Grease me up, I've got a word baby to deliver.

So, for those of you who actually read this blog, you may have noticed that posts from old Facey have been few and far between lately. I've been suffering with the worst case of word constipation ever. No, I'm not going to use the phrase “writers block” because well for one thing I don’t think that “block” gives quite a vivid enough mental image for you. Yep, I’d rather you be thinking that I’m sitting here with a really sore creative gland because it’s busting at the seams with shit, clearly because I've eaten far too much word fibre, and now I’m kilning the literary equivalent of my own house brick.  

You’re welcome.

I've found myself in a particularly strange head-space of late that hasn't really been an environment conducive to producing Because Carrots blog post material. I've had lots of thoughts, lots of ideas and lots of things to say but none that really fit comfortably in the vein of the material that you see gracing the pages here. I’m sure ‘gracing’ is the correct term to use anyhow.

So in lieu of a usual post from myself, and no this absolutely doesn't count as a “normal post” because so far at least I've only sworn once, you get to play an active part in helping me apply my mental enema. So thanks, thanks for allowing me to have a place to push firmly but gently onward whilst spreading my brain cheeks for me.

And if this doesn't work I’m going to find me some fucking glitter to write with.

Shave the Whales...

So I’ve got this thing, right where when my friends are leaving my house and it’s night, I ask them to text me when they get home to let me know they’re home safe. It’s a thing. And sometimes I ask for it in the form of a limerick, or a haiku, or a joke, or whatever. Just to keep things interesting, you know? So this evening I asked Rapunzel to text me a joke when she got home and she asked if it could be an interesting fact instead, which was acceptable.

Half an hour later I received this:

When I replied that I was glad she said estimated because wouldn’t that be the most shit job in the world? Her reply was as follows:

So now all I can think of is a group of marine biologists standing around on a deck discussing the logistics of this:

Marine Biologist 1: Morning lads!

Marine Biologist 2 & 3: Morning.

Marine Biologist 4: Have you had a look at today’s schedule then?

Marine Biologist 1: Not yet, why?

(Marine Biologist 4 silently passes a piece of paper over)

Marine Biologist 1: ... they can’t be serious.

MB4: Oh yes.

MB2: “Whaling for research” again?

MB3: You knew this was a risk when the company was bought by the Japanese.

Marine Biologist 1: Well yes but I never thought it would come to this. What, are they just making up shit for us to do to justify the “research” part of it? So then they can kill them?

MB2: Basically, uh... yes.

Marine Biologist 1: Well I’m not having it! I never became a marine biologist to have any part in killing sea creatures! I quit! (storms off)

(The three remaining biologists look at each other)

MB2:  Well that tears it – he was the only one who knew how to drive the submarine.

MB3: I don’t suppose...

MB4: What?

MB3: We got any scuba suits?

MB2: If you try to make me do this I’m quitting as well.

MB3: Relax, I wasn’t thinking of you.

(Marine Biologist 3 looks over at the deck where a work experience kid is mooching about, looking extraordinarily like a young Ricky Gervais)

(All three of them grin wickedly)

MB3: Hey kid!

Work Experience Kid: Yeah? Hi! Have you got something for me to do?

MB3: You want to be a Marine Biologist, is that right?

Work Experience Kid: Oh yeah absolutely, life’s dream and all that. What’s going on?

MB2: Well you know it’s not all swimming with dolphins and getting world cup tips from an octopus...

MB4: There’s a lot of dirty work involved as well

Work Experience Kid: I know I know... I’m, you know, prepared to do my share. Chip in. Get my hands dirty.

MB3: We’re glad to hear you say that, we really are. We’ve got something that is big and important and you know, we thought we’d give you a chance.

MB2: You look like an intelligent kid, we wanna see what you’ve got.

Work Experience Kid: Fantastic! What do you want me to do?

MB4: You fancy working with whales?

Work Experience Kid: Oh brilliant! Yes!

MB2: Come on let’s get you kitted up...

(Fifteen minutes later)

MB4: OK you’ve got your scuba kit and gear, and there’s a microphone in your helmet so you can talk to us back on the boat and tell us what’s going on.

Work Experience Kid: Great! I’m so excited about this.

MB3: Righto, you’re all gassed up and ready to get in the net with the whale.

Work Experience Kid: ...I’m sorry?

MB2: Oh don’t worry it’s been sedated...

Work Experience Kid: Oh ok... so what am I doing?

MB3: We need to study the whale reproductive system, you see.

Work Experience Kid: Yep, right...

MB4: We need to measure how much volume the whale ejaculates...

Work Experience Kid: Ok, yep... what?

MB4: We need YOU to measure...

Work Experience Kid: .... you’re not serious!

MB3: It’s for science!

Work Experience Kid: But I don’t want to wank off a whale!

(All three Marine Biologists share a glance)

MB2: ... what?

Work Experience Kid: That’s disgusting! And probably illegal!

MB4: ...I guess you’re not serious about this as a career choice then.

MB2: I really thought this one had the right stuff... (shakes his head sadly)

MB3: OK well get out of the suit then... I’m sure we can contact the uni and get another student flown out... one that’s a bit more committed to the cause...

Work Experience Kid: (hesitates) No, alright, I’ll do it... (squares his chin bravely) I'll do it for Science!

(Ten minutes later)

Work Experience Kid: OK I’m in the water with the whale! His... thing is enormous! I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this?

MB3: This is a world first, kid! You’re a research pioneer! However you decide to do it is going to be how people will test this in decades to come!

Work Experience Kid: ... don’t say “come”!

MB2: Just keep us in the loop, don’t forget to relate every single step you’re taking there, we’re taking notes, this is for posterity!

Work Experience Kid: Alright... I’m swimming underneath and up to the top of his massive knob and I’m hanging onto the sides of the net... I think if I kick my flippers against his helmet that’ll do the trick... I’m kicking... I’m kicking AND OH GOD IT’S GETTING BIGGER!!

MB4: Just keep going lad! You’re doing great!

Work Experience Kid: OH MY GOD IT’S ALL PULSATING AND MASSIVE IT’S GETTING CLOSER TO ME WHAT DO I DO??

MB3: Just keep on it lad!

Work Experience Kid: OK ARGH IT’S PUSHING ME INTO THE NET NOW I’M HANGING ONTO HIS COCK WITH ONE ARM AND RUBBING IT WITH THE OTHER AND KICKING MY FLIPPERS I THINK SOMETHING IS GOING TO HAPPEN SOO.... AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRGGGHGHHHHHHHH OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD THAT’S DISGUSTING I THINK I’M GOING TO VOMIT (horking noises) OH GOD IT’S ALL OVER ME CAN I PLEASE GET OUT NOW PLEASE PLEASE I DON’T WANT TO BE A MARINE BIOLOGIST ANY MORE PLEASE...

MB4: You’ve done great lad, that’s brilliant! We’re hauling you up now, don’t worry, everything will be fine, you’re a hero! (flips off microphone)

MB2: Do you think we should have told him we just needed him to measure it’s balls?
MB4: Nah fuck that. This shit's going on YouTube.

It would appear I've been desserted...

Yes, I know that's the incorrect spelling but to be fair, you've no idea what I am about to say. I could well have been desserted. You never know. Don't judge me!

Returning to at least the approximate vicinity of my intended topic... I feel I have been abandoned to rot in sugary solitude by my inspiration. My counterpart Facey McBones may well be suffering from the same thing. Winter is upon us, friends, and the plummeting temperatures are sapping the creativity from my bones.


... You know what though I'm liking that metaphor more and more. In my day I have supped upon the dry and tasteless scone of writer's block and plunged face-first into the warm, gooey, chocolatey pudding of inspiration. On occasion I have even been attacked by the ballistic cupcakes of self-realisation.  Once when I was drunk I threw up the overly rich shortbread of shame and regret. But that's another story.

If perhaps actual desserts were involved I'd be happier. Each emotion or scenario should come with its own dessert. And why not? People tend to cry when cutting onions... so it can therefore be assumed (shut the fuck up, Science) that onions are the direct cause of sadness. And if onions then why not other foods? Conversely, if this is true - and I'm assuming it is - then we could potentially avoid certain scenarios by the avoidance of the associated dessert! (Science, I told you to shut up.)

The heartbroken could dry their eyes and go on their merry way if they simply avoided icecream.  Imagine how much happier we'd all be if once a month women left the chocolate in the cupboard and forgot their PMR (Pre-Menstrual Rage)? Victims would be totally fine after car accidents and suchlike if so-called-helpful people would stop giving them hot sweet tea for shock! WINTER WOULD CEASE TO BE COLD IF YOU BASTARDS JUST STOPPED MAKING NOURISHING STEWS!!!

... OK that's it Science, I'm getting the bat.