Give me big shoes

Alright, stream of consciousness; type it as I think it.

Usually, this just results in a whole lot of incoherent shit pouring forth onto the page, but this morning I feel strangely confident that it'll result in worthwhile BLOGstuff.

...Alright, first problem; my mind has gone blank. What do you type from your stream of consciousness when said consciousness appears to be non-existent? I hadn't realised 'existent' was spelt with an E. I kinda thought it was 'existant'. ...On second thought, I can see that looks wrong. That's the funny thing about incorrectly spelt words; they just look queer somehow. Something else is queer; apparently Blogger doesn't think spelt is a word. Oh hang on, that time the little red line didn't come up. That's crap! Stop being subjective with your spelling, you stupid autochecker! You can't define one word as being faulty, and then go ahead and dub the exact same word in a later example as being acceptable.

So Jana came back with her cats yesterday. Right now, I'm working out the logistics of everything. Namely juggling animals about; trying to calm Peppy who can't come inside on the one hand, while trying to keep the cats who can't go outside in check on the other side. That, and the little bastards were meowling at my door at 7 in the morning today. I kindly told them where to go, and they promptly did. Kira is a neurotic little bitch, but at least Bosley doesn't have attitude. I reckon you could throw that cat into a boiling vat of oil, and he'll just be like 'meh'. He has a tendency to jump up everywhere though. ...You can see it in his eyes; he crouches down, ponders it for a moment, and then... HEEYAH! Big fluffy ragdoll ass in your face.

My stream of consciousness sucks. I nearly typed 'steam of consciousness'. What would a steam of consciousness be, I wonder? Self-aware steam of some sort? Bizarre Love Triangle playing on the radio right now... I miss it when music was kickass. Nowadays it's all the same shit, and all that shit is lame. Thank God for Scissor Sisters trying to be different. Laura is reason enough to have faith in music of today (okay, so Laura isn't exactly from today... but if you want to be specific, I'm not aware of any songs that were released within the last 9 and a half hours, so there).

Single Ladies is what today's music is. Despite Kanye's idiotic protest, the music video is shit. Being black and white doesn't make it 'THE BEST VIDEO OF ALL TIME'. Perhaps he saw a different music video from all of us? Maybe what he actually saw was Taylor Swift's music video, got so excited that he forgot that it wasn't Beyonce and got the two mixed up. Easy mistake to make. Though not so much in Kanye's case because Taylor Swift is white, and for that reason he hates her with a passion. He hates me with a passion too, but that's why I surround myself with so many black friends. In the mere hope that perhaps Kanye will overlook my whiteness and be my friend.

...Actually, I don't want to be his friend. He's a prick. Still, I like hanging out with black people. They're cooler than I am, so by association, I'm cool.

...Yup. Single Ladies is shithouse. Just consider the lyrics.

[Chorus]
ALL THE SINGLE LADIES ALL THE SINGLE LADIES ALL THE SINGLE LADIES ALL THE SINGLE LADIES ALL THE SINGLE LADIES ALL THE SINGLE LADIES ALL THE SINGLE LADIES

IF YOU LIKE IT YOU SHOULDA PUT A RING ON IT IF YOU LIKE IT YOU SHOULDA PUT A RING ON IT IF YOU LIKE IT YOU SHOULDA PUT A RING ON IT IF YOU LIKE IT YOU SHOULDA PUT A RING ON IT IF YOU LIKE IT YOU SHOULDA PUT A RING ON IT IF YOU LIKE IT YOU SHOULDA PUT A RING ON IT

WOAH-HO-HO-HO-OH-OH-OH WOAH-HO-HO-HO-OH-OH-OH WOAH-HO-HO-HO-OH-OH-OH WOAH-HO-HO-HO-OH-OH-OH WOAH-HO-HO-HO-OH-OH-OH WOAH-HO-HO-HO-OH-OH-OH WOAH-HO-HO-HO-OH-OH-OH WOAH-HO-HO-HO-OH-OH-OH WOAH-HO-HO-HO-OH-OH-OH WOAH-HO-HO-HO-OH-OH-OH WOAH-HO-HO-HO-OH-OH-OH

[Verse 1]
Now put your hands up
Up in the club (club, just broke up (up)
I'm doing my own little thing
You decided to dip (dip) and now you wanna trip (trip)
Cuz another brother noticed me
I'm up on him (him), he up on me (me)
Don't pay him any attention
Done cried my tears (tears), for three good years(years)
Ya can't be mad at me

[Chorus]

Verse 2
I got gloss on my lips (lips), a man on my hips(hips)
Hold me tighter than my Dereon jeans
Acting up (up), drink in my cup (cup)
I can care less what you think
I need no permission, did I mention
Don't pay him any attention
Cuz you had your turn (turn)
And now you gone learn
Wat it really feels like to miss me

It reads like a goddamn Twitter post.

So I suppose you'd then ask me 'Tony you silly fool, what kind of music do you like then?' and I proudly reply that my musical tastes aren't limited by genre. If I likes a song, I likes a song, no matter who sings it.

Even today's stuff has some bright points - I liked Ne-Yo's 'Closer' so much I bought it on iTunes. That's right! That song was worth $1.69 to me! To a miserly old bastard like me, that's like gold! Scottish gold!!

You know who I'd recommend to everyone? Stevie Wonder. That guy has a kickass voice, and kickass muscial talent to go with it. If today's music was all made up of variations of Stevie Wonder, that'd be really cool. Then I'd like today's music. Let's make it happen, world! Let's make it happen, Stevie! Somehow, I think that my wish will never be granted. It was a slightly selfish wish, I suppose. I should have wished for world peace, or a way of wiping out famine. Those would have been better wishes than more Stevie Wonder.

My current cure for famine is indeed excellent, but it's lowbrow humour that I need not resort to. Simply because Jessica gets mad at me when I say horrible things in jest, and I don't need Jessica to be mad at me, if she should be happening to read this BLOG. In which case, hello Jess! I'm only saying nice things today.

Nice nice nice.

Nice.

The word nice reminds me of Nike. And that reminds me of that commercial they had with the Samburu tribesman, who states something to the camera in his native tongue, which Nike translated on-screen as 'Just Do It'. In actual fact, he had said 'I don't want these. Give me big shoes.'

It's true. I'm not shitting you. Look it up on Snopes.

That is utterly fantastic. I just wonder how Nike can use their new slogon. Just picture the biggest sporting stars working out in their Nikes, sweat pouring from their body and excessive closeups on their feet, before they walk up to the camera, flash a winning grin and tell the world 'I don't want these. GIVE ME BIG SHOES.'

Win. I must also confess, I had to refer to Snopes for accuracy. My stream of consciousness had 'Samburu tribesman' down as 'tribal dude'. I think tribal dude might have been acceptable, but I like to look like I know exactly what I'm talking about. In actuality, I think it just makes it look exactly how it is; that I just feel a need to refer to shit whenever I'm trying to look smart. It's like a nerd citing quotes from a book, just before some surly fuck bashes him and takes his lunch money. I've got like four bucks and a few nickels in my pocket. Shit, that sounds like lunch money to me!

I sometimes wonder... getting your lunch money stolen by bullies is such a common cliche... But do they really spend it on lunch? Just picture this big, mean little kid, pounding on the poor unfortunate victim, taking the frustration of his horrible home life and the futility of his aimless future out upon the prone figure of this feeble nerd before him. There's blood on his knuckles and spittle flying from his mouth as he makes impact upon the bare flesh of the kid's face. Then, with one definitive wrench, he rips some coins from his prey's pockets, and holds them defiantly over his head, laughing a cruel, throaty laugh...

...Then he goes to the lunch lady and buys hisself an ice-cream.

What is a good bully flavour? I'm inclined to think chocolate.

I don't know about you, but I visualised that whole sick scenario in my head as I typed it. For some reason, my bully is a freckled redhead. No wonder he's so mad. And for some unfortunate reason, the victim actually looks like me. I really want to get rid of the money in my pocket right now. If there's a knocking at the door, and some redheaded twelve year old on the other side, I'm fucked. I'll scream like a little girl and just throw the accursed coins at him like raw meat to baying hounds.

What does 'baying' mean, anyway? I could look it up, but I won't. I'll just assume it's akin to being really dastardly and twirling a non-existent moustache. I like the concept that evil dogs are doing the equivalent to wearing top-hats, cackling to themselves and then tying the helpless maiden to a railroad track.

By the way, that's another thing I want to address. When we were kids, it was a common thing for villains to do; tie helpless maidens to railroad tracks, yeah? (Not so much in today's cartoons... I don't know what's happening in all that Ben 10 shit but I think bad guys are turning into fiery monsters these days and their need for railroad tracks are limited)
But anyway, it happened so much we just accepted it as fact... but shit man, that's fucking cruel shit right there. That train would fuck her up soooooooo bad!! It would be a horrible fucking mess and an awful way to die. We used to just think of these villains as being a bit cheeky, and we kinda liked them because they would be bumbling and mutter their little plans to themselves and to us in essence, so we felt like they were part of a team, but no. Just no. I don't want to associate with any bastard who's going to tie poor women to railroad tracks. Fuck you, Dick Dastardly. Fuck you and your whole posse.

Bizarre. Now my earlier bully scenario has transformed before my very eyes. Now the bully is Dick Dastardly, and the victim is Penelope Pitstop. Now there are entirely new connotations, and they circulate entirely against violence against women.

Dick Dastardly sitting in a chair looking at the camera. He looks annoyed and frustrated.
'I got really angry and I just gave her a slap, you know. Stuff happens. But she knows, I mean, she deserved it.'

No she didn't.

Muttley peers into the camera lens. He speaks matter of factly, clearly not feeling as though he is part of the problem.
'Yeah, I know this bloke. And we all know he hits his girlfriend. It's never in front of people, but she won't do anything. And I can't say anything, can I?'

Yes you can.

Sylvester Sneekly in a room. He holds his Hooded Claw disguise tightly in his grasp. His knuckles are white, so we know he's squeezing it pretty tight. Other than that though, he appears nonchalant.
'Well, you just lose control sometimes. It's only shoving and stuff, it's not like I'm one of those blokes who beats up on a woman.'

Yes you are.

This is really making me re-think Hanna-Barbera cartoons. I think my stream of consciousness has led me astray in frightening, unforeseen ways. Like a child skipping merrily through a wooded area, not noticing that the deeper they go, the darker and more menacing the surroundings become, until they find themselves deep in a perilous forest, lost and afraid.

I think I should pull the plug on this whole thing right now. I'll be escaping my menacing forest, thank you very much. Just sorry to leave everyone else trapped within the concepts of it. I mean, unless you really weren't paying attention, in which case my words didn't faze you at all and you could theoretically just fly out of the forest.