Actual Stories from my Actual Life

As my days now consist of sleeping, eating all the things, watching useless television, applying for jobs and trawling the internet I've now realised that my internet time is now translating itself into my everyday life.
I told you earlier that I have discovered memes. Specifically this one...

Which makes me laugh - A LOT.

So I dabbled in making my own.

Then an incident happened. Boyfriend, dearest, was making a toasted sandwich and instead of waiting for it to cool down this happened.

I actually imagined myself with this face when saying "You don't say?" Is that worrying? Maybe only if I wake up and have actually turned into a cartoon of Nicholas Cage. At least I'd get a laugh!

The Honest Truth.

Heed this Warning...

The other morning, before I made my daily journey to work, I was looking for some music to listen to. Having decided I was sick of all the legitimate music I kept on my CD shelf – in full display to any guests, I ventured into the draw where I keep all my spare miscellaneous CDs from over the years. I came upon one that read “Music Mix”. Fair enough. I would give it a whirl.

I popped it in the car stereo and headed on my way. I shortly realised this was a CD from my adolescent years where I was taken in by the latest song even if it only contained a drum beat, heavily auto-tuned backup singers and a generic rapper over the top who says “yeah” a lot. There were also many other different types of terrible songs from the past that people would probably remember but try to conceal.

Nonetheless I was grooving away on the drive, sadly, knowing all the words and any appropriate hand gestures that went with the song – and no I am not talking about the “Macerena” give me a little bit more credit than that.

As I was grooving and driving – drooving if you will – I started thinking about how embarrassing it would be if a) I picked up a hitchhiker (not that I ever would by myself because I don’t want to get stabbed in the neck with a sharpened stick) or b) was in a car accident. Sure I’d be fatally wounded and that would be a big bummer but the main point is that when the hitchhiker got into the car they would probably get right out hearing the terrible music that I happened to be listening to. Similarly, I can imagine a paramedic racing to my crushed, mangled car in slow motion dodging fire (there’s always fire in dramatic situations) ripping the door off its hinges to rescue the poor, innocent and injured damsel... only to realise she was listening to a Shania Twain song from the early 2000s and instead of rescuing me just leaving me there in shame to die in Shania’s country/pop embrace.  

I guess everyone has the thought about what-if-they-died-and-someone-would-have-to-clean-out-their-house-and-subsquently-dicovered-their-extensive-collection-of-erotic-smurf-paraphenalia. It has dawned on us all. The car music thing, however, be wary. Listen to “All the things she said” by T.A.T.U. in the safety of your own home.

My Evil Kettle

When I moved house I was given a shiny new kettle. A silver, modern yet cute looking kettle for my boiled water needs. This kettle was different to all the same old white plastic boring kettles out there – this one was better.

Or so I thought.

Little did I realise that this kettle was actually forged by Lucifer himself out of the pits of fiery hell and conveniently boxed to look like every other cute shiny kettle on the shelf. This is the tale of my evil kettle.

Sure it can boil water thereby achieving its very purpose in this world but I never realised it was also designed to burn me in every way it possibly could. It beings with filling the kettle. The lid refuses to be replaced in any complete sealable way. There is always an unforeseeable space where the steam will also emerge from. This extra steam fries the hand pouring the water so that serving tea becomes laced with unnecessary profanities.

And then comes the time when you jam the kettle back down with that burnt hand frowning at it for causing you pain. Maybe even getting upset (as it has happened many times) and shoving it a little to show it who’s boss. It’s only after you shove the kettle you realise with the remaining fingers left on the kettle that it is extremely hot and is burning you right back. Here's how I see the kettle...

The really downright cruel part of this kettle is whenever anyone else uses it they don’t have any problems at all – in fact they love the kettle. This kettle is seducing my housemates into thinking it’s darling, sweet and boils some deliciously magic water. This is a crafty kettle.

My only conclusion here is that I am the only person in my household without android hands impervious to burns and that this kettle is more manipulative and two-faced than Cinderella's stepmother.

And no, this whole scenario hasn't come about because I'm incapable of using a kettle.

Any day now the damn thing will fly at me from across the room and scald the life out of me. 

Just you wait...

My First Pet

You know when you play that game about figuring out your stripper name and you take the name of your first pet? Well now you do. Anyway I was thinking about it and I remembered my first pet was a hermit crab named Claudia. Now Claudia had an unfortunate demise... that is we got the house fumigated and both my brother’s and my crab passed away. Or rather slowly and painfully asphyxiated whichever you like.

Here’s the kicker. I was having family dinner the other week and I told this story – after we’d all worked out our stripper names (mine’s Claudia Chelmer) I told the story of poor choking Claudia and mum chimed in with – Claudia didn’t choke she cooked!

?

I’m sorry, mum, what?

“Your crab Claudia got really sick after the fumigation - we didn’t know it would affect them so badly and in the end she lost her legs one by one. The poor thing only had little eyes flitting about – it was still alive and suffering – so I dropped it in hot water”.

Now that’s the humane story I heard. Here’s what I visualised...

I find out seventeen years later that my poor crab, my first pet, my only crustacean love was boiled alive? How psychotic is that? Hadn’t she suffered enough? I imagined my poor little crab thrashing its eyes about in agony (that was only thing it could thrash around given it didn’t have any more limbs) crying silently that I’d abandoned it... trying to escape. To which mum answered “Well it didn’t move after I dumped it in”.

Good point. R.I.P. Claudia.

Some "Doctor Who" joke

Anne of Green Gables

This is my first attempt at cartooning... so be nice.

Pretty sure if Marilla had access to a chainsaw that's how it would have gone down.

But seriously - where is Wally?

Grrrreeeeetings Wally Watchers!

 I was thinking about books and television shows I really enjoyed as a kid. “Where’s Wally?” was one of them. Nothing like screwing up your eyesight by very nearly pressing your face against the pages/tv screen in a desperate hope of finding Wally and his various hangers-on. In my case, I was at after school care battling with the other unloved children to scream “I FOUND HIM” first. Having said that... has anyone really stopped and thought about this poor fella?

Wally. Why is he always missing? Why does this young man feel the need to hide from prying eyes? He’s clearly a sensitive young man using a mask of happiness which disguises his tortured soul which probably came about because of a childhood experience of being left alone in a cosmic space of eternal emptiness and little human interaction. Hey – it happens.

Here’s another weird thing - he’s only a young man yet he has a CANE. Why? Does he have a leg impairment? A false leg? Muscle death? Who does this guy think he is? House? No. Apparently in the tv programme it was a ‘magical’ cane... sounds awfully suspicious to me... probably smuggling drugs into different lands with that cane... After all he has a different name in every country - Wally, Waldo, Charlie, Vili, Walter and many more! Interpol is probably, at this minute, desperately shouting “but seriously people, where the f*** is Wally??” Perhaps he’s a drug lord or perhaps... he’s under witness protection and is constantly seeking seclusion from Odlaw – his abusive lover! It all fits. Odlaw desperate to find Wally/Waldo wherever he roams to get

a) a little violent sumthin sumthin or

b) his drug stick or

c) all of the above!

Maybe Odlaw is Wally’s pimp and he’s trying to get back the money Wally owes him for his last trick... Odlaw doesn’t look that threatening and he seems pretty hopeless at catching him... and his name isn’t very pimpy... I mean O-man would be better... or Od-mutha-fucka. Anyway he dresses pretty pimpin... or very bee like...

Maybe Wally is an escaped mental patient where the uniform is red and white stripes – I mean I haven’t seen anyone walking the streets in a red and white striped long sleeve shirt with matching beanie! Have you? He must be nuts given that his ‘special female friend’, Wenda, looks suspiciously like him. He’s screwing his own sister people! Or maybe he’s a serious narcissist and wants to hook up with someone who is so like him that he no longer has to sticky tape a photograph of himself to his partners’ faces. Now that I think about this... it furthers the case that this psycho needs to be brought to justice and he’s being aided by none other than Wizard Whitebeard. Well if that aint some reference to crack I don’t know what is.

We must unite, people! Find this visually impaired freak! And his equally blind dog – I mean really a dog in glasses? Come on. That is some yuppie bullshit right there.   

Someone needs to bring this sight impaired, limping, drug pushing, incest loving, law breaking, badly dressed whore to justice! This isn’t a game. This isn’t just a happy children’s programme. It’s serious. He’ll come to your house, fill you with drugs and cane whip you for his sick and twisted pleasure. And then force you to wear red and white striped clothes FOREVER! AHHHHHHH!!