Monday, 30 April 2012

Interlude: 1

Scurferens is taking a break for a couple of months. In the meantime, please enjoy these interesting facts about your least favourite blog.

The very first episode of Scurferens was written in a police cell after its creator was arrested under the 2007 Violences Against the Human Act on a charge of 'causing bodial injury to a man or woman in view of three or more witnesses, one of whom is still receiving therapy for a childhood trauma relating to events of a similar nature and is consequently unable to watch boxing, cage fighting or other full contact sport (including, but not limited to, rugby, sumo wrestling or gougeball) without becoming very quiet, causing others present to enquire as to whether anything is wrong, so that the witness will reply: "no, I'm fine, thanks"'.

Monday, 2 April 2012

10p Rote Cons Agenda

And regret, Aries. You're going to be feeling a lot of that too. And let me tell you, you're an idiot.

If you need an emotional reflex to dissuade you from repeating past mistakes, then you're even more pathetic than I thought. Just stop making mistakes. What are you doing with your life? Get a grip, Aries.

You might want to take a lesson from the esteemed physicist Professor Lordson Monday. There was a man. Did you ever hear about the time he returned home from screwing some hot chick to find a bunch of stupid kids in his house, wrecking all his shit? What do you think you'd do in that situation, Aries? You'd probably cry and post something emo on the internet. But what do you think the Professor did, after kicking those stupid kids out of his home? I'll tell you what he did: he took positive action. (Positivity. There's a word to keep in your shit head. Remember it.)

Anyway, so Prof Monday, he thought to himself, I'll teach those stupid kids. And that's exactly what he set out to do - literally teach them, in a language he knew they'd understand. He sat down at his computer and produced an experimental Flash game with a powerful message about not just letting yourself into other people's houses.

After two months, he'd barely left the house, he'd been suspended from work and the hot chick wasn't returning his calls, but he didn't care. His masterpiece was finished.

Unfortunately, the kids didn't understand. The game got an average rating of one star on Newgrounds.com and less than favourable reviews:

"wtf is this sh*t?"

"Cr*p graphics, cr*p music, cr*p game. Sorry man, this just sukced."

"lol I misaed the jump over moat into the guys house and got eaten buy th shark"

His plan had failed. But did he waste time wallowing in regret? No, he didn't, Aries. He sat down and figured out his next move.

At the edge of town was an old-style windmill - no longer functioning, just a local feature, something for the tourists to gawp at, but soon to burst unbidden through the leathery membrane of history, as the centrepiece of Professor Monday's most astounding act of derring-do.

Working nights, Monday brought his engineering skills to bear in secretly transforming the windmill into an amazing flying machine. By the time he'd finished, three months later, he'd lost his job completely and the townsfolk were starting to get suspicious. But the Prof had bigger fish to fry.

The windmill was loaded with supplies and many of the neighbourhood's pets lured inside. Having performed his final checks on the machinery and killed all the animals by injection, Professor Monday cast off into the clear blue sky and set course for adventure.

The wreckage was found two years later, at the bottom of a ravine just a few miles out of town, along with the mangled skeletons of Prof Monday and fifteen assorted household animals. Strewn across the ground were hundreds of pornographic magazines, about thirty novelty massage devices of various descriptions, a case of vegetable oil, two packets of jammy dodgers and eight tins of Heinz Spiderman pasta shapes. Professor Lordson Monday had clearly died as he'd lived: in the most awesome way possible.

He'd had no time for pointless soul-searching - he just did stuff, and to hell with the consequences. And do you know what, his lovely little Flash game received a critical reappraisal in the wake of his untimely death, and now has a score of 2.5 on Newgrounds.com. So it just goes to show, doesn't it?

I beg you, Aries, if you take one thought away with you today, please let it be this:

Do I - that is, Aries - really want to live a life speckled with the jismic crustplates of regret, fear and hatred - like the barnacle - or would I rather live, as Professor Lordson Monday did, in the manner of the baboon - bravely, fearlessly, untroubled by conscience or reason?

Crunch time is coming, Aries. You just better be ready is all I'm saying.