"Not really, I need the bar to help me get up..." Fuck, fuck, fuck.....

"Er...right. I'll get on with it then," I replied.

"Are you disabled?" Fuck, fuck, fuckin bollocks.....

"Legally blind mate," I lied. " It's a bugger, can't tell when you're done, end up wiping 'til it bleeds."

"Oh.....I see." He didn't seem to find humour in my remark.

After about 5 minutes I decided that he wasn't going to give up so I gave in and flushed, leaving the stall by pretending to feel my way along the wall. Through my squint, I could see a look of utter comtempt on the lads face. When I got out into the corridor, I waited for a second or two until I heard him yell "BASTARD!!!!!" He had discovered that I had taken the toilet roll.

Heaven, I'm in Heaven......

I felt bad about it afterwards and did so for some time until I got yelled at by a real disabled person for parking in a space (not designated for the disabled)close to the front door at Vons beacuse all the disabled spaces were taken. Angry fucker.....