Saturday, 29 March 2008

Forty-What?

Many years ago I co-edited a piss-poor school rag called, in breach of every copyright law in the land, "42". It was a lot crapper than I had previously thought, as I realised when I re-read it last night. Still, at least I now know that I am a twat and have always been a twat. There has never been a time when I haven't been a smug old cunt, even if there were times when I had more hair than now, or less pounds around the middle. I have also always looked like a cunt, as I saw on some recent photos. Some of us have been cursed with this affliction: we could be 7, 14, 18, 21, or 31 and we still look like utter fucking twats. That's because we are. I've also always sounded like a cunt, as my few radio appearances prove. And as all of my acquaintances have always said. Let us modify Orwell and Amis's dictum for the fast moving twenty-first century: At twenty-five, everyone has the face he deserves.

Fucking hell, there really is no hope. None at all.

2 comments:

Shades said...

I thought you sounded fine on the radio.

Does the Stella make you maudlin?

The Tin Drummer said...

Yes, I am afraid it does, although that is part of its attraction: it opens me up to serious self-pity in a way no other drug could possibly manage (not that I've tried any, unless you count "Hook Norton" as a separate drug).

So does the dark: you will find that most of my most god-awful posts are written after dark. I have always been afraid of the dark.

I thought of deleting this post then I thought "Nah, it's true - we'll leave it!"