Displeasure Meander


I was in a card shop yesterday being served by a couple of incompetents. Yes, you read me right, a couple. It took two of them to be totally useless. That’s impressive. One was a young blonde stupid girl, and one was an old wrinkly ((If truth be told, she wasn’t wrinkly at all. She was middle-aged-ish.)) woman who seemed to be excited by everything.

But I digress – it was one of those occasions when over the course of five minutes you think of approximately eight really funny things to say, but you don’t say any of them. Why? Because you have been in the situation too many times before, and you find the blank stares of incomprehension too painful to bear.

It hurts me – yes, it hurts – that I have to keep my sense of humour inside.

Where is this going?

It is important – nay, paramount – to spend time around those of a similar nature to yourself, otherwise it is inevitable that you will censor yourself, and your demise will commence.

I propose a promised land – a place where all those with a truly arse-about-face sense of humour will one day be led, by the chosen one (let’s call him Pete, for the sake of argument) to live out a life of great edification. A place where “funny” tales of drunkeness actually have to be funny for a good reason, and person X doesn’t feel the need to insult / beat up / slaughter person Y just because they choose to live their life in a different way, even though it doesn’t affect person X at all. You get the picture.

And we shall call this promised land “PeteLand”, and the chosen one (we’re still calling him Pete, right?) will lead as your King. And you shall bow down and worship him. Hell, worship me as your God. Him. Worship Him.


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