Urban Poetry

This one is called: Telephone Answering Machine

You've got 17 unplayed messages
and 14 played messages
I've been flashing these numbers since friday night
where have you been?
do I mean anything to you?
or am I just a status symbol
just another trophy to show your friends
would you even care if I wiped myself
I could pretend it was a power cut
night after night
alone in the dark
my little red light blinking
I hate you
I hate you so much
I wish you were dead.

JJ

The Shipping Forecast

It's incredible how many people have fond childhood memories of the shipping forecast. I remember listening to it while waiting for the game broadcast. They were broadcasting computer games, we would record them onto cassette tape and play them back into the computer. A hit and miss process to say the least, and not one that always worked.

So we'd stay up until 3.30am to record the game and then spend an hour trying to get it to load onto the computer and then finally go to bed, defeated. Things not working was a right of passage then, these days it's all too easy. I don't spend the weekend trying to adjust gaps with a feeler guage, or standing in shop doorways wondering how to get 25 quid for a battleship game.

Now I've got my own relatives sending email through some automated system asking to "join your professional network". There's a reason we only meet at funerals. We're already linked on Facebook, must we do this? Can't I keep my professional network for my professional contacts? No I can't, because if I refuse this unwelcome intrusion it'll start a family feud. In the end a cave-man with a Facebook page is still a cave-man. Actually I think cave-men had more confidence with women. That's the only constant thing over the last 40,000 years and we're worse at it now than we were then.

At times like this I can see why people take up gardening and join swingers clubs, I just pray I don't bump into my cousin in there too.

All this because of The Shipping Forecast. I don't know, really I don't.

JJ

You Be Fucking Nice !

I might have mentioned I was trying to be nice to people this year, as a change of pace, see if it reduces my cholesterol or some bollocks like that. Well it's March and I got my first complaint. Apparently someone doesn't appreciate my communication skills. Frankly I find this a bit galling, if people are going to complain anyway then I might as well just call them a bunch of twats, it's rude but honest and then I wouldn't mind the complaints.

I'm good at telling people how to do their job properly, why can't they appreciate that? When it comes to explaining to people how mind blowingly incompetent they really are, I'm the best. But do the fuckers appreciate my constructive input? No, they complain! Showing yet another level of astoundingly porcine judgement.

Before you start, I have no bloody idea what "porcine" means and no I am not going to "Google it", fuck off muppet chops, hire a consultant to explain it. Ok, I lied, it means "pig like", from the Latin "porcus". Yes, I studied Latin at school "canis est in horta", the dog is in the garden. Is that what the Romans built their empire on? The only thing I learned about building an empire was it takes more than a day. I think the horticulture teacher told me that when he was talking about his broad beans.

It's a shame because I would been a brilliant emperor, even if I do say so myself. I am good at telling people what to do, I enjoy it anyway, beats the crap out of working for a living. Maybe I need to hire less sensitive people, then I wouldn't have to be nice anymore, I could just swear at them all day. That might be the only way for me to achieve job satisfaction. Or maybe I could hire someone specifically to swear at, a politician perhaps, or Jonathon Ross.

Ok, back to the real world and trying to be nice to people. Bunch of fucking half-wits that they are, not all of them are half-wits, some have no wits at all. They are the Witless Wonders and somehow I attract them in droves.

Ok that's enough, back to the real world; nice people, everything nice, me nice. I'm a bit hungry though, I'm a bastard when I'm hungry, you should ask Girlfriend when we go shopping for clothes. If I don't speak for five minutes and refuse to try something on she'll ask me if I'm hungry, not very sophisticated is it? eh? Childish really.

Right, I'm done, fully vented, thanks for being there for me (I mean the blog tool, not you melon-head)

JJ

Dime Novel: Diem Carpe

Carpe Diem - Seize the Day. That's what Latin teacher's tell you. Latin? wasn't your diem like a million years ago? History teachers always say "nothing is new, read history" Ok, instead of playing Vampire Wars on Facebook I'll read a book about some fat English king who executed his wives, that's equal.

I don't think so, but that's enough from me, here's the Dime Novel.

There was this soup waiter in an Italian restaurant and one day he told the chef his carrot and pumpkin soup looked like puke. Ever seen an Italian chef lose his rag? You don't want to. There's a pizza restaurant near where I used to live and the guy's wife came home one day to find him in bed with another woman, she stabbed him 49 times and went to jail. That's a true story.

But the soup waiter, that's another story. He was living on his own and his pride and joy was this guitar which had been given to him by an ex girlfriend, she acquired it when her ex-boyfriend ditched her and never came back for it. The guitar didn't even have a brand or anything, it seemed almost home made. After the soup waiter lost his job he took the guitar with him to the pub, in the morning, and just sat and played - for his own amusement but the bar owner was really impressed and offered him a gig.

The soup waiter did the gig but on the night he was attacked by a crazy guy who kept saying "you took my baby", turned out he was the ex-boyfriend of his ex-girlfriend. So, the soup waiter ended up in hospital where he fell in love with the breakfast porter, she was way younger than him but she had see through uniform so he could see her panties. Anyway, she had no interest in him so he eventually just walked out of the hospital and went back home.

He went back a couple of times for scans and check-ups but he didn't see the breakfast porter until about 5 years later, he was walking along the street and there she was. They went for a drink and he asked her out but she said she'd met a guy about a year before and moved in with him. They had a cat together.

The soup waiter eventually moved to another city and realised he was going to spend the rest of his life beating himself up because he didn't know what he wanted until it was too late. He had 20:20 hindsight.

Just when he thought he was too old and washed up, he met another woman. He thought she was way too smart for him and would get bored of him quickly but she didn't, he spent the rest of his life trying to make her happy, she always said "I'm already happy just being with you", but he never stopped trying.

JJ

Urban Poetry

This one is called: Monthly Payroll Procedure

I need your monthly onions by Friday
Why Friday?
Because that's when they do the payroll
How do you know it's that exact date?
It's the same date every month
But the same date every month isn't a Friday
But the payroll closes on Friday
So the date changes every month?
No, it has to be same date
When is it then?
Friday
What date is it on Friday?
I'll have to check
What date does the payroll close?
I don't know
So why do I have to send my onions by Friday?
Because the payroll closes on Friday
Will there be a payroll next month?
Not for you motherfucker.


JJ