My beautiful golden hair has gone, I’m still not sure whether shaving it all off was a stroke of genius or complete madness. I am sure however that I can do moody dark shots a lot more sincerely with my baldness.
Think I might have found something to grasp to in order to shake off my apathy, and it’s not god or politics or celebrities. Animals.
Got all moody after watching Blackfish, and watching Tilikum floating around on his lonesome after a bunch of smiling wet suited arseholes completely mindfucked him right in his blowhole. I’m not sure I fully understand the human interaction with animals, like having an ivory statue on a bookcase in the form of two naked African tribesman, why not have it in plastic? it’s the same colour? Oh I see, it’s not the same because plastic wasn’t forcibly removed from the skull of another animal. Savageness is key when decorating one’s lounge.
Or 30 aged English ‘men’ dressing up in red and black, riding horses, blowing horns and leading dogs to catch a 2 foot long bright red petrified thing, just because its species attacks chickens by nature. While a bunch of interbred retards follow around in 4x4s because it’s a good sport. Sure, sit by the chicken shed and shoot it if it does happen to try and kill something, but don’t be arseholes across the countryside, you great big dicks. Oh but it’s tradition, so we have to continue this mindless nonsense. Fingers crossed it’s soon tradition to shit in the mouth of huntsmen, because I’ve been storing up.
Case in point, that dentist dick and Cecil the lion
Anyway, I got side tracked. It’s me on an elephant.
Recent weeks have seen my interest fall and my apathy rise. While I searched for a little meaning to my life, I realised, I’m never going to become a Napoleon, a Da Vinci, I won’t write an epic poem, nor will any of my sculptures be erected in a city square, I won’t be rich, I won’t sing and dance before a panel of mindless arseholes while a slightly more retarded group of people clap and boo at the slightest little action, I won’t carve a potato into a chalice and fill it with melted cheddar to present to a table of 16th century aristocratic critics while they decide whether the subtle woody texture to the cheese is enough to see me into the next round or if its just a fucking potato full of cheese, I definitely won’t go into space, and I probably won’t even learn how to swim. I will just continue to cling to the same routine for the rest of my life, like a stubborn mountain goat, aimlessly blasting itself across the mountain side with all the grace and sophistication of a potato full of cheese, but, I guess, that, in it’s own way, is my little victory?
I was recently asked, by an ageing but still beautiful walrus, if I would be the main event in a strip show aimed for polar wildlife. She’d seen a few of my moves and believed that I had what it takes to become the next Pingu (in his second career)
The initial decision I took with trepidation. So many questions ran through my mind. What if the other penguins laugh at me? What if the seals find my cold shapeless body undesirable? Will I earn enough fish to enjoy life, or will I just become another run down old man that can’t break free from a life he hates?
Fool I was! The penguins have taken me under their wings, the seals adore my cold shapeless body and I stink of fish! I love this life of taking my clothes off for polar wildlife, tis the life for me.