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Postmodern post

I’m terribly modern. Have been for ages. I hang around almost exclusively in the present. Not that present – this one… Now this one… You get the drift, you clever little thing you. Anyway, having totally nailed the whole modern thing, I thought I’d have a go at postmodernism (which is also premodernism, depending on which way you’re facing).

The first step, as you’ll know with all those lovely brains of yours, is to ‘think outside of the box’. This was easy enough, but once I was there – face all screwed up with the thinking – I realised everyone else was outside the box too It was quite crowded and some of them were wearing jeggings. Apparently ‘outside the box’ is now ‘in the box’. Probably a different, bigger box, with tape on it. Possibly made out of the laughter of unborn babies, but probably not, now I think about it. In any case, if modernism is thinking outside the box and postmodernism is thinking about the box, I’m going to be the first to try licking the box.


I Wish I Had a Tail

Um, hi.

You look like you’re wondering about penguins. I was wondering about penguins as well, until I started wondering about whether you were wondering about penguins. Do you think this means we’re related? Me too! We should definitely catch up on all the things we missed out on since being separated at birth. I’m not sure how I feel about taking baths together, so we should probably start with showers, or I can leave my water in the bath for you to use when I’m finished. I see that you have exactly the same number of nostrils that I do.  Can you play the trombone? Me neither! That reminds me – do we have a sofa? I would offer to bring my beanbag but I had to empty it out so that I could hide in it more easily, so now it’s just a bag. You can hide in it if you like.

Generic Cover Letter (with brownies)

My Dear Prospective Employers

It’s your lucky day! You’re so lucky I almost wish I was you, except that the only reason you’re so lucky is because I’m out here looking for a job. Shush now, don’t get so worked up or you’ll be sick.

I’ve forsaken the traditional covering letter because I am much better at lying in person, so I’ll save that for the interview. Instead, I’ve decided that you’ll be much better off with a recipe for oat brownies.

Step one: check that you want to eat oat brownies. People often overlook this step and are stuck with millions of oat brownies and nowhere to put them, even after they’ve got rid of all their furniture.

Acquire a box, bag or bladder of oats. Decant them into a bowl and dispose of the packaging as per local arrangements. Allow to stand.

Add a chocolate flavoured substance of your preference. If you do not have a chocolate flavoured substance, you can use chocolate.

Add milk in a sprightly fashion, as though you were once a billionaire jockey with a huge house and a trophy wife, but you abandoned it all to live in a cave and pour milk on oats, because that’s how much you like pouring milk on oats. You know – sprightly.

Pop to the loo if necessary. If unnecessary, don’t pop anywhere. Honestly, I really think you ought to be figuring these things out for yourself by now.

Step seven: Stir the mixture until it looks about right or until you need to stop because there’s penguins on the television.

This next bit’s important, so I’ll write slowly:

Plonk the stuff on a thing and whack it in the oven

Step D: Oven it, with all like fire and that

Bring it out of the oven wearing gloves or, if preferred, a hat

Remark on the fact that this really isn’t a brownie but more of a big glob of burnt shit

Chop it into bits with a chopper

Throw it away

Like on Facenook if you care about orphans with no legs

Repeat step twelve until someone calls the police


I can start immediately but will be on leave until next week because this week I’m busy cleaning oats out of my ear. Please make sure my desk is in a shaded corner, out of direct sunlight and with adequate drainage.

Self diagnostics

Dear Online Medical Community

I’ve reviewed all of your contributions to the internets and have diagnosed myself with everything. I’ll have to type quickly because I expect the leprosy to spread to my fingers any minute. Please do try to keep up.

After reading medical websites for eighteen hours straight, I realised that my vision was starting to distort. The most plausible explanation is that spider eggs were hatching somewhere in my visual cortex and eating my brain. I’ve started drilling holes in my head and gluing flies round the edges to tempt the spiders out. After I’ve finished, should I use some sort of filler to block the holes or can I just use them for keeping marbles in?

Am I supposed to be able to touch my right ear with my left elbow? I can’t. Can you? Am I eligible for financial support to pay someone else to touch my right ear with their left elbow?

Also, does Ebola taste like watermelon? My mouth started to taste like watermelon and I got so worried it was Ebola that I almost couldn’t finish eating my watermelon.

Please respond by phone because I think my eyeballs will probably have dropped out by the time you get back to me. If I don’t answer, it’ll be because my ears have exploded.



Love, with error bars

Dear St. Valentine

May I call you St.? Are you at all related to Sesame St.?


I was planning to buy ten roses for the price of a small bungalow, but I got distracted and spent all of my money on anchovies. Will these do instead? I’ve made little cherub wings for them out of toilet paper and suspended them from a wire coat hanger. They look a bit like huge flies. Should I put glitter on them, or would that be weird?

I made a card to go with the anchovies. It says: “I love you more today than yesterday but not as much as tomorrow and a bit more than next Tuesday; probably about the same as that day last week when you made me beans on toast” but I realised that this would be better expressed with some sort of line graph. Then I got worried that the graph could be misleading without proper context, so now I have a sixteen page report with quarterly projections. I’ll sing it to her while she makes dinner.

Will this do?

All the best


Legitimate concerns

Anxiety is like chasing one-legged vampires – You spend all night frantically going round in circles and in the morning you realise the problem doesn’t even exist.

You know what it’s like, trying to get to sleep when you start wondering if your eyebrows are going to fly up your nose and suffocate you during the night? Nobody knows exactly how many deaths have been caused that way, because the eyebrows have always crawled back by morning. Sneaky little bastards.

Then I start worrying that we’ll run out of internet. Has anyone done a report about that? Someone really should. I bet if someone had done a report about 8-tracks or velociraptors or druids, then we wouldn’t have run out so quickly and we might still have enough to go around. We’d probably have to ration the velociraptors to one per family, but at least we could race them on weekends.

I’m also concerned about the atmosphere blowing away, what with the Earth zooming around in space the way it does. I’ve been practicing holding my breath and I’m up to three minutes, so I should have time to get indoors when it happens.

And what if the blogosphere collapses and all of these posts go flying around with no webbing to restrain them? We’ll all just be walking around the shops, minding our own business, when a huge swarm of viral memes comes and carries off our children. We need to stop creating memes, people! Think of the children!

Acting out

Dear Hollywood

Can I please come and be a movie star? I’m free on Tuesday and I’m already in 3D, so you’d save some money there.

I’ve studied all the great performances and compare my acting style to that of Lassie, although I rarely drink out of the toilet. I’m so good at improvisation I often forget who I really am. As ‘First Flying Monkey’ in a junior school production of The Wizard of Oz, I became so absorbed in the role that the Fire Brigade were summoned to get me out of a nearby tree.

I know that movie stars are judged by the number of tickets they sell at the box office but I’ve never actually worked at a box office so I might need to watch a training video. Actually, I did sell raffle tickets for the village fair once, so you don’t need to worry. I will happily do my own stunts and can bring my own banana skin as long as you give me a replacement banana at lunchtime. When my films are enormously successful I will want the option to buy the DVDs at three for ten pounds.

See you on Tuesday.


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