Bluer than blue
Cor blimey, I'm depressed! I know that since I'm a boy, we're not supposed to revel in our emotions, much less publically proclaim our vulnerabilities. But it's my blog & I'll be as neurotic as I like. 3 reasons to scoff handfuls of prozac:
1) Do you watch LOST? If so, I commend your most excellent taste. If not, you're an uncouth philistine, so completely estranged from the cultural mainstream, you may as well go live in the Sth Island. Anyhow, I Can't Believe the show's producers killed off Shannon! The prettiest girl on the island Can't Die. It's too harrowing, too painful, too unbelievably tragic. As if my real life romantic escapades weren't bleak & barren enough, now my fantasy girlfriend is no more. (Gasp!) Pass the valium!
2) The Commonwealth Games. Not only do we badly suck at nearly every sport imaginable, but Convict Island (that inhospitable desert rock immediately North-west of Tasmania) are cleaning up all over the place. It's a cosmic injustice that a nation who can't even pronounce English properly with harsh mangled vowels, can reign supreme athletically. It's so unfair. Where's a tall building I can fall off?
3) "Absolutely Positively Wimpy-Town!" A more accurate slogan for our Capital. Today a wasp found its way on the train. How it managed to board the 6:28 to town on a wet miserable Wellington morning is anyone's guess - but the reaction from the passengers! Even the men all squirmy & jittery as it buzzed by unchallenged. With unflinching bravery & complete disregard for own safety, I lept up, swatting the damn pest with my bag before tossing squashed remnants out the window. Feel-good heroism aside, I lamented the inert passivity of my fellow townsfolk during a crisis moment. Should I spike our water supply with testosterone? We live on an earthquake faultline, should disaster strike and I'm trapped beneath mounds of rubble, who will be there to pull survivors from the wreckage, comfort the injured & protect the helpless from swarming insects? (Sigh!) What a thought to burden one's heart; even warriors get the blues.
At times like these, I know why people become heroin addicts. And I haven't even read today's news yet! Back later with more whingeing, whining, moaning, complaining, griping and assorted tearful tales as refracted through the lens of our msm journalists.
Woeful in Wellington