Jibber jabber (10)

Posted by humanchimp on Fri 14 Nov 08, 9:05 PM to humanchimp's blog.

“So what animal does a kidney bean come from?”

I haven't even sat down and all ready my eyes are rolling. I know that my semi- intellectual cap is about to be blown away by a tornado of stupidity.

I have no idea how kidney beans are grown. It might be on a vine or in the ground or the side effect of some governmental experiment where they were trying to glue wings onto shrews.

I don't have all the answers.

I have a million questions though.

Like, does Davina McCall have the same mental disorder as Norman Bates?

In the earlier shampoo adverts she used to at least pretend she was talking on the phone to her Mother about how she manages to keep her hair looking so fake.

But now the Mother is in her head. A figment of her imagination. Mummy McCall can be heard but we never see her, yet Davina continues to chatter obliviously. Does she know that her Mum isn't in the room?

What the fuck is that all about? Pretty soon she'll be stabbing some poor fucker who decided to stay in her guest bedroom.

One thing I do know is that there is no where in the world where we harvest hundreds of rats, rabbits, Ronnie Corbett's or any other small creature that begins with the letter R and can be kept by the dozen in a small cage just so their kidneys can be condensed into one tin.

They're probably kept for other reasons.

I'm about to unsolve the riddle that is the kidney bean conspiracy when her follow up shot hits me right between the eyes. Like a punch drunk palookas, I'm left staggering.

“I was born in the sixties”

She's barely twenty-one.

“No you weren't.”

I don't want to explain this to her. In the past I've enlightened her to the differences between a donut and a chocolate éclair and managed to get over the political minefield of why Mexico didn't get involved in our latest Gulf War due to the fact that Iraq is not their capitol city.

I haven't even sipped my drink and all ready I have a stomach cramp.

Her thickness is giving me an ulcer.

“But I was born in 86 so I'm in the sixties”

Somewhere inside me.

Something dies.

This has got to be a joke or a wind up. No one is really this stupid. Maybe she's taking some perverse pleasure in seeing how long I'll be stringed along by these questions until she cocks her head back, laughs manically and tells me that she actually studied at Harvard.

I seriously doubt it though.

I look across the bar for help, for support, but unfortunately the Muppets disguised as friends are gone.

Physically they're standing before me but mentally they've turned into children because one of their new phone/ ipod/ sat nav/ internet connecting/ photo taking/ TV controlling/ lap top/ download the latest thing that happened in everyone else's lives but theirs'/ voice activated mind controller has this screensaver which makes the screen look like a pint glass.

That's not all though.

If they tilt it then the really clever micro-techinical-whogivesashit-ottics that make up said device conjures up the illusion that the pint is being drunk.

No. Really. It's amazing. There are no other technological advancements that the corporations of this world could have spent their money on. I truly believe that.

You should see the fun they're having spilling pixel's into their Calvin Klein boxer shorts. It reminds me of how excited my God Son was when he realised his fire truck went forwards as well as back.

As long as it has flashing lights then the masses don't need to think.

Another question.

Is the Groupie out of “Flight of the Concords” so cute it makes your eyes bleed or is it just me?

Either conversation is dead or I'm just dead to the conversation's that rapture my generation.

I move along to our next group of friends and listen.

Only because I really feel that the anger that they can boil inside of me will keep my adrenaline running so long that cancer will never have time to catch up.

“Should I leave him babes?”

“Well he's cheated on you twenty times now.”

“But he says he loves me!”

And so on and so forth. The same problems, the same issues that never, ever get solved. Fuck, my life is essentially a bad Bret Easton Ellis novel but without the eloquence or knowledge of what it's like to be rich.

Another question that constantly bothers me.

Do people really know what they look like?

Mirrors show a reversal of what you look like. Your bi-polar ideal image. A version of you that's backwards and therefore will never, essentially, be you.

Photos are subjective to lighting, weather conditions and the pose you're striking in that fraction of a second when the camera goes click.

You could have a professional photo shoot done where your clothes are designed to fit you perfectly. The lighting flatters your features, the angles used will hide the imperfections and the parts that you don't like. Without the flaws it's just not you though.

Other people see you all the time and would be the best to judge if their point of view wasn't scuppered by love, hate, indifference, prejudice or any other emotion that happened to be running through their head at that particular time.

People will say good and bad things about you but no one will ever be able to tell you the truth.

So who are you?

What are you?

You might think of yourself as interesting, charming and loving but I might find you boring, sleazy and a little bit needy.

It's all subjective.

It's a two way street and I'm sure there are plenty of people in the world who hate my guts.

You just have to let it all go.

Which is why I'm still here, listening to the idiots and the bores, pretending to give a shit whilst waiting for my own turn to bore them with my jokes and issues. Fully knowing that they'll pretend to laugh or show sympathy on a surface level but just under that they'll be crying out for me to just shut the fuck up.

So this all brings me back to my one final question.

Do they really put crack in Pringles?

Edited Wed 4 Aug 10, 11:11 PM by humanchimp

Replies

14 Nov 08, 9:28 PM
Giggle_Piggle
UK(WR), 5 yrs

humanchimp wrote:

Do they really put crack in Pringles?

Only the prawn cocktail flavour ones :P

14 Nov 08, 9:32 PM
SublimeDecadence
UK(WR), 5 yrs

Nice blog, yep, I just got back from the pub as well

14 Nov 08, 9:45 PM
ShadowRose
UK(PO), 9 yrs

humanchimp wrote:
“So what animal does a kidney bean come from?”

Does this mean that when I make Chilli Sin Carne it still isn't vegetarian food?

humanchimp wrote:
Do people really know what they look like?

Mirrors show a reversal of what you look like. Your bi-polar ideal image. A version of you that's backwards and therefore will never, essentially, be you.

Photos are subjective to lighting, weather conditions and the pose you're striking in that fraction of a second when the camera goes click.

Is a photo a bi-polar image - ideal or otherwise?

humanchimp wrote:
Do they really put crack in Pringles?

Is that as well as MSG or instead of?

Humanity is my interface with reality ~ Shiva AI

14 Nov 08, 9:49 PM
xxelexx
6 yrs

You think too much xx

15 Nov 08, 5:01 AM
LisaLJ
UK(DY), 6 yrs

humanchimp wrote:

As long as it has flashing lights then the masses don't need to think.

So very true.

One of the best blogs I've read in a long time on here. Have a gold star