Murdering Myself In The Face

Boredom is a killer. Burying your face deep into social media, flicking your thumb up the screen faster than your landlord counting the rent money, and not even looking at what you're scrolling past, your mind on a pretty girl or a strapping lad or whatever tickles your fancy does as much to kill boredom as ketchup does for a roast dinner.


I'm usually pretty good at finding things to do. I'll clear up the car park that I'm in, picking up all the crap that our yoot discard from their cars after "date night". I'll tinker with the van, fixing things that don't need fixing, often making them worse. I'll go for a hike with my bug out bag adorned with my Morakniv and Helko Werk hand forged axe (because why not?) or maybe I'll even go for a drive. You know that thing we used to do for fun before it was cheaper to fly a rocket into deep space than it was to fill your tank.But I've been in this spot a few days now so the car park is cleaner than a duck fart. I'd tinker but I've broken everything tinkerable. I'd go for the hike but you know, weather. It's a nightmare trying to dry your clobber in a van.

Late morning I decided to go for a drive to the petrol station down the road to fill up the night heater with diesel. It didn't need any really but I had to do something, I was losing my shit.I opened the back doors where the fuel tank is wedged under my bed and squeeze £2.87 in. I'm just shaking the tip being careful not to drip on my bed sheets (make of that what you will) when I hear "Oi! MATE! Are you Calamity Shane?" my face goes redder than a Saharan sunset. I may come across as quite confident but I'm actually pretty shy."Erm maybe? Did he do something wrong?" I croak back. "nah man, you is the Don innit bruv! Laters yeah!" the car screeches off, leaving everyone on the forecourt looking at me like I'd just done the Irish jig whilst holding my own gentleman's sausage in my mouth...So if you're reading this lads, cheers for that

Anyway, I went back to my spot and resumed being bored. Bored. Bored. I watched the traffic go by at the end of the road, I watched the sun set (only just now though), I was even tempted to try that tube of Dr Balls bollock balm for it's intended use rather than burns! But I was so bored I couldn't be bothered to draw the curtains.Actually murdering myself in the face seemed like a positive and constructive exercise at that moment.But I resisted the urge, and decided to focus on today's blog instead.

Now you've read this, you're as bored as me so at least I can rest, assured in the knowledge that I'm not the only person who's bored off their tits!

Another completely unrelated aphorism of mine: You don't need a parachute to skydive. But you do need a parachute to skydive twice...

Oh and speaking of tits, don't I look great with a pair of my own? (This is a Reface by the way. I don't actually dress like that!)

Add comment


There are no comments yet.