You Have No Defence Output, Earthling!

Just in: shock news that will have America's mid-West sleeping even more frequently with loaded shotguns (and see David Bowie preparing for a good probing) - The Ministry of Defence has closed down its UFO desk because it feels its Pluto Population Investigation unit is serving no purpose at all and is diverting valuable resources from more important defence purposes.

In layman's terms that should mean less annoying PPI texts for us all and more coffee for other desks in the MoD. Ha ha ha!

Actually. I made that bit up about the Pluto Population Investigation unit for the sake of a lame PPI joke. And in truth, it sounds like there really wasn't any kind of a "unit" at all.

Just a desk. Probably at the back of a huge open-plan office. Right near the photocopier. Manned by some poor guy in a seventies bomber jacket who never ever got invited to join the office lottery syndicate.

And actually it's only the UK MoD. So probably the USA is totally unaffected by this decision and is still in a state of high paranoia. So no change on the sleeping-with-shotguns front then.

That aside, it is sobering news though. When you think about it.

The UFO desk offers "no valuable defence output". Their exact words.

Now that either means the person manning the desk is so inept at collating the tonnes of information he must undoubtedly receive every year that the entire system was just unworkable or - and this is entirely my interpretation - the MoD has admitted to itself that it just cannot defend us against alien invasion.

They are in fact, even as I type, diverting funds to make alien proof Anderson Shelters to save their own scrawny military arses whilst selling the rest of us down the river. "Look, Mr Alien, we freely give you 99% of the human race without any kind of resistance at all, just leave us poor whimpering guys in uniform alone and please don't probe us for unobtainium because we haven't got any."

I think this is a tacit confession from the MoD that as far as "life out there" is concerned we are probably outgunned, out-thought and totally outed in both a gay and non gay way and there is absolutely no point in throwing anymore money at Star Wars defence programmes or sending Chuck Berry records into outer space.

We are ripe for the taking. We may as well all offer our naked arses to the sky right now.

Go on. Just pull down your kecks, bend over and submit to the will of Emperor Ming. It may take some time but just remember there's a lot of us on this planet and it'll take a while for his probe to reach us all. Sure, the unbelievers are going to moan and may even call the authorities... but who's going to stop you?

The MoD?

No chance.

Those wussies have gone to ground. It's just you and me and we've got to accommodate ET's glowing finger as best we can.

Good luck, people. Live long and prosper.

How To Win The Lottery

Have you ever had one of those occasions where you’ve told a white lie and then the lie has kind of come true?

It’s like you made it happen. Like saying it out loud to another person made it real. Birthed it into the reality of the material universe. I spoke therefore it was.

Well, that happened a couple of times last week. I’m not saying I fib all the time but, you know, needs must. I white lie all the time while I’m at work. It starts with that sunny smile I paint on my face every morning and continues throughout every word and deed as the day progresses. We all do that, right? To get the bucks?

So it got me thinking. And thinking got me a desperately lame epiphany.

Maybe I could use this universal mechanism to win the jackpot on the lottery. I mean, for £1 a go, it’s worth a shot, right?

So I told my wife and kids that I was going to win the lottery jackpot this Saturday. No ifs or buts. I was buying the winning ticket. I told myself the same when I went into the newsagents and handed over my smirking pound coin. I am buying the winning ticket. I looked at the other customers in the queue ahead of me buying their own tickets. Poor sods, I thought. They’re wasting their money. Losers. The result has already been preordained by the verbalization of my positive thoughts. The winning lottery ticket is coming to me.

I then went home and confirmed to my wife that the winning ticket was now in our possession.

I would brook no doubting or poopoohing. No tish-toshing or balderdashing.

This was real. It was happening. It was going down.

Saturday came. The Lottery balls dropped (cough).

I got one measly number.

And a broken finger from scrunching up my lottery ticket so furiously.

Screw you, universe!

But then it hit me.

What the magic ingredient was.

It’s not positive thinking or “verbalizing with intent” that makes white lies come true.

It’s the guilt.

That little stab of guilt and suspicion; that little thought of “oh God, I hope I haven’t just cursed myself; I bet it’ll all come true now”.

It’s the guilt that does it.

So I’ve got me another pound coin for this week. I’m going to buy another lottery ticket. And I’m going to say to everybody I meet that I’m going to win the lottery jackpot and leave all you grovelling poor people behind. I’m going to cast you all off like the dust from my shoe.

But it’s only because I want to feel really guilty.

Honest.

Steve Pilgrim vs The World

So, lagging behind the cool people by a year or two, I only got round to seeing Scott Pilgrim vs The World last Saturday on account of missing it at the cinema on it's initial release and my wife kindly buying it for me on DVD for my birthday (which was last Saturday).

This isn't going to be a film review - other than to say this was one of the best and funniest films I've seen for a long time and if you dig geek cool and computer games and kung fu then this is the film for you. Oh and chicks with pink hair. If you're into chicks with pink hair you're going to love this film.

No, what this post is going to be is a revelatory experience along the lines of: oh my God, my life has curious parallels with Scott Pilgrim, the eponymous hero of the film reviewed in thumbnail above.

I'd like to undercut the shock of this statement a little by doffing my cap at verisimilitude and pointing out that no, I don't have a catholic Japanese High School aged girlfriend (who goes to a school that insists on its students wearing school uniform) and I am not two-timing her with a cool chick with pink hair who has seven deadly ex's whom I must battle for the right to continue dating her.

Because, let's face it, that's taking this whole geek-cool thing a step too far. Real life just isn't like that.

But I do feel like I have to battle seven deadly hexes to get to where I want to be. Hence the poor excuse for a comparison that probably won't stand up to too close a scrutiny, so please don't even try.

Hex 1) lack of motivation. This is my biggest failing. I need a power-up already just to put this baby to bed. It's not like I don't want to do stuff. It's just that sometimes I don't want to do it now. There's always tomorrow, right? Wrong. Tomorrow just got here and I still haven't done the stuff that I want to do. Don't even get me started on the stuff that I have to do.

Hex 2) lack of focus. I'd never make a good Sith Lord. I don't have enough anger or focus or mind power to visualize what it is I want to do with my life other than write. Now writing is fine if it pays. Until then I need to be doing something that at the very least fulfils me just a little bit and doesn't bend my sanity out of shape in the process of paying for the food on my table. But can I visualize something that I want to do? Can I heck. It's all furry, smudgy and out of focus. It feels like Darth Maul has sneezed all over my glasses.

Hex 3) Lottery dependence. This is probably a direct result of Hexes 1 and 2 above. It's like looking for life's cheat code. The short cut to the top. The secret level where you can just do what the hell you want and you can laugh at the bosses rather than having to fight them. Trouble is when you depend on the cheat codes you don't play the game properly and hone your skills and do stuff for yourself. Cheat codes are bad, people. They cheat nobody but yourself. And that's about as meaningful as this post is going to get.

Hex 4) lack of admin skills. Doesn't sound such a big thing, does it? But it's something that trips me up everytime. Organization. Order. Due process. I can write the novels. I can write the poetry. But following the steps needed to get my superlative material out to agents or onto Kindle has my feet tangling themselves up worse than Chris Penn's plates of meat in the original version of Footloose, (you know, the one with Kevin Bacon and Julie from Fame in it).

Hex 5) penchant to daydream. My CV address has my mail sent to cloud cuckoo land, I swear. Sometimes I'd just rather reinvent the world around me inside my own head than face up to the trolls, demons and baddies of reality. Trouble is, while I am blissing out, the trolls, demons and baddies are kicking my butt.

Hex 6) lack of nerve. Sometimes I just bottle it. Sometimes I have it all there - the comeback, the punchline, the plan of action - but I fail to engage. Is it worth the hassle I ask myself? Is it worth the short-term trauma? The answer in the big school hall of life is yes, it is worth it, you dumb-ass but in the moment I say "no, it isn't worth it; I just want a peaceful life, man." Wrong choice. A peaceful life isn't always synonymous with inner peace. Shit. I just got all meaningful again.

Hex 7) me. Or to be exact: Nega-me. I am my own worst enemy. I am the end of level boss I need to face and just like Scott Pilgrim maybe I need to take him out. Not as in punching his brain through the back of his head but as in taking him out for a drink. Taking him out on a team building exercise somewhere. Maybe paintballing in the Forest of Arden. I'm a pretty good shot. Maybe we need more quality time together. Male bonding. That kind of thing. A new rebel alliance needs to be forged.

There. Mission accomplished. Game completed. Job done.

Now excuse me whilst I chase after that chick with pink hair...

Luck Be A Lady

Me and Lady Luck, we’ve never been constant. Never arm in arm for long. I’ve never been sure of whose fault it is but, for all it’s nice when we’re together, one of us (and I’m casting no aspersions here) can’t keep it up.

Things go sour very quickly and then we part. We go our separate ways.

Take when I was a kid. I didn’t win a Penny Chew for years and then one summer week at Weymouth Carnival I won three prizes on the raffle in a single day. Three.

And then nothing. Absolutely nothing ever again.

Until recently.

Because over the last month Lady Luck plainly took a shine to my blogging exploits and hooked up with me once more. We were an item once again. I couldn’t move but she was there shaking her tush at me and winking, "Fancy a punt?" Not ‘alf!

First, thanks to a mini competition at Don’t Panic. RTFM I won this:

I think of it as the George Formby grill. And not just because anything I cook on it will probably end up looking like a chamois leather.

And then last week Lady Luck hit me with her twin bazookas and thanks to Bringing Up Charlie I won the following two prizes:

Unbelievable.

Chocolate and Lego. For me, that’s like the Ark of the Covenant and The Holy Grail. Luck, I love you and you can shake those tassles in my face as hard and as fast as you like.

I was on a roll. I could feel it. Dead cert. No shit.

So on Saturday I bought one of these:

Going for the big one, oh yes.

And then Monday morning I headed into work as sodding usual.

Luck, you’re a fickle bitch.

New Year Non Resolutions

It is traditional at this time of year to come out with a list of resolutions. And over the last couple of days, surveying the blogging landscape from the crystal blue carapace of my blog-mobile, I have discovered some admirable lists. Lists of authentic resolutions from those bloggers not yet bowed down with cynicism that aspire to make the world a better place. Lists of tongue-in-cheek resolutions from those bloggers who know from bitter experience that even the easiest resolution will fall by the wayside by mid January. And then there are the cheating resolutions - or the "realistic" resolutions - lists of activities that you're going to do anyway, i.e. eat more chocolate, get to work late, skive longer lunch breaks, look at more internet porn sites.

Yeah, yeah, I've read them all.

And they're good.

But I want to do something different.

I want to compile a list of non resolutions. Things that I am definitely NOT going to do this year.

so... for your delectation then:

1) I am not going to try and forge world peace this year. It is pointless. Our politicians are too stupid and like the smell of their own duodenums too much to ever remove their heads from their butt-cracks to actually listen. Also, as a species, we are too given to rash acts of hatred and violence. World peace ain't never gonna happen, folks, until we evolve as a species. Or until aliens appear. 'Cos I guarantee nothing will unite human beings more regardless of skin colour than some bug-eyed, grey lipped, three-legged tripod from Mars stomping all over the car park at Lidl.

2) I am not going to win the Lottery. I know I'm not. It's pointless playing. But I am not going to stop. Because I am too weak, everybody else at work plays it and I don't want to be the only one stuck in the office one Monday morning because those other bastards have scooped the big one and are airing their fluffy bikini lines on a beach somewhere in the Caribbean.

3) I am not going to take up more exercise or eat healthier. I already eat pretty healthy and if my chocolate intake is perhaps a little too high for some collagen lipped quack in Heat magazine, tough titty. I don't do drugs, I don't do gambling, I don't do football. I'm entitled to a vice and as vices go chocolate is pretty damned mild.

4) I am not going to get myself out of debt. I'm just not. Until Tom starts school Karen and I are accepting of the fact that money is going to be tight if not non-existent. The best I can do is try to manage my credit cards wisely so that they keep me afloat as opposed to burying me. Is credit bad? Is credit evil? Yes. Bet your ass. But it's necessary. My deal with the devil is personal - stay out of it.

5) I am not going to stop writing. Not this blog and not my novel. I don't care how many knock-backs I get, how many rejections, I'm going to keep going. On and on. Like an eighties washing machine. There ain't no stopping. I'm here for the long haul. If any of you readers want to bail out, now's the time. See ya. Been nice and all that. Do send me a postcard from Lack-of-imagination-land. I shall stick it on my fridge and laugh when I hit the big time.

6) I am not going to compile a traditional list of 10 items. That's how mad I am. I'm crazy. I'm zany. I'm whack. Live with it. Come and get me New Year. I'm here waiting. The boxing gloves are off. Queensbury rules are for wussies.

7) I am not going to not wish you all a Happy New Year. Happy New Year. There. Done it. Give me some skin, dudes. The only way is onwards.