Lame jokes I make, and actually find funny, part 1

You rock, like a volcano.

A guy once gave a girl a fake bloody ear in a box with a note, 'Will you Gogh to the prom with me?'

Friends don't let friends eat lizards.

Is there anyone on the john, Milton?

You count...ry music loving lady!

May the fourth be with you.

I always get my name and 'Party' mixed up.

I just got this film and I'm going to watch it so good, it will tell all it's friends about how awesome I am.

Mayonnaise made me the man I am today.

'How much is an Eminem?' '50 cent.' 'What? That's Ludacris!'

You are wanted by the fish police on suspicion of owning an illegal mermaid brothel.

This italics bit is because this isn't one of my witty and ridiculously funny one liners, it's just something lame super cool that I find funny. I'm writing something which could turn out to be a novel, or a mess, and I have a character who is dead before we come along. He is the city architect named William H. Robin. I introduce William H. Robin's son, as such, and end up laughing histerically at my covert reference to my favorite illustrator. Bam. 



Some of these I've made up on the spot, and proceeded to almost die laughing at them, whilst others I've heard from somewhere else and used them, much to peoples dismay. Yes, I use all of these. And more.

Things I wish I could tell you.

1. Happiness comes naturally to me.
6. I write a list of things that I love to make me feel better about a bad day.
7. I'll wax philospohical over everything given the chance.
8. I pretend that the people closest to me don't mean a thing because I'm scared of getting hurt.
19. Sometimes the only thing I want is a friend to hang out with.
31. I love Star Wars, Harry Potter and Lord of The Rings.
32. I pretend that I can't sing. I won't tell anyone that I actually can.
37. I write, not because I want to, but because it's a part of me, as necessary as breathing.
48. When I'm insecure I become extremely honest.
49. I scare away new people I meet by saying or doing something ridiculously nerdy.
50. I'd like to be your friend.

All the pretty things.

Please don't eat the yellow ones

Why is that that writers of romance (you know the sort, the sickly sweet, smooth, suddenly-wish-you-had-that-significant-other, happy-endings-against-all-odds-even-if-there's-no-plausible-way-it-could-happen, post My Best Friends Wedding type) do this to us? Why on earth do they have to make these idealised versions of not only relationships, but also of normality, marriage, having kids and basically everything? They play to enhance stereotypes, and we just eat it all up. I mean, what is it about these films that we just can't get enough of?

Oh, that's right. The idealised versions of relationships, normality, marriage, having kids and basically everything. And I just eat it up.

Well, not so much anymore, but let me tell you something. You probably won't like me too much after I tell you this, but it's the only way we can continue our relationship. Honesty is the only way I live. (Even when it gets ridiculously awkward)

...

My imagination works in almost the same way.

There, I said it, hate me if you wish, but at least you know we're not living a lie.

But seriously, apart from a few little details (like the cheesy, over-the-top romance; the weird, single, lonely best friend; and the fact that the main characters never say what's actually on their mind; and the dialogue a new born eskimo could understand, and probably also the romantic part, the film part, and the normal part.)Actually, I don't think I want my imagination to be affiliated in any way to those films. Let me take it all back.

Now, the reason for my admission, and my oddly belated realisation that I have nothing similar to these films, all started with the dream I had last night.

Now, it may seem odd to a few of you (okay, to all of you) that when I neet new people, which doesn't exactly happen all that often, they usually play a guest role in a one of my dreams. It's not weird (in any way except for the obvious), but they take on different characteristics, and look kind of different, and aren't really the same people. But they turn up there, and always encourage me to do odd things. Like explore a sunken ship in the harbour, or jump off the Luna Park ferris wheel into the harbour...

Diversion; I had never noticed until now that these new friends of mine always have me swimming in the harbour. Man, that is weird.

I've lost what I was saying. I think I need to eat.

Promise me you won't swim in the harbour, it's winter and it's cold, and there were ghosts of sharks last time I was there.x

Read some Byron, Shelley and Keats

Recited it over a hip-hop beat.

Because that's how hip I am. Up with the young kids. Jillin' wit' mah homes.

You know, sometimes that little voice in my head actually gives me advice. And sometimes I take it. Like, 'Crystal, don't say that, it's tactless.' Okay, mind, you raise a vaild point. Some people, though happy to be reminded about the usefulness of feet, may not want to buy shoes after a major traumatic event in their lives.
'Crystal, if you eat any more you will be sick. I promise you that much.' Wow, mind, you've really outdone yourself here, but I'll take your advice. We all know it's not fun to be sick.
And that's about all. It won't every happen when I let slip to a stranger the last time I washed my hair. It won't come up when I've started to dance my way home from the bus-stop to Hall & Oates past a whole bunch of footballers. And it most definately will not say anything when I'm on my way to close the gate in only my underwear.

Yeah, good one, mind. (you jerk)

Roses aren't so red.

The continuity of reality

'You know those times where you have so much to say, but no words to say them?'
'Like feelings with no corresponding words?'
'Yeah. Like that.'
'Then don't speak.'
'Bu...'



'Come here.'
'No.'
'Why not?'
'Because I'm happy here. I've always been happy here.'
'Always?'
'Yes.'
'You sat there only ten minutes ago.'
'That's all I know. Ten minutes, ten minutes. I live in a continual progression of ten minutes. This is my always. I have nothing else.'
'Don't be ridiculous, you can't do that. You know that we went out for dinner an hour ago. You remember that, therefore this can't be your always. There's more to life than that.'
'We went out to dinner, where we fought. If I'd rather live in a way that erases everything but the present, I can never remember how much I've been hurt. Maybe I don't want anything more from life except this chair.'
'That's fantasy. There is a real world, you know.'
'And my reality is my world. If I prefer to live in fantasy, then what prevents it from being real to me? Something someone else says that I won't know in ten minutes?'
'Fine. Do what you like.'
'Fine.'


And then there were times when she prattled on without really thinking, just to numb the thought that he wasn't actually listening to a word she said. Catch 22 would pop into her head and she would retreat into a world of fantasy. Her relationship with books could never be damaged like this.

I think she's a...

I really like my own thoughts. When I read something I wrote ages ago, I always think to myself, 'Man, that's really cool, I really relate to this person. I relate so much to this person that I kind of wish I was so brilliant to write something so witty/deep/intelligent/insert other complimentary adjective here' That's usually when I realise that person is me. Then it gets all awkward in my head. Half of me is really pleased, but the other half gets all offended, like 'I can't believe you didn't even recognise something you wrote. Not only are you the most absent-minded person alive, but you are undermining our talent.'
To which the chipper part of me will reply sarcastically, 'Oh, I can't believe I don't continually think about how good we are, it seems like such a shame, doesn't it, that not even I can recognise our talent.'
This generally goes on for a little while before I catch onto the fact that parts of my consciousness are arguing over something ridiculous, and I shush them up.

This is when I consider that maybe I'm a little crazy. A part of me will suggest that the thought in itself is ridiculous and narssisstic, which will then in turn shush me up.

'You're bleeding.'

'Where?' I touched my face.
'No, no, there, on your neck.' Sure enough, my fingers had a sticky stain of crimson from an unfelt wound. 'Did you need a tissue?'
I was fine. I was always fine.



 

(These pictures are from P&P)

I just can't stop!

For some reason, unbeknownst to me, today I have eaten so much. And I don't know why.
I just keep on eating, and I'm still hungry.
I have a feeling that it's because I haven't had as much coffee as I usually have, but still.

I have had...
Two bowls of fruity-bix.
A chicken, mayo and lettuce sandwich.
Coffee.
Two chocolate biscuits.
A million M&M's.
A massive plate of mashed potato and devilled sausages.
Jerky.
Three pieces of toast and two poached eggs.
Two baked pears in orange juice and champagne.
More Jerky.
Even more jerky.
And I am scared.

I never eat this much. Ever.

What is happening to me?!?!

(By they way, I am not pregnant. No, not even a little bit. I'm sorry, there has got to be other reasons as to why I have started eating like a mammoth.)

And that's all I have to say. Adeiu.x




Except.....
I have decided to write a story, that may progress into something larger, or something smaller, or nothing at all, about someone who can remember their past lives. Not that I'm sure I believe that, but I do believe in fairys and dragons and unicorns and a whole bundle of other things. You never know. All this food is going to my head.


Or.....
I could write a masterpiece of a novel about a giant whale. I'd name it Lobi Mick, and it would be the celebration of the worlds intelligentsia.