Another really really bad attempt at humour!!

A man asks a doctor ‘I think I’m suicidal’ the doctor takes a look at him, walks out of the office and on seeing the man upon his return declares ‘You’re only depressed, take these once a day until it passes’

The man asks ‘You left me alone for an hour, and aren’t you worried I might kill myself’ to which the doctor replies ‘I left you alone with sharp objects, a fifth storey window wide open and an unlocked medicine cabinet so if you were that bad you wouldn’t be here right now’



Endless streams of depicting damnation

Cold reflections arching thier tired faces across oceans of empty graves and hollow spaces know all the facts underlying that emotive poison called love with the pin point precision of logical understanding to take to pieces each and every aspect of the happy harp playing music to herald each life affirming note but know not the feeling of a heart felt beat of that machine like organ pumping blackened ash through the deadened pipes keeping the darkly damned observers of human nature in a position to record the merry array of warmly comforting sensations that human nature could provide to dull the sharpened razor of nothingness emotions keeping the damned both perpetually dead and appearing ghostly alive so to serve as reminders of the worse fates such happily frolicking persons could be of a victim to too

A loosely termed ‘sense of humour’ required!

You cracked a joke

“She’s not here today because she is ill, that’s very bad news; one more day of her mindless chatter and I was going to earn a sick day!”
“That’s such a nice story about how you two met, congratulations; you can be the next person to get the honour of passing me a bucket!”
“You’re getting married; invite me to the funeral because that would a more fun event and black is way more slimming than a wedding dress!”

Everyone cracked up, only literally!

Now you are laughing as the shattered fragments of stares looking horrified burn into you and it is a funny sight to grinningly behold, but only to you as the further horrified faces before you prove

The HR manager now writing another letter home to your mother, whom they are calling to collect you because they can’t trust anyone else to survive hearing you talk

Yes folks it is true; your ‘sense of humour’ is fucked, in all the ways that makes you laugh as people’s faces become macabre pictures

You ask yourself at every funeral like reception you receive for having just walked into a room; how you ended up this way, and the blankly staring (heavily medicated to boot) therapist merely placates you with passively failing phrases like “You are unique” “You are just a bit different” “You will find people like you to share your inner self”…the equally blankly bleak response delivered by you with sledgehammer style; “Where are these people, on the mental ward they dug you up from” before the fatally funny line, plain fatal to any further meaningful discussion “the same ward you must live on to be here talking to me”

The recently installed child locks actually hold this time as the mental health nurses drag the therapist away from the failing to open fifth floor window…

I’m sorry to report this will be your life from now on, as long as you ‘are yourself’ around the majority of that mercifully dumb sub-species known as humanity

But don’t worry, whoever you don’t offend will prove to be more than required to match that acidic spitting wit grafted with ugly fixes to your already woefully corrupted personality!

And if you get into a healthy (ish) relationship…

Tell the rest of us how, because you have pulled off a fucking miracle!!




Hells bar pouring shots of tainted happiness

Deathly lingering forces shroud like a cloak, his jet black long coat a colour of what follows in his wake

The better ones shuffle clear, the saints utter prays

The masses locked in amusement provoking confusion, their gormless open mouths are red carpets for the ill sounding expressions of mis-perception

The figure bleakly sits with an order for a bottle and a pack of regrets, the barman’s sigh a sign of having served too many ghostly faces

Fools chuckle and dance in taunting jest around the darkly shadowing presence, hellish fire in his stare a warning ignored by those lacking intelligence

The barman’s broom sweeps up the ashes where fools fireproof jewellery litters the floor, the overcast bar now a wash with grimly cut drunks drinking with guiltily happy faces

The figure places his firebrand glare on the bar with heavy resentment, honest women keeping caution lines clear as corrupted ladies whisper in sly voices

Their trade the complete unhappiness of the alcohol swigging wretches, into their purses honest wages fall as companionship for a price is offered when the honest women refuse to pleasure

Our long coat wearing character tearing up the pages of the script where some hapless dreamer wishes to cast him the hero, forever embraced by ghosts of the remorseless and lonely

A night gives way to day in stinging sun lit rays flooding through the jail bar windows to signal the end of the tale, the inhabitants of hell pouring out of the bar

The day a death sentence of wearing masks and illusions as the damned wait for darkness, into which each slinks easily so to celebrate the sin of their existence that the happy masses fear


When this makes you laugh…

“It’s not that we don’t recognise your expertise in apologizing, or we don’t appreciate the offerings you make to redeem your offences

But the fact that we have to lock the windows above the first floor, hide the sharp objects and put the riot police on call every time you turn up at work

Well we know you can’t help it but can you just not be you”