Hungry Trains

He can’t eat on trains.

But he can! He just hides his food when people are around. He will gladly chomp his way through a cheese burger on his way home from a late night at work. But as soon as he hears someone coming he’ll swallow whatever is in his mouth (which normally hasn’t been chewed enough making his eyes water as it finds it’s way down), wrap up his food and pretends he has nothing. Sometimes the person would get off earlier than him, allowing him to continue with his belated snack, other times he would have to wait till he got all the way to his station. By this point the food is cold and, not liking cold food that was originally hot, he would throw it away and settle for what he managed to eat before his interruption. Eating disorder? No… he likes to eat. He goes out for dinner with friends and has no problem eating and holding conversation. He’d like to know why it’s different on those hungry trains.

You’ll never know

A standing dive (of poor technique) into the murky depths of consumerism.

Damn those pipe cleaners!

The work was boring. Unbelievably boring. The battle to remain in a conscious state had begun. I held open my eye lids hoping that when released they’d remain in position but my eyelids are not made from pipe cleaners. I sometimes hoped my nose was, that would be fun, but it was never going to work. Sit up straight. Open that window. Turn that music up. They were all obvious suggestions. If I’m getting out of this one I’ll need cunning.

The most important thing to remember is that you must stay awake!

In an open plan office a sleeping baby is easy to spot. And how they’d scowl if they saw me sleeping. On the job. I dread to think what might happen. I suppose being stabbed over the matter would be somewhat “extreme” given the circumstances but it was something I wasn’t willing to risk. It was getting tough now though. It was getting really tough. My lashes started to narrow my field of vision as my eyes strained to stay open. Damn those pipe cleaners!

I reached out with my legs hoping the stretch may facilitate the solution. The theory was valid. I stretch out in the mornings so maybe I can trick my body into feeling it is the morning. That is cunning! No, that would never work, a terrible idea. What if my body remained 8 hours behind? I’d be in the wrong time zone completely! I’d eventually have to move to Seattle or San Francisco which, on the face of it, didn’t strike me as a particularly bad idea, it just wasn’t something I’d budgeted for. Anyway, it’s probably not the best idea to piss off my body right now anyway. I ate a dodgy marrow last night and I’m still having repercussions. Nope, I was going to need to change my tactic. But it was too late for I had already thrown my plan into action. I was desperate and it was chaos up there. Someone needed to take control. But it was too late. The order had been given and the legs were out. I had slumped. I was now at my desk, laying down, incapable of retracting. All I had left was my rationale, barely conscious conscience. “Must stay awake, must stay awake…”

It was at this point that I woke up.

Dead-Man, what just happened?

“OK, someone really needs to explain to me what the fuck just happened, because quite frankly: no idea.”

The ground had stopped shaking and the rumbles were no longer. The silence of the aftermath seemed deafning. The sky was clear and the sun was shining. Where were all the birds?. It seemed obvious that something had happened. Something huge had happened but the scene was so calm. So warm.

“So, let me get this straight. You’re telling me that you unsuspectingly just survived a 20 million mega-tonne nuclear blast, and you didn’t even notice?”

“It’s not my fault. I was looking at the clouds.”

“There are no clouds”.

“Yeah, they’ve gone now”.

“You’re incredible”.

“Thank you”.

Dead-Man walking.

He’s crazy. Staring down the barrel of a shotgun, does he even know it’s loaded? Wait. He takes a step back, he must have come to his senses. Well, not a moment too soon if you ask me. Surely he wasn’t considering doing that? But hang on! He’s not stepping back to assess at all! He’s taking a run up! Oh dear lord, I can’t watch. Tell me when it’s over!

Santa’s home brewed hangover from hell

What the fuck was that?! I woke up with a sense of fear and dread. The horror hit me bad. I was out of my depth. What was I thinking? 7.30am. It’s dark, really dark. I struggled to find my face and when I did I rubbed my eyes. I wasn’t ready for this, I knew it, my body knew it. Gradually the cogs started to move like a soviet war factory firing up her furnaces in the bitterly cold Siberian winter. This is a fucking joke! I’d sooner be dead than a Zombie.

Sartorial Elegance can kiss my ass.

Yes, my socks are odd but so are my eyeballs. Get over it.

Time to remember my old phone.

I’ve had my mobile for 18 months now. What a reliable sturdy companion he turned out to be. Getting me out of trouble when I needed help, entertaining me when I was bored, getting me up for work on time not to mention capturing thousands of sights all over the world, my phone literally has been every where with me and even to Paris by himself.

But the upgrade was due, and so I, myself, sent for the shotgun. The first sign of weakness and I would kill him myself. There’s no time for sentiment or lame dogs. SLVR needs to be gotten rid of, but first I need his memory.

Need more room? Find a womb.

So you’ve realised that you do not want children. Those pesky, messy, irritating little creatures. No thank you. So now you’re left with the problem of what to do with that womb you won’t be needing? Well, I say use it. Don’t waste it. Build a new conservatory, a shisha garden or maybe just a warm place to dry your socks. So, don’t let it fester and collect dust. Pick out some new wallpaper and make a new room from your womb.