Fatlo.af

There is no truth to that rumour. In fact, I am probably the opposite of charm. What is the opposite? I’m thinking it’s probably a fork. The answer to everything is fork. Fork you. Fork off. Fork off and die. It works at so many levels. I’m not sure where I am going with this – it may take an unexpected turn. Now that I have told you that, you are expecting an unexpected turn and the unexpected has become expected, thus the expected is not the way to go. Still with me?

I appear to be obsessed with Barry Manilow at the moment. I think it’s understandable. After all, he wrote the songs that make the whole world sing, he wrote the songs of love and special things. He wrote the songs, he wrote the songs. I have begun my quest to be as much like Barry (or Baz Maz, as I like to call him) as possible. I have started growing my nose. The way I see it is I can switch from being Baz Maz to being Celine Dion or Barbara Streisand in a heart beat if I have the nose. Whichever one I become I can rest assured that it will upset Sash – that is my main goal in life. That and wanting to eat a big sandwich.

Is it reasonable to assume that everyone is a fuckwit until they prove themselves otherwise? I find it saves time. If you want me to consider you anything other than a fuckwit, I require a 3000 word essay (with pictures – I get bored without pictures), a reference from someone I have already recognised as a non-fuckwit (NFW) and an affidavit signed by a JP. It may seem like a long way to get my love, but it will all be worth it in the end. By the way, Neil, I am still waiting on your essay. I don’t accept essays written in crayon.

I am getting mighty sick of shrubs. Ask a shrub what it thinks of itself and I am sure they will tell you they give themselves five horns. Shrubs consider themselves to be a higher species than trees and grass and as such treat them as slaves. They use the trees to provide shade and the grass as an alternative for animals to shit on. Mark my word, one day the oppressed trees and grasses will rise up, grab the high and mighty shrubs by the short and curly roots and throw them into the mulcher. The trees and grass will start a new utopian society that will run smoothly for a decade or two before one decides it is better than the other. Petty squabbles over who gets to have the more expensive fertiliser will begin and the troubles will only escalate from there. Soon after that, The Great Flora War will begin and all flora will have to decide with whom they stand. Animals will remain impartial for the next few years before they are dragged into a war that isn’t theirs and one they don’t want to fight. Plant scienticians will create new and more deadly weapons until the time comes when trees drop “the big one” – a bomb based on the human atomic bomb that contains an herbicide more powerful that all that has come before it. All plant life will die, the animals and humans will run out of food and eventually carbon dioxide will choke everyone. The Earth will spin into the sun and there isn’t a god-damned thing anyone can do about it. And it’s all down to those fucking shrubs. I say we wipe them out now before it’s too late. The greenies may call me “shrubist” or worse, but I fear that is the only way our planet will survive. I am the way, follow me. I will avert this catastophe and Peacock Films will make an epic movie about me and my small band of loyal (yet fanatical) followers.

I am the way.
I am the light.
I am the cheese.

Don’t let shrubs fool you.

Until next time (if there is a next time – those damn shrubs may start the trouble sooner than our scienticians have hypothesised),