No one who speaks German could be an evil man.

When he kicked in the door to my Berlin apartment I didn't notice then. When he wrenched my laptop from my hands and shouted at me angrily in German it still didn't click, and although I dont speak German I realised he was here to steal my property and his words were threats. I chased him down the spiral staircase and out into the street where he boarded his method of escape, a Segway. I leapt into my Vauxhall Nova and pursued him down the street. The nova struggled to keep up with his two-wheeled, self-balancing transportation machine, the engine spluttering and shuddering violently. As we tore down the road I couldn't help but notice his tattoos and hairy visage were very familiar. I realised I still had the nova in first gear and as I cracked it into second I pulled alongside him and pulled a fishtail maneuver that I had seen on shit American reality cop shows dozens of times. The segway flipped down and to the side, hard, and the German thief scuffed the concrete fast, shoulder first, and rolled many times in only a second.
I now stood over him and most of his body was bruised and scratched. He still cradled my laptop which I took from him as I kicked him in the ribs. He shouted to people in the street saying, I guess, that I was robbing him. A mob gathered and I tried to explain I was taking back which was mine but being unable to speak the dialect I panicked and ran.
You know how that effect in slasher movies where no matter how fast the victim runs the slow paced attacker is always two paces behind? this is what started happening between me running and the hairy tattooed German criminal. He was gaining on me despite his severe injuries. I ran across a football pitch I recognised from my youth. It was an asphalt pitch and this caused me to lose momentum and as I turned to see how close he was I tripped and fell. He was now standing over me. He reached down and grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and suddenly the continuity of the real world kicked in.


A moment of stunned silence.

"Morrow, why are you German and stealing my laptop?" He looked as bewildered as me to the immediate shift in the fabric of what the fuck was going on.


"I dont know but I think I need to get to a hospital." he replied.


"ok I'll take you but you're not going to stab me or anything are you?"


"Anderson, see in about thirty seconds let's never ever talk of this again."


The alarm went off and it was Monday morning and I had to go to work. Yes, Monday, Crump's favourite day.

Tom Hanks

Lewis was sat to my left on the couch in my living room. On the couch adjacent to our left was my mother who was sat next to Tom Hanks. We were talking and laughing how Tom had discovered he had Scottish relatives which it transpired was us. Tom sat up straight and said across to me "wanna see something cool?"
"I sure do" I replied, absolutely buzzing that I was related to Tom Hanks and that he wanted to show me something.
He reached into the breast pocket on his suit and brought out from it a single green pea which he held between his thumb and forefinger for all to see. He then flicked the pea with the finger holding it in my direction. The pea landed on my inside thigh and rolled up towards my groin where it dropped into my fly which I hadn't noticed until now was open. I was amazed. "Do it again!" I shouted with joy as I fished my phone from my pocket so as to film him doing it again. "Sorry Chris, that was a one off."
"No way Tom, nobody'll believe me".

Ever since a hefty binge over the festive period my dreams have been rather strange

I was in the Simpson's house, in their living room, I was still real and they were still animated. Bart was talking to Homer, about what I cant recall, an instead of his zig zag trademark hair cut he had a strange almost morrisey like quiff. This was the last straw "What the fuck has happened to this show!?" I exploded. "You guys made me cry with laughter and now you make me want to cry with shame." I choked back tears as i croaked out the words. Marge looked at me ashamed but understandingly.
My alarm went off and as I awoke I felt both sad yet vindicated. I hit the snooze button.

I was now in some kind of virtual reality scenario where facebook meets the sims from a FPS point of view. Much how I imagine Second Life must be. I was in a cafeteria and all my friends from my final year in high school were there having an organised breakfast. I knew inside that I hadnt been invited and it made me feel pretty pissed off. I realised I could control the environment to a very low scale, enough for me to conjur a baseball bat in my right hand. I systematically worked my way round the tables absolutely plowing the bat into the plates of each of my former class mates. They reeled in horror and shouted at me to stop but they had no control over the program as I did. My old friend, John Colreavy, came running up to me begging for sanity. Behind my scrambled egg splattered manic smile a wave of 'what the fuck are you doing?' washed over me and I took stock of the carnage I had reaped. This kind of behaviour may have explained why I wasn't invited in the first place.
Once again the alarm kicked off and I headed to the shower chuckling to myself.

Hoody was just in my work saying he he had night terrors last night where he lay paralysed as i stood over him with a manic grin. After he left I wished I had asked him if I had bacon in my hair.

Why do we worry?

There is a quote that comes to mind that is often used in reference to music review and criticism. I have read it attributed to Patti Smith, Frank Zappa, and Elvis Costello, but upon investigating - here - it appears the origin of the quip is lost.

Talking about music is like dancing about architecture.

Well, the originator isn't relative anyway, only the ethos of the line and I'm paraphrasing it for my use in relation to the topic of this post.

Worrying about your problems is like sneezing about space travel.

Really. Think about it. How on earth is fraying your nerves and going over and over a problem in your head going to solve it? I'm not dismissing channeling your thoughts and time on something that needs solved but when you reach a block that cannot be passed and you have exhausted all means and efforts to conquer said block then for fucks sake LET IT GO. If something has happened then biting your nails, pulling your hair, gnashing your teeth, and causing those who love you most to in turn worry about you are not going to alter that which cannot be changed. Celebrate what you have and do not toil on what you once had or cannot have.

Time is the most expensive yet priceless commodity that we have and to fritter it away on thoughts that loop like a high-pitched ringtone is a waste so grand it can be only rivaled by the loss of life itself.

This isn't directed at anyone in particular. It's directed at you the next time you worry.

Toy Town

life is sweet.

Everything is going right.

Could not be happier.

Well... there is one thing.

The only thing that is riling me is the fact that my ipod has a track on it that I cannot get rid of. A fucking hardcore trance tune called Toy Town by some pair of cunts called Hixxy and Sharkey. It wont fucking go away. Its hard-wired into the fuckin things memory. Ive formatted the godforsaken bastard. Twice! Its definitely not on my mac. So where the mother of fucking god does it keep reappearing from? Am I the butt of an elaborate joke? Is there a virus on my mac that's only intention is to continually re-install this fucking appalling arrangement of noise over and over and over to my ipod? Its driving me to the edge. It is tainting everything in my life. Nothing is sacred. Not anymore.

I started a new job last week in a second hand camera shop after almost 6 months of unemployment. decent pay. sound people to work with. first shout on any merchandise that comes in the door which I can buy at astonishingly discounted prices. work hours that avoid rush hour traffic. lunch breaks as long as you like. every shift I learn more about my main passion in life; photography. and do you know what? it means fucking nothing to me. and do you know why? cos Hixxy and Sharkey thats fucking why. they have cornered my ipod down a dark alleyway and they're taking turns raping it with an electric carving knife thats covered in rat aids.

Got my self a website set up for £6 instead of £100 that i can upload my photos onto and use to direct potential photo clients to. know what? that's right. it means nothing.

Got a shit hot Camera lens for £450 instead of £900 = fuck all.

I am lucky enough to have friends that are the best humans I can imagine. They are considerate, generous, loving, crazy, and funny as hell. yeah? fuck them. They may as well all be called Hixxy and Sharkey.

Where the dew drops cry and the cats meow.

The first thing i can recall is very large people standing in front and behind me. I then realised that they were not large, I was in fact small, I was a child, and the reason they were stood where they were was because I was in a queue. I leaned over to my right to peer down the line and noticed I was sat upon a red tricycle. As I tilted the trike slightly so as to get a better view I saw Stonehenge far in the distance at the end of the row of people. The people were stood on a perfectly straight gray path which had an endless horizon of neon grass on either side, and the only blip interrupting the view was the famous standing stones which the line I was in was headed for.
I blurted out "No way! Stonehenge" due to the fact that I was quite excited about getting to see it having never been there before. At this outburst some of the people around me became quite vexed and peered down the line at the structures and then I heard a voice exclaim "Is this what we're waiting for? Stonehenge? Sod this" and quite quickly the succession of bodies in front of me dissolved to a fraction of what it was as they left in disappointment at what lay ahead.
Within a few seconds I was amongst the structure of Stonehenge, and subtly the dream structure shifted slightly and I was as I am now, a fully grown adult, and the red tricycle had disappeared to be replaced by my camera. the appearance of my camera was a great joy and immediately I started prowling the grounds hunting for interesting angles. Up until this point nothing that had occurred seemed even slightly strange or skewiff but now I noticed something truly bizarre. Every time I held my camera up to peer through the view finder houses would appear behind the stone structures. When i removed the viewfinder from my eyes they were gone. It was as if looking down the lens of my camera enabled me to see into another dimension where there was a council estate built behind the ruins of Stonehenge.
While I puzzled over this and checked my camera to ensure it was not on a some kind of setting I had yet to encounter my attention was diverted by a man stood near by who was selling ice-cream from a litter bin. He resemble Danny De Vito if Mr.De Vito had a pony tail at the back and was wearing an Armani suit. the bin he was touting his treats from was no ordinary bin either, it reminded me of an American mail box, you know the ones that bombs are left in in action films, they have that large shutter drawer mouth opening on the top to prevent thievery of the mail, well, the De Vito look-a-like had somehow figured out how to outsmart the anti theft design as he could quite easily get his arm in the slot and retrieve ice cream at will, but I then noticed that the selection of ice cream was not within his control because he could not see through the drawer device, only get his arm in and around it. I went over to investigate further and decided the best way to do this nonchalantly would be to join the queue. There were two kids in the queue in front of me and from these being served I learned the system. the first boy handed Danny Armani a pound coin which he quickly pocketed while he stood on tip-toes to get his hand in the mail bin, after a few seconds of noisy rummaging he produced a feast bar, in the wrapper, and perfectly intact. not a bad outcome for the young chap in my opinion, i would be quite happy with a feast bar. The next child, also a boy, handed over his pound coin and the rummaging commenced again. A strawberry cornetto was this time produced from the bin. "My God!" I thought "He's on a role, I cant wait to see what I get." I stepped forward, a beaming grin spread across my face, and pressed the pound coin into his hand. he paused briefly and gave me a slightly concerned, suspicious look. "Fuck!" My brain screamed "hes onto you... but wait, I haven't done anything... or have I... have i somehow unwittingly missed a beat? is there a system I haven't followed?" just as the sweat started to trickle from my forehead Mr.De Vito turned and thrust his hand into the bin. The relief was immense, it was as a great burden had been lifted, I had passed whatever test i had entered. But wait, he didn't take this long thumbling for the ice cream for the others, did he? was i having a panic attack? why is so much resting on me receiving some goddam ice cream? my head... i think it may explode... my cheeks are burning... my forehead will... NO! WAIT! hes got it, he has something, he turns and there in his hand, was a fucking lamb chop. I felt nothing. no shock no anger no disappointment. nothing. I looked at him and he genuinely looked apologetic. he placed one hand on my shoulder and softly said "luck of the draw son... luck of the draw"
I woke myself up with my own laughter.

Right! Who said it!? Who said Jehovah!?

Rod the mod had given us one and half pills betwen the three of us and they were kickin in big time. Now I take a lot of pills and can quite matter-of-factly rate these as 'very good'. So there we are lying on a patch of wood chip that was put there to prevent munters like us from rolling about in the quagmire that had came about from the previous days downpour. but todays weather was superb, brilliant sun with the slightest breeze to keep you cool. We were about three hundred yards from the main stage and a large numbered ceiligh band were on. I must admit I detest the majority of folk music, but hey, I detest the majority of music anyway so I wasn't too flustered, and yeah, the pills were well under way. I was itching for nonsense. To my right was a small group of kids, maybe 4 or 5 of them and their average age musta been about 6, anyways, they were distracting themselves from the tedious tunes by building mudballs from the easily pliable muck surrounding them on all sides. "aha" i thought "prime comrades for silliness.". "hey!" I called out. A few glanced up but some were far too engrossed in the bog shaping to hear me, "right, here's the deal" i said to those who had heeded my call, "you'v got, right now, a once in a lifetime opportunity to hit me, in the face" I touched my jaw with my extended index finger just to clarify for them "full pelt mind, no holding back". One young chap, about 6 I imagine twisted round and looked at who I assume was his father for some kind of acknowledgment at what was going down but his dad was mid conversation with some other tree hugger and had no idea what I was proposing. The boy looked back at me and his expression was that of mischief. the mudball he had in his left hand he switched to his right and raised his arm at the elbow and made the motion to throw but didn't. I admit I flinched but I was disappointed "honestly it's okay" I reassured him. "I'll explain to your dad I asked for i..."

*CRACK*

Right off my fucking jaw. A belter.

I stood up rather dazed. As I lifted my head, holding my jaw, to congratulate him, I was hit with what can be described as a small boulder of dirt on my right thigh. A little girl, maybe 4, looks like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth had rattled me across the leg with a mound of muck the same size as her head. "hey! wait just a..."

*SCUD*

i had saw this one coming form another lad behind the girl who had previously hit me and manged to turn so it caught me on the back. Laurie and Sarah who I had been sittin with had got up an jumped clear while in hysterics. "Aaargghhh!" I shouted. This got they're parents attention who waded in and grabbed some of them but some were unclaimed who had gathered round me and poured on the hurt. I got up and ran thru the crowd caked in mud and howling with laughter.

I walked past some of them later that day and without hesitating they started shaping mud again. I ran.