Thursday, 29 March 2012

A Quick Note


As stated above this is a note, and a quick one at that.

I am still trapped within the pit of despair, I have had to craft a rudimentary duck quacker with my hair and toe nail clippings in order to entice a passing mandrake into taking this very message and updating it on my blog.

I apologise for my recent lackadaisical attitude with regards to my up dates, however my hands were sliced off during a ‘routine’ one to one session with an interrogator named ‘The Slicer’. I don’t think I have to go into graphic detail.

However I have grown them back using salamander dna scraped from an old lizard cage, so for the next few hours I’ve got ickle tiny baby hands wot look so cute, and yet so wrong.

But I have awaited the opportunity to make my move, to escape from this torturous hole in the ground, and now I have my chance.

I’m going over the top, I’m making my move, I’m crossing the line, I’m taking the plunge and I’m jumping ship, like a disease ridden rat.

I can’t say too much, the duck can only carry a message on a piece of paper 5cm by 8cm, so I cannot possibly provide you with any extraneous detail and I also must ensure that my points are made in a brief and somewhat succinct manner lest I run out of space on this tiny piece of paper, or the pen crafted using my own blood run dry.

However I can break the news that I will soon be free, I will back to you! My charming and loyal minions!

I shall be laughing with you and frolicking and we shall share the joy and happiness and warmth that you always find here on my little interwebspace.

I must go now, the smell of my rancid body festering in my own filth after being trapped in a pit for over a week is becoming too much for the duck. He was a little bit sick and it dribbled out of his beak.

 I’d never seen a duck wretch....

Wednesday, 21 March 2012

break point


not this! Silly.
I was a little lacking in lustre yesterday.

My little bloggy blog didn’t have the same fighting spirit as it often displays.

But the truth is that being stuck in this hole of a basement office; with only one source of light that shines directly in my eyes, a constant gale blowing above my head from the air ‘conditioner’ (there is no conditioning going on here) as well the funny tasting water and rather rancid ‘coffee’ that I fear may have been brewed with Baldrick’s brand values in mind, has somewhat tarnished my soul.

Rather than shining brightly like the bronze tinted armour of a Celtic warrior, it has been smeared with what looks suspiciously like the insides of the hungry caterpillar (about the 7th page in).

I didn’t think that my spirit would be so easily broken, but apparently all it takes is a torch and some low grade beverages.

Tuesday, 20 March 2012

FREE! or not


Well I managed to escape the basement.

I went through the ceiling, squidging my shapely frame through all manner of obstacles, like a turd in a tube, until I became caught on a mesh of wires and had to hypnotise a rodent, through the power of whistling, in order to get it to gnaw through my trappings.

In no less than eight hours I was free from my basement office!

I then spent most of the last few days on the run. Hence the silence on my blog.

However I didn’t realise that they had fitted me with a tracking device – like one of them supermarket trolleys; I crossed a certain distance and my wheels stopped working.

I was dragged back into the basement this morning, had a bright light shone in my eyes and something smelly wafted under my nose, I was then strapped to a desk and forced to tappy tap on my compooter and listen to distant voices of doom.

Ah the joy of work!

Thursday, 15 March 2012

Trapped


I’m still in the basement.

It has been quite some time now. Must be more than 36 hours, but I’ve lost track of time.
There is only artificial light here.

There are opaque windows, but I cannot trust that it is daylight spilling through.

They do that. They mess with the light and screw up your circadian rhythm. It’s all part of the ‘treatment’. Part of the conditioning to make me one of ‘them’.

So far I have resisted; Dr Oetker’s message has been keeping me strong. But I don’t know how long I can hold out.

this ain't me, but it could be
I haven’t been drinking the water... the taste is strange to me and I can’t rule out the possibility that they have put something in it to make me more ‘compliant’. However the thirst will mean I can’t have much time left.

Soon I will reach the point where I have to make a choice: death or conformity.

I know that if I give in, if I conform, then they will probably kill me anyway. I see this clearly yet I don’t know how my opinion will change after many more hours trapped here. Weakening my resolve with every moment.

My only chance is that I find some sort of escape, some way out of here.

But what then?

Once I have escaped they will chase me down, hunt me forever, until I give in. I will be no more free out there than I am in here.

But at the moment it is my only hope.

I have noticed a loose panel in the ceiling, I’m hoping that I can take advantage of their lazy monitoring systems and crawl through.

There may be skellywegs and spiders and I may well get lost in the maze of tunnels and crawlspaces.

But with my last whisper of strength I must make a bid for freedom.

Wednesday, 14 March 2012

I have a purpose


I knew that I had a purpose!

I knew that my calling would be made and I would simply have to lie in wait for it.

Well it is has come!  My calling that is.

Last night I was connected telepathically through the power of non-waking thought, I entered an altered sphere of existence in which lucidity transcended the paralysis of everyday existence and I was able to communicate, without the clumsy barrier of language, with a man whose preoccupation with the tangibility and taste of colour is vastly superior to my own.

what the frick is this?
In other words: I was visited in my dream by Dr Oetker.

He was as I had imagined him; floating on a puff pastry cloud surrounded by sugared butterflies and almond pigeons.

He said to me, he said “oi wot is u at ma bitch?”

So I was all like: “I’m terribly sorry but I think you must have mistaken me for someone else, possibly the owner of a van of some kind..?”

And then he was all like: “Oh it’s you, I fawt you wos Uncle Bulgaria, he ain’t been up here for looooong.....”

We stood there awkwardly for quite some time, him gazing at a marzipan aquarium while I tried to sidle out a door.

Bit difficult without a door.

“AH YES!” He exclaimed suddenly.

The sudden exclamation startled me, it also startled a buttercream pony, which promptly fell of its perch in to the raspberry sauce sea.

“I brought you here for a reason Marmaduke.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I wasn’t Marmaduke.

“I brought you here for a reason Marmaduke” He repeated with slightly less intensity.
He then revealed a cake, the cake was lovely and round, it was a fat cake with cream oozing from it, it also had a lovely decoration; it was a green and yellow map of the world.

“This” said Dr Oetker, with some authority “is being handed to you on a plate.”

Then I woke up in a basement with some funny tasting water.

Thursday, 8 March 2012

FAQ’s

Some people are all like up in your face about what’s this? What did you do that for? Why is your face like that?

And I thought I would do a little FAQ of the questions I get asked most frequently. 

But that would be really dull cos most people ask crap questions. 

Anyhoo this is what I imagine it would be like to answer your questions…

Q: Oh my god I’m so excited to be around you it makes me wee myself a little bit!
            A: Is that a question? Because I’m a bit worried about the upholstery.

Q: No I was just settling in. How do you get ideas for your blog?
            A: I look at your face and get angry.

Q: Ok. What is your favourite blog?
            A: I don’t read blogs. Blogs are crap.

Q: What’s your favourite telly programme?
            A: It’s ‘television program’. You are an idiot. Besides it depends when you ask. I used to like Dr Who, now it makes me angry. Then I liked Battlestar Galactica, but I watched the whole boxset and it got a bit predictable after that. Now I like Blakes 7.

Q: So you’re a bit of a sci-fi geek then?
            A: Piss off.

Q: … How did you come up with the idea of the Bamboozle blogs?
            A: What do you mean ‘come up with the idea’? Are you a bit special? I met the monkey, I liked the cut of the monkey’s gib, I pay the monkey promises and in return he writes.

Q: Ok…So what are your plans for the blog?
            A: Plans? I have no plans? Who told you I have plans!? There are no plans for world domination here!

Q: Can I go now?
            A: Yes, you’re making my eyes hurt.

If you have any questions you’d like to ask, or issues you’d like to raise about me or anything you’ve read on my blog don’t bother.

joyful joyful


Well I am in a delightful mood. No really I am.

Don’t look at me like that, with those accusational eyes of yours, I am being genuinely genuine about my current joyful state.

where's Uranus?
I can’t fully explain this happiness  (or as Will Smith would have me spell it: Happyness) it may have something to do with the direction of the sun or the position of the moon or the fact that Jupiter is in Uranus. I really have little clue about astrology.

Of course there are the usual reasons to be full of hate:

The perpetual, meaningless, vapid conversations of the primates lodged in my current surroundings persist, incessantly. The longer I am forced to share time and space with someone the more my hatred grows, until I reach the point that their heavy breathing and sloppy eating stir me into rage filled haze in which I am liable to gouge off their face with a teaspoon.

But still I am happy.

My mobile telecommunications device has refused to allow me to communicate with others. Like a stubborn malfunctioning child it sulks in my handbag and refuses to act upon simple instructions, it’s been hiding messages for days and has so far refused to ‘reboot’. I find the simple clam design so baffling that I cannot even work out how to find the sim card and when I try to perform the most basic of tasks it exuberantly announces ‘busy’. Like the cocky little git it is.

But still I am happy.  

I am currently tied to my workstation, being forced to repeat mundane and repetitive tasks which are far below the status of my mental capabilities, while being constantly berated for minor imperfections for which I have little time or brain capacity to care much about and having to justify my decisions to a depressed and apathetic audience while at the same time the list of tasks I must complete in order to explore the scope of my creative genius increases to the point...

Yeah I’m starting to feel a bit crap now. Thanks for that

Tuesday, 6 March 2012

Too much, too soon


Hundreds of things are all happening at once.

It is a torrent of events and requests and duties, deadlines and projects and stuff. Organising and planning and all that doing!

I sign myself up for all these different things in a flurry of over excitement, a euphoric haze of motivation, and then it gets to a half way point and I’m all like ‘where’s my sleepy time?’

I have also made a huge mistake.

That’s right! Me! I have made a mistake!

I freely admit that I have made hundreds of mistakes but this one is a biggy.

Right in the middle of a surge of work and duties and things and stuff, I’ve gone and cracked open a boxset.

men in kaftans were heroes once...
Oh what possessed me!?

What momentary madness connived to bring about this unhappy hour? What rush of insanity pushed my hand to place that dvd in the little dvd thingy?

I have a bunch of things to write, people to see, meetings to attend, projects to organise, llamas to train... but all I am thinking about is; what is Blake gonna do next?! What happened to Travis?! Is Jenna ever going to wear the same outfit twice?!

Oh how can I un-distract my so distracted self!? (this is rhetorical, don’t answer)

Monday, 5 March 2012

Where Have You Been All My Week?


just one of my nemesi
Well it has been a whole week since last I graced these interwebspace pages.

Even then it was with the aid of a small orange bellied monkey. How have you been coping in my absence?

I would imagine you haven’t been well.

To be honest neither have I. Thus, the curse of my terrible condition is that even the whiff of something a bit orf can send me into a swift descent towards incapacity.

The entirety of last week was a write off (is that how you spell it?) and I spent most of it in furious, frustrated rage. Like a goose in a straight jacket.

I managed to crawl into work to sit behind my desk and listen to the relentless chatter of gibbons. I often feel like a reluctant Dian Fossey.

There was talk last week of giving out prizes. Lord knows what for, or who to for that matter, either way I have a sneaking suspicion that PETA may have been involved somewhere along the line.

I spend most of my life sitting quietly and listening. A muted albatross.

As I sit there quietly and politely in my place I am forced to listen to someone dribbling dense and putrid, gormless, verbosity. Spilling it from their frothing mouths and pouring it incoherently across my face.

All I can do in response is sit. Quietly and politely whilst screaming in my head.