Filed under: being alive, comedy, comedy writing, culture, funny, girl humour, humour, lad humour, life, opinion, perspective, philosophy, random, society, stupid thoughts, thought for the day, thoughts, writing | Tags: being alive, comedy, comedy writing, culture, funny, girl humour, humour, lad humour, life, literary journalism, opinion, perspective, philosophy, random, random stuff, society, stupid, stupid stuff, stupid thoughts, thought for the day
I found myself running into a shoe shop today to shelter from a torrential downpour of rain. I wasn’t looking to buy any shoes it just happened to be the first door that was open, so I ran in.
After fifteen minutes, I’d obviously done the preliminary rounds of pretending to be interested in buying a pair of shoes, but the rain was getting even worse. There were also three other people sheltering from the rain and trying to look like customers. This feigned interest whilst dripping wet is quite the skill to perfect if you happen to be a pedestrian without an umbrella. The bloke over in the far corner looks like a real seasoned pro at this. He’s already tried on a pair of shoes and I notice his quick glances outside to see how long he has to keep this up for.
After twenty-five minutes in this tiny little shoe shop it’s now blindly obvious to everyone that the only three people in the whole shop are sheltering from the rain – which is now coming down in sheets. I am considering buying the cheapest pair of shoes in the shop to justify me spending half an hour in there dripping water on the carpet. And then the rain stops and we all pile out into the street together with that ‘I know that you know that I know’ look on our faces.
Next time I am gonna find me a bus shelter like everyone else.
DT
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I have been trying to grow a beard for about two months. This would imply that I am actively involved in the pursuit of beard growing from the root of the verb ‘to try.’ I am not actually doing anything. The beard is growing itself. Most of this happens when I am asleep, because the following morning there has been some developments. My face is longer and heavier… and itchier!
I found a friggin’ spider in my beard today. This means that insects are laying eggs in my face – which also means that my face looks like a good place to lay eggs if you’re an insect. Because this doesn’t fit with my self-image I have shaved off the last two months’ worth of liberated follicles along with the nesting site for the next generation of daddy long legs for my bath plughole. I found this little boy’s face hiding underneath the beard, blinking bashfully in the mirror.
DT
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A few years ago, a friend of mine showed me how all traffic lights have a tiny revolving cone under the control panel to aid people who have a hearing and sight impairment. Did you know this? It’s certainly a golden moment when we chance upon something that has existed for years just beyond the boundaries of our knowledge. Did you know that all biro pens have an air hole in the tube and in the pen top in case a child swallows it?
Until recently, I didn’t know that you can record your voice on a mobile phone. Well, how about this one then – a zipper that locks. I mean actually locks like a key so that if you’re fat and bend over (ahm… like a friend of mine) your gut doesn’t hang through the fly like a donut in a ripped bag. When trying on a pair of jeans, I demonstrated to the sales assistant how when I bend over the zipper comes undone all on its own. Err …I mean my friend did and I was with him. She was a big fat bird herself and could obviously relate to my situation, so she stretched out a chubby paw, yanked the zip up to the top teeth and pressed the zip down – whereby it locked into place.
DT
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Toilet paper illustrators should have more fun. For one, they have a niche little corner of the market to play around with yet spend their time working on Christmas trees or cute little animal designs to print on toilet paper. Get an image of a puppy dog, and then cover it in shit. Not so cute after all, eh? I propose printing little tongues or noses, indented and poised to lick and sniff. Why not have a sense of humour about it? Ask anyone what illustrations they have on their toilet roll and you’d likely score a blank – which is a good thing, coz if you’re shopping specifically for toilet paper illustrations then your life is over.
DT
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If this isn’t illegal it probably should be, yet we all do it. You get in the car with your duffel coat on and the six layers underneath to keep out the winter cold. You blast the heater and then overheat by the time you’ve made it to the first set of traffic lights. Now, here’s the dilemma plain and simple. You gotta get that damn coat off but you don’t have time to take the seatbelt off, remove the coat and put the seatbelt back on again before the line of cars behind you start sounding their horn. What do you do? You do it whilst your driving AND whilst you’re wearing the seatbelt! And do we think of pulling over to take it off safely – never crossed my mind officer!
DT
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Every once in a while I adopt a completely different laugh for a day, and then when I wake up the following morning it’s gone never to be seen again. It’s as much of a shock to me as anyone who I happen to be with: ‘dude, what’s with that laugh?’
It only happens about once a year and there are no warning signs either. The last time it happened was in a bar earlier in the week when one of my friends was recounting a very funny anecdote. Out came this little girlie chuckle from my mouth to the amazement of everyone including me. Even my body starting moving around in odd jerks to the chorus of this high-pitched pig-tailed version of my once baritone road digger of a laugh. It felt like someone else is laughing inside of me. If I’ve got someone else’s laugh then that person is undoubtedly being stared at by friends in a bar somewhere as my guffaw makes it debut. It’s like wife swap.
DT
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Some burps just happen naturally and discreetly like sneezes. Others – usually the mightier ones – we have to work out of our system by invoking them from a far deeper and altogether darker place. Thinking I was alone this afternoon, I was in the middle of summoning Conan the Barbarian from the caverns of my stomach when my girlfriend suddenly appeared and unknowingly leaned over and kissed me on the lips. I roared a knee wobbling burp – she kissed me. Let’s say it was a mutual shock!
DT
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I am 34 and I have lost my jaw line. I don’t quite know when it happened but I remember last seeing it when I was 33. Where did my jaw line go?
I am not exactly fat and I didn’t chase it off my face with a cheeseburger that’s for sure. I notice Facebook photos of some old school friends that have also lost their jaw lines too. How did this happen? Does the mid-thirties jaw fairy come to claim your jaw? I’ve since realized that the chin area has been colonized by the expanding neck, which is somehow attached to a pair of man boobs. A process that can only be described as a middle-age spread has attacked my body from the waist up. I have the legs of a chicken and the midriff of a robin redbreast and it just seems to be getting worse. In my mid-twenties, I was once told you could slice cheese on my cheekbones. Nowadays, they look like two large balls of Edam cheese. My body is changing and soon the final shame will be upon me – ear fuzz!
DT
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I know many jokes. The problem is that my dirty jokes are just too dirty, and my clean ones too clean. I am a man of extremes; I have either family-friendly jokes or utterly disgraceful ones. I don’t really have anything in the middle worthy of a laugh.
On one end I’m all clowns and balloons (Q. How do you tell which end of a worm is which? A. Tickle it in the middle and see which end laughs!). And on the other end my ice-breakers are more like icebergs (What’s your star sign? I’m a faeces!).
For some reason, there are very few things that offend me, and it’s the taboos that are normally funny. As comedian Bernard Manning says: “funny is funny. If you don’t it like it then don’t laugh!” I’m a firm believer that you can say anything with a cheeky smile on your face and get a laugh. An old friend and I had a completely different tactic to pull girls in a nightclub when we were teenagers. We used the element of surprise by being so acutely offensive it was actually funny. I could see that most lads get piss wasted to get up enough courage to say something utterly banal and incomprehensible to girls in the blind chance they will get laid. I could see this didn’t work, so I employed a bit of sober creativity and would say something so downright rude and insulting it was actually funny. Rather than hang around the dance floor or the bar in the hope that girls would talk to us, my friend and I went to the one place where girls were guaranteed to be hanging out in abundance – the ladies toilets. We would wait outside the door and when the girls came out – because of course girls always go to the toilet together – we would deliver the carefully constructed sentence with impeccable innocence: “Hi girls. Have just been for a shit?”
This may seem a little unorthodox but we had done some maths here and we were working on the same principle that if you ask 100 girls to have sex with you – 99 will slap you across the face! Actually, the odds were far higher as woman love a man with a sense of humour, and we really didn’t care either way as we were having a laugh!
DT
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There’s a point in a man’s life when it’s okay to be seen outside a Beatles fancy dress party with a moustache. So, when is this? I’m not talking about a manicured fuse-wire-thin RAF bomber of a moustache. I’m talking about a Magnum P.I lip slug that is denser-than-Christmas-cake and occupies half my face like wall ivy.
I’m still a relatively young man in my mid-thirties and find myself momentarily pausing with the razor blade around the top lip region in consideration of this very matter. Am I ready for a moustache yet? Am I old enough? Am I mature enough to walk down the street with a moustache and pass myself off as refined? Do you have to feel refined to look it? The Pakistani woman at the local supermarket has a moustache – and she’s only about nineteen.
I guess one possible answer to my question is the ‘coming of age theory,’ that if you can grow one then you can wear one. Considering that most boys of Mediterranean blood start shaving at kindergarten, this theory is no good. I remember Brian Baxter from my high school sports changing room. This Eurasian boy-manimal was fully developed at 13; and I mean FULLY as in a bison bred with a Greek god! This Minotaur of a boy was born with pubes, and had a cock on him the size of a baby’s arm at 13! No, this is a question of subtlety reaching far beyond Mother Nature’s take on fashion – it’s a question of taste! Now, what I know about fashion you could write on the end of a pin, but I am aware of a sub-culture fashion scene that permits a moustache as an ultra street-chic statement as sensitive as a hair trigger to nuance. I’m not trying to be retro cool or even cool, but I also don’t want to look like someone’s embarrassing dad either! When can I grow my moustache?
DT
