Some Dirty Rhymes Roald Dahl Wished He'd Written

What with it being Friday, and what with me feeling a bit crazy (not to mentioned pissed off by the fact I have to spend 12 hours with my "buddies" from the office on a fuckin' SATURDAY), here're a couple of "songs" that kept a juvenile me ammused for ages back in the day.

Zippy and Bungle

Went to the junlge

To have some fun.

Zippy got silly

Pulled out his willy

And stuck it up Bungle's bum.

Here're a few verses that should be sung to the tune of "Yesterday", by the Beetles:

Leprasy

Body parts keep falling off of me

I'm not half the man I used to be

Oh, why did I

get leprasy?

Syphilis

All this started with just one kiss

Now I'm finding it so hard to piss

Oh, why did I

get Syphilis?

Courage

Luckily, Kali - and ES's mom - has exacted her revenge on me by securing at least 30 minutes of Bombai Belly. It wasn't pleasant. Not remotely. But I'm sure some of you out there are thinking to yourself: white men... Can't jump (it's true, gravity and I have become inseperable over the years), nor can they eat curry (also true, in my case). It wasn't as bad as the time ES didn't mix her sauce right and I thought I was going to spontaneously combust if I didn't suck the milk out of at least three Fresian cows, but it was bad enough.

Funny thing is, though - I can't stop eating the damn stuff. Maybe I'm a masochist. Or just really, really courageous. I've heard somewhere that courage is actually a middle-class substitute for brains. Jim Davis wrote that, in a Garfield comic.

Today's been eventful to say the least (oh, and by the way, hope you've noticed I finally managed to post a pic where I wanted it: surrounded by text. Yet again, it was accomplished by sheer accident!).

I've almost fired a client. That's right, the big boys from Lesotho. Told 'em they need to sort out their homework, pay me, and either get the hell out or agree to pay another whopping invoice. Oh, and - did I mention - PAY ME!

Give some people a finger, and they consume the whole arm.

I'm waiting for a meeting with some gentleman who wants to go into partnership with me. Only problem is, I haven't been able to say yay or nay, because I can't make head nor tail of his freaking proposal. He thinks he's coming here for an answer: I'm hoping he'll be able to answer a few questions from me, so I can begin considering an answer. But he sounds like a nice enough guy, and I'm not in the mood to cause kak.

Hopefully I can help him out a bit. At the moment, the show he's got in mind is like the chassis of a BMW: really sparkly, nicely shaped... But useless without the engine.

And I don't think he's thought about that. Poor fellow.

Guess we all start somewhere, though. In my defence - he's a lawyer. So he should have a bit more savvy than that.

Oh, and it turns out I managed to slay the dragon! That slithery beast we throw our money at once a month, only to have it really bite our butts once a year: the tax man.

I think the only thing in life that's a given is tax. Death is just a natural part of being taxed to death. Get rid of SARS, we'd probably all live for ever.

Anyway, after paying my dearest friend a hefty amount of money (2 days after, as a matter of fact), said dearest friend finally looked at my Notice of Objection, and has decided to pay me back just about double what I paid him. I only hope the transfer doesn't take forever - because at least then ES and I could be looking forward to at least one of those amazing little Belgian Chocolate Bunnies this coming Easter Weekend.

On the note of that: a bunny's a rhodent. They don't lay eggs. And I ain't never seen any animal pass chocolate. So, why is it an "Easter Bunny" and why does it have "eggs". Does it have access to some kind of secret chicken laboratory? Is it out to genetically modify our youth?

Mmmm... Perhaps we should stirfry him on charges of forcing us to perpetuate bullshit amongst our youth? I know Finny's folks once fed him a rabbit for easter. Clever way of getting yourself off the hook for not buying at least one of those amazing little Belgian Chocolate Bunnies. And getting your kids over the capitalistic myths created to further the goals of rampant consumerism and capitalism.

Ten out of ten for that one, Ma'am.

And don't worry, Finny, that pork roast you enjoyed so much that Christmas... Maybe, just maybe, that was the other OTHER white meat. Know what I mean?

So, W - I hear you had withdrawal symptoms yesterday because I didn't post. Hope the above is enough of a fix for you.

My next appointment's on the way, so I better duck out of here. I'll be back...

Later!

Yesterday

So, yesterday was such a huge fiasco that I didn't have a chance to let you all know that Ian Hunter finally came back to me.

Good news: he hasn't rejected the submission. Bad news: that's because he's pushed back the release date to October, and will be contacting all authors again in June.

The long wait has just become longer.

My friend W, I understand you were quite frustrated by yesterday's lack of posting. Sorry.

And now, thanks to some curry, I'm going to have to keep you waiting a little longer before I post something else. Nature, she's a-calling.

Here's a New One.

If you really look at this picture, you'll see there's actually a cat's tail dangling from the dog's mouth.

Okay...

Maybe this is becoming "one of those blogs..."

Enjoy, anyway. You only live once. (But seriously, guys: leave the young 'uns the hell alone. You got two perfectly good hands if that's what floats your boat. Sis.)

And "no" really means "no". Remember that!

Crazy Day

What a crazy day so far. I'm sitting down for the first time since this morning.

You see, Newton left a couple of things out of his theories.

First, when a very important document is meant to print on glossy paper, the printer will insist on printing on standard grain. This cannot be counteracted by swapping printer trays.

Second, once said document begins to print correctly, said printer will end up with something stuck in one of the rollers. Such jam will, without fail, require a GPS and advanced degree in mechanics to track down and remove. Should either of these two requirements be lacking, said document will remain in the queue until such a time that the deadline, which was five hours away, would now be two hours away.

Third, not a single envelope in a communications company will be large enough to accommodate the bulk of said proposal. There will also be no signs of basic stationary stock, such as pens, glue, scissors and the like. Quick trips to the supplier will result in the pressing need to top up one's petrol, as one's hyper-intelligent on-board computer has ceased flashing warning lights and has opted to rather communicate with you via the radio, switching channels to transmit syllables that, when heard in rapid succession, form a soliloquay of swearing.

Fourth: the delivery address on the recently updated brief will be wrong. It will lead you through labyrinthine corridors where you'll finally be told it's the building across the street. Because all TV personnel at the SABC have been moved to Radio Park. TV Block is now populated by pen-pushers and 2010 lunatics. And some poor techies.

Makes sense.

But luckily I still made it in time.

Just. But I made it. And that's all that counts.

On other fronts, ES is feeling under the weather again. Hope you're better soon, Babe. Ian's not replied - so I'd better start chasing, although I think I'll give it a week to make sure I don't piss him off if all he's doing is waying his options. If that's the case, I'd hate to lighten his load that way.

The new position is turning out to be just as fun as having warts burned out.

But, on that note - and why there's a Rah-Rah USA poster here - I've been contacted by a recruiter appointed by MTV. And they seem very, very interested in me. It would appear I'm being head hunted.

And that's great. Maybe if they found my head, they could let know where it's been all this time.

Bwah ha ha!!!

I think my "naughty" (let's face it, sports fans, we know they're pretty clean in comparison to what's out there) posters are attracting quite a bit of attention. If it was my writing, I'd assume there'd be some comments here. (Yes, for those of you reading, that is a less than subtle hint to consider pulling your fingers out.) As for the pics, I'll try track down some more dirty ones (hell, why not) for those of you out there who still only read graphic novels (and I'm not dissing you at all - I love a good comic now and then, especially Calvin and Hobbes).

See y'all later. If the pace doesn't pick up again.

Is Ignorance Bliss?

Good question.

And I'm not all that sure I know the answer, but my worldview is more in line with the two soldiers poster. Honestly, I think there are a lot of things out there none of us know about and somehow believe that, because they're unknown or never experienced, those things will never - in some way - touch on our lives.

(While writing the above, I was interrupted by a gentleman from the commercial crime unit who called to let me know he's taken over the case I opened against old numbnuts earlier.) And that's a good example.

We all know there're syndicates out there. We all know they prey on the unweary. And yet, for some sodding reason, no one ever considers themselves unweary. Rather, the crook was always "that much" smarter. I'm starting to wonder if I shouldn't actually take on a bit more of the blame than I already am. After all, my gut feel wasn't right...

Anyway, hindsite's 20:20, isn't it?

But not everything we don't know is negative.

Sometimes, you walk along the pavement, see a wad of paper. If you picked it up, it could be a crumpled R 50 note wrapped in a receipt. It could be a wad of paper. But you never know.

What if I'd moved to England? What if ES and I packed up our stuff, laugh it all off as a bad joke, and head to Europe? Or the States? We could thrive. We could suffer. After all, there's a saying the grass is only greener because there's more shit in the water.

As you can see, I'm feeling rather introspective today. Introspective and, to an extent, reserved. This promotion of mine isn't making me feel any happier - which is what I thought it would have done. Or, at least, should have done. I don't see possibilities or opportunities opening up.

Instead, it's like I'm staring down into a precipice.

I need to write again. Rekindle something creative in my head. Create something like I want it, so I can destroy it like the world's slowly destroying me. I want revenge against the unseen forces that have driven my life so far. Unfortunately, I don't believe any of that will be effective.

At the same time, though, I'm happy. ES and I are very happy together, and trust me I wouldn't change that for all the world.

It's just perverse that there seems to be a cosmic trade off we're all agreed to - whether we like it or not.

If you're happy at home, eff you, your job will suck the dripping wet-end of a donkey's nethers. If you're happy at work, eff you, your private life's about to become that Normandy Beach scene from the opening sequence of Saving Private Ryan.

Enjoy.

Now I'm faced with a Catch-22. It's a viscious cycle I've tried to rectify several times: normally to little or no success. That makes me think: there's something out there I'm not aware of. So it's time to go looking. Surely?

I tend to think there's a sacrifice being demanded of me. One of lifestyle. I need to kiss the lifestyle I know now goodbye, be prepared to take a few steps down, and find a job that'll sustain ES and I (at a somewhat lower comfort zone), but at least allow us to be happy. Hollistically happy, I mean.

Ian's still not replied, and I'll probably start chasing that answer as of tomorrow.

And on that note, I bid you Adieu for now.