This is an Owl, but it has cutlery instead of wings... I may have had a few drinks.
Tuesday 20 March 2012
Sunday 4 March 2012
Drawings 'n' that 5
This is a picture of me pointing a gun at Ed's head. Ed is on his knees begging for his life.
Jolly Blog 10 - Tales from across the pond
Hello, all. So I just checked, and it's been more than six months since the last Jolly Blog. I'd fill you in on what you've missed, but in the last half-year few of you have bothered to ask, so I see no reason why I should tell.
Today I was thinking about my recent holiday to America, 'bout some of the amusing stuff what happened, and I decided I should write it down, lest I forget. I'm gonna have to leave out a lot of stuff, but I'll make sure that every detail is included in my memoirs.
The trip began at the end of December in LA with my chum, Chris. We were only in LA for a day, and other than having to pull my hair back to convince two border officials that I was who I said I was, not much happened. We did see an old guy get roughed up by the LAPD during their inordinately heavy-handed traffic stop, but I should think that happens all the time.
First stop was San Diego to stay with Chris's friend's boyfriend. Spent a few days there just bumming around, not doing much. New Year's Eve was spent in some random bar where the only free table was next to the band. Literally next to the band; we were so close we were high-fiving them at points. Then some little Turkish gay chap came over and started making some shapes. The 'shapes' in question were arrhythmically bobbing up and down and occasionally lifting up his knee. He was thoroughly unspectacular, but a joy to watch and more than a little interested in Chris. Chris spent most of the evening slowly unbuttoning my shirt for no reason; then two days later on our flight to Vegas he complained that I was being gay because I wanted to hold hands across the isle. We did. People saw. Chris pulled out first. I won... Or lost. And my hands are NOT clammy!
Vegas was a right laugh. Saw Deadmau5 at some club. Calling them 'Deadmau-five' stayed funny a lot longer than it deserved to. I met a guy there who also looked like Jesus and I took a photo with him. Then I made out with a girl from Israel who gasped with delight when I told her that I thought Palestine were dicks; it really was that easy. On the way back to our hotel we met this girl who was really up for having some fun with us. She seemed very nice, lovely skin, seemed genuinely interested in me. Just a pity that she was a whore.
From Vegas I went to San Francisco and stayed with Christy in her amazing place. Met up with Christine and Rich and spent a few days wandering around San Fran and ignoring every word that fell out of Christine's mouth.
Got the train from SF to LA, where I stayed with me mate, Becca, and then with me mates Mason and Katie. I saw the obnoxiously large, blue headquarters of Scientology and fulfilled a long-held ambition to see the Goodyear blimp. Of all the things I saw, thems was the best. Went to an art event on Friday 13th organised and hosted by Becca, and went for a '4 courses for $15' at Red Lobster with Katie and Mason. Plus all-you-can-eat cheese biscuits! I did find it difficult to call them 'biscuits', as I was clearly eating scones, but so long as I'm not paying for them they can call them whatever they like.
Amusing anecdote #1. So while in LA, I was wandering around Venice beach and decided to go into this hat shop. It was a little too trendy for me - fedoras and the like - but I thought I'd check it out anyway. I should have gone with my first instinct. The obviously-working-for-commission guy started following me around giving me hats to try on, to the point where he was actually throwing them across the shop at me. This man actually threw hats at me. He decided I needed to be shown how I should wear the beanie I came in with, and demonstrated this to me by yanking on the back of it. The back of it is where I keep my obnoxiously long hair. He threw hats at me, then he pulled my hair. Then he decided that I should definitely 'invest' in a trilby. I did not. His attempt to persuade me failed miserably. FYI, if any of you want me to buy a hat in the future, you're not going to achieve it by telling me that 'it totally goes with your lovely red hair'.
From LA I went back to my favourite city on Earth, San Diego, and checked in to my favourite Hostel, Banana Bungalow. Right on the beach and a stone's throw away from dozens of bars (and an inexplicably large number of tattoo parlours). One of the reasons I like SD so much came to me in an astute observation from Chris, who pointed out that no-one living there was less than a seven. And by 'a seven' I mean 'out of ten' on a standard hotness scale. Some outstandingly good looking people live in San Diego. That facet was underscored by the fact that I had come on holiday to a relatively warm part of the world, whereas back home it was winter. I could see ankles. Sometimes I got the odd glimpse of a shoulder.
While staying at the Banana Bungalow, a few amusing things happened. Went out, got smashed, passed out at fourish, you know the story. The Australian guy in the bunk above me came back shortly after and passed out. That would have been fine if he hadn't thrown up on my legs before he did so. The worst of it was, I got blamed. I was woken up by a guy who works there, who had to strip my bed and mop the floor, while I stood there and yelled 'the Queen shall hear of this!"
There was this Chilean guy called Matias who arrived on the same day as me; we were talking to this ABK (American Born Korean) guy called Mike (I think). It was about 8:00, Matias was hammered, turned to Mike and said, "I bet you're from China, aren't you."
Mike: 'No, I'm not' (in a very apparent American accent)
Matias: 'Japan?!'
Mike: 'No'
Matias: 'Thailand? Philippines? Mongolia?'
Mike: 'No. No. No. I'm from LA.'
Matias: [rolls his eyes and sighs] 'No, I mean like "where are you from".'
Wow. Just, wow! I didn't think conversations like that really happened. Only in America. Home of the free, land of the incredibly racist.
On a separate night, I met this proper red-neck, hill-billy, idiot, fatso (he was very nice otherwise), and while we were talking it came up that he didn't believe that the moon landings actually happened. The two particle physicists who were sharing our table and I spent an hour trying to convince him otherwise, to the point where if he said 'but the flag is waving' one more time I was going to slap him. In what could have been a very foolish move, I told him that I didn't actually believe people could be so stupid, and that it really irritates me when people call in to question achievements, which in their wildest dream couldn't do themselves. He was much bigger than me, and I was being a smug, know-all, English tit. In retrospect he probably should have punched me, but I think too much of his brainpower was being taken up with conversation for him to be able to clench a fist. It upsets me that he's been allowed to procreate.
So drove to Phoenix for a bit to see the BFF, and decided to go read my book in a park. I read my book, making sure I picked a bench that did not directly face the little girls playing volleyball or the little boys playing football. After choosing my bench, it occurred to me that I spend a lot of time and energy making absolutely sure that people don't think I'm a pedophile: making sure I never look at babies, that kind of thing. Anyways, after my read, I suddenly felt rather sleepy. It was warm, the bench was cleanish so I decided to take a nap. I was awoken half an hour later by a Mexican couple shaking a bag of nuts in my face, because they thought it would be nice to share their snack with the homeless man asleep on the bench. Annoyingly, every item of clothing I had on was designer, and I genuinely thought I was looking pretty sharp. Apparently, even at my best, I still look homeless.
I've held a few stories back to give me something to talk about when I next see some of you, but those were the highlights.
T'ra, douches.
Today I was thinking about my recent holiday to America, 'bout some of the amusing stuff what happened, and I decided I should write it down, lest I forget. I'm gonna have to leave out a lot of stuff, but I'll make sure that every detail is included in my memoirs.
The trip began at the end of December in LA with my chum, Chris. We were only in LA for a day, and other than having to pull my hair back to convince two border officials that I was who I said I was, not much happened. We did see an old guy get roughed up by the LAPD during their inordinately heavy-handed traffic stop, but I should think that happens all the time.
First stop was San Diego to stay with Chris's friend's boyfriend. Spent a few days there just bumming around, not doing much. New Year's Eve was spent in some random bar where the only free table was next to the band. Literally next to the band; we were so close we were high-fiving them at points. Then some little Turkish gay chap came over and started making some shapes. The 'shapes' in question were arrhythmically bobbing up and down and occasionally lifting up his knee. He was thoroughly unspectacular, but a joy to watch and more than a little interested in Chris. Chris spent most of the evening slowly unbuttoning my shirt for no reason; then two days later on our flight to Vegas he complained that I was being gay because I wanted to hold hands across the isle. We did. People saw. Chris pulled out first. I won... Or lost. And my hands are NOT clammy!
Vegas was a right laugh. Saw Deadmau5 at some club. Calling them 'Deadmau-five' stayed funny a lot longer than it deserved to. I met a guy there who also looked like Jesus and I took a photo with him. Then I made out with a girl from Israel who gasped with delight when I told her that I thought Palestine were dicks; it really was that easy. On the way back to our hotel we met this girl who was really up for having some fun with us. She seemed very nice, lovely skin, seemed genuinely interested in me. Just a pity that she was a whore.
From Vegas I went to San Francisco and stayed with Christy in her amazing place. Met up with Christine and Rich and spent a few days wandering around San Fran and ignoring every word that fell out of Christine's mouth.
Got the train from SF to LA, where I stayed with me mate, Becca, and then with me mates Mason and Katie. I saw the obnoxiously large, blue headquarters of Scientology and fulfilled a long-held ambition to see the Goodyear blimp. Of all the things I saw, thems was the best. Went to an art event on Friday 13th organised and hosted by Becca, and went for a '4 courses for $15' at Red Lobster with Katie and Mason. Plus all-you-can-eat cheese biscuits! I did find it difficult to call them 'biscuits', as I was clearly eating scones, but so long as I'm not paying for them they can call them whatever they like.
Amusing anecdote #1. So while in LA, I was wandering around Venice beach and decided to go into this hat shop. It was a little too trendy for me - fedoras and the like - but I thought I'd check it out anyway. I should have gone with my first instinct. The obviously-working-for-commission guy started following me around giving me hats to try on, to the point where he was actually throwing them across the shop at me. This man actually threw hats at me. He decided I needed to be shown how I should wear the beanie I came in with, and demonstrated this to me by yanking on the back of it. The back of it is where I keep my obnoxiously long hair. He threw hats at me, then he pulled my hair. Then he decided that I should definitely 'invest' in a trilby. I did not. His attempt to persuade me failed miserably. FYI, if any of you want me to buy a hat in the future, you're not going to achieve it by telling me that 'it totally goes with your lovely red hair'.
From LA I went back to my favourite city on Earth, San Diego, and checked in to my favourite Hostel, Banana Bungalow. Right on the beach and a stone's throw away from dozens of bars (and an inexplicably large number of tattoo parlours). One of the reasons I like SD so much came to me in an astute observation from Chris, who pointed out that no-one living there was less than a seven. And by 'a seven' I mean 'out of ten' on a standard hotness scale. Some outstandingly good looking people live in San Diego. That facet was underscored by the fact that I had come on holiday to a relatively warm part of the world, whereas back home it was winter. I could see ankles. Sometimes I got the odd glimpse of a shoulder.
While staying at the Banana Bungalow, a few amusing things happened. Went out, got smashed, passed out at fourish, you know the story. The Australian guy in the bunk above me came back shortly after and passed out. That would have been fine if he hadn't thrown up on my legs before he did so. The worst of it was, I got blamed. I was woken up by a guy who works there, who had to strip my bed and mop the floor, while I stood there and yelled 'the Queen shall hear of this!"
There was this Chilean guy called Matias who arrived on the same day as me; we were talking to this ABK (American Born Korean) guy called Mike (I think). It was about 8:00, Matias was hammered, turned to Mike and said, "I bet you're from China, aren't you."
Mike: 'No, I'm not' (in a very apparent American accent)
Matias: 'Japan?!'
Mike: 'No'
Matias: 'Thailand? Philippines? Mongolia?'
Mike: 'No. No. No. I'm from LA.'
Matias: [rolls his eyes and sighs] 'No, I mean like "where are you from".'
Wow. Just, wow! I didn't think conversations like that really happened. Only in America. Home of the free, land of the incredibly racist.
On a separate night, I met this proper red-neck, hill-billy, idiot, fatso (he was very nice otherwise), and while we were talking it came up that he didn't believe that the moon landings actually happened. The two particle physicists who were sharing our table and I spent an hour trying to convince him otherwise, to the point where if he said 'but the flag is waving' one more time I was going to slap him. In what could have been a very foolish move, I told him that I didn't actually believe people could be so stupid, and that it really irritates me when people call in to question achievements, which in their wildest dream couldn't do themselves. He was much bigger than me, and I was being a smug, know-all, English tit. In retrospect he probably should have punched me, but I think too much of his brainpower was being taken up with conversation for him to be able to clench a fist. It upsets me that he's been allowed to procreate.
So drove to Phoenix for a bit to see the BFF, and decided to go read my book in a park. I read my book, making sure I picked a bench that did not directly face the little girls playing volleyball or the little boys playing football. After choosing my bench, it occurred to me that I spend a lot of time and energy making absolutely sure that people don't think I'm a pedophile: making sure I never look at babies, that kind of thing. Anyways, after my read, I suddenly felt rather sleepy. It was warm, the bench was cleanish so I decided to take a nap. I was awoken half an hour later by a Mexican couple shaking a bag of nuts in my face, because they thought it would be nice to share their snack with the homeless man asleep on the bench. Annoyingly, every item of clothing I had on was designer, and I genuinely thought I was looking pretty sharp. Apparently, even at my best, I still look homeless.
I've held a few stories back to give me something to talk about when I next see some of you, but those were the highlights.
T'ra, douches.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)