Desert Island Story - a task.

To me, the idea of a ‘desert island’ anything is absurd. Mulling over one piece of music, or a whole album’s worth, or a short story, or a single thought, in utter solemnity could be a sign of the onset of psychosis – if not paranoia or obsession. However, I do much admire the work of Raymond Carver. One story I like in particular is Neighbours – it’s from his first collection, Will You Please Be Quiet, Please? (1976).

It is a very sensitive story, showing the nuances existing within a couple’s relationship. In the story, a couple – Bill and Arlene Miller – are left in charge of their neighbour’s apartment – they envy them their frequent travelling. It is not clear from the story how old they are; Raymond Carver wrote most of the stories in the collection in his twenties, but I get the impression the couple are middle-aged – they live in a flat, their neighbours have a cat; moreover, they both have quite dull jobs: Bill is a salesman, and Arlene does secretarial work. They are both lonely and overworked. This condition is set up in the first paragraph:

“Bill and Arlene Miller were a happy couple. But now and then they felt they among their circle had been passed by somehow, leaving Bill to attend to his book-keeping duties and Arlene occupied with secretarial chores. They talked about it sometimes, mostly in comparison with the lives of their Neighbours, Harriet and Jim Stone. It seemed to the Millers that the Stones lived a fuller and brighter life. The Stones were always going out for dinner, or entertaining at home, or travelling about the country somewhere in connection with Jim’s Work.”

They do, however, have a very sexual appetite – they make love perhaps three or four times over the course of the story (‘kinky’ might be a better description of their proclivities).

The day after the Stones leave, Bill goes ‘round their flat to feed kitty. He ends up rifling around, eating random bits of food and stealing a half pack of cigarettes. Arlene disturbs him as he starts to look in their closet, telling him he’s been ‘round their over an hour. Something is at play here: envy at the Stones’ situation, a deep boredom, some sort of dissatisfaction, vicarious sexual appetite. However, it seems the likeliest option is that the story is exploring the minutiae of intrigue and curiosity; what really happens when our dwellings are left at the disposal of trusted friends?

The next day, Bill returns, this time putting kitty in the bathroom so as not to be bothered
by her; he slips into some of Jim’s clothing and pours himself a drink. He is a fantasist. He also finds it difficult to guess when they’re going to be back – he at times can’t even place Jim’s face. He sits in front of the bedroom mirror, then he puts on some of Harriet’s underwear and clothing – but not the shoes (a scene not too dissimilar from Woody Allen’s Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex (But Were Too Afraid to Ask)).

The story ends with Bill and Arlene embracing each other in fear: Arlene had gone inside to feed kitty and water the plants and left the key inside. Before this culmination, we are privy to the essence of the story: Bill and Arlene are bored, and this temporary escapism has allowed them to indulge in sexual twilight zones – not quite taboo, but blurry and exciting. There seems to be something under the surface, though, and I’m not sure I can place it. Either way, the quiet care and eroticism is both exciting and tender; they are like eager adolescents – fearful and feckless. I was drawn into the story, and felt some deep emotional attachment that I couldn’t place – something tingling, something tugging.


Why do I like Carver?


He can take everyday situations and make them brilliant;

He ends stories with either something heartfelt, unsettling or beautifully ambiguous;

He has an interesting style – the use of third person reportage and frequent non-use of speech marks;

He writes simply and powerfully, with economy – and yet felicity;

His characters are brilliantly full and three-dimensional;

He makes his characters immortal and upright – they are dignified and whole, and independent.

A creative writing exercise on my life thus far.

I started as a sperm in one of my father's testes; shortly afterwards, I made my way through my mother's cervix (after some predictably dull and lacking foreplay) to an ovum.

After a period of nine months' gestation, I was born unto the world in a bloody, stinking mess on March 22nd, 1989, in the Royal Sussex County Hospital, Brighton. I'm not sure whether I cried or was smacked by the doctor, but I was presented to my pained mother - who had just loosed a nine-pound infant from her nether regions.

I was grumpy as a child: I suffered from severe eczema on my face and bottom; I cried often, and the first thing I learned to say - aside from the stumbled 'mamma' and dadda' - was a snippet from the Home and Away theme song.

I wore a 'duck-a-duck' coat (with the hood of a duck), and I did a 'thing' with my eyes - I used to try to look up into my skull (God knows how that's cute).

I started at pre-school at four, and moved on to primary at five - at which time I met my still-best friend, Adam. I don't remember prinary school much - just the playfights, detentions, and childish to-and-fro bullying (I was a naughty, unsettled child, but I also brimmed over with academic excitement) - but I recall my first teacher, Mrs Lutrario, thought I'd need extra tuition outside of school hours - the bitch!

At age eleven, I moved to high school in Brighton - which is quite funny, seeing how I was a tall child for my age - away from Adam. I made a few oddball friends almost immediately - it makes me sigh to ponder their importance to me and how much I still cherish having known them.

I went to a college; ducked out. I went to another; did blandly. I studied journalism; didn't follow it through. But now I'm here, in parochial, pokey old Chichester, and I'm certain of my ambitions: I want to teach English language.

My future is uncertain, but I hope it's a happy one; and I hope that I'm delerious with drugs or some other form of mental stimulus when I die - hopefully happily, surrounded by my appreciative, mournful, and yet comically ambivalent, family.

On the proposed Qur'an book burning by Pastor Terry Jones.

Well, first let me begin by stating the obvious: emotions have run way too high with this story (it's also quite sad that people are commemorating the 9th (yes: the 9th) anniversary of 9/11). It was to be expected that most Muslims - even moderate ones - would find this proposed act at least distasteful, if not downright despicable and unpardonable. That Americans, and people in American life, generally, have played to the emotions of the public on this story is more disgusting than the act proposed by Terry Jones itself.

America is one of the few countries on this planet with a written constitution that guarantees its citizens inalienable rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Whilst most of these rights were trampled upon or wholly discarded during the Bush years, Americans still have the two most important rights that no Islamic state tolerates or affords: freedom of expression, and freedom of speech.

If this guy wants to burn the Qur'an, I personally don't have a problem with it. I understand that it will have repercussions with devout and small-minded Muslims all over the world, but to vouch to hope to prevent the act from taking place entirely is despicable. If people want to burn flags and other such articles (usually what they believe to be either symbols of idolatry or items of blasphemy), then let them. What no one seems to be saying is that it's unacceptable for Muslims worldwide, generally, to take this course of action. If this isn't a sign that Muslims can't solubly be integrated into western society, then I don't know what is. Whilst that comment might sound fascist, Islam is a clear and present danger to everything western socities hold dear. If you don't believe me, then recall in 1989 when Salman Rushdie was threatened with death by the Ayatollah Khomeini of Iran for writing a book on a contentious part of the Qur'an known as 'the Satanic Verses' in which Mohammed condones polytheism (Muslims generally believe he was being posessed by the Devil in this part of the Qur'an). Tell the same to the Dutch film-maker Theo Van Gogh and his associates: he was murderded in 2oo4 for making a short film about Islam and the abuse of women practised by its adherents; his Norwegian counterpart was shot and left for dead, and his Japanese associate was killed in a scene of bloody religious retribution.

Whilst Pastor Jones might be right about the danger of Islamification, let us not forget the disgusting tree from which Islam sprouted: both Islam and Christianity (not to forget Mormonism) are Abrahamic religions, sourced from the Torah, with all its bloody pages and disgraceful content (both are almost exclusively plagiarised from it - a claim I can back up with verse after verse). So burn your books; burn your flags; put up your effigies: just don't stop me from putting into action the freedoms that my country, with all its flaws and curruptions, guarantees me.

New jokes.

A friend of mine works part-time cleaning sewers - he works every Monday and Tuesday. I recently asked him how the job was going. 'You know,' he said, 'different shit, same day'.

I've not got brain damage; I had an extreme form of Christianity inculcated in me as a young boy.


What did the humorous chicken say? You know you love my yolks!


What did the Swedish chicken say? Another yolk? You must be yolking!


I've a friend who's obsessed with collecting fake breasts. His flatmate is very messy. I find, to get back at her, he gives tit for tat.

Recently, I bought a suit. Quite coincidentally, I knew my two friends' suit sizes. 'Shall I buy you each a suit?' I asked them. 'No thanks,' they each replied. 'Suit yourselves, then,' I said.

New jokes.

I know a psychiatrist whose handwriting is so bad he gets his mental patients to do it for him.

I once knew a successful golfer who grew sick of constantly golfing at two under par. He said that his golfing history was hanging over him like an albatross.

One time, a colleague asked me to make her a cup of tea. ‘Sugar lump?’ I asked her. Not long after that I was disciplined for sexual harassment.

Watching paint dry is like watching golf warm up.

What do you call a band with no ambition? Number 1 in the charts.

I know an ex-bouncer who’s as hard as rusted nails.

I employ a woman to fold leaflets. A new apprentice asked me what to do with a stack of the finished leaflets. ‘Put it in the folder,’ I told him. Shortly after that, I had to sack him.

I know a joke writer who wrote a joke so long that he had to print it on five hundred feet of paper. In trying to read it, he was crushed to death. The last laugh was on him.

A friend of mine who works as a Polish impersonator recently lost his job… to a Polish man.

I went into a bakery today. I said to the baker: 'you're a doughnut-maker, aren't you?' She replied: 'no: I'm a baker'. I said: 'no: you're a doughnut-maker!' 'No!' she replied. 'I'm a baker. Okay?' 'Well,' I said, 'you can sugar-coat it any way you want to!'

I've gotta get outta here (an original song).

A handful of humour.

I know a band called 'Elastic' - all the members wobble and stretch whilst playing.

Amex - yuppy business solutions since 1850.

I know a rain dancer who complains that the weather forecasts are never accurate.

I know a man with a quiet wit: he can make us laugh without opening his mouth.

I input data - people say I've great output.

Jesus was happy once he was taken down - he was no longer so cross. (This is a pathetic joke with a poor punchline - please punch me in the face if you see me.)

I went up to a girl and asked her if she found me in any way attractive. 'Yes: when you leave the room,' she said.

I went up to a tattooed girl today and told her I liked her tats.... She slapped me. 

On collective nouns.

Collective nouns: flock, flight, murder; a rape of shrews; a genocide of baboons; a harem of chimpanzee genitalia.

My question: do we need them? They tell us nothing of number. Surely 'seagulls' or 'five seagulls' is better than 'a flight of seagulls'?

They're puffed-up and pointless, and serve to make stupid people look intelligent and/or knowledgeable - depending on how many of these inanities they can spout.

I think they should be got rid of - they're a waste of effort, ink, paper, thought, and time; and they're probably stopping us from dreaming up more useful words - words like 'Sundayflim' (the bad feeling you get on a Sunday morning), or 'Wafflesport' (the art of talking bullshit competitively).

What do you think, dear reader?

New e-mail addresses.

I've a new e-mail address: CAPITALLETTERS@yahoo.co.uk. If you can't reach me on that, try: SARCASTICBASTARD@fuckyoumail.co.uk.

Thanks.

Uh-oh! Here come more jokes! (Squeeze!)

Do you ever think it's a conspiracy that there are so many conspiracies...?

I'm thinking of making a film of Good Morning, Vietnam ilk called 'Good Morning, Auschwitz'.

I've forgotten whether I've got amnesia....

I've a yogi who's very hairy. His name is 'Yogi Bear'.

Everything's calmer after karma.

My sister plays with a dodo. It's funny, you know: I thought they went extinct years ago.

Apparently, someone in America is moving House - from NBC to HBO.

My seventy-three year old friend recently got into comedy. He was awarded the 'best oldcomer of the year' award.

The chlamydia department at my hospital is hard to find.

What do you call the top of Coldean? Warmdean.

What do you call a man carrying a plank of wood on his head whilst walking towards the sea? Seawards.

What do you call the same man walking into the sea? Drift wood.

I was once awarded a certificate of attendance but I couldn't be there to claim it.

Osaka's gay netball team is called 'Osaka'.

I offered to buy a shit used car for £10,000. The salesman asked me whether I was short-sighted. 'Yes,' I said. 'They're a prescription.'

There's a Catholic and a protestant school in my town at which the Catholics are protestant-leaning, and the protestants are Catholic-leaning (but both still want to kill the Jews).

There's a chlamydia unit at my hospital which recently lost a ton of paperwork - it's lost because it's undetectable.

I've an artist friend who's overdrawn.

Whenever I walk to work, I read the Metro. Whenever I get the train, I read Walking magazine.

My dad's into hairdye - he likes 'A Touch of Grey'. I find the product a bit ambiguous, though: there's a lot of grey area (especially around the ears).

More bloody jokes....

Several nuns walk into a bar. 'You've got to be joking,' the barman says. 'This joke's really pissed.'

Why are nuns unhappy? Because they're all married to Christ, and he's really fucking dull - there's only so much 'meek' shit a person can put up with.

Why was Winston Churchill angry when he couldn't get an erection? Because viagra was something up with which he couldn't put.

A barman walks into a bar. 'Right,' he says. 'Send in the Three Stooges.'

A barman walks into a bar. He then opens the bar: open for business (and for shit jokes).

A barman walks into a bar. 'Oh, shit,' he says. 'We've all heard this one before.'

Several lesbians walk into a bar. (I can't finish this one due to political correctness.)

I once tried to survey terminally ill patients. Most of them told me not to put them in boxes. I said: 'don't worry: that's the undertaker's job'.

Every month, I buy a new bicycle.... I've really got into a bit of a cycle.

What do tennis players use to serve up their dinner? Serving spoons.

Why was the tennis player thrown out of the restaurant? He was making a racket.

Why was the tennis player arrested? He was operating a racket.

I've had masturbation traning - it comes in handy.

Why did the man covered in Vaseline get away? He was a slippery character.

People who play Halo Reach are hard to reach.

I've got a friend who hates limescale: he thinks it's scum.

What do cows think of milk? They think it's udderly brilliant.

Hitler walks into a bar. In anger, he tries to shoot the bar - after all, he isn't Charlie Chaplin.

How many Jews does it take to solve a problem? About 6 million - if you gas them all.

Why did the horse cross the road? 'Cause it thought it was a zebra.

A priest walks into a bar: 'I'll have a red wine and a brandy, please. Don't worry: the child's with me.'

I once met two team-players who couldn't perform 'cause they didn't have teams.

I went to Guay recently. I wanted to go to Paraguay but my holiday company offered me the real thing.

How do you solve a problem like Maria? Shoot her in the face.

What do you call ten men trying to get erections? Stiff competition.

New Jokes.

Why did the auditor cross the road? To improve road-crossing efficiency.

Why did the auditor cross the road? To make sure the chicken was crossing correctly.

Why did the banana cross the road? It was really long.

Why did Lady Gaga die from an epileptic fit at home? Because she couldn't reach her telephone.

I was once branded a racist for asking about knickers in a lingerie store.

What was wrong with the police survey? It came up with mostly cons.

What was wrong with the data on fjords? It contained massive gaps.

Why did the Spaniard fall asleep in the Ford? It was a Ford Siesta.

I once did a silent gig for advanced music students.

What did the pained pirate say? 'Ooooohh! Aaarghhhhhh!'

I know a man whose right leg is shorter than his left. I asked him how he was the other day. He told me he was all right.

What's pink, black, and blue? A gay bloke who's just been beaten up.

Lincoln the racist.

“I will say then that I am not, nor ever have been in favor of bringing about in anyway the social and political equality of the white and black races – that I am not nor ever have been in favor of making voters or jurors of negroes, nor of qualifying them to hold office, nor to intermarry with white people; and I will say in addition to this that there is a physical difference between the white and black races which I believe will forever forbid the two races living together on terms of social and political equality. And inasmuch as they cannot so live, while they do remain together there must be the position of superior and inferior, and I as much as any other man am in favor of having the superior position assigned to the white race. I say upon this occasion I do not perceive that because the white man is to have the superior position the negro should be denied everything.” - Abraham Lincoln.

Our most pressing concern should be....

Flugufrelsarinn (a lá Kronos Quartet).