Bad Karma

So it’s been over a week now since those stupid bitches tried to blow our asses up, and I for one still feel a bit freaked out about it. I mean, fucking hell, what the fuck was that?! You can see I’ve had some time to consider my response to the matter. Well not the last response. It really wasn’t the time to be making jokes. But I didn’t know what else to say.

Today I was a steward at a Victims of 7/7 London Remembrance Vigil. That is so much easier to write down than say to uninterested passers by. We didn’t quite know what we were doing as it was our first time being selfless so we just assumed we should act like “charity muggers” once we had put on the vests. And people treated us as such. They avoided our gaze as we tried to invite them to join the rally. They pretended to be deep in conversation as we tried to make them feel sad. They laughed at us openly when we accidentally said Remember the London Bombers Vigil instead of Bomb Victims. It made me think how tough those real charity muggers have it. But then they get paid well so I suppose they are just bastards as well as annoying. Oh wait, that was the opinion I was fighting against, oh well.

I never believed in the power of protest rallies until I met this girl from South Africa who told me she was going to protest against George Bush. When I asked what the protest was specifically about, she just said it was just a general anti Bush thing. I thought that was a pointless waste of time, and I shared my opinion with her, and she replied “But in my country, we ended apartheid this way”. So I realised that maybe peoples opinions do count. If there are a lot of them. There’s just one of me, so why would anyone listen to my opinion?

Ha ha, that’s a trick question, because if you are reading this then you are listening now. Fool. Ahh I crack me up. Wait a minute, that wasn’t really even funny. Just like it wasn’t funny when some guy came up to us at the end of the rally and told us that he thought it was really inappropriate to be having this rally at this time, because he had been through the bombs as well and he lived here and bla bla bla. The three of us who were new to the charity stewarding game all kept quiet, and tried not to swear our asses off at this dickhead, as we were meant to be being nice. Luckily we were with a pro so she took him away quickly. One of my friends had sworn at a lady who had complained to him earlier in the day, and had been told he probably shouldn’t do the stewarding thing again. People are such bastards.

This is no time to make jokes

So yesterday we won the Olympic bid and today we got blown up. I knew those stinking atheletes were up to something.

Ho fucking hum

Two chickens were walking down the road when one turned to the other and said “shit we’ve fucked up this joke haven’t we”. Hehe, that’s kinda funny. I just asked my lady friend when I should write about and she said chickens so I just started writing and that came out. It’s funny what you mind will produce without your written consent. I suppose I should be happy that it produces poor jokes as opposed to racism or necrophilia or some shit.

I remember the first joke I ever made up myself. Well the first verbal joke. The first joke I ever made was when I was only 3 or 4 or something and I was sitting in the car eating a banana and was whining about what to do with the skin as nobody seemed to be disposing of it for me. So I said “I’m gonna throw it out the window at the next bin I see” and then before my mother even had the chance to scorn me for the foolishness of this plan I had thrown it and cried “there’s one” while pointing into the distance. HA HA HA. That’s still fucking funny isn’t it? Well maybe not.

But the first joke that I ever made up was directly as a result of my best friend in primary school having made up a joke on the spot the day before. His joke went like this “This little kid, let’s call him Johnny, was walking down the street when he passed by a shop which sold pellet guns. Now Johnny was well into all this shit, and he even had his own little handgun pellet firing motherfucker, but he had read in pellet guns monthly that only a little bitch would own anything but the P64-3000 machine pellet guns that were out now. And there in front of little Johnny was P64-3000 sitting in the motherfucking shop…”. Ok so he probably didn’t swear that much. Let’s try again “…. Window. Johnny said ‘I would give any motherfucking thing to own that bad ass bitch’ when suddenly the motherfucking devil…” oh fuck it “…appeared out of thin air and said ‘oh really, well if you just sign this contract then I’ll give you the gun’. Johnny eagerly grabbed a pen from his pocket and started signing the contract. The devil, who had obviously added a clause into the contract that the boys soul would own to him upon delivery thought to himself ‘Hehe little boys never check the small print’. Little Johnny thought to himself ‘Hehe the devil never checks for invisible ink”.

Now that doesn’t completely make sense but we were only little and I still think it’s funny. My joke the next day was “This man and wife were shaggin in the bedroom when suddenly the bedroom door exploded into the room and in front of a fiery background the devil was standing there. He pointed left at the couple’s chest of drawers and BANG it burst into flames. He did it again to the right and BANG their cupboard goes up in smoke. The man, initially terrified by the devil, by this point had had enough and sat up in bed and shouted ‘HEY! How dare you come bustin in here’”.

Perhaps too clever for a child. Perhaps too stupid for an adult. Who knows. I bet you don’t get it anyway.