Whats The Use In This Youth Abuse

I feel like writing but I have absolutely no new stories to tell- its been a barren weekend so sometimes you just got to live in your memories.

Tel Aviv 2008

 

'Slee ha bevakasha 20 marlboro lights, toe da,'

The corner shop guy looked at me weird, either because my hebrew is terrible or when I speak in a different language I tend to lose control of the volume of my voice and shout. No matter which language, I am saying it with the softness of a drunken university rugby player after 14 pints.

I hand the guy the money and he says  something in Hebrew to me which I have no idea (the only words I know are 'can I please have marlboro lights/ guinness please?', 'hello', 'thank you', 'i love you', 'fuck you', 'son of a bitch', 'bastard', 'bloody foreigners' and 'orange'.)  

None of these words I can use, so I do the whole ugly tourist thing, 'uh...do...you...speak english....english...blah, blah?' Something I have gotten pretty good at in the last week being in Israel from taxi cabs, bar tenders, toilet attendees and Synagogues. 

I walk out of the shop onto the Israel sunset over a beautiful beach in the boiling weather and should be happy but I am a nervous wreck.

I smoke far too fast for enjoyment but thats what happens when you meet your girlfriend Anna's parents....and her brother.....and her extended family right down to her grandmothers uncles cousins husband-in-laws dog (who was a bloody Rottweiler)

It didnt go so well, no one spoke english so I spent three hours at the dinner table unable to put over any sort of impression other than confusion as the whole family spoke and chatted about me whilst pointing, laughing, her mother looking sad, her crazy uncle getting more and more drunk eyeing me with all the trust of a gestapo spy. All the while, my girlfriend eats a tiny salad and I am treated to slab after slab after slab of unidentifiable meat that never stops and I am expected to eat all of it I'm sure.

Then a fight breaks out, now there is nothing quite like witnessing your girlfriend arguing and shouting loudly with her mother which you have just met (and are trying to get to like you) in a language you completely do not understand and then seeing all the rest of her family stand up and join in in a massive burst of family passion.

I dont think my innocent friendly smile I had been using all day would do for this situation, it might make me look like a serial killer.

I quickly use the distraction to give the 5 newly placed feasts of mystery meat to the dog before covertly escaping outside and freedom from the melee.

God I need a cigarette...

But unfortunately thats not what I got as the crazy-eyed uncle was outside and offered me a cuban cigar and there is nothing I hate more than a cigar but I guess this is some welcoming initiation into the family so I accept.

So the next two hours are spent with me trying to hold down sickness from smoking a cigar or maybe from eating John Travolta's body weight in meat.

As the last of my cigar was finished the relatives slowly left and I breathed a sigh of relief only for it to be gone as I found out we were going to Jerusaleum for the afternoon.

So what followed was a three hour long walk around all the historical locations of Jesus with a Jewish family and a gay Palestinian tour guide who apparently had been disowned by his family for his sexuality- and I thought California was bad.

I have probably been in weirder situations than standing in the location of the last supper (which is now a Mosque after the crusades) having a debate with my girlfriends father about whether Jews or Romans killed Jesus but I cant think of one.

We get back to Tel Aviv and I feel like in a Bizarre reality which is the complete opposite of home.

For Israel is completely different to everywhere I have been- In London everyone tries to get out of each others way on the streets, are all softly spoken (usually talking about how much alcohol they can drink- well people I know anyway) and like a nice cup of tea. In Israel, the first thing you notice is that everyone stands in your way at every corner, almost on purpose, everyone is passionate and excited about talking politics and if you put milk in your tea, as I did at the family meal, everyone looks at you like you are Prince Harry at a fancy dress party as no one has ever had milk in tea here ever..

So having a bit of a culture clash problem but hey this night we went to a place called the Dinner Bar which is a cool club and I can drink all the insecurities away.

So we get there and the queue is massive but we are going with Anna's friend, a heavyweight journalist who is pretty much the Charlie Brooker of Israel and as we walk towards the bouncers they instantly open the gates and we skip all the waiting- I feel like a big brother contestant at a Jumpin Jaks.

We get plenty of whiskies in and talk about politics (or more in reality my girlfriend and her friend do and I nod along wondering why everyone is so worried about houmous in palestine, I think it is very tasty).

Soon I need the bathroom to drain the beers but in Israel in which every trendy bar you go into everyone is using the toilets with their noses on mirrors rather than the facilities and my banging on the door and yelling words I think sounded vaguely Hebrew do not stop that.

So I walk outside and try and find somewhere else to go.

The streets are empty and I walk down a suburban street but to no avail- no public toilet at all and I am getting deperate.

The nights are as boiling hot as the day time and I long for weather, any type of weather, my Irish genes are just not able to handle the heat- I wish I was a lizard.   I find a house with a small garden that is dark so I quickly dart in there and start going against a tree. All is good with the world once again...

And then the light turns on in the house and the curtain opens to reveal a Rabbi staring straight back at me.

And as the whisky is kicking in and my reactions are getting slower by the second, not to mention the crushing embarrassment that leaves me completely frozen.

So I am standing there in a garden whilst staring at a Rabbi as he stares back and I am peeing on his garden floor.

 So then it dawns on me what I look like- I am tall, blonde, blue eyed- in everyway an Aryan wet dream.

An embarrassing moment was slowly turning into a hate crime.

So I run....

And I run to the beach and buy a bottle of whisky from the local shop and drink under the stars, trying to forget my potential jail time for violating a Rabbi.

I drink and watch the waves come out to the shore and the beautiful stars in the sky, which you miss in London, and all the trouble and panic goes away.

I get halfway through the bottle and whilst staring at the moon I think there is so much beauty here which makes me really love this place and I am happy with the world despite my poor abilities of blending into the culture.

Until, I remember I left the bar about an hour ago....god Anna is gonna kill me..... 

Worst chat up line ever as said by my friend Greg last night-

'Hey baby, I got swine flu....do you wanna start an epidemic tonight?'

And ackward silence followed....

.

.
.

.

 

Gogol Bordello- Best Live act ever.

They continued singing the whole time they were in the crowd like this..

As if living poor wasn't bad enough, we are all going to seemingly die poor very very soon if the Swine flu epidemic is to be believed.

I dont know about you but please give me cancer or AIDs to kill me off, at least then people sympathise with it, but Swine Flu just sounds so uncool.

How could I explain to my family and friends how I got a virus that came from Pigs?

Thats a disgusting sexual image that would completely ruin my cool 'failure in life' image I have been working so hard for for so long .

I dont want my tombstone to read 'Here lies Bacon Sizzler'.

But you know what Its not the potential risk of death thats bumming me out its two other things:

The first is that the beautiful mountain of duty free cigarettes I had somehow gotten through customs in january (I even threw some clothes away to make room in my suitcase) is now finally coming to an end and I have to tackle the whole quitting thing because I cant afford the habit at all.

So even cutting down is stressing me out and everyone is sacred- I dont think I would give ones of these gorgeous cancer sticks to a man being sent out to a firing squad (I bought replica candy sticks to keep in my pocket just in case that situation presents itself).

God I love smoking.

At university, I smoked so much that when I went for a shower I would keep my hand out of the shower curtain with a lit cigarette so that when I had to wait those few minutes for the conditioner to work I could have a smoke- I hate those conditioner waiting minutes.

I dont know how I am gonna quit, it took me a year to move from Marlboro Reds to Marlboro Lights.

Maybe I will write one of those lame quit smoking blogs for all of your reading displeasure.

Secondly, technology is screwing me recently- I dont fear technology or think its gonna kill everyone- it just inspires neurosis in me.

This weekend I travelled half way round London from Tooting to Camden, only to realise when I got there I had forgot my phone and had to go all the way back so that I could coordinate all my useless friends into the right place. I am always the bloody sheep dog!

Then theres all the Twitter, Myspace, Facebook stuff which I have just completely stopped using for one because it has meant all the people I tried to purposely not speak to are all chasing me for birthday parties appearances etc.

But more importantly- when you look on there to request friends of people who are on these sites because we like the same music or something then you send them a message but this is what I cant get out of my head;

Law of averages suggest that out of all the hundreds of annoymous faces you see in the search, some of them might have died since they created the profile and I might be friend requesting dead people.

But more they obviously will not message back so I will get all self- conscious and neurotic about my own likability because I cant speak to dead people.

Maybe I will get drunk one day and write them some self righteous angry email 'where do you get off.....' etc etc.

A whole stream of emotions caused by a dead person- I tell you it freaks me out.

So I feel these are best avoided, thats why I have started blogging which is good as you just write and write comments on other blogs you like no harm to me there, well other than the feeling I will one day write a comment on someones blog and accidentally offend them completely but fingers crossed it doesnt happen.

But then I spotted something on my blog today which did make me very self-conscious.

When you look at the statistics pages, at the bottom is a list of search terms people use that finds your blog on google or something.

For me,  I wrote this rubbish blog a while back called 'I love smoking' and for some reason this is a popular search term and usually on the statitics page they are variations of this.

Or more bizarrely, one search term was 'I love smoking Mothers' which has led people to my site 4 times this month. I think these people were looking for something else (One-handed typers I think) and certainly not people I want reading my blog.

But then there was another search term that came up that really was something, it went like this:

'as the least educated person in the room I'd like to say'

I checked on google and I am on the first or second page depending on the day.

So let me get this straight, out of the whole internet which is metaphorically the 'room' of the term and the 'i'd like to say' is my blog then google throughout the whole of the internet has deemed myself the least educated person beneath everyone else.

Ouch...

Now thats what I call technology causing neurosis but hey as stated in the previous blog at least I can cut with scissors very well- even ran with them once and survived.

How do you like them apples Google?

 

 

P.S.

I thought I would put a real picture of myself on here as my smoking days are running out so the smoking man was not working (please dont all run away at once!)

And sorry its one of those silly moody pictures but It is the only one in which I am not drunk or smiling with my horrible yellow teeth caused by smoking.

But hey at least I dont look like a smoking Mother so hopefully there will be no more confusion in the future on that!

'Are you Ok using scissors?'

She asks me as If its perfectly normal a question to ask a 23 year old.

'...uh...Yes.'

I should of there and then started stabbing the paper with the closed scissors screaming  'I CANT DO IT, HOW DOES IT WORK!?!?!?' and then crumbled on the floor sucking my thumb.

But I wont let society get to me, hey at least I'm getting paid for being patronised to crazy by this women.

So good news I guess, I got a job.

Bad news is everything else  that its not really a job but a temp job, it pays less than a sweatshop in Vietnam and it pretty much is as challenging as beating Gordon Brown in a footrace.

So its a job in a library (which I wont mind) but its a childrens library and one that doesnt have any people as they ship there books out to schools instead for curriculum or something. So its dead quiet all day with no activity and extremely dull but at least there are no kids I guess.

I work with three women- one a women who must of been a local tv weather girl 40 years ago because all she does is talk about the weather in all its forms, another seems to have given up the ability to speak so just murmurs inaudible sounds once a week and the third is my supervisor who asked the scissor question and continuely acts like I am a brain damaged monkey but in a very passive aggressive and friendly kind of way (shes a real life Nurse Ratched from Cuckoos nest if I'm gonna compare).

My first day my supervisor gave me a happy friendly training session on how to push a book trolley... for 15 minutes (I really earned that 40p an hour I tell you). My job consists literally of  putting returned books back on the self, putting the code stickers on the books (but not inputting the data on the computer system because my supervisor thinks data entry is too complicated for me) and finally using my lunch break to go to the bathroom mirror and stare at myself and wonder what the fuck I am doing with my life.

But hey at least I got my looks... which mainly consist of my bored look at the moment

And working in a childrens library has its one good thing in that I can see exactly why kids are so screwed up and society is crumbling.

Most of these books are insane, completely insane, here is a few of my favourites-

Shakesphere written street-  were in the end Romeo goes off on a weekend with his best mate Dave to nottingham, only to leave his phone on the charger so he misses the text message from his drug dealer telling him Juliet is not really dead. Stricken by mourning for his loves death he kills himself with a flick knife to death whilst listening to 'Umbrella' by Rihannia on his Ipod.

'Death'- in which Rogers Grandma dies but she goes to heaven and everyone in his family has a party and Roger gets a Sega Megadrive and he is happy and forgets why he is sad.

 'Stop Bullying' -In which Frederick is told by his teachers to confront his bullys so he does by by staying 'Stop Bullying me' to a group who want to beat the shit out of him...and they do (Its that simple..I wish I knew) and they all become friends and get ice cream (Frederick pays).

But my favourite of all without doubt is one for kids to be educated on same-sex marriages, it is my favourite because 15 years ago Bill Hicks, the great comic, talked about these exact books and I just thought it was a joke but they actually exisit.

'Daddy's New roommate'- In which Sam's Dad gets a new roommate and Sam is puzzled by why they sleep in the same bed and why the roommate Jake loves Disney so much.

'Heathers Two Mummies'- Bill Hicks was right, it is a great read and on page 4 they are hugging- its a beautiful thing I think.

But in all honesty, these crazy viewpoints on life and completely diluted and distorted dipictions of real life can only make kids completely unprepared for life in every way and I worry for them.

Well I would, if I didnt have to deal with my own problems right now of another 3 weeks in this place.

Buy hey boys dont cry.

They drink. 

4 cigarettes, 5 cigarettes, 6 cigarettes, 7 In an hour.

Crickled Suit from the dark ages of fashion- suited and booted it is not, more suited for a booting (Oh jesus that was bad)

5 cup of coffee making me more jittery than a Politican having to say sorry.

And the shot of whisky to calm the nerves and make me Bubbly, Sparky and fiery and everything I am not because apparently being myself is 100% not what they want.

I think I'm ready for the Job interview now.

Is it Fate, karma or shit happens that out of 100 jobs that I apply for, the one I am least qualified for and lied the most about in my cover letter is the interview I would of course get.

But then again how hard can Press Officer for a Far left aggressively extremist Animal rights group be?

Probably not that hard for a man who wrote exposing news articles on the welfare of greyhounds in racing and led a rally against fox hunting, which is what I wrote I did in my cover letter.

In my defence, it was so late at night it was the afternoon again and I had the horror of being rejected as unqualified from yet another data entry clerk role by that bloody smug auto- response letter from a recruitment consultant.

Monkeys are now being trained to type at computers so I am, according to a recruitment consultant, less qualified than a species a few millions years behind in evolution.
And whats worse all these typing monkeys means even more competition in the job hunt.

So I might not have done what I said, the closest thing I did to saving animals was stopping my former flatmate, who had been driven mad from years of too much marijuana and too much unrequited love, from kidnapping a local cat from the street and trying to get it stoned, well I guess every little helps.

Anyways, the place was in the middle of nowhere and countryside always makes me nervous, too much fresh air feels bad for me I think.

I get in and meet two walls, almost literally, the two interviewers are both stone faced deadly serious people who look like the only time they laughed was 1974 and the joke got old really fast.

Everyone always gives me tips during an interview, the most common to fight nervousness is to picture the interviewers naked but by the look of them I think I would be the only one to have seen such a sight since there mothers.

Just the idea of random nakedness in a place of work makes me feel more nervous than anything else.

Then there is the advice to take some deep breathes to calm the heartrate just before but due to my fetus level of lung capacity due to smoking I am sure I will pass out and I think a unconscious me might be a worse interviewee, only just.

I guess I am just a bad interviewee but hey from so many interviews I am pretty well trained with the usual questions but this interview had no real questions at all.

'What other anti-cruelty to animals group are we most similar to?'
'Um....Disney?'

'What opposing pro Cruelty to animals group are we most in need to fight?'
'Uhhh.....KFC....Kill plenty of chickens.'

'Who do you think will win the next General Election?'
'........................Lloyd George?'

'If you were any type of animal what type of animal would you be?'
'I would be a fish because they have a memory of three seconds so I would be able to forget how badly I fucked up this interview.'

I may not have answered them like this but my answers were not that much better, I can tell you that, I didnt get this one that is for sure.

I always wonder whether an interview is the best way to get the right person as whenever you get out of the interview I always feel like I didnt get it even if it went well.

Will need to think of a better way to do it and hope it catches on or maybe I am just bitter because I cant play the game and maybe its me that is wrong or broken.

Maybe I am just a monkey typing on a computer.

I had a friend when I was growing up,

We quickly became best friends and were inseparable,

But then we became really competitive,

Always trying to best one another,

I had a Nintendo, he had the Super Nintendo,

I had a bike, He had a BMX,

I had a gerbil, he had a Dog,

I got a girl, he had Two,

She Broke my heart and he sang the blues,

I got depressed and tried to commit suicide,

He Died.

I Won.

As we line up to be slowly judged and patronised one by one and tested on whether we applied for those 3 job applications a week (such a strain!), it always amazes me that I'm not alone in this process that thousands of people are willingly going through this every week.

If Im honest you would think it would be depressing but its not actually its like a big fun day out.

One guy breaks down and starts crying, caught up in the misery of his failed existence, well that justs cracks the rest of us up right there. A old man who has had too much juice starts peeing in the corner asking for some service from the maitre d'hotel and my sides are splitting. A husband tries to kiss his wife but she turns away and walks out as he stands alone with his head looking down, I am literally rolling on the floor.

Suddenly a single mother who has just lost her benefits stands up out of her chair and starts wailing hysterically flying her hands around completely disorientated not sure where she is.

But if you narrow your eyes, make them slightly blurry, you realise she isnt crying and in a fit but laughing and dancing around and soon we are all in on the act.

The collective unconscious is suddenly as one and everyone in the queue together start tapping their feet in the rhythm of the new sunny, shiny day around them and the song of a trapped bird comes out collectively.

Everyone is singing and clapping and noone more than me, I am in rapture tap dancing around the room on tables and chairs and recruitment consultants. Everyone cheers as my tapping gets quicker, I am possessed, I am singing while it pours with rain, I am finding love on my first time in Paris and I just, God Damn it, gotta dance.

I am Gene Kelly of the Dole Queue.

Then I wake up but I am not in my bed or on a couch but in a seat at the dole office an hour of waiting gone by to be seen.

I sigh.

If only this place was more like my dream but it aint, neither despair or happiness instead its just all very english with its repressed emotion, fake enthusiasism and pretend niceties.

And now in my sleepy haze, Im realising that for the last ten or twenty minutes I have been unconscious which means in that time I was the least competent person in this building which pretty much means I am probably one of the least competent people in the country.

Thats a wake up call that makes me wanna go back to sleep.

I finally get called up to the consultant after an hour of waiting and I sit down at her office desk.

She gives me the robotic smile of someone who has grown to loathe every person she deals with and I cant blame her. I worked at a cinema when I was 17 and I havent eaten nachos since (word of advice- never never have nacho cheese in a cinema- I know where they get it)

'so how have you been doing this past two weeksin terms of looking for employment?' she asks.

'well I apply for jobs every day and have had some interviews but I didnt get any of them because we had a disagreement on my skills.'

'How so?'

'They didnt think I had any.'

She breathes in deep and looks up in the air, completely ignoring what I am saying.

She gives me an impatient and small smile again and talks slow like I am a complete idiot,

'In interviews you need to be more bubbly, fiery and sparky.'

'Thats not advice, those are just a list of chemical reactions.'
she gives me a vacant,

'What?'

I give a vacant look right back,

'...um...what?'

She sighes in a why do i bother type of way and signs my form and its done, I waited one hour for 2 minutes of resentment.

What a wonderful world.

Ah, to be honest life is not too bad, still got my bad health which is health all the same.

I am just a bit down after a week that involved literally one of the all time worst job interviews ever.

I can only think of one that would be worse and that is if Osama Bin Laden decided to relinquish his terrorist activities and arrange an interview with a film producer and try and make it in Hollywood. ('I have great name recognition, I'm gonna be a star')

During the job interview, I looked up half way through and saw the interviewees faces and it was a look of pity...thats cold.

I get out of the dole office and walk down the sunny London street smoking cigerettes.

You know, the worst part of unemployment is that there is no progression, you start every day new as if its your first day- new applications, new rejections, new false dawns and new drunken whisky binge freakouts in your underwear standing in a toilet bowl singing the Irish national anthem. (I will never be allowed into Starbucks again)

But then its not a new day because you carry two months of these constant little emotional scratches that sting everday until there is no way to compete with the fresh jumpy recent graduates who havent experienced really feeling fucked.

Its hard to express to someone the humiliation of walking into a bank and asking the cashier for the £3.48 that is all there is in your account, which I did this week.

As I walk around central London, I realise I dont have enough for the bus to get home due to the collapse of the global economy which is shit but luckily due to the collapse of the global economy there are thousands of protesters on the streets of London for the G20 (where all the self appointed smartest guys in any room tell each other how smart they all are in a room).

So I guess you gotta take the highs with the lows, now I got plenty of people to get the desired £2.00 for the bus ride or so I thought.

For a group of anti-capitalist protestors trying to bring down a society build on greed of the Pound they are surprisingly tight with their money.

But after, an hour and a hundred 2p coins I get the bus home through London, at first through the good area where the rich go on the roofs and hit golf balls to the poor areas where the golf balls land and then to home which never seemed to quite recover from the Blitz.

I get into the flat, have some little to eat and then put Woody Guthrie on and smoke cigerettes as I listen to his songs through the night watching the smoke play and circulate up to the roof but always disappearing just before it does.

'Whatever happened to those dirty small town girls, that taught me how to be a man.'

I need you now.

Three weeks on the dole and its as bad as everyone thinks, depression, sorrow, remorse and 5 hour long baths of tears.

But hey at least it allows me some good drinking and smoking time to myself, you can buy livers and lungs off ebay right?

Everyday is the same, another day in paradise you could call it but then again its not the 1980s and I'm not Phil Collins, the Multi millionaire pretending to care about the homeless to make some more millions. Instead, I am the soon to be homeless robbing Phil Collins house for his millions(I hear he has bad hearing, should be dead easy).

The morning is cigarette and coffee and watching depressingly out my cell window as all the work slaves put on their finely tailored shackles to work. Watching them go, looking forward to their sushi and lattes for lunch rather than my cold baked beans out of a can (dole money dont go far brothers and sisters). An hour of this depressing scene and then its cigarette, coffee and a drop of whisky just for fun.

The first online applications are for those high paid jobs you really think you can do and deserve because your skills are high and the day is young. The cover letters attached to the CV consist of articulate and well judged explanations of your skills mixed with utter and complete lies and bullshit.

It goes something like this:

'I am your ideal researcher because I am deeply committed to womens issues, in particular the importance of developing the transparency of domestic violence in the modern political conversation. I have an intense interest and knowledge of female social commentators such as Ann Oakley and a fan of feminist literature such as Kate Chopin.'

You take up your morning doing this without reply or phone call so you take the odd two fingers of alcohol to keep you breezy and the odd pack of cigarettes to stop the panic starting.

Then its applications to all those jobs you dont really want but are qualified for if your slight bullshit in CVs is to be believed.

'My ideal career is being an administrator and I long to forward and establish my working life in this area. As you can see I have extensive experience in admin in many different industries and feel that I can "hit the ground running" with your carpet company.'

Of course this should be read as I have lots of experience in administration due to bouts of unemployment were I panicked and applied for anything and got stuck with a bloody administrator job. I am fully qualified for this job as I am not a moron and believe myself to be a semi expert on the alphabet enough to type addresses into a computer and know how to push a button on a fucking copier.

Now its time for lunch which comes down to said baked beans out of a can and that 19p coke they have in supermarkets that when you look into its fizzy blackness all you see is death...you know for energy.

Then its a little rest, cigarette, shot of whisky and the half-hearted suicide attempt before its back for the afternoon shift.

Afternoon shift is always the same, I am already pretty depressed from not hearing from the womens rights people and others and just a bit tight from the alcohol to not be able to express coherent thoughts.

So applying turns into the fun copy and paste game where I copy vague cover letter to my CV and apply for a hundred odd jobs in 10 minutes and just hope one sticks.

By this stage you might think I would be happy as I applied for about 500 hundred jobs today but as I havent got an email or phonecall from anyone to tell me I'm pretty, let alone a job offer I tend to get abit down.

Metaphorically, depression has been paid a little visit from her boyfriend alcohol at 3am with some weed, tequila and banana favoured condoms and is ready to get fucked up as much as possible.

So you can understand that the job applications at this point get a bit obscure.

'Jobs are there to be worked, I am not working, therefore I am not a job.

Yours sincerely?'

So by the time it reaches 3pm-5pm, preminum response time for job applications before all the recruitment agents go home and actually sleep at night (horrible thought), I have developed a drinking game on response emails and phone calls to keep me a little more sane.

So get a bottle of spirit of your choice (mine is whisky), a few cans of beers (my choice is Guinness) and some cigerettes for good measure (if you dont smoke get some vinegar and down it everytime I say smoke, you dirty devils)

First, for every recruitment letter you get that says, 'we are processing your application but if you dont hear from us in one week go fuck yourself' then take a sip of beer.

Secondly, the next stage as you progress is the copy and pasted recruitment agent rejection emails with the large 'Unfortunately' smacked right in the middle, take two fingers of whisky. After ten of these (because lets face it nothing gives those pricks more satisfaction than to send these emails) smoke a cigarette and look at the sky so you can get some perspective of what is important- the beauty of life..... or after a month of unemployment finding out where Phil Collins lives.

Third step, if you get a recruitment agent ring you by telling you you applied for a job without telling which job it was you applied for, just assuming you have been waiting around for days for this one position, then immediately take a shot of whisky before continuing the conversation. Maybe after you finish the call you might wanna have a shower too because talking to a recruitment agent will make you feel dirty and used.

Fourth stage, by now you are probably a bit drunk and worse for wear so let me just say that you are a gorgeous person inside and out and deserve whatever job you want and next time you see someone who is unemployed then say the same to them.

By this stage, its probably 5pm and the end of the game so be happy in the knowledge that you are probably tipsy enough to fight off depression for the night and that in the long term the serious drinking problem you are brewing will lead to a better benefits package from the government.

For all those lucky few that got interviews for a job, you must take a penalty of downing the rest of the whisky so to kill enough of your braincells so that you have absolutely no chance of getting your job and make the rest of us feel better.

You dont want to be the lonely person with a job whilst everyone else is having such a party unemployed. For life is just a popularity contest and you are losing badly.

So there we go, the end of the drinking game. Please repeat ad nauseum or until you are nauseous.

I hoped you liked the 'Love is on the dole' Drinking game and I further hope that it takes off in popularity and one day maybe takes over from monopoly as Britains best loved game.

This is mainly because bankers have been playing Monopoly for far too long with our money and thats what has gotten us all into this mess in the first place.

Ever feel like you are being cheated?

I was walking, crawling was not the done thing tonight, vodka makes me run around with no place to go and this was no different. The world had become indecisive, rocking from side to side as I try to walk on down this slippery wet pavement in the nighttime.

'mAKe Up yOuurr mINd, WorLd'

I stutter out of my mouth as I walk in a vain attempt to calm the earth beneath me as it makes up its mind on where to settle its position. I become angry at this ground for picking this time to be swaying so much, after all my vodka binge had made me uneasy myself, but my outburst seemed to have irritated the earth so it swayed now with new intensity so I knew that I should shut my mouth rather than try to reason my misfortunate at the worlds bad timing.

But for now, this was no time to be alarmed by my walk, I was escaping and had to keep my fragmented mind in check so that this time was a success, back to my lodgings in a flat was my only destination.

For tonight brothers and sisters, the society had changed, I once held on to my firm judgement that the pub was a place of human interaction but with rugby fever gripping the nation apes began to rule. As I stood with my triple vodka as my only mode of conversation, long swinging arms began to hit me at every corner and mass squeals and screams ignited around the room at my lighting of a cigarette, apparently these apes had never seen fire before and it alarmed them.

I snubbed my cigarette so not to traumatise them more and sneaked slowly to the bathroom, I assumed they would be barracking the main doors soon enough to hinder my escape so they could capture my fire, the vodka to the best of my knowledge had not kicked in yet but I was sure the whisky was settling as I was able to fly for the briefest of moments through the window, the dam dirty apes had not gotten me yet but for how long would they believe I was in the bathroom for? I needed to walk away quickly (I would have run but I think it looks uncool).

I walk through the endless maze of a main street and stumble across a merchant of some kind lying on the floor.

He states that he is less of a home and in a whirl of optimism I say that he should be ok if he had 5 homes he should be happy with 4 that he has now, but he seems irresponsive to my cander and a silence grows between us.

But in the mood of danger set upon by the dangers of the apes, we humans must stick together so he offers me a bottle of liquid.
At 20 pounds, I feel assured of its quality and take his offer before he changes his mind.

This is when as walking in my new found fortune drinking my newly acquired vintage bottle, did the earth get indecisive and my escape becomes ever less likely.

But after an hour of trying to sway in time with the world to regain a sense of walking straight making me nearly be run over three times, My house was in sight.

But aghast I went as i walked, an ape run up to me. My alarm was great as I knew my time was up, they had found me and more would soon be here.

' whattttchaaasse dddooiinhfgjgggg noooowwwwww, comjghjgjgmeeee hereeee'
he laughed.

after a few moments of marveling at the money I can make with a talking ape, it was suddenly taken from me as he punched me in the stomach and then I knew he would not be able to be tamed and trained for commercial use so my dream was taken.

Suddenly he grabbed at my pockets and took my wallet, how a primate would know I hide my money there is a mystery I will always hold, but then I ran away in alarm but with little harm done as an ape can surely not understand the concept of money.

But in my panic and screaming, I angered my old enemy the indecisive earth who in a fit of rage swerved a brick wall in my paniced path and then darkness.

I then wake up in my old room in my kansas, the jail cell, was it all a dream? Best not to sleep for a month or so. Hopefully the planet of the apes will be gone by then.........hopefully!!!

Change is a difficult thing, who really wants to change themselves, it would mean that you dont think yourself and thats hard to swallow. I don’t see the point of changing its not like I’m significant enough or any change would really matter.

Every time I sit in a room with people I just can’t help thinking that one day everyone in this room will be dead one day, just ash and dirt. It doesn’t take that long either, probably one hundred years and 99.9% of the population will be gone.

Then I fantasise what if just one cup of tears was cried for each person on average by relatives and friends then that would be like two billion galleons of tears, probably enough to make a huge lake of sorrow.
And then I just think if life is so short and there is so much misery surrounding it, what difference could it possibly make that me, one insignificant part of the slow hundred year extinction of every thing that at this very moment is alive on this planet would want to change in the slightest.

So why dont we just all raise a glass and fucking enjoy are time, whoever you are.