Gothic Samurai Pt 1

In case you hadn't guessed, I have been on holiday. In order to facillitate actually having a holiday, I have barely touched a computer in 2 whole weeks. I could have but then it wouldn't have been a holiday would it?

To enjoy the feeling of being a person on holiday, I adopted the persona of Katsumoto from The Last Samurai - a rather dignified stance but capable of chopping idiots into small pieces if provoked.

I encountered no issues at airports at all (which is very unusual for a Goth) - even the security people were more than helpful as I stood patiently waiting for the 'muppets with gold coloured shite from Argos' to walk backwards and forwards through security checkpoints.

I remained calm and dignified and presently, the very helpful staff opened another lane and beckoned me forward.

An irate 'bizzy-man' ran in front of me but I stayed where I was until asked to walk forward. As I passed through, without issue, the security guard wished me a good trip and I watched 'bizzy-man' getting escorted into the 'touchy' place behind curtains.

The flight was lovely and we didn't crash into any immovable objects - even gravity was having a day off.

We walked patiently to passport control and proceeded to the luggage carousel. Our bags arrived as we approached.

A smooth trip from the airport to our 'home' for the next two weeks was peaceful and upon arrival we were greeted with genuine affection.

Within minutes of arrival however, a conversation occurred that was to be repeated several times - but that's ok.

Family Member - "My computer is not working"
Goth - "You're probably not using it right then"
FM - "But you can fix it right?"
Goth - "I could, but I'm on holiday"
*walks away and turns briefly to say, in a heavy Japanese accent*
"This was a good conversation"

(Part 1 of 3)

Olympic Bollocks

I know the Olympic Games have been around for a zillion years or something, since some bloke ran a long way to say "There's *puff* a fucking *puff* fight over *puff* there" but it is rather boring. Don't get me wrong - I applaud the efforts of "My name's Mike and I swim like a fish" Phelps but, come on - it's not like it makes a difference.

Every 4 years, finely tuned athletes get together to run faster, jump higher, lift heavier shit or somehing. I'm sure it is really impotent to them but, I'm a Goth and I don't care.

Thus, I have decided to introduce some new events for the next time the finely-tuned specimens get together. Feel free to suggest some events yourself (and, if you feel the need to criticise - fuck off and find a blog where somewhere cares).

The 20 Metre Sarcasm - stand at a distance and observe how totally crap someone is without vocalising it loud enough to get your head bashed in.

Pissing in the Wind - a long distance event where you demonstrate how pointless it is to do anything really.

The Sexathalon - do that funky, 'making-babies' thing, without the obvious consequences of guilt, child support or dubious contagious diseases, whilst pulling strange faces and announcing your arrival to an invisible god.

Synchronised Pie Eating - try and eat everything that moves before fat Americans scoff the lot - but, in tandem with another person and without blowing chunks all over the place.

Trainspotting - stand still in an anorak whilst observing a train pass by on a track that clearly isn't going to move because that would be silly.

Turbo-Preaching - explain why your chosen religion is superior and everyone else is completely shit in under 10 seconds whilst simutaneously doing all the evil shit you denounce.

Crustacean Tennis - twat small shelled creatures with a racquet whilst imbibing far too much alcohol.

So there you go - it's your turn now to suggest some new Olympic bollocks.

Look Boss - The Plane

It's that time again - time to get on a plane and fly somewhere other than here. It's relatively cool in that I have already 'checked-in', selected the seats and have transportation at both ends arranged - (why didn't someone think of the internet before it was invented?).

Unfortunately, I still have to deal with certain aspects that I hate when travelling. Namely, muppets who don't understand where they're going, security staff who only want to body-search 'attractive people' - not the fat fuckers who could easily hide a bomb, and families of retards whose sole intention is to impose their infestation of children on other people.

The good side is that I know the airport inside-out (having worked there) and thus will decamp to the business lounge to steal free peanuts etc. whilst attempting to look 'posh' in a really cheap way.

I'm happy that Mariposa will get to see my homeland (for the first time) but slightly anxious that she might think it's totally shit. That's understandable - it's why I don't live there anymore. However, I would like it to be a magical experience for her and thus I shall make an effort to create a Welshy-Disneyland.

So, suitcases packed, work dealt with, we depart. I apologise if I don't respond to your comments (assuming anyone actually reads this drivel) but I cannot 'auto-respond' to them. I had to create one of those for my work e-mail doofer and it reads like this:-

I'm sorry - I am out of the office from 14th August until 1st September.

I may be visting old relatives who will try to advise me on the best way to knit a teapot. If your query does not involve teapots, please contact **************.

Otherwise, I will respond to your mail on my return.

Live Long and Prosper :)

Enjoy my absence as many people will........

Flower Power

I am not a huge fan of Brussels but, at present, I have to be here. However, I sometimes try and expand my tiny little mind with whatever delicacy they are offering - being the 'Capital of Europe' and all that nonsense.

An annual event that caught my eye, sprung me into action. Unfortunately, it coincided with me being on holiday and thus I couldn't really be arsed to do anything, but, endeavouring to be a nice person, I explained to Her Majesty of Butterflies that I would watch the beginning of the football season and then take her to the flower show.

Here follows the conversation with my friendly Oirish barman which I found somewhat entertaining:-

Goth - "So, I was thinking of taking Mariposa to that huge flower display on the Grand Place"
Barman - "I wouldn't bother if I were you. I went last night and it's rubbish"
Goth - "But I thought it was supposed to be really impressive"
Barman - "Nah - it's just a load of pebbles"
Goth - "So it's not really flowers at all"
Barman - "No - just a load of pebbles on a carpet in a smart design"
Goth - "Did somebody paint these pebbles individually?"
Barman - "No - they just arranged them"
Goth - "So why would they look like flowers?"
Barman - "Because they came off the flowers - you know?!"
Goth - "The pebbles came off the flowers?"
Barman - "Yeah - every flower has pebbles"
*realisation occurs*
Goth - "They're called petals dude"
Barman - "It's still fucking boring"

So, afterwards Mariposa and I visited the pebbles. Well, we are on holiday after all ;-)

Assumption Day

So, today is Assumption Day - the patron saint of ridiculous notions. It means that if you live in a country where the church (house of stupid ideas) is vaguely popular, you don't have to go to work or anything.

Unfortunately, there's fuck all on TV except a variety of monkeys in cassocks celebrating the fact that the virgin mary got received in heaven (although how they know this is a mystery as there was no CNN then - just a load of blokes with beards writing the shit down afterwards in a rather haphazard fashion).

The definition of assumption in my dictionary is 'assuming; thing assumed; arrogance' and some other burbling shit about some chick having a baby 2,000 years ago without sex, pain or stretch marks.

Now this is blatantly an assumption, but - no pain is good, so I assume it's a good assumption. Which naturally rather leads to the principle that you can have bad assumptions - like it's safe to stand behind an elephant after you've given it a laxative.

As there is no definitive black or white, you must therefore also have other types of assumptions - like slightly twisted assumptions, fucking stupid assumptions or slightly misguided but vaguely believable assumptions.

So, there is my challenge for today - assumption day. What is the stupidest assumption you have ever heard?

Apologies to Goth Cadets

Sorry, my little Goth Cadets if you have visited the Goth Cave expecting to find some interesting - or even new stuff.

I have been ultra-busy trying to ensure I can have a holiday and not live in a cardboard box afterwards (as that's soggy and shit). In order to achieve this, I have had to do a semblance of that normality type crap - i.e. actually going to work etc.

Granted, some smart-arsed twats might mention that I don't do anything anyway, so what's different - but they know nothing.

After easing myself back behind my 'bat-computer' at work, I have had a lot of people coming to ask to see my shaving cut. Granted, it's fuck-all compared to Johnny G-Had's injury but it's still good for making people puke and generally run away.

When I have finished pretending to work, I have to visit a Physiotherapist (Kine - here in Belgique) and she attempts to prove that you cannot pull my thumb off. It's a fucking stupid idea as I nearly severed it completely, but I assume it is to prove that the superglue they use in the hospitals here works.

Just when I think it can't get any worse, I discover that the week before I depart on holiday, we are getting audited by:-

(Alan) Price - looking for his dancing bear
Waterhouse - checking why their books don't balance on the bear
and (Lee) Cooper - wondering why the jeans don't fit the bear at all.

Well, fucking hoozah !!

Now, for those of you that haven't met me - I am really lovely and not sarcastic at all. In fact, butterflies land on me all the time.

For those that do actually know me, it was probably not a good day for PWC to come looking for their balancing bear. I can, on Mariposas life, declare it was the fastest interview with an Auditor I have ever been present at (I even had to go back to get the free drinks as I forgot at the time).

Probably a good time for a Gothic holiday then.....

Messages From

Sorry being absent for awhile, I was busy talking to strange people who think that a computer can guess what they think they want it to do.

I got into slight trouble for reacting - no surprise there then.

"You fucked it up you twat, you fix it" is apparently not the thing to say on a helpdesk - or so I learned on my 'back to basics' course.

So, I shut the fuck up and surfed the net, where I found this - (which amused me):-

Decoding Womens Personal Ads

40-ish - 49, and then some
Adventurous - slept with everyone
Athletic - no breasts
Beautiful - Pathological liar
Emotionally secure - on medication
Feminist - Fat
Free Spirit - junkie
Friendship first - former slut
New-age - body hair in wrong places
Old fashioned - no blow jobs
Open-minded - desperate
Outgoing - loud and embarrasing
Professional - bitch
Voluptuous - hugely fat
Wants soul mate - stalker

AHA - In a shit Norwegian band way, I thought - but then I found this....

FOXY LADY: Sexy, fashion-conscious blue-haired beauty, 80's, slim, 5'4" (used to be 5'6"), searching for sharp-looking, sharp-dressing companion. Matching white shoes and belt a plus.

LONG-TERM COMMITMENT: Recent widow who has just buried fourth husband, and am looking for someone to round out a six-unit plot. Dizziness, fainting, shortness of breath not a problem.

SERENITY NOW: I am into solitude, long walks, sunrises, the ocean, yoga and meditation. If you are the silent type, let's get together, take our hearing aids out and enjoy quiet times.

WINNING SMILE: Active grandmother with original teeth seeking a dedicated flosser to share rare steaks, corn on the cob and caramel candy.

BEATLES OR STONES? I still like to rock, still like to cruise in my Camaro on Saturday nights and still like to play the guitar. If you were a groovy chick, or are now a groovy hen, let's get together and listen to my eight-track tapes.

MEMORIES: I can usually remember Monday through Thursday. If you can remember Friday, Saturday and Sunday, let's put our two heads together.

MINT CONDITION: Male, 1932, high mileage, good condition, some hair, many new parts including hip, knee, cornea, valves. Isn't in running condition, but walks well.

And thus, I laughed and thought, 'Hoozah Grandparents Gothica - I miss you both'

*raises a glass of JD in salute*

Racist Bastards

Having had a totally shit week at work - (this wasn't budgie crap on your jacket, it was elephants with diarrhoea - type poo), I decided to go to my local tavern - an Irish Bar - for a drink of whatever would cleanse my soul.

What started as a "I'll be home about 6.30 dear" descended into a "Oh fuck, it's 2 am already" with all the grace of a hippo on skis.

But, it was ok as we were doing that 'male-bonding' thing - where you get as pissed as small animals with no brains and talk complete bollocks for no apparent reason.

In the overall scheme of things, we were happy to have beer and discussed important things like world peace, a piece of the world, World Wrestling, giant pandas etc., and then it started to fall apart.

"Booooo" shouted my Indian brave, when the Irish band had finished another 'song' with no beginning, middle, or end.

"Shut up" I said, to him, not the angry natives gathering around us.

"But it was fucking shit" he announced, quite justifiably.

I assessed the situation and decided that the 'withdrawal method' seemed very appropriate.

Thus, we decamped to a different bar where there was no shit Irish music and the girls had breasts where nature intended them to be. We purchased our drinks and were happy to be merry and other none-Gothic stuff when....

We were joined by someone who couldn't decide which cunt-ry he was from but was determined to impress on us his idea of racial equality.

This was a mistake.

Firstly, I don't care if you are black, white, yellow, green or a slightly obvious shade of orange - if you talk bollocks, you are still a twat.

Secondly, getting into an argument with someone about their colour or ethnicity when you have completely no idea what you're babbling about is not a good plan.

So, I went very quiet - almost silent in fact. The temptation to rip his heart out was almost overpowering but I resisted. My Indian Brother tried valiantly, but unsuccessfully, to explain that this interloper had no fucking clue what he was talking about.

"See - you white people have no idea about repression" announced the 'dead 30 times in my head" person.

I felt the heat rise inside of me, calmed it, and said "It's oppression, moron" and walked away before I did something I would regret.

"Why didn't you react? - he was talking shit" inquired my friend, soon afterwards.

"Because, I can't afford the lawyers that his family can. The only oppression he knows is when his cheque doesn't arrive on time. But anyway, look at the tits on her!!" I said, diverting the conversation long enough for my friends pissed eyes to give up trying to focus.

*Situation suitably diffused, segregated and suitably strange for a Friday*