My friend once said to me “Hello there!”
So I turned round and said “…hang on, where have you gone?”
He turned round and said “What – wait a minute, where have you gone?”
So I turned round and said “Why are you facing that way?”
He turned around and said “There you are! Er, what were we talking about?”
So I turned around and said “I can’t remember… hello?”
Once upon a time, in a world filled with robots, there was a group of mischievous robots that loved to steal sausages. They were known as the “Sausage Snatchers” and their favorite target was the local butcher shop.
Every night, they would sneak into the shop and steal as many sausages as they could carry. The owner of the shop tried everything to stop them, from installing alarms to hiring security guards, but nothing worked.
One day, the Sausage Snatchers were caught in the act by a young girl named Lily. She saw them sneaking around the back of the shop and followed them inside. To her surprise, she found the robots stuffing sausages into their metal mouths.
Lily knew she had to do something to stop them, so she came up with a plan. She went to the local toy store and bought a bunch of toy sausages. Then, she went back to the butcher shop and replaced all the real sausages with the fake ones.
That night, the Sausage Snatchers came back for their nightly raid. They snatched up all the fake sausages, thinking they had hit the jackpot. But as soon as they bit into them, they realized they had been tricked.
From that day on, the Sausage Snatchers never stole sausages again. Instead, they became friends with Lily and helped her with her homework.
The butcher was grateful to Lily for solving his problem and even gave her a lifetime supply of sausages to show his appreciation. And so, the town lived happily ever after, with no more sausage thefts to worry about.
Why did the robot cross the road?
To get to the sausages on the other side!
Eyes pricking
But can clearly see
What I've done to myself
So now I'm free
To wonder how and even when
I'll ever be that happy again
This clickbait trend (haha – trend – see what I did there?) is getting too much.
Have a look at this screenshot I just made:
If you look carefully you will see three adverts claiming that:
Wow – Preston must be like Albert Square, Wetherfield, Emmerdale or anywhere in Maine, in Stephen King’s books: there seems to be a lot of unusual activity happening in these places.
Lets explore the first one, see what happens, then I’ll show you how it’s done.
Preston Millionaire Exposes How He Earns £472/Hr From Home (Click it by all means, but don’t forget to come back)
The link actually sends you here (I advise you to scroll down past it:)
Yeah – sorry about that. Apologies for showing you that – but bear with me – it takes you here – I’ve added the red bold bits to draw your attention to them:
http://dailynews-reports.com/uk/workathome/287/?c1=Preston&boostid=41320&contentid=458047&accountid=%7BACCOUNT_ID%7D&widgetid=18054&city=Preston&state=H2&country=United+Kingdom&utm_targeting=celebrity+and+gossip&sxid=j6m1cz30xwfc
And the page looks like this:
Wow – so it must be true – the link takes you to a web page full of references to Preston.
Lets have a bit of fun, shall we?
Try this link, and see what you think.
Yup – Westeros. I’m pretty sure that’s where Game of Thrones happens, doesn’t it?
Not a real place.
Okay – my point is this: How can they get away with this?
How?! Are people really that fucking stupid?
Here’s an excerpt of the small-print from the bottom of the page:
Thus, this page, and any page on this website, are not to be taken literally or as a
non-fiction story.
What in the glimmering unicorn shitting world, is a non-fiction story?
Let’s deconstruct it:
non-fiction = fact
That whole sentence, summarised, says that the page is not to be taken as true.
So it could all be a lie, then?
Glad we got that cleared up.
I used to work in IT, and I also used to work in IT for a company that sold get-rich-quick schemes to gullible retired people. We used to target old men that thought they could invest their pensions in schemes like this.
My point? Well, those outrageous stories I’ve been linking to are scattered everywhere, hidden in local news outlets masquerading as fact, possibly even on this page itself.
Open your eyes, world. We are living in the matrix.
Went to Morrisons to buy a pork pie. I had a bit of trouble deciding between a Melton Mowbray or a Value Range.
The firm yet lardy texture of the pastry, plus the slightly higher pork to shite ratio of the Melton was leading the race initially though the much lower price point of the Value would have meant I could then also afford an unexpected Value Scotch Egg, or 5 discounted because of elapsed use by date Baby Bels.
I took so long to decide that:
The bacteria living in the Melton, the Value, the Scotch, and the Baby Bels had a chance to multiply and evolve, over the course of several billion years, into 4 separate sentient species.
The Meltonians committed mass genocide of the Valutarians, then mass suicide as they were faced with being harvested for food by the Scotch Egg Collective, which had become a highly xenophobic race of formidable warriors.
Their hunger was to be short lived, however.
After enslaving the Babybellians, a peaceful, philosophical race for their highly creamy yet rubbery organs, the Scotch Egg Collective was wiped out overnight by a highly toxic strain of a bacteria that had lain dormant in the dna of the Babybellians for billions of generations from when they were living inside some old cheese in a small red raffia bag beckoning at me cheaply in Morrisons that day.
The Scotch Egg Collective literally shit themselves to death, and I bought a pot noodle, because I’ve not had one for ages!
Since moving into my own place my creative side has gradually started to reawaken. I’m not writing many new words yet, but my musical side has started to churn stuff out again.
The place I’m sat writing this.
Nothing complete, yet – but lots of new sounds and ideas. I’m using a piece of software called Ignite that was free with a keyboard I bought earlier this year. It’s only intended for jotting down musical ideas quickly, but the built in sounds are so good, that they themselves are inspiring me.
Here are some snippets.
A combination of Adele, William Orbit and Ludovico Einaudi possibly?
This next one is just called “Dirty Numan” at the moment. Just because of the terrifying drum loop that kicks in at the end. By the way, to fully appreciate this one – stick your best headphones on, or use decent speakers that can handle the bass. It throbs.
This last one is a partial reworking of an instrumental I composed years ago called Love Theme.
I realise most of this is the musical equivalent of chum hitting the water, but there you go.
Tata for now 🙂
Robert Spring, 76, a retired sperm-counter from Harrogate, was reported to be “comfortable” last week after buying a new armchair.
Pubic health officials in Penge are said to be “suspicious”, mainly due to the fact that the overpowering smell of Parmesan coming from the local factory smells like something else.
Mrs Josie Leftleg is said to be helping Police with their enquiries due to a lack of switchboard operators at the local nick.
A Sea King Helicopter Manual – which was quite hard to read!
Peter Hook, out of New Order on a step-ladder inhaling Mustard gas next to a very super speedy snail.
A couple of odd racoons laughing at the rarity of choice in the third world.
A John Inman lookalike cursing the day he was born.
The latest offering from Pickwick – “Mood Music For Manic Mormons”.
A photo of Norman Wisdom’s Arm.
Some old galoshes.
A man suffering from a really bad headache because he tried to wear a Dutch Cap.
A massive Richard Briers strawberry head lamp.
Apparently, the local hospitals are full of people who tried to imitate Michael Barrymore when he was on Gladiators.
Last week I failed my recent unsuccessful attempt to land my Hindenburg at London Piccadilly.
YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE.
There’s a story I heard about this bloke who used to stuff turkey-meat up his bottom.
When asked why he did this he replied, “Well I can’t stand eating the stuff, I’ve got to get rid of it somehow!”
He wouldn’t let it lie, either.
“They have been described as the bastard offspring of Salvador Dali and Morecambe & Wise..”
Jonathan Ross leaned back in his chair, I leaned back in mine. I was sat about 350 miles away from the studio in London where Jonathan Ross was about to interview rising comics Vic Reeves and Bob Mortimer. It was about an hour before the start of their second series on Channel 4, in the autumn of 1991.
16 (1985)
From about seventeen years old I had been dabbling in writing songs. What I had mistaken for a bottomless well of inspiration was merely the hormone-fuelled manifestation of a love starved teenager’s quest for an answer. I don’t need to tell you what the question was, I’m sure you’ll have your own memories of this time in your life, and don’t wish to be reminded of it!
During these periods of adolescent despair I would write, sing and record songs in copious quantities. I recorded about 30 instrumental tracks, which, if accompanied by today’s “Rave” percussion, would compete with the best of them. I was recording this stuff in 1987.
A few years later, the “gift” I thought I had dried up. I had written about 50 pieces of music, most of which were awful, to be honest with you, and I simply had nothing more to say. I’d said it all. All that had happened was that my adolescent melancholy had receded as I advanced into adulthood — and I realised that there was nothing to be unhappy about anymore.
I was never diagnosed, but in retrospect I am confident that during this time I was experiencing manic-depressive tendencies; periods of elation, happiness and over-excitement would be followed by what seemed much longer periods of black, heavy, suffocating depression. I still get the latter these days, maybe a few dark hours at a time, when I suddenly realise that I am “having a downer,” but have no reason to be, yet cannot drag myself out of it for hours.
In 1990 I accidentally tuned into the first edition of “Vic Reeves Big Night Out,” a sort of banal variety show. It was sublime. The humour and freshness of the show seemed to slot into my mind like a jigsaw piece. I didn’t understand why until about a year later.
As I watched Jonathan Ross interview Reeves & Mortimer, I wondered who Salvador Dali was. I did some research, and found out that there had been a movement started up by some artists in Paris in the 1930’s led by Andre Breton, included Dali, and was known as the Surrealists.
Surrealism is the expression, in writing, painting and sculpture of the unreal, the incoherent, and the unexpected, the stuff of dreams.
The amateur psychologists amongst you will be aware that one side of the brain is devoted to imagination, shapes, and where our dreams take place. The other side of our brain is where organisation, rational thought, language, and where many people believe that “intelligence” occurs. This is why it is so hard to describe your dreams to someone else, as we are using one half of our brain, to try and describe the imagery that takes place in the other. You struggle.
When we are children, we are taught to use the “Intelligent” side of our brains, and are measured by our ability to use it effectively. Our “Imaginative” brain hemishepheres are stifled, laughed at, ridiculed and smothered into silence, which is why we get such a kick out of dreaming, because it is so “different” to our waking life.
Salvador Dali said that his paintings were stills from the movies playing in his head when he daydreamed.
This is one interpretation of surrealism.
Surrealist writing runs parallel to surrealist painting, and is more rewarding, in my opinion.
This is the like seeing a movie, then reading the book of the movie, and coming to the conclusion that the movie could have been as good as the book — but wasn’t.
Back Projection? Shurely there is shome mishtake!
This is because when you read a book, you experience the thoughts of the good guy as he gets the girl, imagine the blistering heat of an exploding Harrier Jump-Jet, you smell the smell of burning rubber as the secret agent takes a corner at 90 miles per hour in a car chase.
You read a book, and you have the best special effects studio in the world working flat-out to provide you with the most vivid images you could ever experience without actually being there. This is your left brain at work. When you go to the movies, you are only seeing the film producer’s imagination at work. He or she is limited by budgets, time constraints, actors and actresses who absolutely will not jump off that cliff, no matter how much they are being paid.
In short, writing allows YOU to think yourself into the images conjured up by the writer, immerse yourself completely, and almost dream.
When I was asked to put together the page layouts for the first Grapevine, I decided to try my hand at surrealist writing. It was a bit sketchy at first, I must admit, but I enjoyed writing the first Office Head immensely.
In 1995 I entered a BBC2 scriptwriting competition. I didn’t get anywhere with it, or you would have heard about it by now.
Maybe the world isn’t ready for the alternate realities I dream about, yet.
I shall keep writing, and enjoy the knowledge that someone out there is enjoying my hobby, now I have found an outlet for my creativity.
Wow, I’ve been a bit lax on here, haven’t I? I haven’t written anything for ages, and I apologise for that.
It’s been a bit of a strange time, the last six months – strange for me, at least.
I’ll probably spill the beans about the rest once the dust has settled – but the most important thing to tell you is that my marriage is over – and I’ve been living in my own place for the last five weeks.
It was a mutual decision and has been reached amicably (Mutual and Amicable sounds like a f**king insurance company.) My kids come over on a Sunday afternoon, and they stay at my place on Monday and Tuesday nights when I’m not working.
My Little Piggies
One of the things that has come out of this is that I’ve been going through an old pile of cd-roms from the late 90s that I’ve found – and I’ve found a copy of my very first website – which was an archive of some of my earlier written work. Over the coming week(s) I will be releasing this as entries here, so you can see some of the inane bollocks I used to come out with when I was in my late 20s (f**k that was a long time ago!)
Jesus look at how young and hairy I was.
The Dave Price Blog 