New House: Attempted

"Asmo...you know if you started an online blog with your wit and humor...it could become an immensely popular site"


Such was the paradoxical comment from one of my American friends.

I told him that I had indeed started an online blog, but it had yet to prove immensely popular, especially to myself seeing as I had left it for 9 months and had to find the URL by looking under my bed.

Things are never worthwhile if you have to look under a bed for them. Nothing good has ever come of such behaviour.


So, let's see. I've got an MA now. I would have got a distinction, but the college saw fit to employ a man with pathological hatred of the children's, young adult, fantasy, sci-fi, romance, drama, magical realism and thriller genres.

He described my work as a "Soulless necromancer's cat's-cradle of unlikely events." I retorted that he was being unprofessional and promptly got threatened with legal action over defamation of character.

So I must add my college course to the long history of needlessly idealistic rebellions that saw me kicked out of a hotel, the army, my BA course and my care job.

I have since finished that particular cat's cradle of unlikely events and have now embarked upon another - namely moving into a new house with an ex-girlfriend, her daughter who I dated briefly and a delusional psychotic who wants to marry me.

If anyone asks, I jump right to the part where all 3 of them are bisexual.

The girlfriend front remains a dead ringer for the Western front - vast, monotonous, littered with the bodies of young idiots and a rather silly affair altogether. My penis seems to be getting better at recovering after each masturbation, and now that there's a TV in the house it's being put to regular exercise.

The penis and the TV.

I wish they would put more ugly people on television.

The house is a Grade 2 Medieval Wheelwrights - four floors, church timbers, mediterranean garden, gym, 3 bathrooms, minstrel's gallery and one very pissed off ghost.

Said ghost is in the habit of plaguing me with nightmares - perhaps he's got sick of people masturbating in his house. I've been strangled by a tentacle monster, eaten by a clam, mauled by zombies, savaged by a demon child, kidnapped by a publishing agent, drowned, smothered, shot by my old drill sergeant and confronted with the theory that I've been unconscious since last year and have imagined everything since.

In order to avert the perhaps-inevitable moment where I fuck up the house by embarking on a crusade of exorcism, I have diverted my rebellious energies to a different forum.

The Iwaku forum to be precise, a little writing community that I administrated and wholly excluded from my comedic creations. I decided to step down after inflicting a momentous catalogue of structural changes that the little yankies and Japanophiles objected to. Plus I got sold out by an egotistical WOW-player.

Note to self - never mess with WOW-players.

So, with that sacrifice to the altar of periodic fuck-ups, I'm settling in to the new house nicely.

My housemate (the delusional psychotic one) isn't talking to me because I said her cat was fat and asked her to take her hairs out of the shower.

Should I apologize for that...? Well, the nightmares have tailed off lately, so maybe the ghost agrees with me about the cat.


Oh, and the other day I found out that every event, choice and detail of my 26-year life has been definitively linked to a grand premeditated scheme of cosmic significance.

But that can wait...