Posted in: Short 'n Curlies by Si Spurrier | Tagged: avatar, short and curlies, si spurrier

Short 'n Curlies 33 by Si Spurrier

BrainFart:

I get a tiny flutter of pleasure whenever I find a typo in a professionally published novel.  I feel it's important that you know this about me.

I confess, it's only a short step from there to being That Guy — that tiny-dicked WurdNazi, you know — who insists on pointing-out the Split Infinitive in the opening theme of Star Trek, butts-into free-flowing conversations to correct the misuse of the word "nice", and leans-over to snidely report "hanging preposition, there" whenever you finish a sentence.

Only a short step, but an important one.

I Fakt You, Right In The Face:

TRUTH:

Every man who has ever pissed in a urinal, when confronted with a Chalky Fragrant Plughole Soap-Cake (or indeed a bedraggled cigarette butt, crumpled napkin, or other bobbing detritus) instantly and instinctively knows to chase it along the piss-trough with his smouldering yellow Stream-Lance.  He is compelled to do so.  The phenomenon can't be explained any more than it can be overcome: it simply Is. This is Behavioural Anthropological Urology 101.

There are several things that can be inferred from the nebula of Ancillary Thoughts orbiting this simple undeniable truth.

1. Any man who claims he is not a Urinal Soap Botherer, or claims that in the business of Porcelain Projection he maintains a simple undeviating monodirectional stream, irrespective of Gutter Obstructions, is a Liar.  Ladies, this is a quick and easy test to discover whether a man is honest, open and unembarrassed — or a filthy untrustworthy Cheat.  Ask your new beau at the beginning of Big Date #1, always always always.

2. Gender politics, and the burgeoning complexity of what we understand about the term "sexuality", have come a long way.  No longer must a person be a slave to whichever crude terminology has been assigned to their physical gender, dismorphic sex, or psychological sexuality.  Such things are now sensibly considered to be part of a continuum: a spectrum of Gradient Shades far more elegant than the Male/Female, Masculine/Feminine, Homo/Hetero assignations of yesteryear.

Nonetheless, no amount of gender science has thus far adequately explained why two random Blokes At A Urinal — whether they be straight, gay, bi, tri, or Really Really Into Unicorns — experience a pure and metaphysical moment of ontological horror if their proud and unwavering Piss Streams should happen to interact, obstruct, arrest, or otherwise touch each other's.

Herein lies the danger of the aforementioned Urinal Soap Bothering Instinct, and explains why a multi-person trough-style urinal, containing just one or two Soap Cakes, should be avoided at all costs.

3. Urinal Soap Cakes are the only material known to modern science which telepathically advertise the sensation of their Taste And Texture (chalky, gritty, vaguely lemony, with a lingering bitterness and complex Chlorine Tones on the palette) without you ever having touched, let alone bitten, one.  NASA continues to investigate.

BrainFart:

Here is my amazing and World-Changing Business Plan, which will earn me Six-Point-Five Gajillion Marzikleggs, and make me an intergalactically-renowned Entrepreneur:

It occurred to me while watching an episode of GodAwful Soap Opera X, in which Snivelling Tanglefuck Character Y did us all a favour by slashing her wrists and bleeding-out all over the Artfully-Dressed Set.  For the sake of convenience — and because the script-writers lacked the wit to demonstrate why Snivelling Tanglefuck Character Y had chosen to take this radical step (without first indulging in some gloopy turgid exposition) — she had left The Obligatory Hollywood-Style Suicide Note to her nearest-and-dearest.

And it was full of spelling mistakes.

This was probably the most important thing she had ever written, and she hadn't even managed to get the word "despare" down pat.  This letter — this three-line ejaculation of soul-shattering misery and need — would haunt her family and friends with thick soapy drama for years to come, and she'd blithely misplaced an apostrophe, failed to capitalise her own name, and ended with a triplicate question-mark abomination.  So sad, so sad.

It got me thinking.  The Google Reflex kicked-in and I quickly established, thanks to some lazily-researched Site-Hopping, that Suicide is a Boom Business.  Current estimates put it at about One Million early exits worldwide every year, with a 60% increase over the past half-century.  A Growth Industry!  Even better, there are 20 failed attempts for every successful MeCroak, so if you get to 'em early enough, that's a lot of exploitable sadsacks.

And yet, and yet, and yet…  only 15% of self-toppers ever leave a note.

So! Using my finely-honed Logic Skill, I quickly deduced that this means a whopping 85% of Noose-Botherers are failing in their basic human obligation to Explain Why They Dunnit.  Was it laziness, I wondered?  Almost certainly.  But mightn't there also be a fairly healthy chunk of those slothful miserable sods who were simply so terrified of leaving a vital textual legacy chock-full of spelling mistakes, punctuation crimes and grammatical abhorrence — forever staining their righteous melancholia with the stinky stain of Fuckwittedness — that they'd skipped the note-writing stage all together and jumped straight to the Main Event?

Of course there was!

And so I have established the YesIt'sInBadTasteButSendMeYourMoneyAnyway™ Agency for the Proof Reading Of Terminal Letters.

Prices start at 50 Marzikleggs for a Hasty Lipstick On The Mirror Scribble, and top-out at about 300 Marzikleggs for a full Disjointed Rambling AngryFest Full Of Accusations And BlameGiving.  Oh, and we offer a full refund if you can prove that any oversight or error on our part has caused you to suffer undue scorn, disrespect or Ill Thought after you're dead.

Business is booming, although — annoyingly — my personnel turnover is pretty high.  It's my own fault, I suppose, for offering a staff discount on trades and services.  Bloody chancers.

Find Me @:

Twitter: @SiSpurrier

WWWebbage: www.simonspurrier.blogspot.com

Send wurdz, thoughts, stories, Hatings, and Hypnotical Carpet Samples to the Only Checked Occasionally And I Might Not Bother Replying At All Ha Ha Ha email address:

Contact@Chop-This-Bit-Outsimonspurrier.co.uk

Or the It Might Not Get To Me At All But If It Does I Promise To Recycle It snailmail address:

C/O William Christensen,

Avatar Press
515 N. Century Blvd.
Rantoul, IL 61866

(Disclaimer: Secretly, I'm nice.)

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