When Routine Bites Hard

I’m not a racist but…

Anyone who starts their sentence with ‘I’m not a racist but’ is definitely a racist or at the very least about to say something deeply racist.

Horrible bastards.

Also see:  ‘I’m not sexist but’, ‘I’m not a paedo but’, ‘I’m not addicted to pornography but’, ‘I’m not gay but’, ‘I’m not following your Mum home from work and then watching her undress out of her Barclays uniform and into her heavily stained nightgown, from the bushes opposite but’  etc..

That joke isn’t funny anymore…

I sometimes fantasise about being a stand up comedian. Then I realise I am a massive scaredy-cat and don’t know any jokes and would stink and would have bottles of piss hurled at me.

I only know vaguely humorous things about lame observational stuff that everyone sees. Things were you might say to yourself ‘Oh yeah, I’ve seen that as well’ or ‘That’s kind of happened to me’.

Something so inane but universally truthful that makes us all laugh hysterically. Making us feel not quite so lonely after all.

Maybe I will go on with life. Maybe I’m not alone.

Like when you get new shoes and they’re really slippy on the bottom. That dangerous frictionless material can often lead to an incident of slapstick or slight social embarrassment. A faux pas even.

I once slipped so badly in new shoes for instance that I lurched forward violently and accidentally jammed my penis into someone’s mouth! What a palaver!

I’m sure we’ve all been there.

Then it can be really awkward can’t it. Do you take it out immediately? Wait until they notice?

In my defence, undertakers really do over polish their floors. It was an accident waiting to happen. Sooner or later someone was going to wind up with their cock in a dead fella’s mouth. Statistically speaking the chances must be about 1 in 10. Easy.

I bet a few of you reading this are thinking ‘That’s a very common scenario’ or ‘My mate Lee accidentally did that as well’.

He is a dirty fucker though is Lee.

The voice of the underground.

I just heard Bun B name drop Jeremy Kyle in a tune and I’ve definitely heard Eminem reference Ainsley Harriet on the 8 Mile soundtrack. 

This has to stop. 

Mini Screwdriver Home Dentistry…

I don’t like going to the dentist. It’s been too long now. A few years. They will only rinse me of cash and stick something out of Saw in my mouth. It’s fine. I’m fine. It’s fine.

A few years ago it wasn’t fine. There was a definite build up of plaque in the little crevice between my bottom front teeth. It wasn’t green. I didn’t look like a toothless simpleton. Or the half dead. Or a crackhead. However it was a concern.

Only one thing for it. I’d have to go to the dentist right?

Fuck off.

No thanks.

I did what any level headed young man would do in my shoes. I rifled through the kitchen drawer – found a smallish screwdriver and went to the bathroom.

With this delicate home dentistry instrument I probed the gumline looking for bacterial cat-burglars. Once found I tentatively pushed the dull metal into the intruders stupid plaque face.

Push. Give. Push. Give. Push. Crumble. SUCCESS!!

It caved in onto my tongue and my teeth were back to normal. A bit skew-whiff, but muck free. Super. A risky manoeuvre yes, but 100% a win.

Happy with this DIY cleansing I was going to leave it, but then I thought I saw something else on the top of a tooth. It wasn’t plaque but it wasn’t right either. So, buoyed from my victory, I stabbed at it again (a bit like Sharon Stone does with the Ice Pick in Basic Instinct – or was it Sharon Stone? You never found out. I think it was. I used to like that film before hardcore pornography was so readily available on the tinternets).

Anyway it wouldn’t budge. So I put a bit of weight behind it. Still nothing. This was obviously the time to give up as it was clearly just a slightly cacky coloured bit of tooth. Not a rotten sugar abused stump but not Hollywood gleam either.

Just fucking leave it. You’ve had your screwdriving fun.

I couldn’t just fucking leave it.

Anyway to cut a long story short – I kept pushing and pushing and eventually I jammed the screwdriver so hard into my stupid pegs that it snapped half of my tooth off.

That was clever wannit.

It hurt. I won’t lie. Sharp, tongue slicing, mind bothering thorn in my side for weeks.

So the moral of the story is. Don’t run with scissors or return to a lit firework. Take your face off.

Still better than the dentist.