An Electric Situation

Good news! I have not died! Last time we spoke I told you that I was uprooting my stable life in England and moving abroad to Australia in order to avoid having to come up with a long-term life plan for myself. Then I went and dropped the ball on writing my blogs because it turns out not living with your parents is actually really expensive! I quickly became one of those poor people we all kick in the streets and throw apple cores at (assuming you have ran out heavier items).

What? You don’t do that? No… me neither. I was testing you and you passed! Congratulations on not being a sociopath, you may have one of these delicious cookies! Only one, I’m not made of internet pictures of cookies you know!

mmm, tastes like morality

However if you failed, then take as many fake cookies as you like! I sure as hell won’t stop you, crazy.

In order to try and not die a hobo in a foreign country I travelled 3,880km from Sydney to Brookton (south of Perth), where I am now living on a dog farm for the next 3 months. In exchange for playing with pigs and puppies all day I get food and accommodation provided and all the free beer I want!

You are so jealous right now.  Kind of hate me a little bit don’t you? Yeah, I know. I'm going to bask in that for a moment.

I'm done. I’ll make you feel better by telling you about all the painful things that happened to me during my first week at work. In no way should these stories put you off doing farm work, because it’s pretty great when you get past all the cuts, bruises and the inevitable farmer’s tan.

Let us dive right in to the dumbassery!

Within the first ten minutes I set foot on the farm I managed to get my first bruise. It still adorns my thigh nicely a whole week later, all purple and black in its glorious shininess. Thankfully nobody saw this ridiculous moment because I doubt they would have kept me around for a whole minute longer, much less 3 more months.

We all know the scene in cartoons where somebody attempts to walk over a pile of marbles and falls flat on their back (If you’re not familiar with this then go and watch any cartoon ever). They flail their arms and legs about wildly, trying to flap themselves out of falling like suddenly they realised that if they try hard enough wings will sprout out of their shoulders and they can soar to freedom, away from the humiliating sting of the butt-meets-floor scenario.

Well that is exactly what happened to this genius. Except my pile of marbles was a mound of pebbles and I was wearing flip-flops which shot off in different directions as I hit the rubble.

The worst part is the reason I was walking over the pile in the first place is because I decided that cartoons were probably being dramatic. There is no way somebody could slip so easily if they were aware they needed to walk carefully, right? 

Not only did I fall, but I also flapped my arms so hard that I believe I actually did turn into an animated, 2D version of myself for the five seconds it took me to fall. When I hit the ground I could almost hear the “ba-DONK” sound effect.

Please accept my apology cartoons; you are indeed wise and truthful.

Although if anybody asks; I was merely high fiving the ground with my bum. That is much cooler.

After that rocky start (pun fully intended and hilarious), I decided I needed to get awesome at this job and started paying attention to my surroundings. I also let in all the advice cartoons have taught me over the years: So pretty much just that first thing, but also that if I ever fall off a cliff I can continue walking along on the air as long as I don’t look below, because then I’d have to hold up a sign saying “yikes!” and plummet down.

Having grown up around electric fences (on farms, not in prison) you would think I would be aware that they should not be touched. I certainly became aware after I accidently bumped a wire with my metal poop-scoop in a pig pen. My first reaction was to turn around and glare at a pig, who for some reason I thought had thrown a rock at my head which had somehow made my entire body seize up.

Don’t judge me! I was freaking electrified! My brain wasn’t exactly functioning to full capacity.

My second reaction was to glare at the electric fence, because fuck you electric fence!

Smug bastard.

The next shock I will take full responsibility for, it was witnessed by a Doberman who is apparently smarter than me. This dog was in a paddock with an extra electric wire that ran across the top of its gate to prevent him from jumping over. You can open the gate without removing the wire and vice versa.

When the gate is open with the wire still running along the top, a four year old could walk under it without getting a shock. The dog’s food bowl was cheekily just out of reach and it was too hot for me to be expected to open BOTH the wire and the gate. So I figured I would duck underneath the wire and grab the bowl. Unfortunately I forgot all about my short attention span:

I came back to reality within moments of being shocked, though it felt to me like hours had passed. I had forgotten what the original plan was and why my backside was throbbing like I had just fallen on it. Then I noticed I was sitting on the ground with an electric wire above me, it seemed vaguely familiar. There was a dog staring at me.

I was also singing. It stopped as soon as I realised I was doing it.

Yes that’s right, I had begun to sing the moment my head touched the wire. The song “Somebody that I used to know” had been stuck in my head for several days, the electric jolt apparently released it from its bond because I haven’t had it in my head since! 

That dog never looked at me the same though, he actually tried to pee on me the day after, I’m pretty sure that is a huge insult in the canine kingdom.

Four whole days went by without being shocked after that, then I went and broke my record by shocking myself three more times in the last two days. None of which have been on the head thankfully. However they are getting less and less painful each time, which means that either my body has given up on me, or I have gained superpowers and can now control electricity.

I’ll keep you posted on that.

Next blog I shall be discussing the severe beat down I received off a rabbit and other fun things the farm animals have done to me. Look forward to that! OR ELSE.

A Fairytale for the Jaded.

Once upon a cliché there was a most beautiful princess, with golden eyes that shamed the very sun, a smile which could bring the sight back into a blind man's eyes and immaculate chestnut hair flowing to her toes, which were the most perfect toes one has ever had the good fortune to view.  She lived in a glimmering castle surrounded by a great green forest, which in turn was surrounded by plunging valleys and vast mountains, over which a great rainbow was always visible. This rainbow was so incredible that it actually contained 26 brand new colours, to look at the rainbow was to know true happiness. Basically it was a very magical kingdom indeed and everybody was happy and joyous all the time, singing in the corridors and whatnot¹.

As is the way with many of the royalty in a fairytale, the princess had only one remaining parent for some reason or other. Normally one would not address the exact reasoning and chose to let you simply ignore the absence of one parent, but this particular storyteller believes in honesty; so let us say in this case it was because the Queen had been brutally murdered by trolls² while out for a walk one evening. The King was concerned for his beautiful daughter; he was growing old and knew he would not be around to protect her for many more years. His concern derived from the Princesses increasing age, at seventeen she was almost an old maid and would soon lose her good looks and youthful vigour. As such the King decided to find her a suitable husband at once and called upon his personal sorceress, Faye C. Booke, to search far and wide for a prince who could give her a comfortable living once her younger brother took over as King³.

The King pondered over the fate of his young son while he awaited results. He was a brave prince no doubt, always regaling his father with stories of princesses and damsels he had rescued. Why, just recently he had sent word to his father that he had rescued twins! In his letter the Prince described how the twins had rewarded him by revealing their huge pearls, which they inherited from their mother and kept contained within their personal chests. The King was very proud of his son for showing such respect for the girls that he only handled the pearls for a short while before taking his leave, though the King was left baffled as to why the father of the girls banished the Prince from his home very soon after, a poor way to repay such chivalry and honour. In fact a lot of palaces had banished his son all over the country….

Before the King could delve into this thought much further Faye C. Book returned with her results and he snapped out of his revere. The King quickly began to judge the potential mates by reviewing the scrolls Faye provided, these contained public information about each prince that should actually be kept private and also included a tiny sketched portrait in each corner. The two set about arranging a grand ball, to which they could invite all the eligible princes and therefore determine who would make the most attractive grandchildren with the Princess. Since many of the sketches were just of the prince’s abs and were probably several years old and edited, to see them in person would be the best way to select a suitable husband. Also, should the Princess find love and happiness with the chosen prince then that would be an advantage too, shrugged the King as an afterthought.

Meanwhile in the stables the Princess was practising her martial arts on the stable boy, Jake. Inevitably, as this is a fairytale, Jake was completely devoted to the Princess. Every roundhouse kick felt like the breath of an angel on his bloodied skin, every rabbit punch left an agonising bruise of love on his battered organs and every split lip send dribblings of adoration splashing to the floor⁵. Luckily for Jake, he was part elf and therefore healed remarkably quickly. This was also lucky for the Princess as she practiced thrice daily and liked to be consistent in sparring partners, because she was precious and hated killing stable boys when she didn’t have to.

Jake had been building up the courage to tell the Princess how he felt for some time; he knew it would only be a matter of time before she was betroved to another, worthier man. Just as Jake opened his mouth to spill forth the words of love bubbling up within him, the King’s summoner arrived at the stable door and beseeched the Princess to follow him up to the castle to discuss a matter of great importance with her father. The Princess thanked Jake for his time⁶ and floated away after the summoner like the feather of a dove, drifting on a gentle breeze.

That evening word spread around the Kingdom that a great masked ball was planned for the following night and all the eligible princes had been invited. Jake knew that he would have to do something drastic to win the Princess’s heart and began to flounder, unsure of how to progress. Suddenly a loud crack tore through the air and smoke filled the room. Upon the smoke clearing, a small cloaked man could be seen standing in the middle of the room, coughing slightly⁷. The old man claimed to be capable of sensing the deepest wishes of a person’s heart and had heard Jakes broken heart crying out for miles around. He offered Jake the chance to become a prince for one night only and in exchange Jake would have to give the old man something he desired at a later date, something Jake wouldn’t be able to refuse to give or even see coming. Jake agreed short-sightedly and shook hands with the old man, upon releasing the handshake the old man vanished in to thin air, where the old man once stood now lay a tattered piece of paper. Jake picked it up and noticed it was a coupon for a free handsome prince outfit and mask from the store down the road. The plan was in motion.

The next night Jake entered the ballroom in his disguise and instantly spotted the luminescent Princess, surrounded by a gaggle of princes all vying for her attention. Their eyes met across the ballroom and in that instant it seemed as though the Earth shifted, gravity itself altered and conspired to pull the lovers together. Jake offered his hand to the Princess and she graciously accepted. They twirled about the dance floor in sparks of glory, never breaking eye contact for a moment. It wasn’t creepy or awkward though because they were in love. By the time the dance was over Jake knew that he and the Princess were destined to be and now he knew she felt the same. Suddenly the clock struck midnight, their dance had somehow lasted three hours! Time was almost over for Jake; he would have to return his costume in the next fifteen minutes or have to pay a late fee⁸. Feeling the wrench of a great night ending too soon, Jake kissed the Princess’s hand and promised her he would be in contact as soon as he was able. The Princess gave him her handkerchief as a token of her lasting affection and wept as he tore out of the ballroom as fast as his legs would carry him, which was pretty quick considering the Princess had shattered his left femur that morning.

The next morning the mysterious prince with the cheap looking outfit was the talk of the town! The townsfolk were atwitter with how in love the young couple had seemed during their short time together. The King however, did not approve of this match, the prince had not asked his permission for the dance, plus he had a distinct odour of the lower class about him which the King simply could not abide. During the ball the King had sought out the richest prince in attendance, Prince Dooshay, and begged of him to take his daughters hand. The Prince agreed, for he had nothing else going on that weekend. The wedding was to take place at once! Even the girlish and delicate attempt at a protest by the love struck Princess failed to sway his stubborn hand⁹. The wedding was going ahead, with or without her consent.

Jake was in the stables awaiting the Princess for practice, he was going to come clean about the mysterious prince’s identity and ask her to run away with him, where they would be free of her royal duties and dominating father. Suddenly the King’s herald interrupted Jake’s happy thoughts of youthful rebellion to announce the Princess’s imminent marriage to Prince Dooshay. Jake’s world was plunged into darkness and he fell to his knees in agony. The horses in the stable told Jake that he should buck up and go to his love regardless. It is better to aim and miss than never take the shot, said one particularly wise donkey¹⁰, Jake gave them all an extra carrot as a thank you and made his way up to stop the wedding ceremony!

The ceremony was taking place in the castle chapel and was already well underway. Security was lacking and so Jake managed to get in without any trouble at all, it was dark in the chapel due to the windows being boarded up for some reason. But the Princess and King immediately recognised the figure of the mysterious prince the night before. Prince Dooshay didn’t react at all because he was staring at his own beautiful face reflected in the shiny surface of a candlestick. The King demanded that the strange prince should step forward into the candle light, that they may all know his face. As Jake stepped forward the whole room seemed to draw breath, the candle glow lit upon his face and the King laughed. He questioned Jake imperiously why he thought he, a disgusting stable boy, had any right to marry his one and only daughter, who was without question the most beautiful creature to ever delight upon the Kingdom. Jake responded that he knew only of the love in his heart and the truth in his devotion, he proclaimed that should the Princess lower herself to marry him then they would have all the riches in the world, for what is money when one can have love? Jake turned his attention to the Princess, knelt in front of her and asked her if she could ever love one so unworthy of her station?

She stared down upon him with a shocked expression all over her stunning porcelain face. Her lips trembled and tears welled in her shimmering eyes. Then slowly, ever so slowly, the Princess nodded her head once.

It was a signal to the guards to arrest the intruder. The Princess went forward with her wedding to Dooshay because she was a princess after all, how could she marry a stable boy and live in poverty? Jake was hauled to the cells for breaking into the castle on two occasions, impersonating a member of the royal family and stealing extra carrots from the kitchen. He was sentenced to 25 years in jail for his crimes and silently accepted his fate, because he had in his possesion one thing that would keep him sane throughout his many years of tormented imprisonment; a love token in the form of a handkerchief, which retained the happiest memories of his life, from a night which now seemed a distant memory. When Jake looked at the handkercheif he could see her face, her smile, her soul.

Of course, the very next day the old man appeared and claimed to desire the handkerchief above all else. Jake should have seen that one coming.

The end.¹¹

¹ Very little work got done actually, though professional choreographers did very well for themselves. Good news for people who studied the arts at university.

² Not all trolls are evil, these three in particular; Brutus, Boggrot and Tim, were raised in a single parent home just outside of the magic kingdom and their alcoholic father often gambled away the food money (provided by the taxpayers). They were simply a product of the time. Unfortunately for them the Queen had only an expired Lotto scratchcard on her, so it was really a waste of time. All three were under 15 moons old though, so they just got a slap on the wrist and were sent on their way.

³ Naturally when the King dies the crown would go to his son, for who has ever heard of a woman controlling a kingdom? Such a notion is laughable at best; the King would often make jokes about how once the month the Kingdom would fall into disarray and all the chocolate would vanish over night. Nobody really ever found his jokes funny, but everybody laughed anyway. You try not laughing when a king makes a joke. 

4 is missing ok? Don't go on about it.

⁵ Also blood. There was quite a lot of blood.

⁶ At least that is what it sounded like; it was hard for Jake to hear with blood coming out of his ears.

⁷ He made a mental note to be less flashy next time and maybe just use the front door. This was a recession after all and smoke machines are not cheap.

⁸ The local shop had really strange opening times because it was run by a vampire, but that is a whole different story.

⁹ She had loped off the heads of six of his security team upon hearing the news, and then thrown the heads through the stained glass windows of the castle chapel, all the while screaming like a wounded banshee.

¹⁰ Did I forget to mention that animals can talk here? They can and do. Vegetarianism is very popular; you have to be a monster to eat even a fish in this place. Everybody is quite small and weak due to the lack of protein. I don’t care what you say; quorn or tofu are just not good replacements. 

¹¹ Don't be too depressed though, the conditions in the jail were so bad it made ebola seem like a tickle fight. Jake wouldn't have lasted until the end of his prison sentence. So really it was less than 25 years. You feel better now yes?

Leaving on a Jet Plane

So recently I made the rash decision to relocate myself to Australia. I decided this within two hours of it being suggested by two of my friends and then finalised the details over the next two days, because that’s just how I roll. In sets of two apparently.

My thought pattern was exactly this “Brr! It sure is cold today. I bet it isn’t this cold in Australia. Shall I move there? Yes, I’ll do that.” Because apparently I am part lizard and must bask in the sun in order to generate enough heat to function, how I have survived in England for over 20 years is beyond me.

That’s exaggerating; clothes, food and housing are clearly what have kept me alive. In my wardrobe I have enough winter clothing keep a waddle of penguins dressed and fabulous looking all year round (jumpers with puppies on are fabulous right?)

Digression: Can you believe a pack of penguins is called a waddle? Just when you think penguins can’t get any more hilarious they go and do something like be called a waddle!  (Ok sure they can also be called a rookery or a colony, but neither of those words are funny or adorable)

You couldn't possibly know this because you don't have to watch me type in real time, but I went on such a huge penguin tangent just then; In between the previous paragraph and this one I watched every Youtube video about penguins I could find. It was a lot, I’m pretty sure I now understand their language.

Squak ek eke ek.

That was a bit of penguin humour for you, I hope it didn’t offend you. That joke isn’t for everybody.

It offended him.

Before this turns into a blog about the joys of penguins I’m going to go back to the original point, which was something about moving to a different country I believe. Should everything go to plan, then I shall hopefully be gone for the whole year that my visa is valid for and after that Australia will beg me to stay, having become one of their favourite migrants. But a more likely scenario is that I will run out of money within six months and get arrested for trying to gain free lodging within the pouch of a kangaroo. Those are the only two scenarios that will happen, there is no inbetween ground with this I’m afraid.

Option A

Option B

Anyway, this is just my way of explaining why my postings have been erratic recently. Hopefully I’ll put some actual funny stuff up this weekend and we can go back to our healthy relationship of you anonymously reading my personal thoughts online.

Movember: A dating dilemma

This month I have discovered something: Movember is both the best and the worst thing to ever happen to dating.

Confused? So am I. You see, normally if a mustachioed man approached me, I would have one hand on the rape alarm in my bag and the other balled into a fist, ready to throw a punch at his trachea should he come close enough for me to be able to count the individual crumbs residing within his nose skirt. You think I’m being prejudiced? Quickly think of the most famous moustache you know.

Got it?

It was Hitler wasn’t it?

If it wasn’t then you have just ruined this entire blog for me. Just go along with it ok? Sheesh.

As a single female I can tell you that it is difficult enough finding a nice guy during the other 11 months of the year, but Movember is by far the hardest. The issue being that suddenly all these amazing and charitable men start growing the thing that would usually strike up alarm bells for me, not only that but they commit to it for an entire month! I’m not being cliché here when I say that I know men who cannot commit to an entire sandwich, so a month of knowingly looking like the type of person who would molest you on the train is pretty much relationship gold to me.

Based on that, you would think that Movember actually makes it easier for us to pick out the good guys from the bad ones. However, what you’re forgetting is that it then becomes a game of sorting out who grew it for charity and who grew it to partially obscure their face from CCTV cameras as they try to sneak in to the ladies restroom at the local shopping centre.

Now obviously the “moustache = creep” rule does not apply to everybody, because Tom Sellek rocks a moustache so hard that I’m surprised men don’t have to pay him royalties every time they miss a day shaving. But there are certain circumstances in which you should be allowed, or not allowed, to grow your top lip a winter coat. I decided to help future generations and every single person come next November (I’m assuming the whole world will have read my blog by then) and I drew up a flow diagram to help you decide whether you are eligible for some face decoration or not.

So, we have that all cleared up now yes?
You are welcome.

For all of you that did partake in Movember, well done and a hearty congratulations to any of you who managed to keep your jobs and/or relationships intact the whole time.

But for those of you who did not keep your relationships intact, then give me a call as soon as you’ve shaved.  

Unless you’re Tom Selleck. Don’t ever change Tom. 

 I would swap lives with any of the hairs seen in this picture

Lauramble vs the Sharks

So you may have noticed that I have been missing for a while.  In fact, I assume you checked yourself in to rehab to try to cope with the fact I haven’t posted anything for 3 weeks, in which case you have probably only just got clean again. Look at you on here already after only just coming out of rehab. Have you no self control? You make me sick.

No, don’t leave!

I missed you.

There, now we have got the soppy bit out of the way I shall tell you about where I have been: South Africa. 

I did a little bit of volunteering over there and then a lot of relaxing.

This is pretty much the extent I will describe my holiday if you ask me in real life. I actually really hate talking about holidays/what I do over the weekend etc. I am quite happy to relay stories and interesting happenings when they occur naturally in conversation (or on the internet). But asking me “how was your holiday?” and expecting an answer more elaborate than “amazing thanks, I loved it” is futile I’m afraid. So I’m going to tell you only a few bits and bobs and you will nod and pretend it is interesting even if you don’t think it is, because we are good friends and those are apparently the rules.

For a more comprehensive story of what I actually did you can read my friends account of it. It’s her actual factual job to write about the travel adventures she gets to go on (because she is a lucky git) so go ahead and check it out. But first finish this one!

Also she used a really awesome picture I took of a shark breach, so that’s worth looking at even if the whole "reading" thing is too much for you after you're done here.

 

From the title of this blog and the fact I just casually mentioned a shark breach; you can probably guess that the volunteering I did was nothing to do with helping impoverished people or building new homes. Although after typing that sentence I feel like a bit of a shit for not doing those things. In a sense I guess I did help my fellow man; I helped them into a cage tied to the side of the boat while great white sharks swam below and then I closed that cage for 20 minutes.

I personally love sharks, they are mysterious and so graceful to watch. Not at all the blood thirsty monsters that movies make them out to be, obviously, because I spent a week with them and didn’t get nibbled once, nor did they seem at all interested in doing so. However, one thing that sharks do like to eat is a lovely juicy seal. The following story involves the death of a seal, so if you’re the sensitive type then man up, you loser, and keep reading. If it helps you can imagine that the seal was a Nazi sympathizer. 

In fact, yes, I distinctly recall that the seal had a swastika tattoo on its neck, the bastard. 

On my first day at sea I was lucky enough to witness a rare event; a young seal being caught by a shark mid-jump (here is a scientific word so you can show off later: Perdation – when prey is fed on by predator). The general reaction of the crew was “HELL YES! DID WE FILM THAT?!” and the general reaction of the customers was a stunned silence as they all stared at the now silent sea and mourned the loss of one of the worlds most evil seals. One woman gave a little whimper (she was next in the cage) and a little tear slid down her cheek.

Sharks: making the world a safer place

It was a quick death for the seal, one bite and it was over. I felt no great loss, because I don’t tend to attach full blown personal lives to most animals, like some people. One person who has this attribute is my very own mum, who after hearing the story, would later see a picture of a group of seals and say “somewhere in there a mum is looking for her baby”. As humans we tend to believe that everything thinks and feels as we do, provided it is cute and furry. Uncute animals often get dismissed as horrible and I'm not entirely innocent of it myself, I wouldn't kiss a blobfish.

 Unless maybe I was super drunk

...or bored

So how would you feel if that had been a seagull? Considered one of the most irritating and obnoxious animals on the planet. Well I can tell you how you would feel because that happened a few days afterwards, only this time there was no quick death. You see, sharks will take a nip at birds sometimes because they are intrigued, but when they have it in their mouth they realise it tastes all feathery and beaky and leave it to its fate. Sharks are pretty big on texture, they probably wouldn’t like mushrooms.

So, to compare these situations; we have on one hand a fluffy little seal munched in one bite and on the other; a seagull left flightless and bleeding to death on a stormy sea. But the reaction when the seagull got nipped was a great cheer from all who saw it. A man who did not witness it asked me what happened and replied “at least it wasn’t a seal” when I informed him. Though he soon changed his mind about seals when we were down wind from them later on (seriously, try really hard to never smell a seal).

Preachy moment in 3…2…1…

My point is; if the seagull was fluffy instead of feathery the passengers would have been very sad to watch it suffer instead of indifferent or even gleeful. It is the exact same way people judge sharks. Do you know you are more likely to be killed by a coconut falling on your head than a shark? Or by a cow squishing you? Those things are both true, yet we don’t hate or fear coconuts and cows (generally; I’m not judging if you do).

So how about next time you see something you’re afraid of, you just picture it with fur and feel the fear leave you.

Unless it’s a bear because making it double furry won’t do you any sort of good. Just run man, RUN. Or are you supposed to pretend to be dead? You better Google that actually because I would feel guilty if you got eaten following some advice of mine.

But seriously, go swim with sharks.

P.S. I lied about not judging you, if you are afraid of coconuts then that’s really weird buddy.

Jerkisms

Jerk-iz-uhm
Noun – the act of behaving in a jerk like manner.
adj – jerkistic                adv- jerkistically 

Synonym – doucheism

Since I started working (a.k.a sitting in a traffic jam twice a day, for an hour, in order to get to and from a place where I can earn enough money to pay for my petrol bill, which is so large due to sitting in traffic jams twice a day) I have started to notice how much I hate people.

No, not you. You are my favourite person.

I do not discriminate in my hatred, basically if you are in a car when I am also in my car, then I hate you and you should be very sorry indeed.

In driving, just like in the non-vehicle world, there are always a few jerks that seem to think they are above the rules that apply to the rest of us and they strive to push us law abiding folk to the limit. My own limit was reached earlier today when I missed my turnoff because some moron decided to get in the wrong lane and cut me up as I was turning off. 

Yes those are lasers coming from my eyes. That really happened.

I didn’t honk my horn at him because it is the most pathetic horn you will ever hear, it is more of a pleasant toot and it just sounds friendly no matter how hard I jab at it. Instead I thought I would get back at him on the internet by writing angry things and making him look foolish.

But then wouldn’t you know it; I went and became the jerk on my way home.

I was in a rush because I had an appointment at the hairdressers and I didn’t want to be late [Retrospect: I missed my Hep B vaccination the other day, I should probably get my priorities sorted] so I committed a huge jerkism and pushed in front of a whole queue of cars by using the second lane before it merged in to one road, this is a tactic solely reserved for selfish people. I could feel all the drivers’ hate lasers on the back of my head, but I just sat there knowing I was a special case and they would all feel awful if only they knew how bad my hair looked.

Then I thought, what if that moron from earlier was also late for his hair appointment? What if he had a wife in labour on the seat next to him? Was he rescuing a puppy strapped to a bomb that would detonate if he drove less than 50mph? Had I hate-lasered an innocent hero?

No. He was just a moron.

But still it got me thinking, are there times when being a jerk is really the right thing to do? I’m a nice person; I helped an old lady cross the road once so I’m set for life as far as karma is concerned. But sometimes being too nice can be a problem. Like this little story that happened earlier this year:

During my final year project at university, I spent every single day at the library. One day I decided to just take the library home with me instead.

 

WARNING! Exaggeration in place!

(because in real life you couldn't even see my legs)

Clearly navigating doors was a bit tricky, but I had managed by using my wits (dropping the books and picking them back up while holding the door open with my bum). The final stage was opening a door in the courtyard that led to freedom. Unfortunately some Good Samaritan happened to see me with my haul and held the door open for me.

That’s nice right?

WRONG.

I was absolutely ages away from the door at the time, at least 20 steps, meaning I had to do that stupid slow motion run that conveys the message: “Oh my gosh, thank you so much for holding the door for me, it means ever so much, I understand what a burden that door is for you so allow me to run to it lest your arm should begin to ache, since I am the very reason you are undertaking that Herculean task in the first place”

I’m not the most co-ordinated runner, once I jogged three steps to my car and managed to headbutt my bonnet because my left ankle bent on the first step, the right ankle bent on the second and both knees hit the ground on the third. So you can imagine what me running with a stack of books is like.

Did I mention it was raining? It was. A lot.

I don’t need to relive the memory of me stumbling bambi-like for a few steps before the inevitable happened, so I’m going to skip ahead to the bit where all my books were lying in a puddle and I was picking them all up with a bleeding knee.

Even though this man tried to do the right thing, he managed to do it wrong. Thus achieving an accidental jerkism. He probably felt terrible about it afterwards, because he is not a jerk, if he was then he would have just left the door closed to begin with and I would not have had beautiful green bruising all up my leg for the following week. In that scenario, a true jerk would have been preferable. Maybe people should start being a bit jerkier and let people open their own doors! Why must we go out of our way to clear the path for complete strangers? Who are these fools that make people run to gain entrance in to a building that they are perfectly capable of manoeuvring in to themselves? Jerks, that's who.

But wouldn’t you know it; I made an old lady run for the door that very same week.

The Background Character

I was watching a Disney movie the other night in order to make myself content and sleepy, but instead I found myself left in a state of wide-eyed horror upon the “happy ending” that I usually find so cheerful (and occasionally have a joyful little weep about).

Clearly I was in a bit of an observant/morbid mood because for the entire film I had started to contemplate the world outside of the main protagonist’s storyline; what was the economy like? Were there jobs besides being royalty or a peasant? What age did they have to work to until they could get a pension? Was it a requirement to become evil if you happened to be born ugly? It seems that for life outside of the main plot, things are not quite so rosy.

I applied a bit of thought to this and decided that the unhappy ending is part of a much larger phenomenon and not just found within this one film, because in (mostly) every movie there would be a horrendous outcome for at least 50% of the poor sods who aren’t attractive enough or evil enough to be a main character. You’re safest if you’re a cute animal, because by my calculations they have a 97% chance of survival.

Maths.

“But good guys are supposed to win and the baddies get defeated, probably even murdered in some way” I hear you shout, outraged at my lack of joy for the beautiful people. Well, to that I say, you are a fool! Because us normal people who do not look like Angelina Jolie and Hugh Jackman would not be the ones getting to shack up with the hunky prince or hot blonde at the end, we would be the people cleaning up the messes they made by exploding our houses, flipping our cars over and making us late for work. Can you imagine the cost of insurance in the Transformers universe?

“I’m standing on your what? Your family? Oh shit…sorry. But I totally saved the world so… you’re welcome.”

With that in mind, I took it upon myself to become the voice for one of the people affected in the movie I watched. As a fun game you can guess what it is (or a boring game, I don’t know what you like doing, is that fun for you? Maybe it isn’t exciting enough? Ok, I’ll make it more dangerous, the floor is also lava.) I have done about a dozen of these in my head, but I’ll just give you the one since we are both new at this game and have yet to decide if we like it (did you burn your feet on the lava? I bet you did.)

Here it goes:

July 20^th 1741

Dear Diary

I started my new job today! Came just in time because Julia is pregnant so we need to start saving up for the little one. It is only polishing the tables after dinner is over, but guess where it is? A castle! I didn’t even know we had one near us to be honest, it’s a pretty small town, but there is a freaking castle in the woods! I had no idea. The boss is a bit of a jerk as far as I can tell, I haven’t met him yet but everybody else complains about him constantly. Despite that I can only see good things ahead! I might even burst into a little song about it, I’m sure other people will join in.

July 29^th 1741

Dear Diary

Well, I am a fucking napkin. Seriously. I am now a napkin. I have no other details right now.

July 30^th 1741

Dear Diary

It turns out it’s the boss's fault, we all met in the ballroom for an emergency conference. Looked like a goddamn furniture sale in there. The boss looks pretty kick-ass considering he is supposed to be suffering the most, as far as I can tell he has superhero powers, looks like he could take on a pack of wolves. Apparently he insulted some fairy or something, why she felt the need to turn all 450 staff members into prisoners is beyond me. I want to go home.

August 4^th 1741

I can’t go home, I am a napkin. I tried to leave and blew into a bush. I was in that bush for 3 days before a footstool found me and carried me inside. I can only hold out hope that the curse will be broken. For now I will try to fill my life with work to pass the time. 

1742

Time moves slow when one has no need to eat, sleep, drink, respire or even blink. I spend my days folded in a drawer or folded on a table. Though I am really good at folding now, I can do a swan.

1748

I forget what date it is, I forgot how to write for a while there. I believed I was an actual napkin until somebody said my name last week: Nigel. My name is Nigel.
I wonder how my child is getting on without me? I wonder if my wife remarried? Do they think I abandoned them?

1748
A teacup told me there is a girl in the castle. We are all very excited. She is the only person ever to come to this castle so I am confident she is meant to break the curse.
It seems odd to me that this castle is so secluded actually; does boss have no family or royal business to attend to? How has this place gone unnoticed for so long?

We sang a song to the girl. I forgot what humans looked like, with differing facal features and stuff.  I wonder if I will have aged when I turn back in to a man?
I feel really pleased with myself. After years of doing nothing I did a little twirl next to the punch bowl during the musical number and I really nailed it, the clock told me “good show” as I passed by afterwards.Tracey thought he was talking to her but he so wasn't.

1748- later on
WHAT! WHAT!? THE BASTARD LET HER LEAVE. WE ARE ALL ABSOLUTELY OUTRAGED. HIS EXCUSE? “I HAD TO”.  DOES HE NOT CARE ABOUT US AT ALL?

I’m going to smother him in his sleep.

1748- the same day

Oh. Now there is a mob coming to destroy us. I welcome them. I only hope to take a few of them out with me. Nigel the napkin will not go gently into that good night.

1748

  

1752

I have only just regained the ability to write. Good news: the curse was broken. Bad news: I was in a drawer with 12 other people when it happened, only 3 of us got out alive, each with incredibly severe spinal injuries. I look like a question mark. The prince has given us compensation for our troubles (after a fierce legal battle) and I am looking to move away to forget my pain and the family who gave up on me.

I’m thinking somewhere exotic like Agrabah, nothing ever happens there.

Wow, I have bummed myself out with that one. You too huh? I’ll make it up to you. Here is my dog to give you a kiss.

D'awwwww