Life’s A Bitch And Then You Die

So many people take life so so seriously don’t they? You have to act responsibly and be a serious human being and show humanity and understanding and compassion and, if you are religious, attend Church or the mosque or wherever. You have to hate and slag off the ‘Tea Party’ if you’re a Leftie in America or hate and slag off Obama if you’re a Rightie in America.

You have to hate Ed Milliband in Britain if you are – well, I’m uncertain what there is to like about old Ed actually. He’s got a strange tinge to his skin rather like a bruised banana and he looks like Gromit the dog of ‘Wallace and Gromit’ fame. Mind you I like Gromit so perhaps there is something to like about old Ed after all?

Cameron looks like a male Stepford wife and Clegg looks like the kid that got bullied for being a wimp at school. That about sums up the politicians of any real importance – unless you think Farage or the fish bird are important.

Let’s see shall we? Let’s see how serious we should be. After all, we only have one shot at being alive – unless you’re a Buddhist then you get more shots by being reincarnated as a slug or something.

I can’t seem to take anything or anybody entirely seriously. This has been something that I have had to contend with ever since I can remember contending with anything really.

Teachers at school were often laughable. I suspect they had mental problems. Possibly as a result of trying to teach me. One, a chemistry teacher, used to hold long and in depth conversations with a sugar pig on a shelf. Another, a physics teacher, announced he preferred his boys ‘in short trousers’. The head master seemed inordinately fond of using a bamboo cane on the bottoms of young boys.

I mean to say, after such a childhood and education you either jumped off a cliff or decided that the world was a lunatic asylum and you should behave as if you were in a lunatic asylum. As I don’t like heights I settled for behaving like a madman so I could fit in.

A few hundred people died recently when a German plane crashed into a mountain. My first comment was “I’m alive!!” mainly because they weren’t and, frankly, being alive is much better than getting ripped apart in a plane crash on a mountain. My wife was quite disgusted at my attitude – this surprised me as, due to the fact she married me, I always assumed she had a great sense of humour.

The thing is, everybody dies – except me of course being immortal. We all do you know. Sooner or later and very much sooner for the poor kids in the German plane so what’s the point in worrying too much about North Korea starting a nuclear war or some mad jihadi chopping off your head as you go shopping?

What will be will be and there’s absolutely bugger all we can do about it so, instead of taking life all serious let’s just party!!!

That’s what I do anyway. I drink Bud and think ‘Sod it!, What ever happens happens so I’m going to have a bloody good time”

I smoke, I drink, I swear, I offend, I laugh, I make a fool of myself, I insult people if I feel like it and I help people if I feel like it. I live my life with every intention of enjoying it and, if in the throws of enjoying myself, someone gets upset or offended, frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.

I helped a Muslim lady some months back. She was a ‘peek-a-boo’ as I call them. You know, that full head covering thing with their eyes peeking out. I once saw three in my home town wearing sun glasses and had the urge to tap them on the head and ask if anyone was actually in there.

Actually, had my wife not stopped me I would have done. To me it would have been funny, to them, probably offensive. I would not have given a monkey’s personally.

Anyways. This ‘peek-a-boo’ was coming out of Sainsbury’s with her shopping and three young lads intentionally walked into her and knocked her over. Then they kicked her and verbally abused her – as she was a ‘peek-a-boo’ I assumed it was a her.

I went over to them – (an extraordinary number of people just walked on by including several Muslim gentlemen looking the other way as if they hadn’t seen what was happening. One Muslim gent actually walked into a lamp post he was so determined to pretend he hadn’t seen anything. Now that WAS funny) – and said “OI! What the fuck do you think you are doing?”

Fortunately they didn’t kick my head in they called me a ‘muzzie lover’ and walked off. I helped her (probably her) up and asked her if she was ok. She didn’t answer, looked at me with a face like thunder – I will rephrase – looked at me with eyes like thunder and flounced off.

There I was, putting myself at risk to help someone who I don’t think should even be here simply because what was happening was wrong. The fact that she glared at me after helping her I found hysterically funny really. In fact, when I laughed at her for glaring at me after I’d helped her, her eyes looked slightly alarmed and she scuttled off looking for all the world like a Harry Potter Death Eater – which made me laugh all the more.

I think you need to laugh at pretty much anything and everything. I think laughing at everything has pretty much prevented me from being held in a straight jacket with a stick between my teeth.

Nothing is sacred. Absolutely nothing.

I once caused an entire pub up north to go silent as, quite by chance, my ‘joke’ came out as everyone else had already paused for breath so the entire pub heard me. My then girlfriend sort of slid off her chair under the table to avoid all the glasses that she supposed were about to be thrown at me.

Saddleworth Moor is beautiful – well it is to me as a northerner. Barren perhaps but a barrenness of incredible beauty. Back in the 60’s something dark happened on Saddleworth Moor. Ian Brady and Myra Hindley abused and murdered several children. We were all stopped from ‘playing out’ unless somebody’s parent was available to shepherd us around.

There are still children’s bodies on Saddleworth Moor – somewhere – that have never been found.

“I like Saddleworth Moor” I said to the table of pals as we drank northern beer in a pub on the Moor, “but the kids do get under your feet don’t they?”

We were asked to leave by the landlord.

Was it ‘dark’ humour or was it ‘wrong’ humour? It’s all a matter of opinion really.

Personally, I will laugh at another’s misfortune because it hasn’t happened to me and, by the law of averages, it might so I’m going to laugh at the poor bastard because someone is going to laugh at me when it happens to me.

You live, you die, the bit in between is called life.

Enjoy.

You only get one (or possibly more as a slug or something if you are a Buddhist)

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