Go Darke

Light thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong. No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it

Fundamental Joeyism


I suck at… damn I was going say ‘anagrams’ here… but really, I suck at almost everything.

Anagrams are especially challenging for me though.

For some reason I thought we owned a scrabble set. Apparently we don’t. I even walked over to my parents house and rummaged around there for a bit, imagining that they would have such mental wretchedness squirreled away somewhere in their ever burgeon collection of life-detritus.

I probably set it on fire. A burnt offering to the gods of… eh… wait… are board-games monotheistic or pantheistic? I don’t want to commit a theological faux-pas this early on into my post.

It it probably deserved to die though. And perhaps my benefaction would grant me power in other board games. (which reminds me… its probably time for another sacrifice)

Wait… we have blocks! Nevermind then. I tip them out onto the floor.

The theory is… that if I can… you know, add a tactile component to all of this… then…

Ten minutes later…

I feel quite proud of myself. I mean, deep down I know this isn’t the word. Or words. Wait… it could be two words right?

I suppose I should provide some context.

Enter Stage right Derren Brown. Whom I love. I mean I love all magicians. But competing for the hallowed on-top position are Penn Jilette (the hardcore libertarian) and Derren Brown (the hardcore stoic).

My money, historically, would have been on Penn Jilette. If I made them fight to the death I mean. Penn having a clear height and girth advantage. These days though Penn is built more like a bean pole… having subsisted off his crazy potato diet for the length of time it takes to shed one hundred and five pounds (I googled it).

So these days I am less sure who would be victorious. Being British Derren probably knows how to accelerate a beer mug (suddenly and violently) into the zygomatic arch of Mr. Jilette rendering him prone and vulnerable to becoming intimately familiar with the sole of a fourteen hole Doc Marten (Is there anything more classically British than being stomped while lying on the floor in a pub? Okay, maybe sunny side up eggs, black pudding and bacon… *gurgle of happiness*)

In any event. Derren Brown did this… trick (I suppose) where he gave people this wonder-drug called Rumyodin that would cure them of… my memory is little fuzzy here, but the one guy had a fear of heights… crippling anxiety… you know… stuff like that. Turns out it was just saline and sugar pills. But the placebo effect was amazing. (I recommend finding it on YouTube)

It takes me about half an hour.

I am a &#$%@! genius!!!!!!!!!!!

Of course there is no one around to hear my whoop of triumph or to see my little lap of victory around the dining room table.

When my wife gets back I smugly lay out the blocks for her and explain that its an anagram for an experiment that Derren Brown did… blah blah blah.

She figures it out in like thirty seconds.

My entire day, from this point forward is completely ruined.