Posted in comedy, humor, humour, writing

Rumours Of My Depth Have Been Greatly Exaggerated #whatiwrite #nanowrimo #movember

‘Well, this isn’t ideal. Buy hey… how about you join us, big boy?’

It’s easy being Larger Than Life on the internet. Mainly because in person, I’m around eight inches Shorter Than Life. It’s Movember! And NaNoWriMo! And probably some other shit that I don’t care about. Yay!

The thing about NaNoWriMo or those other things where people do stuff en masse because they reckon not being the only pleb doing something is a form of motivation (Couch To 5K, Flash Mobs, Gang Rape) is that although I am definitely down with Having  A Reason To Do Something I Should Just Be Doing Anyway, the idea of lots of other people doing something puts me off. (WHAT A LONG SENTENCE THAT WAS! I WRITE BOOKS, YOU KNOW!) I have no interest in watching The Walking Dead or sharing your Kony video, or clicking your photograph of a baby panda because it’ll cure cancer. I am a unique snowflake, damn it. I’m not a passenger on your avalanche.

I remember being in primary school, in a class of thirtyish kids, and being The Best At Everything. Maths, Spelling, Reading, Art. All of it. I could read and write before I went to school. I was totes on the way to being a supergenius. Then I hit Big Boy School, and suddenly the game changed. I was only the third best at art in my year. THIRD!!! What even is that? Bronze Medal. Fuck that. So, instead of striving to become the best, I usually just gave up. I was never a fast runner, so I hated any sort of competitive sport. If I was ever forced to compete in some Sports Day thing, I’d give it a little sprint for the first few yards, check to make sure I wasn’t winning, then give up. Fuck doing stuff if you aren’t the best at it. Where’s the adulation and hero-worship in that?

I actually love sports. Watching them at least. I’m not that guy, the one who at the start of every football/rugby/baseball/tennis season comes on your Facebook feed to inform you all that ‘anyone posting shit about sport is getting hidden from my feed. I’m warning you now!’. Yeah, STOP LIKING STUFF THAT I DON’T LIKE. That guy was severely wedgied in school by the sporty kids. Possibly even raped. Probably turned to music or something. Music is where you don’t need sporting skills to make friends. And you can smell as bad as you like and never wash your hair. You could even get girls from being a musician. At least, they looked like girls. Girls with penises.

You should never bother doing anything unless you’re the best at it, that much is true. Some soccerball manager guy once said ‘First is everything, second is nowhere.’ Soccerball people ain’t not good at sentence structureding. But, I hear you cry, being the best at something is such an exclusive club! Wouldn’t that mean that only very few people do anything then, and everyone else is just a pointless also-ran? Kind of like the Scottish Premier League since Glasgow Rangers were thrown out for financial irregularity? (Hates Sports Guy just blocked me from his newfeed). Well, yes; you’re right. Except, and this is a very big except, you don’t actually have to be the best at something. You just have to fucking delude yourself that you are. And where better to do this, than in the field of Self Published Writing?

My book is brilliant. Everyone who agrees with me on this is a fucking enlightened motherfucker and everything they’ve ever said is truth. Anyone who disagrees is an idiot mongoloid who totally missed the point of all my subtle nuances, and multi-layered characters and dense plotting. The only reasons I am not already a millionaire, are bad luck, short-sighted agents, and a lack of distribution. Otherwise, The Greatest Book Ever Written would be on every bookshelf in the world, and I would be balls-deep in nineteen-year-old Victoria’s Secret models every MDMA-drenched minute of the day. The new book is even better, and when it fails to sell more than twelve copies, it’ll be the fault of the Illuminati, the Jews, Russell Brand, Scientology and the Tory Party; because it definitely won’t be down to my lack of talent, ambition or penis girth. You can take that shit to the bank right now. That shit’s postdated, but they know I’m good for it.

So you see, I’m still the best at everything. Fuck you, two guys from Secondary School who could draw a bit better than me. How do you like them apples? Perhaps you could do me a pastel still life of them. With your fucking balls. Or something.

Vote Obama!



Self proclaimed author, cynic, saviour of humanity.

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