Friday, 22 February 2013

Laziness and Xenophobia

If you can afford to visit one of your neighbouring countries at least once, but you don't, that's downright lazy. For instance, if you've been living in the south of England with more than enough financial means to hop on a ferry to France, you're just lazy. If you live in Seattle, in the northern United States, and it's never even crossed your mind that it might be a good idea to make the short two hour drive to Vancouver, which is barely even in Canada, you're lazy. Don't even try saying "France/Canada's shit, though." because you don't know shit because you've never fucking been there. Seriously, though, how could someone rant about how shit a particular nation is if they haven't made the effort to visit it themselves? I know people who've said "America's such a shit-hole." Really? Have you ever been? No? Then how the hell could you possibly know that? Your knowledge of America consists of what Manhattan looks like, and the orange morons on Jersey Shore.

Xenophobia still seems to run wild amongst otherwise perfectly normal people, who aren't racist or sexist, but are xenophobic because as far as society's concerned, as long as it's nothing negative about black or Asian people, calling the entire nation of France "pussies" because they pulled out of the Second World War, because all you know about the Second World War is that a German man called Hitler tried to invade England or something, so all the countries started fighting and America was late because they're fat. What you don't know is that France have won more military battles than we have, and surrendered to the Nazis because they wanted to preserve French sovereignty, so they unleashed the Free French who played a pretty big part in kicking the arses of the oppressive Nazis. As for the Americans, they were formally neutral until the attack on Pearl Harbor in 1941, and (with Britain) invaded north Africa and Italy in 1942-43. Saying they were "late to the war" would be implying they should have been fighting a war which, to begin with, wasn't theirs to fight. What irks me about America, though, is that they seem to take personal responsibility for the allied victory, and they keep reminding us of this: "We saved your ass in WWII." "You know, if it wasn't for us, you'd be speaking German." To which I have to reply, "Well that's not strictly true, because actually, shut the fuck up." And then a Frenchman comes and says "If it wasn't for us, you'd still be under British rule."

Sunday, 17 February 2013

The 'Incredible' Story of a Girl Named Gerald

On being informed of her yeast infection, Gerald couldn't stop thinking about her vagina. She would prod it and poke it and stare at it in the full-length mirror, which is for some reason in the kitchen of her Coventry bedsit, for hours on end until she got bored and eventually went and made tea. She liked her tea cold and savoury, with a good pinch of salt, a crack or two of black pepper, and a nice little dollop of Hellmann's mayonnaise.
          Gerald, you see, is a bit odd. A bit of a maverick. Somewhat strange. I mean, for a start, she's a girl and her name is Gerald, so you immediately know she's going to be a tad different. Poor Gerry was eaten alive at school; and at college; and indeed at university, where she's studying something. She never tells people quite exactly what she's studying, but she it's definitely a subject, and almost certainly an art subject. Not least because she spends most of her spare time rolling around on an empty canvas, completely nude, covered in various condiments and spreads. Last week it was wholegrain mustard. Her parents, as you've probably gathered, are evil. Not least because they (not accidentally) named their only daughter 'Gerald', but because they're also extremely racist, anti-Semitic, and they delight in killing newborn kittens. I may have made that last one up, but that doesn't take anything away from my point, which is that they're evil. Gerald hasn't spoken to her parents since she gained the ability to talk, aged eight; her parents also only speak German, which, curiously, she does not.
          Recently, Gerry met a strapping young gentleman, over the internet, called Susan. Gerald was overjoyed to meet somebody who seemed to be in the same predicament as her, and relished the prospect of possibly meeting Susan in the near future. The only thing in their way was Wales, the Atlantic ocean, Virginia, North Carolina, Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, and her crippling yeast infection, but ever determined Gerald wasn't going to let her itchy willy-warmer get in the way of meeting her one true love face-to-face, then presumably, after a few drinks and a Barry White record, face-to-penis.  
          Eventually, Gerald raised enough money to pay for economy class tickets to New Orleans, and enough Vagisil to see her through the flight. When she touched down on the warm, southern tarmac, she was overcome with joy, and an insufferable itching sensation in her Cameron. Her yeast problem was now so bad, she swore blind that the discharge flowing freely from her opening was dry stout. When she saw Susan in all his glory, she ran to his embrace. He held her for what seemed like hours, until Susan let out the most awe-inspiring bottom cough which would astonish even the most seasoned care-home worker. They locked eyes and gazed at each others' souls. Well, three of their eyes locked, as Gerald has a lazy eye which seems to dart from object to object as though it has ADHD. The moment was somewhat ruined by Gerald scratching her vagina, so the two went back to Susan's condo in New Orleans' Uptown.
          Kittens were just about everywhere in Susan's condo. They occupied more of his life than anything else; they were his only friends until now. Mind you, he did have upwards of twenty kittens, so he could have said he had plenty of friends, but he'd have had nobody to say it to. The felines seemed less attracted to the beery aroma emanating from Gerald's ham wallet than almost all people were to her almost legendary social awkwardness. Gerald wasn't interested in the cats, she just wanted to get right to it, and (incredibly giving not a single fuck about Gerald's yeast issue) get right to it they did.
          I'm going to skip over the naughty bits, because I'm not E. L. James, so I wouldn't know how best to describe the repugnant scenes in detail so as not to make you, the humble reader, lose the entire contents of your digestive system.
          Later that week, Gerald was due to return to Coventry leaving Susan behind. Both Gerry and Sue were sad to part ways, but at least they'd had a week of... of... of that. When Gerald returned to the UK, she though of Susan daily. She thought of his name, his horde of kittens, his extensive collections of dragon dildos and Fedoras. She liked his Fedoras so much she took to wearing one of her own, thus being further shunned by society. Gerald missed Susan, but was at least safe in the knowledge that someone, somewhere, had finally penetrated her peachy pocket.
          Like it or not, you're now imagining a girl with a yeast infection and a lazy eye being skullfucked by man called Sue wearing a Fedora, and if you're reading this and your name is Damon, please be so kind as to read the first letter of each paragraph. Thank you.