seriously…
I know this because, in a bit of a stinking mood, I stopped the car to let an old lady cross the road the other day and she gave me such a beaming smile. Admittedly, she was going soooo slowly that if I hadn’t then I would probably have killed her but that’s not the point. Cheered me right up how happy she was and how ridiculously slowly she was walking. You know, she is probably out there now. Hmmm. Oh well, that can be someone else’s good deed..
seriously…
Ready to give up yet?
Drink up before it gets cold.
I have written on the matter of Tea on a number of occasions though it was rather a long time ago and very few people have actually read them. So I am going to rehash these two posts because, as I recall, they were fun and the first also touches on tea-bagging which you dont get to read about every day. The other is about Aliens, and everyone loves aliens right.
https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/29/more-tea-vicar/
https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/27/the-intergalactic-language-of-tea-daily-prompt/
Admit it, you thought it would be about Trump right 😉
Ready to give up yet?
Oh 2017, face like a pool of sick and bogies
Oh 2017, face like a pool of sick and bogies
suckling us with your rancid saggy tits
filling our hungry mouths with your curdled filth
Our eyes watering as we gag on your putrid…
Only kidding 🙂
I have really enjoyed this year, despite how it may appear at times. The year isn’t yet out and who knows what today will bring, but when it does close I wont be looking back any regret. As I have gotten older I realise more and more that regret is a steaming bowl of maggoty stew and will only lead to you sat on the loo with your head in the sink praying to Jesus asking him to kill you as your body turns slowly inside out.
Ignore the maggoty stew I say and gorge on the wholesome soup of what could be because it had croutons and delicious chunky bits at the bottom…and it won’t make you shit your pants!
Words to live by! BOOM!
Wisdom, for free
how very awful for you…
Oh sweet Jesus heard you have Ebola
from the trip that you took to Angola
your insides turned to mush
and they ran out your tush
get well soon, but I’m not coming over
photo courtesy of pixabay
Isn’t it great when bad things happen to terrible people.
For that special someone who your husband ran off with…
Heard you’re pregnant and feeling quite ill
happy days, eat for two what a thrill
Once you’re big as a horse
he’ll skip town, well of course
he’s a dick, should have stayed on the pill
Or on the same theme…
Heard the test came back, it’s gonorrhoea
and a pretty bad case, you poor dear
still I’m sure your new new life
with your whore of a wife
is quite great. ***Sits back opens a beer***
Oooh this could so be a new thing. Might do a range of greetings cards.
photo courtesy of pixabay
Wisdom, for free
Wisdom, for free
just do it!
Not an easy thing really is it. I mean what hasn’t already been said or done? What idea hasn’t been explored time and time again and how many blogs already do something very similar to the one you just created.
You know what, I haven’t been doing this for long so I am hardly in a position to give advice but Im going to. Just keep going at it, as hard as you can because most people are really lazy buggers with no stamina at all and they will probably give up at some point.
You don’t have to be the first to do something or even the best, sometimes working hard and sticking to your guns and not being lazy will get you somewhere. And if that doesn’t work then maybe you’re just not very good at it and need to try something else but at least you tried and that’s more than most people do because a lot of people are just pointless and the world wouldn’t miss them if they were gone.
But not you. You’re special because you’re reading this and somewhere out there are people who want to hear your voice.
Michael
X
I think that’s rather mean…
Told you those leftovers were past their best…
A chap I met on a kibbutz
Had a tumor on one of his nuts
Like a grapefruit it swelled
Wouldn’t cease and he yelled
Oh god please cut it off, hurts too much
photo courtesy of pixabay
It’s really not the end of the world. Unless of course it is.
I’m no Richard Attenborough obviously. In fact I’n not even a David…
I’ve always had a bit of a love hate relationship with nature. I grew up in Africa so there was very much an abundance of the stuff and we were forever outside. Wherever you went there was flora or fauna of some description and always of the sort of stuff people wax lyrical about. It was an incredibly beautiful place but it can become a bit much.
Pop to the shop and there was inevitably something ‘majestic’ of some description there in your face screaming “Look at me” and waving it’s arms frantically. Each morning the sunrise would require a slack handful of fire related adjectives before it would leave you alone and sunset would quite rudely demand your attention whether you had things you needed to get done or not. What’s wrong with a cold grey morning that lumbers along as you get up or it suddenly becoming dark without you noticing and accompanying fanfare.
It was though a wonderful place to grow up and whether the gorgeous expanses of the Highveld or the wild rugged coastlines it’s the sort of place most people would give an arm to grow up in and I’m really grateful that I did. I’m less grateful however for the vast array of things that wanted to kill us. Whether it be snakes, spiders, sharks, scorpions or any of the larger creatures there was such an array of deadly beasties that it really does tend to spoil things.
“Remember to check your boots for scorpions” was a piece of advice I received in the army that I will always remember.
As much as I loved it there I find England far more inviting and wholly less aggressive. Not that it isn’t completely without event though – occasionally we may have a bit of a slug problem and one day there was a badger that kept knocking over the bins which caused quite a stir. Anyone familiar with Yorkshire or the lake district would probably also agree that we compare pretty favourably to some of the more grand vistas out there even if we are more on the side of ‘picture postcard’.
But we all like different things, I get that.
Michael
that’s me…
Michael. That’s me.
This seemed like a good idea when I did the title but now I am less sure. If you’ve read me for more than a day or two then you know what I’m like and I don’t really need to tell you. I have a wife and kids who I love, a life I enjoy immensely and very few filters or boundaries.
You know what, I think that will just about do.
You really don’t need to know that I love comics or rugby or television or films or coding or laughing or being grumpy, that’s all there for you to see. You don’t need to know that I think Donald trump is a twat and that I find it quite heart breaking to see what he is doing to America because I grew up with all things American and it played a big part in my growing up.
And you dont need to be told that I like to make people laugh and dont take things too seriously and that I have a problem with authority and organised religion. It’s all there to see in my writing.
Thanks for reading and I hope you continue to take some pleasure in what I put out there and if not, meh, I’ll get over it.
Michael
X
It’s really not the end of the world. Unless of course it is.
Told you those leftovers were past their best…
Hear you’re feeling quite bloated, unwell
and seems your stomach has started to swell
and you’ve terrible gas
leaking out of your ass
and you cannot stop puking as well
photo courtesy of pixabay
If I were not here tomorrow…
Were I to die tomorrow then there are so many things I would not get to tell my boys. As melancholy a thought as it is it is one with which I have of late struggled though something I have yet to remedy. Such words of wisdom that are a father’s to impart would go unsaid and they would quite possibly venture into this world as young men without my deep and considered understanding of so many things.
Whilst their mother would without doubt provide them the support they need as young men I would not be there to explain to them why they should always ensure they place the drill chuck back in the little holder thingy on the handle of the drill to ensure they are not forever heading to the DIY place to buy another.
I ask myself who, if not me, should be the one to explain why darts is a sport and motor racing is not and why being a Yorkshire-man is truly a privilege.
My heart is heavy with the thought that at my passing so ceases the chance for me to impart upon them how a man should approach washing dishes so as to ensure he never gets asked again.
Truly though I believe the greatest gift we can give them is our presence, time and attention without which we cannot pass on our biases and prejudice.
Good god, what if they grow up to be Manchester United fans?
Watching the Olympics will never be the same again.
Instead of stopping these it was suggested that I simply do one a week instead. I’m sure you know which one this is right …
Down, arse over tit
slumped at the foot of the stairs
throbbing arousal
Climacophilia is, by all accounts, an arousal to falling down stairs. How one finds this out I do not know. Did someone tumble on something left on the stairs and by the time they dusted themselves off at the bottom they found themselves a little moist and in the mood for a long bath with some Kenny G playing?
People are forever tumbling downstairs after tripping on skateboards in cartoons, which leads me to thinking that perhaps it is not just hi-jinks and tomfoolery but in fact deviance and the work of mucky little filth mongers.
As if tumbling down a flight of stairs isn’t dangerous enough it is most definitely not something one would surely advocate sporting a throbbing erection.
What? Don’t look at me – I am only sharing what is out there.
Just to be clear. They are not for sale.
I have two and I love them very much, which is lucky for them because there are days when I think they might just be a little bit faulty. Don’t get me wrong, despite their obvious flaws I still think mine are actually more pleasant than other peoples – and definitely yours – and I have the tedious photo’s and long winded stories to prove it.
I think/hope that my eldest may well have the most wonderful sense of humour as just the other day he asked whether the Germans were still looking for the Von Trapp family. Now don’t get me wrong, as an Englishman I am of a mind to think that somewhere there is a lower level Ortsgruppenleitner with a hatred for sing songs that is still hopeful of apprehending them, but truth be told that’s probably just me being awful. I was troubled enough to ask him whether he was serious, and I am still not actually sure.
The youngest is a precious little thing who has the most delightful ability to believe his own lies and I am most certain that he is destined for great things – probably in politics or banking. Such is his conviction that I often have to refer to the internet to support any argument I may find myself having with him.
Still, I wouldn’t be without them no matter how much I was offered for them – and trust me the little blonde one is worth big money in certain parts of the middle east. The elder brown haired one is probably worth less though he has broad shoulders and a strong back and would certainly do the work of at least one small mule.
Not that I’ve researched it. Honest.
To be fair, had I tried to return them or asked for a repair I imagine I would have been told that any damage they are currently exhibiting may well be my fault.
I do rather like Jam.
Given it’s Christmas and all J is most definitely for Jesus. I was going to write ‘J is for Jew’ but that sounded a bit accusatory and a kind of racist. It’s not is it? It’s only a word after all. I tend not to think about what is and what is not appropriate when I write and simply go with it and watch my followers to see whether it effects the number.
Maybe it’s how you say it? Or who says it? If I am standing on top of a burning car outside of a bank it is most like decidedly racist, criminal and a load of other things that my mum would not be proud of. If someone has a bomb vest on insisting J is for Jew and is shouting for his friend Alan Akbar then again – I am thinking it is probably a negative use.
Conversely, if I am wearing a little white hat thing on my head attending a colleagues son’s something-or-other where they cut parts of his dick off then I think it is simply a statement. I sit and reflect: “Oh yes I see, J is for Jew.” It’s almost a rather comforting and warming moment feeling that I am connected to a people that have spanned all of written memory.
Guess how it makes you feel is about you and not me really.
P.S.
You know, google is great. I searched for ‘Jewish Cock Cutting Ceremony’ and it informed me it was called a bris. I am assuming lots of other people have searched similar terms. See, I’m not alone in my ignorance.
P.P.S
J is also for ‘Jam’. I do like Jam.
Afterwards 