The list could be endless, but because this is all about me, let’s talk about the couple of things that are starting  to get to me.

You’re lazy.  Or bias.  Or racist.  I dunno what it is.  But either way, you are not really helping us humans out.

Back in the day when you did your job right, you realised that supermodels needed to be ridiculously thin.  So. You  saw a requirement and you created the sick trigger.  The little dangly thing at the back of the throat which allowed  them to remove lunch shortly after eating.  This in turn allowed them to do their job.  Well done Mother.  Well  done.  

And then you gave up.

Lets be honest.  Babies.  Human babies.  They have been around every since a meteor brought life to this planet or  whatever the hell you decided to use to inhabit this planet.  But they are as uselss now as they have always been.

Look at monkeys.  Born, a few hours later chow down on a banana or two and play swingy branchy with the others.  

Their necks just work.  Their bodies just work. But human babies….

What’s with the crapping and complete inability to clean themselves?  A monkey.  It craps, it picks it up and throws it away.  Job done.  A human baby…well…let me tell you a story.

A few days ago, I went to change my daughters nappy.  She had been pulling faces like a drunk man trying to open a bottle of beer with his bumhole.  Then the faces stopped.  The smell permeated.  Job done.  So I thought.

As I open the nappy…there it is.  Still working its way out.  Oh well.  And then it happened.

I watched the birth of a turtle.  It was frankly disgusting…while being freakishly mesmerising.

As I looked down, something about half the width of my daughter started to emerge from her behind.  I just sat there.  Staring.  

Now.  I don’t want to look or sound like a person who should be on a special register that means I shouldn’t either  work with children or be left alone with children, but I honestly couldn’t stop staring. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t  have an urge to watch anyone taking a dump.

But I literally saw a turtle being born.  I was honestly waiting for the legs to appear.  When she was finished, it  ran off to the other side of the room.  This newly born turd…cowering in the corner.  I tried to coax it out, but  what do you give a piece of poo to make it want to come to you?  I mean it only just escaped.  It must be scared…erm…shitless(???) that you are gonna put him back in.

The last time I saw it, it was heading for a crack in the wall and I hear it moving around at night. I am gonna  leave it be for a while.  But if it comes out, I am gonna crack it on the head with a shoe.  Might be messy, but has  to be done.

But anyway.

Why cant babies clean themselves?  I have seen some quite disgusting sights since my daughters were born.  It’s time  for them to be able to clean up after them.  And stop the vomiting too.  Animals eat after they are born. Do you see them with a bib on?  Do you see them being picked up by their father and the baby throwing up in to their parents mouth?  

Exactly.  Please…sort it out.  It’s time for you to make babies more intelligent. If you feel the  
need for them to continue wearing nappies…fine…but make them intelligent enough to be able to change it  themselves.  It’s time for an upgrade.

And it isnt just babies.  It is also old people.  Some of them are stealing precious oxygen that we need for more  important things.

Old people are honestly getting dumber.  Just recently, my wife got told she was being selfish for sitting in a coffee shop feeding our daughter.  No, really.  Had I been there I would have offered her a one way ticket for a trip to Dignitas because Mother…you aren’t doing your job.  That woman needed seeing to a long time ago, but you left her on earth.  Annoying people.

Or the old person I followed in the car the other day that on a 60mph limit road slowed down to almost 10mph to change lanes.  Finally changed lanes with a swift yank of the steering wheel….and then when in the new lane, he  indicated he was changing lanes. Where is the brick wall that he drives in to which means his car wont work and he cant drive?  Where is it Mother?  You see?

And then there is general “niceties” that you need to consider.  On the radio this morning was a morbid advert trying to threaten me to give up my precious blood because some old guy who just drove in to a wall may need it.  I  
don’t have a problem with needles.  Others on the other hand do.  So how about you just create a little valve on our arms that we squeeze and blood comes out.  Job done.  And no, I don’t intend to use “little Sy” to pass blood.  The last time I did that I had to go on a course of anti-biotics.

Or how about more kidneys.  There are organ shortages.  Give us some extras.  Its much easier to give up an  abundance of organs than the only ones we have which we use.  And for the love of an imaginary friend….ONE liver?  

What the hell.  I mean sure, you have made some incredibly dumb mistakes in the past, but its been thousands of years…and we still haven’t got another one!

Take a good long look at yourself because if I don’t see intelligent babies, euthanasia of the dumb and an easier way to give my organs and blood…well…I may just convert to religion and blame Him instead.  And you (AND ME!!)  
REALLY do not want that.  

You have been warned.

Much love, call me…we’ll do lunch!  Love to Daddy Nature.

Sy.

© 2011, Sy. All rights reserved.

I don’t really understand the need to google that last part though.  It’s obvious.  The answer is “with a tub of chloroform and a copy of your favourite Sunday newspaper”.  More worrying is that they found my site with that search.  What the hell do I write on here!!

But really.  Why do they want to know who I am.  I am an enigma.  A mystery.  An overweight 30Something year old ugly bloke.  Hell, you click the link on the right hand side of the page (this next part is of no use to you if you have this on feed or email or something) there is a link to the Facebrick group for this site.  Click that.  It has a person who owns the page.  Me.  It really isn’t rocket science.  Now.  Why would you like to murder me during sex?  And can I just confirm.  Male?  Female?  Attractive?  Face like an asteroid hitting Earth?  I just wanna know…coz if it is gonna be my last time, I have some requests.  Can you bring a friend?  And by “Friend”, I don’t mean 10″ black dildo or something equally painful that is staying away from me.  I would prefer to go out more Charlie Sheen’esque and less “battered to death by two burly guys”.

But aside from that, there is also the weird and wonderful search engine stuff such as “is dolphin sex fun with people” and all the people that ask “what is bad about being a vegetarian” to which the answer?  A bloody lot.  Stop doing it.  Grow up, it’s a fad…go kill a cow, slaughter a pig.  Eat a bacon and steak sandwich already.  Use really thick bread.  Lets carbs find you.

And then their are the PR companies contact me trying to sell their wares.  They appear via one of a few sites, go straight to the About page.  A few seconds later I get a hit in the stats saying that they clicked the email link on that page.  Normally a couple of minutes later I then get a mail saying “Hi!  Been reading your site, it’s great!  So, we have xxxxx and thought you could use it on your site?”

I mean sure, I can speed read.  I can also drive fast and know that road safety campaigners secretly think that it is sexy. But how fast do they read to be able to read enough of the site to be able to say the “Been reading your site, it’s great!” line?  Lazy lazy PR people.  They should give me a job.  Or just loads of money.  For some inexplicable reason I also get a lot of hits from publishing houses.  Guys…I can promise…nothing on this site is plagor…plajur…copied from somewhere else.  And if for some reason there has been, why the hell are

you publishing that crap?

If you want to give me a book deal, see the previous line about publishing crap!

As a side note, on doing a quick spell check, it changed the word carbs to crabs.  So if you DO want to let crabs get you…well…let’s leave it on tour shall we?

© 2011, Sy. All rights reserved.

It was a wedding.  A happy occasion.  Except that I seemed to be the centre of attention.  I couldn’t work out why at first, as we stood outside the church waiting impatiently.  

Who the hell made up that rule “The bride should be late”?  If she was a train, I would want a refund.  If she was a bus, the chances are that she wouldn’t turn up at all.  Stupid rule if you ask me.  My wife was late for our wedding.  I almost left.  I didn’t because not only am I a nice guy, but I was being held back by 3 guys and being tazered by the woman doing the ceremony.  Which wasn’t in a church.

Which brings me back to why I found myself with more attention than I would have expected at a wedding in which I am just a guest. I hadn’t realised at first, and then I noticed people carrying packs of burgers and sausages. People seemed to be jostling for position near me.  And then I worked it out.

Any moment, the words “Could you now take your seats” would be said.  At that point, I was going to have to walk in to the church….and probably burst in to flames.  I was a walking BBQ.  I was the fuel for their collective lunch.  People started to get closer and closer.  I could hear the wrappers coming off of the packs of sausages.  Hell, I even heard one person say “How long do you think he will burn for?”  Then kids got involved.  ”Mummy…can I have the marshmallows now!” they said excitedly, prodding me with their sticks hoping that I would go up soon.  

But I didn’t burn.  Because I had put on my new cologne…”Crimson King” by El Diablo.  I was safe.  

As I took my seat, I did notice just one thing.  Churches are notoriously cold (I mean there isn’t much money in religion is there…according to Mr Pope who lives in a broken down shack in Italy which he calls called The Vat-eye-can.  This church on the other hand was actually very warm.

And then I realised the heat was coming from the floor.

Yes, the house of god was heated from the floor.  Or from hell if you may. I mean really…if you are a church, do you really want your sheep thinking “Hey, it’s friggin FREEZING in here…but boy is it toasty down there!  Sure, it is my eternal soul if I head south, but geez…at least it is warm and I dont have to spend eternity with these stupid wings.

I also noticed that as the bloke at the front in the dress (no, not the bride…she was female and looked lovely) said “….and there is a collection plate.  Without it we will be down to our last £44BILLION and we cant have that now…so…put money on the collection plate OR YOU WILL GO TO HELL!”, the floor actually got warmer.  Good timing by the heating…or an actually an honest to god threat?

Either way, I wasn’t gonna find out.  I reached in to my pocket and got my camera out and took some photos.  I didn’t have any money on me.

I would continue this story about what happened as the day went on, but this is a family site (he says, just talking about bursting in to flames in church) and we can’t have the kids reading about:

Tried stealing a golf cart

Wife enjoyed lesbian kiss

Hotel is now missing stuff

I dance like a man with about as much style as a three legged pig wrapped in a bin bag trying to do the Macarena

…and some other stuff which we wont go in to.

And if ANY of you tell someone I know that I drunkenly danced to Bon bloody Jovi…..there will be blood.

© 2011, Sy. All rights reserved.

Why?  Because I have put on a little weight.  No, I don’t mean that overweight (and in my case ugly) people are terrorists and that slim attractive people are like a rainbow that has each end delving deeply in to leprechaun poo which is encased in gold.  It’s a little less shallow than that.

Of course, I am not completely sure I have put on as much weight as my clothes want me to believe.  I believe part of the problem is my daughter.  The apple of my eye.  The one who worked out that “When they put clothes in the washing machine, they then turn dials and walk away!” and decided that “Actually, Dad done the washing, therefore it is being done wrong.  I shall remedy this by turning the dials after he walks away”.  This led to my clothes being washed on a heat that NASA uses as a “If we get too close to the sun, how hot will it actually be?  Let’s find out by using a setting on a washing machine that no substance known to man can actually handle.”

I mean really…why have a setting that makes it so hot that you may as well swallow a burning poker or molten lava and heat your clothes clean using your body as you wear them?

But let’s just say that not only did she put the washload on a setting where if you were to open the door as soon as the wash had finished, you would be making that deranged monkey sound when trying to take the clothes out, but she also pressed the “Let me dry the clothes for you too!  Yes I know that all of your labels have a DO NO TUMBLEDRY” label on them, but I will do it for you anyway” button.  And then walked away.  Happy in the knowledge that she has helped me.

The problem then comes that I forgot I had put the washload on.  So it went right through the hot wash and then got dried to death.  It took me a while to work out what had happened when I finally went to get the washing out and then realised that the load seemed a quarter of the size of what I had put in and was mysteriously dry. Had I been gone that long?  Did it even wash?  I checked in the best way possible.

I took a pair of my underwear out and gave them a good sniff.  The test is in that if I take a long deep sniff in the crotch and don’t vomit uncontrollably before passing out for a matter of minutes, then they must be clean.  They passed the test and I kept my lunch in me until nature took its place.

The problems then started again the following morning.  Deciding that it was more fun to play the “Hit snooze until I am so late that Superman would have issues with catching the train I need to get” than just actually getting up in time to get ready, I rushed about getting dressed and driving to the train station.  The initial reaction I had to putting my underwear on was “Christ…a little snug!” but didn’t think anything of it as I had worn them a few days before and they were fine.

And then I got off the train and had to walk a mile.  Through the main financial district in London.  In rush hour.

“Walk” is maybe a little misleading.  It was more like arch deacon Dom Claude Frollo had given Quasimodo a bit of a serious seeing to and then inserted a live grenade between his arse cheeks and sent him on his way.  

For a woman, you don’t really understand the whole underwear being a little tighter than you would perhaps like thing.  Sure, you may end up with your G String slicing you in half when you sit down too quickly or something, but nothing spells “ouchy!” like having your tackle squashed to oblivion by underwear that really isn’t playing ball (or playing with your…).  

It all led to me maybe looking like I was nervously sweating (hey, I am quite attached to the boys and didn’t want them to come to any harm, but dropping my strides in the middle of London to take off my underwear to ease things up was just not on the cards) and walking VERY uncomfortably.  I was already getting some looks of “Ey up…what’s up with that bloke then…” from the local constabulary.  So I did things like look at my phone (which I guess in their eyes was me checking how long until things went bang) and walk a bit quicker.

It all hit a big crescendo when I got to the office, got to the desk, sat down too quickly and pretty much decapitated my testicles. By the end of the day, me and John Merrick were best friends on Facebook and he has been poking me ever since.

© 2011, Sy. All rights reserved.