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Today Dougie and I did a whole Siskel & Ebert style review, writing one paragraph at a time until the review was finished. Enjoy!

Almost everyone in the civilized world knows who David Blaine is. If you’re not one of the thousands that have seen his street magic TV shows, or one of the hundreds that watched him sit in a suspended fish tank in London, you’ve probably read about his stunts in the newspaper, seen him talked about on the evening news, or overheard that woman with the red hair and nose piercing talk about him to the guy with the blue trainers in the park while you were buying ice cream.

For those of you living under a rock or in the middle of the Saharan desert, David Blaine is a street magician who fools the average passer-by with his levitation stunts or card tricks. He makes the unbelievable happen, bringing smiles to the faces of both children and adults all over the world as he astounds them with slight of hand. He has performed stunts that would make his idol, the late Harry Houdini, quite proud. But are these stunts really magical or are they merely a mildly entertaining way to boost his celebrity?

The latest way he’s found test himself was to live in a rather large goldfish bowl (in New York) for 1 week, then attempt to escape from his watery domain whilst removing 150lb of chains he will be attached to. His other task is to remain under water for 9 minutes with no air supply. This part is being hailed as record breaking, although fellow magicians Chris Angel and Teller (from Penn and Teller) have also achieved this feat. Other notable people who have succeeded at the challenge include Aquaman (who was later disqualified for cheating), and this starfish. The baby from Nirvana’s Nevermind album came close to the record, but did not quite make it.

As mentioned above, David Blaine set out to accomplish two tasks. One, hold his breath for nine minutes. Two, remove all the handcuffs and chains and whatnot that were secured to his shriveled, pruney hands and ankles. He failed at both tasks. Both of them! The whole stunt failed. There was a two hour special devoted to this failure, and I will never get that time back. But I think what really bothered me was that he couldn’t remove the chains. It’s not like he was trying to slip out from the locked cuffs, he had a key. All Blaine had to do was unlock everything and he would have at least accomplished one of his goals. For all the months of training with diving experts and navy seals, he should have spent a little more time practicing how to unlock a locked chain. Better yet, set the breath-holding record first, then practice his key-turning skills, and *then* combine both acts into a fantabulous publicity stunt. Perhaps tossing a monkey wearing scuba gear and a clown hat into the bowl for added distraction to liven it up a little.

What annoys me even more is that he is constantly allowed, and given precious TV hours, to do nothing. He spent a week in water, doing nothing. He spent a month and a half suspended in his box, doing nothing. He spent 61 hours in an ice ‘closet”, doing nothing. He stood on a piller for 35 hours, doing nothing. Never have we as viewers got so little out of television since James Lipton’s Inside The Actors Studio with the cast of Will & Grace. For once can’t he try doing something? Like spending 36 hours on fire. Or maybe chasing rabbits non-stop for three weeks. It really does appear that Blaine insists on doing as little as humanly possible for his money.

I can’t blame him for this of course. Faced with the same situation I too would milk it for all it’s worth. “We”, and I use that term quite loosely since I do not consider myself part of the lame collective, demand it. “We” buy his over priced videos and watch his overhyped specials that are 20% content, 80% advertisement. “We” keep begging for more outrageous, more dangerous stunts. What “we” do not ask for though is a man floating in water for a week. Sitting in a suspended box or block of ice? Hell yeah. Starvation and sleep deprivation lead to a certain kind of paranoia that is only entertaining to a select few. The same select few that shouted in disgust at the television last night when David Blaine:

1. Failed to break the record for holding breath under water
2. Failed to unlock all the chains from his body
3. Didn’t die or fall into a coma

There are, of course, some who declare that it is irrelevant whether or not the original task is completed successfully. These are the people who declare what Blaine does is art, in its purest form. In modern society, it is difficult to clearly define what art is. Can we still declare that the Mona Lisa is art when we say that “This little piggy went to market, this little piggy stayed at home” (the body of a pig, cut in half, each half preserved in formaldehyde) by Damien Hirst is art? Should Blaine work alongside Damien Hirst, and fight off shark attacks while submerged in formaldehyde for a month? If Blaine considers his stunts as art, should he be made retire from magic, so his endurance tests can be treated as such without people seeing him as the guy that can levitate? Do “we” choose not to see the difference between his magic and his stunts, or are “we” led into this by Blaine’s powers of persuasion?

Be it art or a bag of magic tricks, one thing is certainly true. David Blaine is a performer. Much like Cher or Bozo the Clown, David Blaine entertains the public in a way that leaves them delighted and begging for more. Unless a camera is following him on a daily basis, the general public will not have a chance to experience the magic that is David Blaine, therefore television specials must be produced. But some his tricks are so specialized one can only view so many specials before yawning and flipping to a new station for something else to watch. Hence the need for large, albeit boring, stunts. Stunts that even I will sit through because it is the final outcome that keeps me coming back for more.

I stole this from the desk of Dougie.

Nelson Mandela once said; “The times, they are a-changin”. Sure, he was singing a Bob Dylan song, but none the less, it still rings true. There’s no denying it, things have never been weirder. The UK is thinking bout bringing all its chickens in doors so they don’t get flu (if they were invited into the kitchen they’d suspect foul play….), In Colombia, drug smugglers were caught in the highly disturbing act of sewing heroin into puppies (a good reason to legalize drugs surely. Nobody is sewing KFC into puppies for a reason, ya know), and Muslims all over the world are spontaneously combusting because of a Dutch cartoon. (Just as well they’ve not seen Family Guy). Some things obviously need to be sorted out with the world, and this is my proposition:

10 commandments = 3 suggestions

The world has approx. 2.1 billion Christians (about a third of the population), and one of the big things in their book is the Ten Commandments. Some Christians follow them literally, others feel they’re open to interpretation, here’s a quick rundown on what the largest religious group is following:-

01. I am the Lord thy God. Thou shalt not have strange gods before me.
02. Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain.
03. Remember thou keep the Sabbath Day.
04. Honor thy Father and thy Mother.
05. Thou shalt not kill.
06. Thou shalt not commit adultery.
07. Thou shalt not steal.
08. Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor.
09. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s wife.
10. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s goods.

And these are the ones I have problems with…

01. If you have an imaginary friend looking after you, who’s to say anyone else can’t have a different invisible pal doing the same. Don’t be so hypocritical.
02. Try accidentally stepping on a power plug in the dark and not saying the “G” word. This “rule” is just not relevant now. Besides, we might get confused with the other “G” word, Godemiché
03. I work every second Sunday, and ministers do little work on any other day BUT Sunday, so this is also out of date.
04. If your father or mother wasn’t big on the ‘commandments’, why should you respect them? In this new age of single parent families, many children don’t know both parents, hardly acceptable to have blind respect for this layabout parent scum.
06. Modern communication techniques bring us closer to more people than ever before, which us gives us a better chance to make that magical love connection. Why should an entire family be denied happiness because a member wants to be with someone else?
09. This is pretty much the same as the last one I had a problem with. The neighbour might be a fox…
10. Without jealousy over someone else’s possessions, unemployment rates would be through the roof, as no one would really want that 56-in-1, glow in the dark LCD remote control if it wasn’t to try and be as cool as their friends.

So for those that can count, that’s seven I have a problem with, leaving the following (renumbered to avoid confusion)…

01. Thou shalt not kill.
02. Thou shalt not steal.
03. Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor.

So that’s don’t kill, steal, or lie. Good rules, I’m sure you agree. But what about euthanasia and abortion, poor families taking to survive, telling kids about Santa and that infamous “No hunny, you don’t have a big ass” line?

See? there’s always grey spots. Generally it’s bad to kill, steal and lie, but there are always exceptions. So I present to you, The Three Suggestions.

Please Don’t Kill
Please Don’t Steal
Please Don’t Lie

Aren’t manners nice?

Ooo, guidelines. Scary thought, huh? These Christian beliefs are very easily broken down into a very Buddhist way of thinking. Now those who know me well enough, know that I’m very much an atheist, so am I really taking preference of one religion over another? Well, no. Please remember, Buddhism is not a religion. Buddha isn’t a God, he never even claimed divinity- only clear-sightedness and purity. 6% of the world can’t be wrong, can they? that’s 360,000,000 people, a  whole crapload more than Tom Cruise and his scientologists.  You get to be friends with Tina Turner, and you get to crack bits of wood with your head. Another great plus side is you get to wear a toga, you know how much we love our togas.

With me so far? Good, thought you might be….

I live just 5 minutes away from the local high school. There are people so close to the building they can smell the burnt fish fingers in the canteen from their back garden. Yet everyday, at taxpayers expense, they sit on a bus for an hour traveling back and forth to a school on the other side of town. Do they have special needs? Is it a private school? No, it’s a Catholic school. The school on their doorstep is Christian also, but classed as Protestant.

Please remember these religions share the same books, same basic belief structure, everything. It was only back in 1515 that Martin Luther went up to the door of his German church with a note all like “hang on a minute, I have a problem with this” (”eine minuten bitte, ich habe eine kleine…. problem-o”) and the current English royal, King Henry VIII, started to piss off the pope with ideas of re-marrying.

Anyway, We now have Muslims wanting their own school, cause they’re sick of being made to sit in class and do maths when the schools run off to church on the last day of term. And I’m fine with that, let them have their own school, but they best be paying for it. I reckon a better way to work round the problem would be to remove religion from schools, but keep prayer. Stay with me here.

When you enter your teen years, you start to form your own opinions and beliefs, so what I suggest is five minutes in the morning for non-denominational prayer. If you’re Christian, pray to Jesus, Jews can pray to God, Muslims to Mohammed, even atheists can spend their time thinking bout loved ones, and hope they’re okay. You can always have Hope without Faith. Or if you wanna play five card stud at the back of the class, go for it. You’re choice. It would open the children’s eyes to the different cultures around them. What I’m really going for is letting them make their own informed choice. Religion is a major choice for anyone to make, especially a young adult, but it needs to be made by them and them alone. Doing things my way, they can make an informed decision on the subject, and still be open to the thought that maybe not everybody shares their opinion. Which leads me to my next point.

Don’t Muslims seem to have a really short fuse (no bomb pun intended)? So you’re religion doesn’t allow you to draw a picture of your God? Fine, don’t do it. But please don’t be stupid enough to expect anyone else to HAVE to respect the laws of YOUR faith. The Amish are setting the example with this one. They have their own rules, and they stick by them, but they don’t get pissed off and stomp your remote control into little bits and pieces just cause you bought a new plasma HDTV.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not trying to pick on Muslims, many of the Muslims I know are liberal and are equally pissed off at the stereotype the few are creating for the many. If a Dutch comic shows your God wearing a turban shaped like a bomb, I have no problems with you protesting about it, but why be so stupid to show up at the Dutch Embassy in London dressed like a suicide bomber. You’re really not helping the cause. I’m not for one minute suggesting you don’t have a right to worship you’re own way. But when you start trying to kill people because they aren’t talking to or respecting your imaginary friend, you should lose your right to have an opinion.

The sudden technological advances have brought us closer together, probably before we were ready. In the last fifteen years, mobile communication and Internet access have brought us face to face with so many different people with, what would appear to be, different thoughts and opinions, and I think that scares a lot of people. Which is probably why there’s so much fighting about such similar religions.

The three biggest religions in the world are all traced back to Sri Lanka, to a mountain called Sri Pada. There’s a big hole in the top of the mountain shaped like a foot. Muslims believe the footprint to be that of Adam (hence the name Adam’s Peak); Christians, that of St. Thomas, the disciple Jesus; and Hindus, that of the god Siva. Even Buddhists believe that the footprint belongs to Buddha, as he wandered off after achieving complete purity. Another thing these three religions have in common there is there good behaviour policy. If you do good when you’re on earth, you’ll be rewarded when you die.

As an atheist, I don’t have that perk. If I do something nice, it’s because I’m a good person. I’m not trying to have an easy afterlife. I just want an easy life

As he is a wonderful caring human being, Dougie has grown concerned that I have not updated in a week. Truth be told, I’ve been falling asleep when I get home after work so I never get anything done here. He’s taken it upon himself to write an awesome update. YAY!

Really Big Shoe, Really Big Shoe

I hate shoe shopping.

Which is incidental, seeing as windy asked me to put down my thoughts on religion and the world as a whole. But I tend to get very hyped up about the whole thing and run out of energy to type things out halfway through. So I wrote about shoes instead.

I’ll level with you all. I have BIG FEET. Not just big, but wide as well. Always have. Sure, maybe I’ve not always been the same size, but they’ve always been big. One of my earliest memories is in Clarks shoe shop, trying on slippers. The boy next to me had his choice of Batman, Transformers, Simpsons, Superman, Garfield, Sonic and Mario. I mean, they were all essentially the same slippers, just different colours with different badges on them. My choice was brown slippers. No badges, no flashy colours, just brown. Thus began my life long hatred of shoe shopping. Today I went shoe shopping.

I’m not a big fan of shoes. I have a pair of skateshoes which I replace every 9-12 months. I go for either Vans or DC or similar. I have no intention to use them for skateboarding, but I enjoy the comfort. I also have a pair of black shoes, that have recently developed a nasty squeak. It wouldn’t bother me that much, but should I decide to start stalking of the pretty girls at work, I’ll need something squeak free. So I went to Glasgow.

Slaters is possibly the best clothes shop in Scotland. There’s a cute girl on front desk to greet you, then you go in the elevator to the actual shop. It’s like how I’d imagine a futuristic Masonic lodge to be like. When you get to the floor you want, you can barely move for assistants trying to help. So I’m approached by the pretty assistant and I explain what I’m looking for. I know all the ins and outs of the pretty assistant scene: She makes small talk while picking out expensive clothes, then stands beside you holding your hand, brushing your shoulder and telling you how great you look. So you start thinking “how cool would it be if I wore these clothes, I would get girls like her”. So you buy all the expensive clothes. Would your really want a girl like her though? She spends her time at work doing the pretty assistant scene. whore.

So she runs off to find shoes for me, while I feel the hatred building. You see, it’s not just my feet that inspires these feelings of anger, it’s the whole package deal. Sweaty footed men with no socks trying on shoes. Obnoxious kids peeling back the aglets. That weird guy in the ladies section smelling the strapless heels.

PA (pretty assistant) returns with a collection of shoes for me to try on. None of them were any good. She has the audacity to hold one of each pair up as it is removed from the little box, and show it off, like its some inanimate carbon rod. I almost kick her in the face. I really can’t say whether I like it or not, If the shoe is purple and yellow with an glass wool tongue, if it fit, I’d have to take it. I can’t stand the little slanty mirror, whenever I stand in front of it I get dizzy. I never view the world from that angle and I don’t like it. Why do I have to walk up and down, in a little parade. If you’re disabled but you’re trying on shoes, do you put them on and then wheel back and forth to check them while they’re moving?

I ended up buying a pair that I’m reasonably happy with, but I still hate shoe shopping.

But anyway, you know what they say about guys with big feet… narrower choice in footwear.

—————————————-

Thanks Dougie! And I know your pain. Growing up I went through shoes so fast because my feet were always growing. I thought they’d never stop! Finally they did. But not before reaching a size 10.5/11. Do you know how hard it is to find womens shoes that big?? Yeah, I think you have some idea

Dougie’s back with another exciting post. Have fun reading while I finish up posts for this and two other sites. And, somewhere in the mix I have to get some work done at the job.

Introducing… The Village People

All great things come in three’s. That’s why we love Die Hard and The Father, Son and Holy Ghost. It’s also why we loathe the Hilton sisters and bills, because they come in two’s and four’s. Well, one of the reasons. So I’ve been deep in thought regarding the last of my ternion of updates for windy’s site, trying very hard to make more of a Return of The Jedi, than a Matrix Revolutions. I struggled to muster as much as an epitome of a story that would relate to my previous work. The subjects of my previous work may not be immediately linked by the casual reader. But I can assure you, it is there. The previous installments all relate to an aspect of Scotland.

In my twenty years on this planet, I have experienced life all over the world. There is not a single one of the destinations with a place closer to my heart than Scotland. The bold eccentricity of the people, the deep-rooted culture, the incalculable nature of the weather. So all I need is some material for my article. I found that work provided little in the way of commentary on the Scottish people. But when my first day off after weekend involved a trip to the local shops, I was ready to soak up the nuances and subtleties of my people. I now present to you a guide to the citizens that form this country.

1. Jobseekers Kid. Dressed head to toe in a slightly lighter than navy, This young man stands patiently on the bus that will take him into town and to his once fortnightly meeting at the job centre. His brand new nokia mobile phone blasts techno music to both him and anyone in a three metre radius. He dropped out of school at 16 because his best friend got kicked out, and years of fluorescent coloured fizzy juice have led to an attention span that won’t allow him to be interested in a college course. This is the only morning of the week he experiences, as the other’s are spent in bed, following a night of wandering the streets drinking buckfast and vodka with his girlfriend. A lost soul, if ever there was.

2. Night of The Living Aged. 30 slow moving, grumpy, smelly old people. The Post Office was closed today, so with no pension to collect, they descend on the local supermarket to wander aimlessly and steal fresh produce. Now I dare say that a lifetime of hard labour entitles them to the odd free grape from the fruit aisle, but when I was in there this morning, I saw one particularly old man sneak several large tomatoes into his jacket pocket. The part of his stealth routine that worried me most was that he weighed each one on the hanging scales before sneaking it out of sight. Enjoy your tomato old man, you don’t have long to go now.

3. Regular Idiot. She’s in her early 30’s, and somewhere near the bottom on the scale of evolution. Stylish monobrow, and a couple of domestic fights with her on-off boyfriend has resulted in a loss teeth, making the count equal with her IQ. She doesn’t work, well not really. She helps out at the hairdresser’s, sweeping the floors, cash in hand. Her faithful dog, a mongrel with no energy or emotion, and about the same amount of teeth, follows close behind her. A carrier bag holding a box of wine swings low from her hand, smacking poor “Gizmo” in the face every fourth step. He doesn’t mind. Our idiot’s subtle, yet steady, weed addiction has taken it’s toll on the poor mutt and numbed his senses.

4. Asian Mother. This person cracked me up this morning, walking along slightly ahead of me, she leaned over the child’s buggy she was pushing and asked her little girl “do you want your banana?”. Now, this made me chuckle originally because there’s a joke in our team at work about a deaf person asking if anyone wants a banana. But what amused me further is that all the way along the road, she continued to offer this banana to the girl, despite her negative response. The mother’s hands are full with shopping bags, presumably of food stuff’s too interesting to be found in her husband’s corner shop.

That’s a fair spectrum of the people in my small village. And which category am I? I am but an observer, keeping myself distanced from all stereotypes. Just like the rest of them.

Hey guys. Dougie has written a fantastic little photo essay today. I hope that you all enjoy it as much as I did.

Scotland has brought the world many useful inventions. Penicillin, Television, Teenage Pregnancy, Whiskey, Groundskeeper Willie, Music, and Crocodiles. Unfortunately, The rest of the world only associates us with sheep, kilts, sweat rashes, and the number 16. In a bid to open the minds of the readers of this web page, I present to you, my guide to the forgotten Scotland.

	This is the forest where William Wallace laid in wait, watching for approaching English enemies. It actually faces North, so despite the ending to popular film Braveheart, Wallace actually died of boredom amongst those trees. You can still see the remains of his tree house he made, complete with walkie-talkie holder.
Many trains have traveled this railway, but none more ill-fated than the 1342 from Bo’ness. It was that very train that Ghandi consumed too many mini bottles of Smirnoff, and overpowered the ticket collector, hurling him to his death in the small river that runs alongside.
	Many believe this field was home to the first crop circle in Scotland. It’s owners know the true tale of this field. Many years ago, dirty, filthy, stinking gypsies set up camp in this field, along with their dirty, filthy, stinking dogs.
Widely recognized as the road less traveled, this road holds a deep dark secret. For centuries, it was used to transport Eskimo, or Inuit, slaves across Scotland. Their many duties included killing spiders, eating the neighbours cat, and balancing turnips on brick walls.
	As mouthwatering and juicy as these crops look, it is a little known fact that they’re just a mirror image of the field on the other side of the road. Many people refuse to accept this, instead they believe that the opposite field is a special meeting place for them and their lost twin.
Many many years ago, the Roman’s were scared out of the northern parts of Scotland by the Picts, a vicious tribe of men who painted themselves blue and ran around fields and hills with no clothes on. Is it more than a coincidence that the Smurf’s have been spotted returning here from the local supermarket.
	These fresh fruit look delicious, but instead, they are actually baby snakes,which have venom 100 times deadlier than a 50 cent gig in the Bronx. Luckily, the venom is only deadly to other baby fruit snakes. So while harmless to us, biting their tongue could prove fatal
It is another little known fact about this great country that 8 out of 10 retards are grown from seeds in this long grass. The other two are the result of alcoholism throughout pregnancy.
	Few people know that the UK has never invented paint. Instead, these white lines are drawn on with chalk, by an old man who lives in one of the bushes on the left of the picture.
This tree is the last remaining piece of foliage that Hitler is responsible. Early 1939, Adolf went through a surrealist kick, and decided to bomb the UK with seeds. The rest of his work was destroyed to build a bookcase from IKEA. But this will stand strong and proud, as a fond memory of an evil man.

Hey everyone! Dougie has decided to join in on “write for sites that aren’t my own” week. Be sure to stop on over there as I have a few entries that will be posted over the next week

I ventured out to work on Tuesday morning, unaware of the events that would unfold. Because I was listening to Doorbell by the White Stripes, I wasn’t really checking out my surroundings. So you can understand my surprise when I noticed a drunkard stumbling out of some fog on the other side of the street, like an extra from John Carpenter’s The Fog. I watched as a cute girl from work disappeared into the fog and was replaced by an equally cute puppy dog bounding back through the low lying clouds.

I was almost at work by the time my eyes caught sight of a small child, pre-school age, with his young, stupid, single mother. He was totally amazed by the properties of this mist, and running to the end of the road to try be be in amongst the heavy fog was in no way becoming a futile task for the little mite.

Then, the young child was struck with a bright idea, an idea on the same level as his mum’s thinking a good couple years ago, as she downed a bottle of vodka and was repeatedly “nailed” by the school under-15’s football team. He ran out on the road.

The road isn’t all that busy, it is a main road, so the shock in my voice was understandable as I shouted at the single mum, “woah! your kid’s on the road!” She looked over in my general direction with a confused expression, as if I’d just asked her to get a part time job. It was too late, I heard a thud, and saw a small blue jacket roll out from the fog.

Luckily, the young lad was okay, and the car that hit him was either rolling to a stop, or just about to drive off, and although shaken, there was no damage done. Well, no damage from the car, anyway. When our delinquent mother reaches the shaken kid, she shouts her head off at him and starts knocking him about. Now I could pretty much guarantee that this girl has not bothered to teach her first-born the importance of road safety. This is the point I think I should interject, and give the mother a good slap, but I don’t. It’s not my place.

Instead, I carry off on to work, contemplating whether or not the child would have been better off had he been hit by a faster moving car.

Thanks Douglas!

Hey everyone! Dougie has decided to join in on “write for sites that aren’t my own” week. Be sure to stop on over there as I have a few entries that will be posted over the next week

I ventured out to work on Tuesday morning, unaware of the events that would unfold. Because I was listening to Doorbell by the White Stripes, I wasn’t really checking out my surroundings. So you can understand my surprise when I noticed a drunkard stumbling out of some fog on the other side of the street, like an extra from John Carpenter’s The Fog. I watched as a cute girl from work disappeared into the fog and was replaced by an equally cute puppy dog bounding back through the low lying clouds.

I was almost at work by the time my eyes caught sight of a small child, pre-school age, with his young, stupid, single mother. He was totally amazed by the properties of this mist, and running to the end of the road to try be be in amongst the heavy fog was in no way becoming a futile task for the little mite.

Then, the young child was struck with a bright idea, an idea on the same level as his mum’s thinking a good couple years ago, as she downed a bottle of vodka and was repeatedly “nailed” by the school under-15’s football team. He ran out on the road.

The road isn’t all that busy, it is a main road, so the shock in my voice was understandable as I shouted at the single mum, “woah! your kid’s on the road!” She looked over in my general direction with a confused expression, as if I’d just asked her to get a part time job. It was too late, I heard a thud, and saw a small blue jacket roll out from the fog.

Luckily, the young lad was okay, and the car that hit him was either rolling to a stop, or just about to drive off, and although shaken, there was no damage done. Well, no damage from the car, anyway. When our delinquent mother reaches the shaken kid, she shouts her head off at him and starts knocking him about. Now I could pretty much guarantee that this girl has not bothered to teach her first-born the importance of road safety. This is the point I think I should interject, and give the mother a good slap, but I don’t. It’s not my place.

Instead, I carry off on to work, contemplating whether or not the child would have been better off had he been hit by a faster moving car.

Thanks Douglas!

I’ve been taking time off from writing - as if it’s not evident judging from this months posts. Please enjoy this tidbit from our grand friend Dougie!

Let’s go back about 20 years ago, A time where Betamax player were moving up to the loft as VHS players swaggered around the living room with pirated copies of E.T protruding from there steely black cases. I had just been born a few months ago and plans were underway for my Christening. This was scheduled for the middle of September, and would be at the same time and church as one of my parent’s friend’s first grandchild. Apparently it was destined for the two of new sheep to the flock to be best buddies. That was the case anyway, until their entire family suddenly realized they were Catholic. No longer wishing to be welcomed into a protestant church, they canceled and made other arrangements. That was, incidentally, the last time I would see my partner in forgiveness, and I can’t even remember it…

In the twenty years since that decision was made, three members of my immediate family have won (albeit small) National Lottery prizes. My grandad avoided certain death in a car crash just after my Christening. And I lead a generally happy, hassle free life.

In conversation with my mum yesterday, her friend mentioned that her youngest daughter has just been diagnosed with breast cancer. Add this to her youngest son’s stillborn baby, her husband’s brain tumor and stroke, and her eldest son hitting financial ruining and being left by his wife and children, it’s quite a turn of bad events.

So while fixing myself a chilled beverage, I rather stupidly open my mouth and say to the poor woman “Bet you’re sorry you pissed off God by turning to Catholicism.” I really didn’t mean to suggest that a different side of Christianity is wrong, especially when I’m not quite the little worshiper that my family had hoped for. Foot, welcome to your new home, mouth.

I couldn’t explain myself to a woman I had called Auntie whilst growing up, as she sat open mouthed. She obviously didn’t see the playful sparkle in my eye as I uttered those words that cause so much harm. I quickly made my excuses and left the scene of the crime.

So I end up getting a phone call from my gran. My mum’s friend has passed on the story, and my gran’s now taken it upon herself to beg me to apologize. The problem is, I don’t want to. I didn’t mean anything by it in the first place so I have nothing to be sorry for. Also, I feel I should be more independent and stick to my guns in situations, isn’t that What Jesus Would Do?

Dougie has been kind enough to contribute to the site once again. Bless him! I’ve been so busy lately, but I promise updates this week, even if I have to give up sleep to do it

From this point right here, you are no more than two clicks away from my site. This doesn’t take into account browser sizes, mouse types, or human stupidity, so no wise-ass comments. Being this close to windy’s site has done my online popularity wonders, and I thank her for the large amount of feedback I get regarding my site and its content.

Because she’s not updating a lot just now, just to make sure readers don’t miss out on a brilliantly inspired, hilariously sweet paragraph, it is left to me to piece together words into comprehensible sentences for you kind people. And so, I trawl through the multitude of comments and questions I get from visitors who have roamed too far away from the sanctuary of Stalkably Sweet, and provide answers, retorts and accusations.

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Q. Dougie, I’ve noticed from pictures on your website that your hair is extremely short. Is there a reason for this?
A. Why yes, yes there is. Short hair means I wont get it, and henceforth the rest of me, caught in a jacuzzi suction fitting. It also means I do not have to purchase shampoo based on it’s hair fortifying strengths, and can focus solely on it’s scent. This week is Apple and Aloe scented, whereas last week it was jojoba. Q. Dougie, What’s love?
A. Well, I think love is when the other person in your relationship can make you laugh, I’ll give you an example. Last week, my girlfriend tripped and fell getting off a bus, and I couldn’t stop laughing.

Q. Dougie, if you’re very astute, you can learn lots about people just by rummaging through their worldly possession in their home while they shop, especially if you find a diary?
A. More than likely, yes.

Q. Dougie, share some of your wisdom with me so I can be better than my friends
A. Sure, why not. Not many people know that theft, while morally and socially risque, is actually legal.

Q. Dougie, what tips do you have on cooking?
A. Never, under any circumstances, cook while the clocks are being shifted for daylight savings, the egg-timer will be WAY off.

Q. Dougie, everyone in your family dies a horrible disturbing death that you witness first hand, after all the grieving and stuff, you find out you’ve inherited £100 million. How do you spend it?
A. Well, I’d put enough of it in the bank so I wouldn’t have to work again. Then I’d spend money on arranging a colony of penguins to march around in front of me, so I could chase them on my hands and knees. I also want a monkey and a panda. I’d just waste the rest probably.

********************** So there you have it. I hope you’ve enjoyed seeing what goes through the average Stalkably Sweet and DougieOnline visitor’s head. Until sometime, I’ve been Dougie.

Today I was chattering away on MSN with Dougie when he surprises me with an update that he wrote for my site. Oh man, how did he know I was hoping to see more work from him? I swear he’s totally in tune with my mind. I know I mentioned something about how I was going to write stuff and putting up photos, but I was surprised yesterday with lots of tasks to finish that I forgot about(surprise surprise). Anyway, here is a word from Dougie:

————————————————-Nothing is ever perfect. If I was to take any moment in three moments in my life so far, it’s a good chance that none of them would be perfect. That’s 100% unperfection. Expand that over the course of my life, and its a 100% unperfect life. And I’ve sort of accepted that. I’m suitably happy with mediocrity. What I don’t like is when it looks as if everything will be perfect, but something spoils it.

I wait for months for the latest CD by one of my favourite bands to be released in stores, I hurry through the rows and columns and aisles of DVDs and Videos and posters until I reach the end display of CD’s. I quickly scan the cases for the now familiar cover art that i’ve studied and analysed from the comfort of the Amazon website. I push past the depressed indie rocker fan’s and the imitation-wearing, imitation-beat-boys and nudge my way up to the section I require. I finger through the alphabet on the shelves, only stopping occasionally to ear-mark future purchases and shake my head at another new album from a band I don’t like. At last! my finger’s rest on the last copy of the album in the store. I barge through to the front of the queue, throw torn-and-taped-up money at the server, disregarding my change and receipt. I maneuver through the mums with strollers and the elderly with canes and skillfully make my way back to the car. I pack my new purchase neatly between the bread and the toilet roll, as to keep it safe. Once home I kneel down on the living room carpet, gently pull the CD from the bag, discarding the promotional leaflet offering 10% off future purchases. The Collectors Edition cardboard sleeve is gently removed and placed to one side, as a full read of the sleevenotes will come later. And the case gently opens, and- awww dammit! The case has been ever so slightly cracked so that almost half of the 12 little plastic bits that holds the CD in place has snapped off. Now I’ll have to go into my resources of spare cases for a replacement. But it’s not the same. I know it’s not exactly what I bought. I’m not happy, it’s ruined my purchase. I pack the CD away and attempt to digest the plastic wrapper the album came inside.

Back in the Autumn of the year 2000, I purched myself a PS2. The very first day it came out, too. I got my mum to take me up before school as the shop was opening early for the launch. Standing alongside a bunch of people that looked as if they played video games all day every day. I paid my money and left with my Playstation2, a copy of Tekken Tag Tournament, a Memory Card and a second control pad. I was dropped off at school under the assurance that no one would open the box until I got home. The day could not have passed slower. I sat in maths class and sketched a picture of me playing the PS2, on the triangle dotty paper, so I could have an angle on my artwork. Eventually the bell rang and I rushed home. I took the stairs two, maybe three at a time, stumbling every so often until I reached my room. I unpacked everything and began setting it up. On the first boot-up, I thought I had simply not plugged in the controller properly. Five attempts later, I resigned myself to the fact it wasn’t working. Sure, the second control pad worked fine, but that’s not the point. And yes Sony did send me a replacement pad and a PS2 pen, T-shirt, sports bottle and additional Demo Disc, but still.

Even just earlier today, I stroll round to the corner shop to buy myself a bottle of lucozade. I grab a bottle from the chilled cabinet and hand over my money, asking for the change to be put in the Breast Cancer Awareness tin. I stop on the last step leaving the shop and open my bottle of chilled liquid energy and take a refreshing sip of- the yuck original flavour lucozade. I hadn’t noticed the picture of the corn or wheat or whatever it is on the side of the bottle, and had simply assumed it was Orange flavour. Okay, so that was mostly my fault, but it’s the principle.

So I live a life of mixed emotions. I’m fairly confident I can manage a life without one perfect moment. Or maybe they’re being saved up for when I’m old so I can have a really FAN-TASTIC last few years.