Tuesday, 29 November 2011

You can keep your sex, drugs and booze, I'll have a marshmallow . . . .

I'm eating marshmallows. The ones that come in different shapes and different colours. There are white ones, pink ones and yellow ones. Some are intertwined and some are just the one colour. Some are ribbed and some are just long plain tubes.
I like marshmallows.
I think it may be the texture and the way they feel in my mouth. Whenever I eat a marshmallow I feel like I'm swallowing a Valium. The way the marshmallow feels in my mouth is exactly the way Valium used to make me feel.
Soft, squashy and a little bit foamy.
There are no rough edges to a marshmallow. Eating one is kind of like being in a huge bed with your favourite duvet wrapped around you. Sometimes it's like having a big pink cloud in your mouth and sometimes it's like being in a huge padded room and bouncing off the marshmallow walls.
I love Marshmallows. I think they should be available on prescription and given freely to the depressed, under privileged and mentally unstable.
For some unknown reason the ones that I am eating are called "Chamallows" and the picture on the bag is of a pink and yellow marshmallow with huge eyes, little arms and legs and a magic wand. He's making other marshmallows appear from a magicians hat and they all look really happy. He looks exactly like me when I used to take Valium.

How does love make you feel? All warm and soft? So does a marshmallow.
How does sex end up? All wet and squidgy? So does a marshmallow.
How does a three day drugs binge make you feel? Paranoid and cranky? That's not a marshmallow.
How does a bottle of tequila make you feel? Unable to walk and like your eyeballs are bleeding? That's not a marshmallow.

We all have a vice. If you don't then you are either dead or boring (or just dead boring) and any vice worth pursuing is going to bring you strife, poverty, body odour or disease. Sex, drugs, alcohol and gang banging will bring you all of these, you can't say that about a marshmallow.

Marshmallows are the way forward and the secret to a happy life. If you eat too many then you may get a headache but beyond that, as long as you brush and floss regularly they are pretty much danger free. They don't even have a high fat content so they are pretty much guilt free too.

Danger + guilt = a crime spree or a cult like religion.
Foamy shapes and ice cream colours = marsh mallows.

I take my marshmallows plain. I don't want them toasted, coated in chocolate or sprinkled with coconut. I want them pink, white and foamy. I want them so I can fit at least five in my mouth at a time and  I want to be be able to poke the pink ones out of my mouth and pretend they are my tongue. You cannot do that with an ounce of cocaine and you certainly won't manage it with a six pack of beer.

Give up your vices, your drugs, your booze and your religion. Say goodbye to the meaningless sex and empty nights, cut up your credit cards, put down your weapons and pick up a marshmallow.

What's pink, foamy and feels all warm inside?
You won't know until you try . . . .


Wednesday, 9 November 2011

Life styles of the poor and afflicted . . .

I was a very dramatic child and it's been said that I do still have flair for drama. Many times I've heard people mutter under their breath "he should be on the stage". When I hear this I normally turn around very slowly and smile a regal smile. If I'm feeling overly dramatic that day I may even remove my hat and take a deep, swooping bow. If I'm having a "down day" I normally just fall into a half curtsey and look up in a very shy, coquettish way but If I'm having a really awful day then I find I'm more inclined to just narrow my eyes and give the finger.
That's the thing with having a dramatic bent. I never really know how I'm going to feel. Sometimes I wake up and I want to throw open the curtains and flood the boudoir with sunlight, bird song and roses. Other days I just want to draw the blinds, play torch songs and strike dramatic poses. I'm very sensitive to what's going on in the world and when the world is crying then it's very unlikely you'll find me with a dry eye.

When you're as delicate and sensitive as I am you have to protect yourself from any ugliness. I have an unspoken rule that I mustn't be subjected to any horror or unrest before 10.00am on a weekday and 2.00pm at weekends. The slightest sniff of an uprising before this time will have me reaching for a box of Kleenex. I feel the only way to cope with an uprising is to become increasingly hard, and that upsets me no end.

 I need to finish my morning ablutions before I can even think about entertaining any darkness in the world.The last thing I need to know about is turmoil in the middle east when I'm standing stark naked in front of a mirror with an electric toothbrush in my hand. I've still not recovered from a bloodied Gaddafi being flashed across my screen ( I was still wearing last nights lenses) and don't even talk about the starving in Africa. It puts me right off my food. If I've caught as much as a fleeting glimpse of a distended belly and a little black face before 8.00am then I find it difficult to even nibble on a Danish. I truly believe news reports should come with the warning "hungry, crying, poor person ahead" just so that I have time to finish chewing or spit my food out into a piece of tupperware. I've lost count of the number of times I've lost a perfectly good breakfast all because Somalia's in the midst of a drought.

 If I have to watch television then I will usually have the sound down and watch behind a gloved hand. I have learned how to lip read and I'm now fluent in Sesame Street and re-runs of Dallas. I have perfected a language that is half Big Bird, a quarter Elmo and a quarter Sue Ellen lip tremble. It looks terrific and goes down a treat in Tesco's. I've found it's the only way I can order a pound of salami and get a smile from Gregor behind the cold meat counter. That's the about the only time I can manage seeing blood and torn flesh, when Gregor's got his meat in his hand and he's going at it with his chopper. He's Eastern European and I've found he's very good with a cleaver and a pound of flesh.

I worry about the youth of today and the rising unemployment. There isn't much hope for them really is there? The way I see it they have two choices, riot or enter a talent show. The message they get is if you can't hold a tune then you best get good at throwing bricks and handling stolen goods.
I was a nervous wreck during the riots. The sight of all those electrical stores being robbed and then going up in flames had me afraid to switch on the toaster. I didn't know what those thugs would think of next and I didn't want the only thing I have left to warm my muffins ending up on the black market. When I was a child the only people I saw dressed in black with their hoods up were nuns. The last time I approached what I thought was a nun and asked for forgiveness I had my watch stolen and got punched in the kidneys. Now If I want to ask for forgiveness I drunk dial the vicar and I don't hang up until he threatens to call the police.

The safest thing for me to do is stay indoors and order everything I need online but the internet has opened up a whole other world of filth, turmoil and horror to me and it's not good for my delicate disposition. I've tried putting parental controls on my internet but I live alone and I keep telling myself the passwords. I can't remember the amount of times I've ended up with a lump in the back of my throat because of something I've ordered on the internet. Also, the internet is a 24 hour hobby. I've found out ways to self diagnose illness, hot wire a car and order a black market baby. Any day now I could be dead from Malaria and no one will discover poor baby David strapped into the back seat of the brand new Lexus I've hidden in the garage.

My whole life is nothing but a drama and someone once said the whole word is a stage.
I just wish I was ready for my close up.