It’s that time again, ladies and germs. I’ve plunged my hand into the anal fissure of www.plinky.com, given it a good cavity search and scooped out a number of interesting questions. I hope you find the answers to your liking.
If you could read minds for the day, would you?
Indeed, I would. I’d use my newfound telepathic skills to win a game of poker. Even if the monetary gain is slight, there is always honour at stake when it comes to any sort of competition. When a man wins a game of poker, he is exalted in the eyes of his peers. The same goes for sports, too. That’s why cheating is always a good idea, especially if you know you can get away with it. I absolutely hate losing to other men. They always rub it in and it makes me want to murder them. Grrrr! A spot of mind-reading would save me the messy business of homicide, and it would wipe the smug grin off my opponent’s stupid monkey face. Fresh from my glorious victory, I’d then find a beautiful woman to impress with my ‘intuition’ and sweep her off her feet. That would be a fine day, all right.
Name something you wish you had never thrown away.
My twenties. Seriously, what the fuck happened to them? I remember graduating, then working in a succession of jobs, most of which I disliked. I recall smoking a lot of cannabis in my spare time and getting into various arguments on the internet with people I have never met. The rest is a bit of a blur. If I could go back in time to one specific point in the past, it would be Graduation Day, 2001. There’s no way on this earth that I’d want to repeat the years prior to that: the exams, the family squabbles, the physical and psychological abuse…I’ve had my arse in the grass and do not care to relive the experience. G-Day, however, was a critical point in my life, when I had the opportunity to put my past behind me and make my mark on the world. All I needed was hindsight. I would have got some temporary work to tide me over while I did a TEFL course and applied for teaching positions in far-off places. In short, I would have done exactly what I’m doing now, only I’d have been doing it in the prime of my life and with an almost-full head of hair. I could have been married to a comely seňorita; I could have won the respect of many. Instead, I’ve lost a whole decade and I’m no better off now than I was ten years ago.
Describe what your laugh sounds like.
Some have compared my laugh to that of the Count from ‘Sesame Street’; others have told me I sound like Butt-Head. The general consensus, however, is that I have an evil laugh.
Turkey – love it or leave it?
The animal tastes rather bland, for my liking. Nowadays, it is associated with Christmas (indeed, an entire industry has grown up around it). This was not always the case, however. Long ago, English households celebrated the Yuletide festival with goose or roast beef; I’d like to see a revival of these traditions, if only because those dishes happen to taste better.
As for Turkey, the country…I’d like to visit the place some day. I’ve studied much of its long and colourful history, from the Hittites to the Ottomans, and I’m interested in sampling their cuisine. Some of my relatives have been and told me how much they enjoyed their visit and how friendly and accommodating the locals were. Oddly enough, though, they never came across any young women. Do the pretty ladies of Anatolia really stay out of sight, or were my relatives simply not paying enough attention? Wherever I go for my holidays, I am always interested in local cuisine and local talent. If I encounter neither of those, I’m going to return home disappointed. If you, dear reader, can set me straight on this matter, then I’d be very grateful.
Who is your celebrity crush? Why?
Yvonne Strahovski. I don’t have any particular preference when it comes to a woman’s eye, skin or hair colour, but I really, really have a soft spot for long-legged girls. Ms. Strahovski is extraordinarily beautiful, slim, charming and has a sexy accent. She ticks all my boxes. See for yourself:
Who is your greatest hero of all time?
When I was but a slip of a lad, I used to dress up as my favourite superhero, Spiderman (I never lost my predilection for dressing up – must be the homosexual in me). My tastes changed over the years, so that later on I began reading 2000 AD. There, in that comic book, I discovered a man who stood head and shoulders above the rest of humanity. In a time of uncertainty, fear and peril, one man stood firm, incorruptible, uncompromising, ruthless. That man was Judge Dredd. As I turned those pages, marvelling at the way this agent of justice punished the unrighteous with a determination of steel, I realised that without order, there is only chaos. And chaos brings with it misery, penury and death. There was so much I didn’t know about the world when I was but a young boy, but one certainty remains: the world can be a cruel and dark place. Wherever order does not prevail, evil triumphs. We face a future that is far from certain; the turbulence of the last ten years has made that fact all too clear. There may come a time when things fall apart, when the centre does not old, as Yeats put it. At times like those, the Judge Dredds of this world will need to step up to the plate and save us from barbarism. We may not like his methods, or his abrasive personality, but by Jingo, we like his results! Roll on the new ‘Dredd’ film, due for release in 2012.
What’s the lesser of the two evils: body odour or bad breath?
Bad breath, in my opinion. I’m very particular about oral hygiene and wish more people followed my example. Regular brushing and flossing should be sufficient to stop others from keeling over whenever you talk to them. If only my friend Listerine would pick up on those massive hints I’ve been dropping over the past seven years! He has the kind of breath that makes roses wilt. Body odour, on the other hand, is unavoidable, even for those of us who shower regularly. Indeed, sweating is good for you; I’d rather a woman be hot and sweaty than cold and cadaverous when indulging in a little amorous play. Fresh sweat on a girl can even be a turn-on.
What’s your least favourite cliché?
“There but for the grace of God go I.” I only ever hear this one from left-wing, sanctimonious do-gooders with Scottish accents. These types love to preach at us Sassenachs about those poor, mistreated beggars on our streets and the hard-done-by refugees living in council accommodation. As I’ve said before, the world is a cruel place. Indeed, if life were fair, I’d probably be worse off than I am now. I’m grateful for the little pleasures I get in life, believe me, but I look after numero uno and I don’t owe the rest of the world any favours. Furthermore, I’m an atheist, so that tired old expression has no relevance to me.
The zombie apocalypse has arrived. What do you do?
When things get flaky, one of the first things I’d do (if I were at home) is to fill up my bath with cold water. One should always have a fresh water supply as a matter of the utmost urgency. I would also secure my house, then pack my most important belongings: tinned and dried food, some practical travelling clothes, knives, cigarette lighters, a map, and other assorted Boy Scout paraphernalia. I live in a densely-populated neighbourhood, so staying put is not an option with all the dead meat walking around. The Pakistani families would probably be the first to get munched on, as they tend to be slow, fat and stupid. Nature’s losers – good riddance! If I can dodge past all of the zombies in the street, I’d probably steal Gobshite’s bicycle. If she’s alive and she complains, I’d use my superior strength to overpower her; I might even stab her, if I’m in a bad mood. Either way, the bike’s mine. Stealing a car would do no good, as the roads will be jam-packed with terrified refugees, so I’d cycle out of town, steering clear of all population centres. Note that I haven’t mentioned firearms. For those of you who are not aware, the United Kingdom has some of the strictest gun laws in the world, thanks to years of hysterical, knee-jerk, reactionary legislation by a succession of governments who paid more attention to bed-wetting Pinko milksops than to logical and practical men. The upshot of this is that it’s a very lengthy and tortuous process to obtain a gun licence, and purchasing one is equally tricky, unless you happen to be on speaking terms with the local criminal fraternity. So it’s unlikely that I’d be able to find something with which I can shoot those bothersome revenants in the head (because, as every horror aficionado knows, that’s the only way to bring them down).
Anyway, I’d probably call on my mother’s house first of all, to make sure she’s all right. If not, I’d do what needs to be done, grab some more supplies then continue on my journey west. Incidentally, one should always travel by day, if possible, during an apocalypse. My aim would be to find a nice house in the country, preferably a farmhouse, where there is a well or spring nearby. With a fresh water supply, I can survive. I may even gather others to my new home, create a little commune with myself as exalted leader. The dead would eventually rot away and the survivors would have a lot of land to play around with. No doubt property prices would be very low and wages high, which is A-OK by me. Not that I’m hoping for Zombie Armageddon…or am I?
Do you celebrate Hallowe’en? Why or why not?
Although All Hallow’s Eve originates in the British Isles, its modern equivalent is, to my mind, very much an American phenomenon. Children dress up in costume and collect confectionery from obliging neighbours, houses are decorated with fake cobwebs and jack-o-lanterns, and everyone has a jolly good laugh. In Scotland, the bairns go ‘guising’, which is pretty much the same as trick-or-treating. However, the light-hearted, family-friendly nature of Hallowe’en did not quite translate as these traditions crossed the pond to reach my locality (some time during the 1980s, as I recall). Here, October 31st is one of the most lawless nights of the year. Surly adolescents have corrupted the festival by dispensing with requests for treats and going straight to the tricks. These insolent worms even turn up at people’s doorsteps, clad in hooded tops and tracksuits, demanding money! Many people I know have had their houses vandalised and been threatened with violence. The police forces across England and Wales are up to their necks dealing with outbreaks of criminality, whether it be from adolescent reprobates in the suburbs or alcohol-related violence in the town centre (the local bars and nightclubs don’t help matters with their Hallowe’en-themed drinks promotions). The only time I truly celebrated Hallowe’en was at Universal Studios, Florida, a couple of years back. That was a fine night and nothing back home will ever come close to matching it.
If you could invent anything, what would it be?
A mind-control device. The world would be a better place if more people saw things my way.
What’s one body part you would like to change?
I would like to have perfect hearing. I’ve had tinnitus in one ear for as long as I can remember. The constant high-pitched whine is enough to drive lesser mortals insane. I, however, am made of sterner stuff and have dealt with this condition heroically for a long, long time. The cost has been high: I’ve missed out on many opportunities to make new friends and get dates, for example. Some people think I’m either rude or a bit dim when I fail to understand what they’re saying. Well, perhaps they should bloody well learn to speak more clearly! Perhaps most important, my bad hearing meant I was unable to join the army and make a name for myself.
Describe the worst teacher you’ve ever had.
She was a clinically obese, sarcastic, pretentious bully. Seriously, what kind of person gets a kick out of picking on a nine-year-old boy? I was too young and insecure to stand up for myself and my mother (I love her now, but back then, her parenting skills left a lot to be desired) refused to help me out. There were other children whom this vile ogress of a teacher disliked, but most of them would set their parents onto her if she got out of line. That’s the thing about bullies: they really are cowards who only respect you when you hurt them. The good news is that Mrs. X died recently, much to my amusement. If I ever find out where she lies buried, I’m going to urinate on her grave. Iustitiae servitum est.
You’re a fly on the wall at your own funeral. What are people saying about you?
That all depends on whether my life ends before or after I’ve achieved something. I have so many ideas, so many plans, but they take time to put into motion. I cannot afford to die any time soon, otherwise my whole life will have been a complete waste of time. I would like my friends and relatives to say to each other, “there was a man who made his mark on the world. He’s left behind a grieving widow, but her life was all the better for having met him. He was a very talented man, a visionary, a gentleman and a scholar.” If I kick the bucket next week, their conversation will run somewhat differently: “such a waste of a young life! We had such high hopes for him…Still, remember that time he got really drunk and passed out after finishing his exams? How we laughed! Remember how he was always late for everything? How he used to collect slugs as a little boy?” To add insult to injury, they’ll put my graduation photograph on top of my coffin. I ABSOLUTELY DETEST THAT PICTURE. Indeed, I’d rather see (through my insectoid vision) a photo of me in the buff than that grinning young man wearing that ridiculous gown. Perhaps I should make a note of this in my will, if I can ever be bothered to write one.
You’ve got to get rid of three things from your house – what do you toss?
Two of my housemates, Gobshite and Girl-Scout, plus all of their belongings. That’s more than three, but I’m feeling generous. I believe I made clear, in a previous post, my low regard for these two imbeciles. If it were only myself and Tattoo in this house, I’d be a very happy man, because we get on so well and she’s a regular cutie. What a pity she cannot cook to save her life!
What can’t you say ‘no’ to?
Cannabis. I can eat in moderation, avoid alcoholic drinks and even stay off the video games, like a good little boy. I have done this and more. Indeed, when I was a teenager, I didn’t eat chocolate (I gave it up for Lent once, but no one told me Lent had finished). However, if there’s a joint being passed around, chances are I’m going to suck on it before the night is over. I love marijuana more than life itself. Getting high is like being wrapped in a warm, soft blanket; it’s the embrace of a lover who whispers sweet nothings that make me forget my cares; it’s like a pair of dancing shoes that make me the king of the disco. How can I say ‘no’ to something which has brought me so much joy? What would I do instead? Play tennis? Train for the London Marathon? Take up salsa lessons? Do me a favour!
I think that’s enough Q&A, for I grow weary. Until next time, good citizens!