Theme: This Year I’m Celebrating Festivus!

Theme: This Year I’m Celebrating Festivus!

I am so excited about this you guys. This year I celebrate the second coming of Christ. He is back! Let me tell you. So last this morning at work the board was in a corporate meeting. We were reconsidering our investment in the car industry due to the latest turmoil with emission, lies and half-truths. As a company we would rather not be associated with these shady dealings as it may turn the spotlight on us. And when push comes to shove, we just do not need that kind of attention. Simon, our head of the accounting team, was making his case: “Gentlemen, if the media found out we made our investmenets knowingly, it would put us in a bad position.” “How so?,” asked our head of human resources, Pillock. Pillock was a furious charismatic chap with a smile as warming as a mother’s kiss. He was extremely good at his job. Taking care of employees and pandering to people with money came naturally to him. Our CEO, the good Mr. Greatbigmoneybags described Pillock as: “A brainless brown-noser,” yet Pillock was always invited on poker nights. “Isn’t it obvious?,” aksed Derrik. Greatbigmoneybags coughed: “Yes, quite.” Pillock looked like a biker caught in a storm without a helmet for a second, but he relented. “So, what do you think we should invest in instead?” “It’s not that simple,” began Derrik. “Why not?,” asked Pillock. “Isn’t it obvious?,” came the reply. Silence. “Let me elaborate,” Derik began: “If we flat out drop our investments now, we would stand to lose shitloads of cash.” “Can’t have that,” commented Mr. Greatbigmoneybags. “So we need to invest in something that will facilitate the growth of the car industry while in and of itself being a good investment.” “Wouldn’t it be sufficient to just be an investmenet less terrible than our current engagement with the car industry?,” piped Ruby. She was the head of overseas production. Cute as a button and sharp as a razor, Mr. Greatbigmoneybags had noticed her talents early in her career. “Recent legislation demands at least 25% women on the board,” Mr. Greatbigmoneybags had told me: “She’s too many brains and too much initiative for her own good. Let her travel overseas when she gets too much. Let her lead the production, I say. And with 8 on the board and Richards murdered by the Chinese mob, or gangsters or whatever they call them, we need a woman more on the board. Awards us a bilateral amount with the whole ‘equalising women in the workplace’-thing going on. Good investment and we get her tits out of my tits. Win, win, I tell you.” None dared oppose him. And Ruby had just spend the week prior to the choice implementing a new paradigm at the coffee machine where if you would empty the machine, put a new one on right away, rather than have her make it every 30 minutes. We drink a lot of coffee. Needless to say, this was bloody annoying and she had to go. Mr. Greatbigmoneybags hired a local secretary to be her stand-in when she was overseas. Dumb-dumb we call him. Dumb and mute. Just as we like it. Makes a mean cup of coffee, too. And he never complains about making it. “Win, win,” as Mr. Greatbigmoneybags had said: “Win, win.”

Pillock looked puzzled at the statement and Derrik was somewhat taken aback: “Yes, that would be sufficient, but not optimal.” “Optimal in what way?,” asked Mr. Greatbigmoneybags. “Financially,” answered Simon and Derrik in unison. “Can’t have that,” coughed Mr. Greatbigmoneybags. “Well, do we have any ideas or alternatives?” Silence. Our head of marketing, Reginald, an old gentleman with over 50 years of experience in his field groaned: “How about,” and at least three of us sighed at once. Reginald was the slowest talker on the planet. When he opened his mouth, time stood still. He continued: “Oil is at an–” “Get to the point Reginald,” flashed Ruby impatiently. “In due time, sugartits,” answered Reginald slowly: “As I was saying,” another sigh echoed around the table: “Oil is at a low. Maybe we should consider this investment.” “How do you get from cars to oil,” protested Simon. Pillock seconded the confusion. Ruby intejected before the old man answered himself: “Well, cars run on gasoline. Gasoline is refined oil.” “Rather, shouldn’t we then invest in the gasoline industry?,” asked Pillock. “No, no, the gasoline industry is doing fine. Oil is not,” answered Simon glacially. “How do any of these investments facilitate the car industry?,” asked Derrik. “Yes,” murmured Pillock and continued: “Neither the gasoline nor oil industry run on cars.” “That… that’s not really the point,” remarked Simon while our head of research and development, Dexter, snorted in derision. Dexter was a young engineer with no practical experience in research and development. Mr. Greatbigmoneybags had met the bloke back when Dexter was a student. Mr. Greatbigmoneybags sized Dexter up to me: “There’s a fine young gentleman, if I’ve ever met one. Not a single thought in his head. No ideas. No initiative. Monkey see, monkey do. Exactly what we need for research and development. Have him copy the good ideas from our competitors – and we take no risks. Let them do the risky business and we then do fat cash and success. I like it!” “The problem is not the car industry, but the people reporting on the car industry,” remarked Mr. Greatbigmoneybags’ personal assistant Penny. “Hush girl,” Mr. Greatbigmoneybags interrupted her. She was a pretty young woman. Small, slender and exceptionally beautiful. We all knew the latter quality was the quality that landed her her job. Mr. Greatbigmoneybags had plenty of assistants and had no need of a personal assistant. When asked at the last corporate retreat by our then head of research and development Martins, Mr. Greatbigmoneybags had answered: “It’s like this. You’ve an empty spot on the wall. What do you hang there? An ugly piece of shit that’ll make your feel worse every time you glance at it, or a piece of pure beauty that’ll put a skip in your step and a hard cock in your hand? I had an empty desk in front of my office. What’d you do with it?” “But you just had that desk installed,” came the reply. Mr. Greatbigmoneybags fired Martins then and there: “Can’t have that kind of people around the office. Bad for business.” No one questioned his choices of personal assistants since. She was clever, though, no one could deny that. “So what you’re saying is, we should invest in something detrimental to the media coverage?,” asked Pillock. “Obscurring facts and being counterproductive is unethical,” interjected Ruby. “Oy! I told you, I hate that word. That’s two strikes now, Ruby,” warned Mr. Greatbigmoneybags. That was when the herald of the second coming of our lord and saviour entered the office.

A ragged man in raggy clothes entered the office and slammed the door with a bang. “Who the Hell are you?,” started Mr. Greatbigmoneybags. “Your Lord and Savior. I have the solution to your problem.” “Aw, bloody Hell, I’ve the head of every organ in the company on this board, but where’s the head of security when you need a brute.” “That’d put us below the 25% female threshold on the board,” interjected Penny. “Right. That’d lose us some government cash. Can’t have that. Get the brute in here. Why can’t the crazy hobos ever be chicks? It’d improve my bottom line.” “My name is Plugg,” began the hobo: “And I’ve been to the Hell and back. And now I come to save you from your salvation.” “What?,” asked Derrik and Dexter in confused unison. “The man’s here to save us, jeez,” explained Pillock. “That’s not what that means,” sighed Dexter. “Sure it is, it’s on wiki,” said Plugg: “Look it up.” “Security!,” called Mr. Greatbigmoneybags. Plugg continued despite the unrest around the table: “It started a week ago, when I was begging at the corner of 1st and Southwest when this girl–” “Did you bring her?,” asked Mr. Greatbigmoneybags. “No.” “Damn it, man. Think of my bottom line! If this gets out–” “She dropped her phone,” continued Plugg: “And so I went on the Internet. To Hell and back.” “That’s it?,” asked Dexter. “Yes. I’d nothing else to do, so I browsed the web. I spent a week reading 4chan, reddit, tumblr and countless YouTube comment sections. I come before you, born anew. Back from Hell. And I now understand how this world and life works. I come before you with the answer to life, the universe and everything.” “It’s 42,” sighed Dexter. “How’d you know!?,” protested Plugg. “It’s in a book.” “Book!? That’s some hipster shizz right there. No, your assistant had the better of it. The coverage’s griefing is imba.” “Griefing? Imba?,” asked Reginald. Slowly. “Yeah, it’s harshing your mellows. You have to convince twitter that the emission debate is sexist or racist. Preferably both. Then, you’re back in business.” “No, that’s not how this–,” began Ruby when Pillock interrupted her: “Oh, just entertain the hobo, will you? While we’re waiting for security. Won’t cost us anything.” “Alright,” commented Mr. Greatbigmoneybags: “In that case, let’s hear him out. How much’ll this proposal of yours set us back?” “Social media accounts are free,” answered Plugg. “I like where this is going,” commented Mr. Greatbigmoneybags and beckoned Plugg to continue. “You see, there’s no greater force in this world than hate on social media. Picture this. It’s like a whale in the sky – a sky whale – that, when told something is racist, sexist, ableist, or our Lord forbid, offensive, will fall from the sky and flap violently in the general direction of the issue, but never actually touch the issue itself. Flapping sky whale terror, gentlemen. That’s exactly what you need.” “Huh,” exclaimed Derrik after a pause of silence. “Right,” commented Mr. Greatbigmoneybags: “How’d we go about this?”

“You see, the problem is some cars are lying about emissions. Not because of some Terminator-BS with machines rising up against us, but because the cars were told to lie.” “By who?,” asked Pillock. “Whom,” corrected Reginald and Ruby. “That’s just it. No one knows except internally. And they ain’t talking.” “Do they outsource car production to Asia?,” asked Dexter. “No, sadly, otherwise this’d been an easy case.” The door slammed open and a tall brute burst in: “You called security?” “Took you long enough,” said Mr. Greatbigmoneybags: “This hobo just wandered in. What kind of operation are we running here?” The brute looked at the hagged hobo Plugg: “I’ll take care of it.” “The Hell you will. Look around. We’re eight guys and two chicks in here. If someone was to snap a picture, I’d stand to lose thousands a year in government funding. Get out and get a girl in here. Now!” “Sir?,” asked the confused head of security. “Get out and get a girl in here!,” roared Mr. Greatbigmoneybags. “Any girl?,” asked the head of security. “Any girl will do.” As the door shut, Reginald took the word. Slowly: “Well, the Danish government reported the descrepancy in emissions to the European Union over a year ago. No one reacted or cared.” Plugg nodded. “Do anyone else feel ten years older after that comment?,” asked Dexter. Laughs all around. Except Ruby. “Okay, so the car industry is lobbying an anti-Scandinavian agenda. It’s a start, but not really shitstorm material.” “Why not?,” asked Derrik. “Well, there are only six million Danes that may get pissed off. And little more than half of ’em are anti-EU. So you’re looking at three million potential hate mongerers.” “Needs more appeal, then,” nodded Derrik. “We could slap some tits on it,” proposed Reginald. Slowly. He continued: “Maybe a fine ass or two as well.” “That’s pretty sexist,” mumbled Ruby. Plugg budded in: “No it’s not. What you need to understand is that Reginald is old and just a product of his own time.” “What?,” protested Ruby, but found only disagreeing head shakes around the table. She sighed: “Nevermind, go on.” “Hey, I don’t make these rules; the Internet makes the rules,” Plugg consoled but received only a retaliatory scoff. “I think we’d better take an environmentalist approach,” said Plugg: “The most toxic of the hate mongerers are pro-environment no matter what.” A flash of enthutiasm sparked in Plugg’s eyes: “Oh, this is a great idea! Those never fail to piss off the anti-pro-environmentalists.” “What are those?” “People that are against people who are openly pro-enviroment. Technically it’s a bit broader than that. Those people are anti anyone pro-anything.” “I’m confused,” admitted Pillock. Mr. Greatbigmoneybags shot him a disapproving glance.

A girl entered gingerly. “Aw, he sent the ugly black one from HR,” sighed a disappointed Reginald. Slowly. “That’s my assistant,” Pillock reminded the old man. “That was racist and sexist, Reginald,” protested Ruby. Plugg then reminded her once more, why that was not the case. “Sit down, and hush. Try not to listen. If anyone comes in with a camera, smile,” said Mr. Greatbigmoneybags and gestured her towards a chair at the back of the room. Slowly she walked around the table ever so lightly socked Reginald square in the face as she passed by. “That’s sexual harassment, though,” said Plugg. “What!?,” roared Ruby. “No no,” coughed Reginald slowly and chuckled lecherously: “It’s fine. I like it rough.” “Ewwww–,” started Pillock when Plugg interrupted and got back on track: “So, we spin it like this: the industry’s anti-environmentalist and supports the eradication of the rain forest, the bengal tiger and pandas.” “But that’s not true,” defied Ruby. “I’m starting to see a pattern here,” said Plugg. “Yes, quite,” said Mr. Greatbigmoneybags and straightened his tie: “Ruby, be a darling and go fetch us some refills.” “No,” protested Ruby. “Penny, you do it, then.” “No!,” roared Ruby: “Why can’t a man do it?” “Hush, the men are talking big business here and it’s obviously too much for you to keep up with. Get out.” “But then your ratio’d be wrong again.” “Right, right. Take Reginald with you. PR’s nothing to do with marketing campaigns anyway.” The old man and Ruby got up and left the room. Simon took the word: “Right. So we’ve got a campaign strategy. Who’s to take charge?” “I’ll do it,” said Plugg.” “You don’t work here,” protested Mr. Greatbigmoneybags: “I’d have to put you on the payroll. Don’t like the sound of that.” “Well, it was worth a shot,” Plugg nodded, bowed and left the room. “We can finish without him,” said Simon. “Yes. Social media is a recent development, right?,” asked Mr. Greatbigmoneybags. “Yeah,” nodded Dexter and Penny. “Dexter’ll do it, then. He does research and developments. Go do social media. And I want a report on Monday.” Dexter looked confused. Reluctant. Uncomprehending. Then he nodded in agreement: “Got it. I’ll take care of it. Lying cars kill pandas.” Mr. Greatbigmoneybags smiled: “Good. That’ll be all.” Derrik threw me a glance: “And what does the head of quality assurance have to say about all this?”

Let me tell you. The reaction to the campaign was astronmical. The Internet blew up and the hate mongering spread like wild fire. Death threats became a daily, hourly and minutely event. Of course, the real world does not operate by social media rules. Facts eventually emerged. The death threats vanished. The hate turned to reflected affection and empathy. Empathy! Can you believe it? People felt sorry for the undeservably hate-ridden poor sods. No one cared about our campagin. No one cared about us. Sure, the stocks took an initial blow. But what is dead may never die, but rises again with greater profit to the shareholders. I guess this was a kind of Stockholm-syndrome: feeling sorry for the needlessly scorned. And needless scorn is easy to come by on the social media, it seems. And it was this crazy hobo that had us embrace the eighth wonder of the world: Social media. None of us even saw Plugg again. Then again no one cared to look for him. Anyway, this year I celebrate the hobo that opened our eyes and saved us from a potential slight financial loss. Cheers for the free hate-mongering jackasses on social media that allow themselves to be goated and manipulated without thought: the best development in marketing and campaigning in the history of the World. And it is absolutely free. Thanks guys! As Mr. Greatbigmoneybags would say: “I like the sound of that.”

GP by GP – Family Game Night

GP by GP – Family Game Night

Usually the horror of family game night would be a teeth pulling event of finding something to bond over in the hopes that the family would improve their connection and learn more about each other in the course of this riddling event of snakes and bladders. Instead of fighting to get first to a arbitrary goal in the series of sporadic luck, we have created a common goal for what we would like to achieve by having such game night events. Parents and children alike are working towards improving our knowledge and the hunt for pointless trivia has rendered this tedious task into a outlet of daily life quest for knowledge. Every time we find something to play (well every time I am playing with them anyway) it has been in some shape of trivial pursuit. You move forward in the game and in the world generally by knowledge. It might be tedious and unusable to say the least, but it is knowledge and the personal preparation, by keeping your mind and ears open in the daily life.

I will quickly add that there is the random event of Yathzee at times for the sake of mindless action while talking about life or just something to do to survive the drudges of mind-melting television, but I rarely participate and it creates a feeling of disconnection. My family is made (in my mind) of 4 rings. The center ring for me is my parents, my brother and me. It is that core that I feel everything revolves around. Not in a narcissistic manner, but more a “If this works, then everything else can go to hell for all I care” kind of way.

Back to the regular scheduled show. If we take any kind of game, we will see in its core that is has nothing else to do that being the smartest ass possible. I seldom win in these “competitions” as I usually get the wonderful chances to tell everyone about the political screenwriter that won a Nobel prize in writing books before Gutenberg were even born. Always with the African leaders or the ancient political figures that changed the arrangement of pebbles on a beach just west of Madagascar.

The difference here with having a game that requires that you know the world, instead of dumb luck is a freeing experience for me. I can’t be angry that I lost since there is no silly chance that would make it unfair for everyone. It is purely a channelization of skill and memory. If I don’t know the answer is has nothing to do with my opponents or the game. You can always be angry when someone else gets a question you know the answer too and maybe even enjoy to see them squirm when you are ready with the punchline that will make everyone burst out in orgasmic exaltation or maybe just table wide smirks.

After years of perfecting this sometimes rare event in my family, we’ve tried so many variations and so many countless iterations of the knowledge seeking game. It has been enjoyable and we can truly say that we still enjoy it immensely, even though there is only one winner on the board, it is one of the rare occasions where even the losing players are feeling some form of satisfaction.

I Don’t Believe: Karma

I Don’t Believe: Karma

Karma FrogOnly the good die young. Crime doesn’t pay. You reap what you sow. Good things happen to good people.

I believe all of these things (which is a little depressing… cos that means that most old people are bad).

I have been a contributor to WBOM since it began. I am proud to be so. I am invested and passionate about all of us providing entertaining, intellectual and quality BLOGs for the enjoyment of everyone who accidentally stumbles across our path.

But I feel that this is the first time that a monthly subject… um… topic… er… What do we call it? Ok, I confess. I’m easily confused. And I rarely actually check what I’m supposed to be talking about. Generally I just type shit and then try and crowbar in some kind of connection. (People who repeatedly accidentally stumble across us will know that, on my part… I’m not great at this).  Anyway…  I think it is bad.

But this time I am prepared. I am organised. I am seriously late in getting this post up. But most importantly, I feel that this month’s theme is both negative and the opposite of un-negative (I mentioned that I was late, right. If I wasn’t I would have waded through online Thesauruses… um… Thesauri… and sparkled more in that latter part of the previous sentence).

The point that I am staggering around is that it is easy to ‘not believe’. There so many things to not believe in…

The Boogey Man, honest politicians, God, #SPOILER# Santa, the love of a good man, the love of a good woman, the existence of a good man/woman (yes, I am an equal opportunities cynical sceptic), that smoking will not only make you live longer, but will also make you attractive to women.

There are many, many more. But listing them all would only belabour the point I am arguing against.

There are very few that we are told to believe in…

We actually do have enough of a chance to win the lottery that it is worth is paying our hard earned cash to take part… And, um… Orange is the new black? I already told you that I’m up against it on time. The deadline went days ago!

But seriously, I got nothing more on this side.

OOH! Hang on. Wine makes you live longer! Who could not believe the French? Of course they are not using unsupportable statistics to cover up a national drinking problem, sustain one of their major exports and incidentally justify my love of the grapey joy juice.

My arguments may be weak, but my idiom is ironclad. It is way easier to not believe than it is to believe. Put the effort in. It’s worth it. You may well be wrong more often than your not. But if you sincerely believe, then you will have the smug satisfaction that you are both happy and right… and empirical proof cannot dent your joy.

So I say YAY to unicorns, YAY to love at first sight, YAY to the belief that my dog will stop chewing my socks, YAY to the belief that if you hug kittens and homeless people that you will come back in your next life as the sweetest, juiciest pumpkin EVER!

[Note 1 : Creationists… Give it up. I’m talking about belief. Not complete fantasy]

[Note 2 : Thank you for overlooking my use of the word ‘idiom’ where I really shouldn’t. You may claim that you didn’t… But I BELIEVE that you did!]

[Note 3 : What do you mean I mixed up Karma and Reincarnation??!! And who wouldn’t want to come back as one of the tastiest pumpkins ever!!! I believe that I got it right! And if I didn’t, the title would make absolutely no sense. So I must have got it right.]

[Note 4 : Most of the world may think you’re a complete and total cock, Justin. But I think I just proved that I’ll pretty much belibe anything.]

Karma Bieber

Theme: I Don’t Believe

Theme: I Don’t Believe

It would be easy for me to list the plethora of elements in this world that I do not believe in. That sentence saddens me. It saddens me because it makes sense to me. So much around us is man-made and requires some measure of belief in order to serve a purpose. Religion is the obvious example of this, but I will avoid this particular topic, as religion and beliefs in and of themselves tend to bring out the very worst in people – the worst in mankind. I do not believe in religion – nor the religious.

This is neither here nor there. What I want to talk about is a few quirky disbeliefs of mine. I don’t believe that…

  • the ‘Lord of the Rings’ trilogy was well-written. Quite the opposite, I found it terribly hard and ludicrously laborious to read,
  • Batman is a character worthy of any attention. Nor his companions. Nor anything around him. He and his universe just do not appeal to me in the slightest,
  • the cake was a lie. It was there if you stayed past the end credits,
  • any aliens have ever been close enough to observe humanity. If any superior race had noticed us, our industrious nature, our ambition and hunger for power, we would have been wiped out immediately,
  • the Olympics should be for professional athletes. I would rather see it return to its ancient roots featuring nothing but amateurs and ordinary people,
  • the Game of Thrones TV series is any good. It is rubbish if you ask me. The books are amazing, though,
  • OJ was innocent,
  • the epilogue of “The Deathly Hallows” should have been written. However, I do understand the purpose of it, yet, it still made me want to heave,
  • homeopathy is anything but a shameless sham,
  • astrology is any better, but it is easier to make a buck off of telling people what they want to hear than telling people they are garbage,
  • sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never harm me. Words stick with you. And words can haunt you forever – especially a truth,
  • the Phantom Menace was that bad, but a few things rubbed me the wrong way,
  • the Return of the Jedi was any good, at all,
  • virtual reality is the future,
  • social media – in particular, Twitter – was ever meant to bring people together. Quite to the contrary, they seem designed for commercialised hate-mongering,
  • people should be persecuted if they sodomise anyone using a selfie-stick in public for its intended purpose.

Seriously, the selfie-culture needs to sod off. I have no patience for it. “Here I am posing in front of Michelangelo’s ‘David’,” they would say presenting their selfie. Great vacation photography with some random plebs face obscuring the sight of a masterpiece. Not only a massive waste of time, but also a massive loss of genuinely interesting material – lost to a pleb face in a self-centered ploy for attention. I imagine these people will be massively disappointed when scientists determine the center of the universe and found out that is not the selfie-enthusiasts.

I Don’t Believe: Just adopt…

I Don’t Believe: Just adopt…

Have you ever seen this on your facebook wall? Probably not, but if you are one of those unfortunate souls who is infertile, or for some reason cannot conceive naturally, you will recognize this. Well-meant advice but I wonder if these well-meant comments come from people with big bank accounts or with no clue. I somehow suspect it will be the latter.

Adoption and why you should really think twice before telling someone to “Just adopt”. That is what I will be writing about this month, a month with as theme “I don’t believe”.

Apart from the gruelling psychological testing and the scrutiny about the finish of your house, the amount of time you spend in work and how financially stable you are, there also is a big financial aspect.

Let me quote from www.internationaladoptionguide.co.uk:

“The major costs are outlined below:

The Home Study is now costing between £4000 – £9000 depending which adoption agencies you use for your assessment

The Department of Education charges £1775  for your Certificate of Eligiblity.

Facilitation in your country of adoption from £1000 – £10000 depending where you adopt from

Sundry fees for translations/court fees etc in the region of £2000.

The visa to bring your child home in the region of £1000.

These figures do not include travel and accommodation and other expenses. “

So at the lowest end of the estimate it is just under £10000. Now I don’t know about you but for me that is a hell of a lot of money. It basically drew a line over my dreams of adopting. There is  no way we can afford this when we hardly make ends meet most months and often need help from my parents just to pay all our bills.

Luckily the site has some more advice:

“When you are calculating the cost of your adoption, please bear in mind that what may feel expensive now, will soon be forgotten, and the financial aspect should not deter you from adopting. There are many ways to raise money and your friends and family, church and wider community will support you on your journey. And not all monies will be payable at the same time so you will be able to spread the costs. And little adjustments can be made in your daily budget, just not buying a coffee in the morning will save you over £40 a month – enough to buy you support and guidance with our retainer Guide Service, or a day support in-country.”

I am so glad that they told me that not buying a coffee in the morning will save money. Newsflash: I don’t buy coffee in the morning, I don’t buy coffee full stop. Not because I don’t like coffee but because we can afford that kind of luxuries. Last time I ate at a restaurant was months ago and if it wasn’t a class reunion I would not have been in a restaurant then either. Just for once I would like to show people how we are careful with our money. We don’t go out, I haven’t seen the inside of a hairdresser’s in over a year, my clothes are hand me downs, all my bathroom products are from the shops own budget brand and we eat vegetables from my dad’s garden so we don’t need to spend that money in the shops either. I am an Android developer with an ancient budget friendly phone and my boyfriend has my old hand me down which now has a broken screen.

I know there is always room for more savings, we could get rid of our tv subscription, be vegetarian, stop going on visits to family abroad but really what is left then.

I don’t believe anymore, I don’t believe I will ever be a mother and I don’t believe anyone will ever realize how much we stretch to make ends meet.

Ferly the I Don’t Believe

Ferly the I Don’t Believe

My disbelief in so many things is so broad and so long that it can be seen from space!

I don’t believe in fairy tales, superstitions or old wive’s tales, because if you do your nose will grow, you’ll have bad luck and you’ll get warts on the palms of your hand!

I don’t believe in Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy or the Boogyman (unless we’re talking KC). Yet, I still get gifts, candy, money under my pillow and scary things under my bed!

What I believe and what I don’t believe seems to have little bearing on what is and what isn’t.

Oh and those scary things under my bed? They are called dust bunnies, they are second cousin to the Easter Bunny. They are pissed because they have no special day of the year just for them so they wreak vengeance by forming a barrier around all the stuff that finds it’s way under your bed and keeping you from getting to it without them attacking you and getting in your hair!

And what is “talking KC”? If you don’t know who/what KC is a reference to then you don’t deserve to know!

But seriously, who reads this crap anway? I mean this crap that I write… I don’t believe anyone does!