Jolly Blog 8 - Cyclops for a day

If you don't already know that I'm allergic to wasp stings, then you haven't been paying enough attention to me.  If you could pull your thumb out of your ass for three minutes and martial your powers of concentration long enough to read this to the end, I will elaborate on this condition and the recent events surrounding it.

It was Friday night last week, and I'd finished watching my rental copy of Cruising, starring Al Pacino (which, by the way, no one told me was a totally gay film for gays about gays!) and had fallen asleep.  My window was shut (due to the wasp nest outside my room).  I had also finished taping up the hole in my fireplace because the wasps were coming down the chimney like little black and yellow santas, carrying sacks full of venom to make me die.  Somehow the little bastards are still getting into my room but with less frequency now that I've taken preventative measures.

4:35am and I roll over onto a wasp which stings my arm.  Angry.  I pull the sting out of my arm and punch the offender against the wall, which by now is starting to look like a waspy Jackson Pollock.  I don't have any epinephrin, only over-the-counter stuff.  One specific antihistamine doesn't work for me and instead of writing down which one it was I decided to remember it.  I didn't.  So I just knock back four different tablets and go back to sleep.  Fifteen minutes later and I'm woken up again after a wasp lands on my face and stings me on the eye.  On the eye!  I jumped up, turned the light on, grabbed the nearest object and flip-flopped the mother-fucker out of existence.  By now, I've already taken an unhealthy dose of antihistamine; other than go back to sleep there's nothing else I can do.  I did swear and shout quite a lot, but it ended up not being as productive as it felt.

9:00am and I get up for work.  The arm is fine.  A bit itchy but nothing I can't live with.  My eye on the other hand has completely closed up and is weeping from one side (from rage, I presume).  I go to work anyway, like an actual hero.  Seriously, my mettle is phenomenal.  Apparently, working in a kitchen is more than a little dangerous once you've lost binocular vision.  Perspective and depth perception, turns out, is rather reliant on two eyes.  I managed to burn every single knuckle on my right hand.  Not at once, but on four separate occasions over two hours.  Ok, so the fourth time I was angry about the previous three burns and I threw something into a fryer and the oil splashed my remaining knuckle.  I take no responsibility - it was the Universe's fault.

Four burnt knuckles
Two wasp stings
One eye

That Saturday I have never been more livid in my life, but with nothing to focus my anger at.  It's series of events like this which cause people to go mad and do genocides and that.  I bet Mao was lactose intolerant and got locked in a cheese factory as a child.

If I ruled the world...

I sit here after the day-at-work-from-hell, having just opened my fifth beer, rocking arrhythmically back and forth to Taylor Swift, wondering exactly how am I going to trick her into marrying me.  My attention turns to Facebook; it's been approximately 45 seconds since I last checked and any number of updates may have occurred.  Perhaps Amy Winehouse has died again.   Alas, no.  That most erudite and obnoxiously well-informed chum, Scott, has - for the tenth time today - posted something which makes me feel ashamed for spending my free time trawling through youtube, eating pistachios and poking my lizard (which both is and is not a euphemism!).  This particular article pertains to writing an essay about what one would do if one ruled the world.  I write stuff.  I have a messiah complex and the megalomaniacal mind of a tyrant.  Get involved, Joseph.  Get.Involved.

Here is that essay… If I ruled the world.

With a blank slate, there are almost endless possibilities for running the world.  I spent most of my degree studying Political Philosophy and as a result feel better informed than most (i.e. you!) on this subject.  Gather 'round, dear peasants.  Forget what you know and let my words wash over you.

With regards to structure, I happen to side with Aristotle: Oligarchy, or rule by elites.  Democracy, to my mind, is a phenomenal nonsense.  People, or demos, have precisely zero qualifications or credentials to rule themselves.  Power to the people is, euphemistically, simply tyranny of the majority.  Has the greatest literature on this subject (right or wrong) been written by intellectuals and academics, or by plebeians who scratch out their thoughts on napkins while they're on a break from building monoliths for their betters?

Obviously, I see myself as part of this elite, and obviouslyer I'm at the top of this hierarchy (I do rule the world, after all).  However, having the last word, isn't the same as having the only word.  For example, I have very little interest, and even less knowledge of economics.  It's people like me, who have no idea what they're doing, who make stuff like hyper-inflation happen.  There is no rational or reasonable argument why I should be have any dealings in finance.  I wouldn't feel comfortable making those kind of decisions, and for the same reason, the general population have no business in deciding how a society is run.  On an individual basis, of course people know how they want to live their lives.  But humans are, by nature, selfish.  They know what's best for themselves, not what's best for all.

Now that's all fairly boring.  What we're looking for from this kind of text is some harsh and scathing opinions (as if the above was naught but fact).  I'm well into liberty, and freedom of thought, expression, speech, association and all that gumpf.  That's pretty much a given.  There are a few things I would be stricter on, though.

Population control.  This would be a big issue under my regime (based on the assumption that the world's makeup is by-and-large the same as the current one).  Hitler had the right idea with his eugenics program but fucked up the execution (pun unintended).  Instead of forcing people with the "right" characteristics to have children, he should have prevented people with the "wrong" characteristics from reproducing.  Under my reign, anyone and everyone is allowed to reproduce so long as they can fulfil the following requirements:

They can afford to raise it

They keep it out of sight and out of my way

No gingers.

No diseases which can be transferred in utero (AIDS, for example)

The child can be conceived naturally - essentially to stop the elderly and lame from conceiving

Two parent house holds only (male/female)

This last stipulation is going to get me in trouble, I feel.  Gay-rights is essentially my generation's civil-rights movement.  I see no fault or problem with any and all gay issues… with the exception of one: gay adoption.  Put short, I don't think it is fair to subject children to what is, essentially, a social experiment.  The paradigm of the ideal family, is man - woman - child.  I'm not speaking religiously or ethically, I'm speaking anthropologically.  In an ideal world (read *my ideal world*), only people with the ability to successfully raise and support children would be allowed to have them.  Gay parents, for me, essentially fall under the same umbrella as single parents.  The only difference between these categories is that gay parenting can be legislated against, single parenting can't.  As a child of a single parent family  I don't consider myself damaged or hard-done-by for only having one parent.  My mum is awesome and I know most gay parents would be too.  But given the choice, my dad wouldn't be some sociopathic, adulterous moron, and I would have had someone to watch sport with.  Therefore, having given me the option, I choose to only allow parents who fall under the ideal paradigm the right the bear offspring.

(Additional: corporal punishment within parenting would not only be allowed, but encouraged.  Do you think a child is going to talk back to you again, if it's pushed down the stairs after the first offence?  No.)

There would be universal healthcare, for reasons which John Rawls would be in agreement with.  If you got hit by a bus, you would want to know that you could receive medical care regardless of your financial status.  "No, no.  He's only got car, van and truck collision insurance.  Just leave him there to die."  HOWEVER.  There would be an enormous tax levy against things like fast food, cigarettes, drugs (more on this in a moment) and alcohol - destroy your body as much as you want to, but you can pick up the medical bill as you do so.

All drugs would be legalised and therefore brought under state regulation.  The immediately dangerous ones (LSD, heroin etc.) would fall under the same tax bracket as cigarettes and fast food.  Marijuana, cocaine, etc, less so, but subject to laws similar to those which regulate alcohol at the moment.  Take it as much as you like, but if your use of it negatively impacts someone else (i.e. drug-driving and knocking someone down) you can expect a heavy prison sentence.   This may sound irresponsible, and there is of course no way to prove or disprove the success of this initiative.  Alcohol is pretty much the basis for this line of reasoning.  It's intoxicating.  It's bad for your health (long term).  It's addictive.  Yet, the vast majority of us are able to enjoy it without becoming mad, toothless, old alcoholics.  Why wouldn't the same be true of other drugs?  (I am hardly the poster-boy for responsible alcohol consumption, but I think my point stands for itself)

As a personal gripe, spelling, punctuation, grammar, syntax, and all the other linguistic foibles which seem so irrelevant to most people, would fall under strict legislation.  In the same way that companies can currently be fined for using misleading advertisements, they would also be fined every time they displayed the word "DVD's".  (If you don't know why that's wrong, stop reading now.  Go away.  Go away and hang yourself).  Similarly, once people reach the age of adulthood (say, 18) they'd become culpable for the language they use.  It would fall under antisocial behaviour laws, I think.  Kick in a shop window: fine.  Thump an old woman: jail.  Pronounce the t in "often": pummelled to death with dictionaries.  For example, I'm sure I've misused a few commas or misspelled some words somewhere in this (you point them out to me and I'll stab you with a quill) but, if I was fined for every one of them, I'd learn not to do it again pretty quickly.

There would be fines for driving too slowly as well as for speeding.  Old people would have to retake their test at 50, and then again every 5 years.  If they don't pass the rigorous examination, their licence is torn up and their car impounded.  Speed limits in and around residential areas would be relaxed, and punishments for drivers who hit children outside schools would have immunity.  A child has no one to blame but themselves or their parents if they step out in front of a car.  If a child doesn't already know that a car will kill you should you step in front of one, then the driver has done the world a favour by removing such stupidity from the gene pool - buy that man a pint… then send him out on the school run!

Now for international affairs (although "international" may be a misnomer considering the only state which now exits is Joetopia).  Global issues would be administrated from my ivory tower at the centre of Joetropolis, the capital of Joetopia.  The system of trade would be capitalism.  In an ideal world, I would go for communism, but this isn't about an ideal world, it's about my world.  I've essentially been put in charge of almost 7 billion idiots.  People are competitive by nature - it's what spurs evolution - and competition in trade is a logical extension.  Like it or not, but for the most part capitalism is self sustaining, self regulating and it works.

Taylor Swift would be my second in command, and "Our Song" would be the global anthem.  My cabinet would consist of the following people:

Steven Fry (Education secretary: Hugh Laurie as an independent contractor)

Those blokes that wrote Freakonomics (Finance ministers)

Russell Brand (Media and the arts minister)

Sarah Silverman (diplomatic relations)

Some no-nonsense type matron (Healthcare)

I've been writing this for a while now and have already exceeded my 750 word limit by more than double; if I don't stop soon I fear never will.  But I think you get the gist by now.  

Any and all criticism will be read, assimilated and ignored.

Jolly Blog 7 - The Mac Daddy's Back

Hello all,

After taking an extended leave of absence from both Facebook and The Jolly Box, circumstances beyond my control dictate that I rejoin the online community.  It does, however, beg the questions why and where?  For those of you looking for a reason, I am prepared to give you one.  Well, these things happened that are totally none of your business, then I deactivated my Facebook and Blog.  How was that?

In any case, recent events have led to me wanting to write them down.

So last week I went to another pub to help out in their kitchen.  Long story short; most of their chefs quit at the same time and now they're fucked.  It was actually obnoxiously quiet, and when I wasn't arguing with the chubby imbecile from Romania who was running the kitchen I was stood around doing nothing.  I was only there for two days and one night, but it was on that night that I met Callum.

Callum was a forty-something local, who was described to me as "a paranoid, schizophrenic, manic-depressive."  I thought the staff were just taking this piss out of some nutty regular, but no.  They were being quite literal.  Callum was, in fact, the single most insane person I've ever come into contact with.

He came up behind me while I was talking about some South Africans I knew, decided, for some reason, that I was a South African Soldier and started quizzing me about the readiness of the South African Military.

Once he was done with his questions about South Africa's ability to take on Nato, he told me a story.  When reading the transcription below, imagine Callum as a 5' 6"ish, rotund chap, with thin greying hair and a slight northern accent (Yorkshire, I think).  Every word he came out with was said with such staunch sincerity and a stern expression that it would have been unnerving if it wasn't so hysterical.  It went a little something like this...

Callum: "So I was on this planet millions of light-years away from here, that was populated by these Witches, right?  And me and my mates had this broom which we had to keep away from the Witches because they were going to use it to destroy something"

Me: "Who were your friends?"

C: "There was me, John and this other bloke.  John wanted to use the broom to destroy the Universe, but I wouldn't let him."

Me: *Don't Laugh. Don't Laugh. Don't Laugh*  "When did this happen?"

C: "Ooooh... more than eight hundred and fifty seven years ago.  It was shortly before Ray Mears took over Canada."

That's the basic jist of the story - it actually carried on for more than fifteen minutes in great detail before he decided to tell me which version of the Bible was his favourite and the best way to drain someone of their blood.  The manager then refused to serve him any more alcohol, he got angry and said he was going to get a gun and kill us all.  Ten minutes later he strolled back in with (what I hope was) a plastic machine gun.  I laughed so much it hurt.

In other news, I think I've finally decided which charity to support for my half marathon.  I think I'm gonna go for Naomi House, which provides care for children and young people with terminal illnesses.  As a general rule, I can't stand any and all children, so why would I want to support this charity?  In my experience, terminally ill children are far less irritating than the healthy ones, so I've decided to do all I can to keep them that way.  And it just so happens to be the charity that my company is supporting this year, and I may or may not get extra sponsorship because of it.

Also, my laptop of four years finally gave up the ghost on Sunday, which has left me feeling somewhat ambivalent.  Annoyed: I had to use a credit card I finally finished paying off two weeks ago to buy something which four days ago I didn't need.  Happy: I have finally joined that most noble lineage of smug pricks who use a Mac.  "Oh, what's that?  You're PC has crashed again?  Vista?  Oh dear, no.  If you've got three seconds to wait for it to boot-up, I'll look up a solution for you on my MacBook Pro.  You're so, totally welcome."

I'm not sure I can be bothered with all this social-networking crap.  As much as I enjoy looking at photos of events I've not been invited to, I can't see me putting up with it for long.  We shall see.

Later, a-holes.

Joe.

Squid Pro Roe

A few things have made me cross over the last few days. I was pondering them on my day off today, and came to the conclusion that they can all be explained away in the same way. There are two main things which have made me cross and they both fall under the umberella of 'people are idiots.'

First thing: Old people.

On Monday I went to the gym as usual. I only had a short time to go there and was in a hurry. There was, of course, a queue. One day my gym will join the rest of us in the 21^st century and get a machine which people can use to scan themselves in and out of the building. Until that day you need to hand your card to one of the two people on reception who will let you in. My lack of time and the line of people had made me more irritated than is generally healthy, but nonetheless I joined the back. I finally get to the front and continue to patiently wait. A receptionist finally becomes free and before I can take a step forward some old man (maybe 60) breezes past me and the eight people behind me and checks himself through with the women. I don't think I've ever been more angry. I stomped up behind him saying nothing, just standing there fizzing in silent rage. He sees me and says, “Oh, were you next? I thought that was a separate line for the pool...” Do I look like I'm waiting for the under 5 swimming session, you fucking moron?! What on Earth could possibly make you think that?! I said none of this, of course.  I simply said, “Yeah, OK” and thought I'd leave it there. Up until this point I'd handled the situation quite calmly. Then he gave me an indifferent shrug, sort of rolled his eyes and walked away saying nothing more. It was at the point of the shrug that the mental dam we all have, which holds back the things we know we shouldn't say, broke and a resevoire of pure rage was suddenly released, submerging the quite town of Pleasantville below, and drowning the whole population. “Twat!” He heard me. At the time, I was glad to have pointed out what a social-retard he was being, and it was nice to vent. In retrospect, swearing at someone who I see on a weekly basis is probably a bad thing.

Similarly, I was in the bank last week; another day another queue. You expect lines at the bank. I was prepared for it, I wasn't annoyed. I got to the cashier and she started fingering through the stuff I'd handed to her. To my left were an old couple who had been at that desk for as long as I'd been queuing up – say 10 minutes. They were asking endless questions about every product this bank sold; questions which could have been answered with a leaflet. But no, the bitch just went on, and on, and on. Eventually her husband turns around and sees the monstrous queue which they've caused and tells his wife they should be going because they're holding up other people. She responds by snapping, “I've had to stand in enough queues in my life, so now they can.” This is a matter of common courtesy you silly old bint. Surviving to the point where you become a social burden is not a passport to an old-age of being a sociopathic, vicious, old biddy.

This is essentially why old people get mugged all the time. It's not because they're frail, it's not because they're weak, it's not because they carry a lot of cash, it's because they're assholes.

In much the same vein as the shrugging, indifferent man at the gym, I believe the systemic problem to be this: it reminded me of something said by a girl I once worked with (if you've ever had a job dealing with the public, you will know this to be true). “Why do old people always act like you owe them something?” Having stood in a lot of lines for your life does not grant you the title of Queen of the Queue, and a carte blanche to behave like a dick. In a way I can see why they might have this attitude. They begat the generation which currently supports them. Without the old people, our parents wouldn't be here and, by extension, our generation wouldn't. Yes, without them we wouldn't be alive, but that doesn't mean we owe them our lives. They're still alive largely because of the medical advancements afforded to them by their children, but that doesn't mean that their lives then belong to their children. Quid pro quo isn't applicable in a situation where the initial deed done is for the benefit of the first party. Look Grandma, we didn't ask to be born. That was your decision. Now wind your neck in, and stop acting like a spoilt child.

(Plus they drive too slowly and it makes me want to punch them in the throat).

Second thing: stupidity.

Today has been my only day off for a while, and as always I made a list of stuff I needed to get done. Seriously, things just aren't worth doing unless they're on a list. Anyways, I'd scheduled some time to sit and watch TV at my mum's house, in between picking up my mail and playing with the cat (both of which were also on the list). Unfortunately I hadn't thought it through properly and chose a time when there was nothing worth watching. The Paralympic World Cup kept me amused for 15 minutes while I watched men with varying degrees of paralysis slide around on their asses playing Volleyball. Then I watched 10 minutes of a Top Gear episode that I'd already seen, before I fell upon 'Loose Women'.  For my North American chums 'Loose Women' is the British version of 'The View'. For everyone else, it's a show comprised mainly of menopausal women, discussing topics they have zero expertise in, punctuated with obvious and poorly delivered double-entendres every other sentence. Today's topic of conversation was plastic surgery. After much clucking, they eventually concluded that the real problem was with magazines and TV etc, ruining people's self-image, which is then cashed in on by the cosmetics industries. The debate was finished off by Carol McDrywomb saying something along the lines of, “... and these women's low self esteem is then exploited by costmetic surgeons and beauty products” to a round of rapturous applause from the 300 also-past-their-prime audience members. Not a dry seat in the house.

Of course they've been exploited you stupid female! That's the very nature of capitalism. Whether or not someone else has caused your insecurity is irrelevant. It's your insecurity. It's your body that's falling to pieces. It's your problem to deal with. Stop complaining and start taking some responsibility. To add to all this, it is always on this kind of show where they hark on about losing traditions and customs which used to be part of the national fabric. The decline in communities and community spirit, for example. The rise in yob behaviour. Always complaining about the fact that small businesses are shutting down while at the same time complaining about the extortionate price of food and fuel. You idiots can't have it both ways. (I was about to explicate that reasoning for you, but if you don't understand it already then you probably never will. And we probably shouldn't be friends any more. Now go write yourself a little note to remind yourself to keep breathing).

It makes me sad that people like that can get on TV. It should amuse me but it doesn't. It's like people who read the Daily Mail. The stuff they come out with is the most amazing rubbish, but I know people reading it and absorbing every word like it was fact. In the same way that all the people in the audience are inanely clapping away at the most appalling drivel like a well trained circus seal, there are people all over the place watching this trash, believing it to be the most profound thing they've ever heard, while they sit on their asses stealing my oxygen.

… rant over.

Ok, so I've covered the old, the menopausal and the stupid. For a sense of demographic symmetry I should probably trash a few other groups too.

Umm, yeah. Those lesbians and blacks can fuck right off too! Dickheads.

Jolly Blog 6 - Events

Lots of little things gone on over the past few weeks. There was, of course, April 20^th, or 4:20. An important day for all of us I think. I hope you all had as much fun as I did celebrating Hitler's birthday.

Then there was that wedding thing. Fortunately I was working so I missed the whole tiresome event and instead earned a shit-ton of money. I have a care-less attitude about many things, but Jesus was that thing over-hyped. My sisters actually camped overnight so that they could secure a good spot on the route they drove down. I'm so ashamed to share genetic material with people who would do that. The new South Park does a lovely job taking the piss out of it – you should definitely watch it.  Link here.

In other news, for the first time in a long time I've actually done summink! 'Citing! Some of you will know him, the rest of you should count you blessings that you don't, but me mate, Ed, came over yesterday and we had ourselves a little jolly in Salisbury.

It's been a long time since I've been that drunk and obviously I can remember very little of it – as is tradition. Started out in the local Weatherspoons. For those of you who aren't familiar, Weatherspoons is a pub chain in the UK known for being a bit scummy but, more importantly, cheap. I spent most of the time there being bullied by my company for being different *read: awesome* – although I happen to know it's actually because they're threatened by my grace and intellect and couldn't think of a better way to vent their frustration. From there we went to some random bar, the details of which are irrelevant. Here are just a few of the things that happened. At some point I was caught dribbling on the bar. I'm not sure why, but anecdotal evidence suggests it may have been a reaction to tequila. I also tried, and failed, to hook up with a girl from work – I wish I could say the dribbling happened first so I could use that as an excuse for my failure, but I don't think it did. At another stage Ed was dancing with this same girl. I saw this happening and obviously it made me angry, so like a child having a tantrum I stormed over and cut in.  You may assume I did this so I could dance with the girl.  No.  Apparently I wanted a tender moment with Edward.  A few things going on there for his absent girlfriend to be worried about. Back at my house I had set up an air-bed for Edward to sleep on. He went to the bathroom and by the time he came back I was lying on the air-bed and his sleeping bag was on my bed. Why? Apparently because, “You're a guest; you deserve maximum comfort!”

It was a very messy night, and once again I escaped serious injury, which I'm surprised about for two reasons. 1) Some of you may have noticed, but I can be a bit of a dick when I've been drinking, and I'm long overdue for a karmic injury of some kind. And 2) There's a lot of stab-happy people in my town. A guy in a wheelchair got his head kicked in the other day by some of the many lunatics I share this dump with.  Proof. It's only a matter of time until I go drinking, come accross one of these people, they mispronounce something, I helpfully point out their ignorance and wake up in hospital.  Nonetheless, I'm still here and live to drink another day.

In half-marathon news, I still haven't made a decision about which charity to support for me half marathon.  I think it's gotta be the spastics, but we'll see.  Suggestions still welcome.

Hope all's good with you all.  If not, then at least I hope things could be worse. 

Later, idiots.

Joe 

Jolly Vlog 6

Jolly Jrinking II