Brain Shits - Vol.2

I decided to try another Brain Shit.  I hope these are as much fun to read as they are to write.  As before, this is completely uneditted apart from spelling corrections and addition of a few images:

Have you heard the saying “Oh, if these walls could talk!”? Why?  What if these walls could talk? What are you expecting them to say? Perhaps they’ll fully educate you on 13th century French philosophy, whilst discussing Sandra from the office and her bingo wings. Maybe they’ll tell you all the latest gossip from the latest UN summit on third world debt. “Boy, the German ambassador has gotten faaaat!”

I imagine that if walls could talk, they’d threaten us. They know that we can’t really fight back. Seriously, try punching the next wall that smart talks you and you’ll end up with a broken fist and a night in an asylum. Plus, we can’t take out the wall because the building would fall down. It’d be like having a floorless disco.

They're wathcing me

I had a friend who tried to live his life without floors. That was the fastest New Year’s Resolution to get broken in the history of the world. He made the papers and everything. Unfortunately, he felt so ashamed about the whole thing that he tried to commit suicide. He wanted to throw himself off a 30 storey building, but he couldn’t find one, so he threw himself off of a 2 storey building 15 times. I felt sad watching him drag his broken carcass back upstairs to fling himself off again and again, but like a wildlife cameraman, I felt I couldn’t interfere with the forces of nature. Instead I filmed it and sent it off to the BBC. I met David Attenborough who did the voiceover for it. He gave me a Werther’s Original and a rare cane toad found only in Papua New Guinea.

I named the toad Samson. You know, after that guy who got all his strength from his hair. It’s ironic because he doesn’t have any hair, being an amphibian. But then, it turned out not to be ironic because the toad was physically weak, like a withered shrub. He couldn’t leap more than 0.5 millimetres and suffered with bronchitis. In the end I had to put him down; I was so sick of carrying him around. He didn’t do much better on the floor, and died shortly afterwards.

This had me contemplating death for the next few minutes. What happens after we die? After my granddad died, we went and had a few sandwiches, then some people cried and we all went home again. But what happens to the person who dies? My girlfriend doesn’t like me discussing this at the dinner table as it’s morbid, but I want to know how much flesh a single maggot can consume in order to calculate decomposition times.

A young Heston Blumenthal tries to fix his car with liquid nitrogen

Speaking of breaking things down, my father once had a break down. His car stalled on the M1, and the constant rush of traffic as he waited 6 hours for the AA to arrive made him have a nervous break down too. Unfortunately, there’s no recovery service for that kind of break down. When I tried to get him covered by the RAC, they asked what make and model he was, and I said “He’s bald and a terrible role model. I once caught him eating biscuits before dinner!”. The man said I should never call back again, but I did call again later that day, wearing a fake moustache. This time I spoke to a lady who said she’d be happy to cover my dad, or perhaps I’d like to cover her in Maple Syrup instead. I told her I don’t like to mix sweet and savoury, and hung up.

Shortly afterwards I watched George Alagiah’s Dastardly Flying Machines. It’s a reality show in which the news reader is sent into a surreal cartoon set during the war, and he tries to stop a carrier pigeon delivering messages with his asthmatic pooch. It wasn’t that good. I was disappointed that I didn’t get to vote anyone off via a premium rate phone number.