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Thelonious Monk

Cheese.

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I can’t tell you. It’s a little known mystery. If everyone knew, it wouldn’t be little known.

Chur bruh.

I’ve put some on a 8” floppy and sent it in the mail.

Far out. Wait til you see my FANCY text.

I don’t know about that thing you are asking about, but I’ve got a JFGIIGEQ FYLQB KIBBIIB, if that’s any help?

I also have a full crate of MPDEWAKEHVHIUCVJTWCJIJ but it’s pretty popular and going fast.

If you give me your mailing address I could send you and envelope of CJSJAAEOPNVY HYRBBOK ZFAYI. IGIUE HIKNJOU. But sshhhhh.

DONT TELL NOBODY!!!

It’s not the view from my balcony.

No it’s not.

No it’s not.

I don’t like mustard.

Chillis though… mmmmm

I’m a tree.

Where did I touch you? Can you prove it court? Otherwise I’m going to have to sue you for defamation for $100.

There was this one time. I saw a guy. He picked up a boot, and licked it.

“Woah.” I said to myself.

“That,” I went on, in my interior voice, “is an egregious example of boot-licking.”

That’s it. That’s my story. Subscribe and hit the ‘like’ button.

THATS NO MOON ETC.

I had a mate who strangled himself with a snowboard leash but none of us ever knew whether it was actual suicide or auto-erotic asphyxiation gone wrong.

Ah you know I reckon everyone past the age of 30 has probably had similar thoughts, to some degree. It’s the human condition. Perhaps not those with some sort of severe intellectual disability who cannot process that much self-actualisation.

Most people just dismiss them or never act on them.

Christmas morning in 2015 I was on a park bench hungover and depressed as fuck having slept the night in an open garage in a strange city, after drunk raging in My MIL’s house calling her horrid names after hearing her (or thinking I heard her) berating my wife because I was getting smashed on the couch.

I stormed out, hung about then tried to get back into get my wallet and passport. The door was locked so I kicked my way in and got the stuff and swore some more and left. Huddled in an carport/ garage downstairs overnight with mosquitos and rain seeping in.

Later I got up and went to a local park where everybody ignored me. I found an empty bottle in the bushes, smashed it and tried to cut my wrists but was too much of a whimp to do it properly.

Eventually called some sort of official thing and ended up in a psych hospital for a few hours. Luckily I knew someone else in this strange foreign city so called them and they came to discharge me into their care.

The police interviewed me a couple days later and my wife had said she wasn’t fearful for her physical safety so I was off the hook. I’m not actually violent as such, but I might hurt myself.

I spent the next couple weeks with my old acquaintance until our tickets were due to fly us back. Our kids were told that I had to fly back home briefly to deal with a project. I met them all at the airport and flew home in silence.

Giving up booze was my next challenge, which I did alone, angry and determined.

Recently I’ve been dreaming of an old girlfriend whom I left and have felt horrible about the situation ever since.

She’s the one I really love and I’ll die by the thought of her grace. But not before my parents die. I cannot hurt them.

There you go. There’s my story. I’ll probably choose hanging next time.

Sorry to hear that you were suffering. I’m feeling better about my recent brain spaz but I still reckon it’ll happen in years to come.