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Deadlier than the mail?
Is anybody else as browned off as I am about all this unwanted rubbish that keeps coming through our letterboxes?
In the past week alone I’ve received five recently used dinner plates (unwashed), a boa constrictor, a box of broken theodolites, the embalmed elbows of Cardinal Wiseman, a sort of daisy-chain made of squids, an indecent proposition signed ‘Joan Bakewell’ written on someone’s foot, two tons of used cotton buds, several hooped petticoats (which I gave up wearing years ago), a ventriloquist’s dummy containing a swarm of bonsai locusts, and a very very very long tongue (not sure whose it is, as I haven’t got to the end of it yet).
No wonder I’m too frightened to get out of bed, and as for going to work, frankly I wouldn’t consider it even if I had a job.
Fortunately my bedroom is next to the kitchen and I’ve managed to kick a hole in the wall, through which, using these ultra long cantilevered bendy plastic arms that I happened to have by me, I can obtain sufficient quantities of buns, etc., to keep me going almost indefinitely.
So I don’t know who you are, standing out there ramming all these distasteful items into my home, but you’ll crack before I do, matey, ho yus.
How do the rest of you cope with unwanted incursions of the external world?
It’s ‘Thank ’ee koindly, Your Holiness’ (followed by a fit of tubercular coughing) to Chris of The Devil’s Kitchen for linking to Toasty’s Futon, selflessly and with no thought of reward (just as well, in the week of my bank manager’s eighty-eighth hissy-fit).
The Devil’s Kitchen styles itself ‘A rant space for the personal opinions of a Euronihilist Edinburgh designer’ and offers this fetching pic of Chris looking cute with a bunch of flowers in 1998. Not wishing to be left out, I shall shortly be posting a snap of myself being attacked by a triffid in 1951.
Meanwhile, this (one of Chris’s discoveries) made me laugh a lot. A cautious greeting to its splenetic author, Da Goldfish of The Withered Fin.
With dauntless young men like these on our side, how can we fail to triumph in our ceaseless fight against whatever the bloody hell it is?
AIMLESS said…
I feel like a second class citizen of the bloggery world. What I mean is that Toasty gets to hog the front page as it were, while we commentists (commentarians?) are shunted back here into this commentalist ghetto.
I am about fed up. I may write a letter to the Times about this. Injust, it is.
CAROLINEM said…
Could you send on the daisy chain thingy? The hippy-chick-chic look had yet to reach NZ and as I am at the vanguard I feel it my duty to come up with something fabulous.
Thanks.
CAROLINEM added…
Ohh...spooky Aimless. And you really must be (Aimless) - at least I'm in another time zone and have an excuse for being around at this hour...
TOASTY replied…
Caroline, I should explain that Aimless isn’t really in a time zone at all. He exists outside time, changeless and all-seeing, which is why he’s always in such a bad mood.
Afraid the squid thing was destroyed in the making of my early-modernist epic, The Cabinet of Doctor Calamari.
And Aimless, old Mister Blogger and I have put our heads together and come up with this wonderful alternative format [hotlink to the ‘separate page with comments at the bottom’ format] to give commenters an inflated sense of their own import, I mean prove to them all that we’re one big happy family here on Toasty’s Futon [noise of machine guns in background].
AIMLESS said…
The alternative format is lovely. I am so pleased with it that I may move in and take up housekeeping. Where is the bathroom?
TOASTY replied…
Bathroom? I thought you were above all that sort of thing.
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