Part of me (the part that I don’t necessarily like or agree with all the time) thinks I should celebrate milestones. The other part pauses mid-fork-to-face to offer a dismissive ‘Why do you even care?’, before stuffing another well soaked maki roll into his mouth. Right now I’m probably more concerned with his use of this western utensil in such a heretical manner… although his boorish application of soy sauce (albeit low sodium) to his sushi is likely also a point of concern.

And so I oscillate between pretending not to care… and… whatever the polar opposite of that is. In any event, I got this yesterday…


I suppose it was bound to happen eventually… but in all honesty, followers just stoke my anxiety levels. I soothe the rampant concern that people might be reading my stuff by quickly convincing myself that for the reality of ‘actual’ readership (ie people who are not just looking for a reciprocal follow and immediately mute you, bots or those people just trying to sell you something) you should likely divide this number by ten.

Ten seems like a much more manageable number.

And so to you ten wonderful followers, despite wondering what is wrong with you that you can bear to sift through this garbage (especially the libertarian stuff) every day I would like to say… thank you. You guys are pretty cool. And I’ve learnt something from new from each and every one of you.

Hopefully y’all are having a particularly auspicious day. Live long and prosper. Motherfuckers.

Standby for transmission

I’m eating my three year old daughters chewable vitamins. I’m going through sugar withdrawal something fierce and the pantry cupboard, at this present intersection on the time/space continuum, is the dietary version of the Atacama Desert for anything even vaguely sucrose related.

This is as close as I can get to happiness right now. They’re soft… and have a vaguely gummy bearish consistency. Although practically there may be a finite number of these I can pour into my mouth before I start running the serious risk of vacating my bowels (at some point in the not too distant future) in a violent, hot and foamy manner. My sphincter puckers at the probability, a clarion call to perhaps insert a modicum of moderation into my binge eating of these age inappropriate placebos. (I’m one of those people that are skeptical of the benefits associated with imbibing a daily multi-vitamin)

It’s another wild Saturday night in the domicile of the Jo. In olden times this was likely the point where I would (take twenty minutes to) lace up my Doc Martins and maybe find a clean(ish) black t-shirt, with imprinted ironic cajolery, before sallying out in search of girls, of an indie-rock persuasion, with whom to exchange saliva. And maybe trample (or get trampled) in a rousing rendition of Nellie the elephant. Either circumstance would have suited me just fine and would have likely been pencilled in as a win.


Didn’t have to worry about smashing your iPhone back then. Your Nokia 3310 was hard as nails. These days it’s reading Roald Dahl to my daughter and then, post slumbering toddler, halfheartedly perusing Netflix… until giving up and deciding to blog instead. (While your basset hound snores loudly on the sofa next to you)

How the mighty have… reclined. And become more monogamous about the bodily fluids they will impart onto the abdomen of another. Circumstances have certainly progressed. I’m not sure I miss it though. You should likely attack each phase of your existence with a certain level of gusto and then move on. As a rule (for life*) you should never loiter on a level you’ve already cleared, not when there is still so much more game to be played.

*See Jordan Peterson, I can make up arbitrary pronouncements too. Ha ha. Although my book will only have ten rules. I don’t think you should ever have more rules for life than you have fingers (that you can then bunch up into fists). The complete guide to Fundamental Joeyism, available soon. (okay, probably not soon, or even ever)

We now return back to our regular scheduled programming.

Good deeds rarely result in hotdogs

I gave a hitchhiker a lift this morning. A veritably rare occurrence. I was feeling magnanimous or maybe I mean altruistic. I’m not entirely sure what the difference is (and I’m too lazy to look it up). To be completely fair there were mitigating circumstances that allayed my usual reticence to convey these vagabonds of the freeway from point A to B…


… like my Glock*. And the fact that he looked old and wizened and didn’t (really) look like someone likely to be wearing my head as a hat (while sating his thirst with my internal lubricants) towards the midpoint of our journey.

*although it would have upset to me to have to paint the inside of my Jeep with the cerebral cortex of someone I’d just met (even if they were trying to stab me with a rusty screw-driver)

Our trip was eerily silent. Him not being able to speak English and my conversant Zulu (in terms of a franca lingua I mean, I don’t want to be presumptuous about his ethnicity) being limited to cuss words, insults and being able to tell someone to get down on the ground and put their hands on their head (while useful chasing cattle rustlers through the veld at 3am in the morning it is less useful in a more civil context)

In Fanagalo we managed (more-or-less) to determine an end point for him which was sorta on my way and once we’d reached it he simply disembarked, inclined his head slightly towards me and was on his way. I immediately felt a surge of Light-side points flowing into my character sheet. (god this feels so weird)


Of course because of my ‘good’ deed the rest of my day turned into a vicious clusterfuck of malaise and discombobulation and by three pee em my total contribution towards humanity was well back into negative figures. (which to be completely honest is a much more comfortable environment in which to dwell)

Which I realise is a bit defeatist. But being German you come to appreciate that long campaigns mostly end in defeat. Being Catholic, you appreciate that after defeat comes hell. Its one of those things. You are also precluded from dating Jewish girls. Ever.

Some pretty serious accusations

In an endeavor that would spark joy with the adherents of Marie Kondo I’ve been cleaning out my desk drawer. Its already relatively spartan, I am not naturally a hoarder (at least this is what I tell myself). In any event, part of this weekend project was a flash-drive/SD card purge… a virtual cornucopia of digitalism that I’d been stockpiling in a tin.

One of these, as it turns out, was not homemade pornography… but rather a folder of sentimental trifles from 2008. A collection of Livejournal (yeah kids before your time I know) entries saved as word documents (made for REALLY cringeworthy reading… and some Google chat logs… one of which made me laugh out loud.

My girlfriend, Mia, telling me exactly what she thought (of me)

Joey and Mia [1].JPG

Mia: yeah
i have a mans personality
and you have a womans personality
you’re neat
i’m messy
you want a nest

Mia: i don’t give a shit
you’re all insecure
i’m an arrogant fuck

Jo: ha ha
Oh my god. You’re right! 
You are a man!

Mia: you eat right and take care of your body
i’m a slob

Mia: you cook gourmet meals

Mia: i cook mi goreng
in the microwave

Mia: i smoke and drink
you never use to smoke and drink

Jo: Like the James song?  ‘Messed around with Gender roles’.

Mia: AND
i go to sleep after sex
you read a book
and i go to sleep

Jo: Ha ha

Mia: read a book whilst watching me sleep and waiting to go again
cause i’m spent

Jo: These are some pretty serious accusations.

Mia: AND
i listen to death metal
and you listen to christina and justin timberlake
you use lotion
and i don’t


In my defense… and really I think there’s probably only one thing here I can legitimately take umbrage with… Mia classified anything that wasn’t Opeth and Suicide-Commando as ‘Christina and Justin Timberlake’. Otherwise… thats probably relatively spot-on.

Maybe I should use this as my ‘About’ page?


A statistical anomaly

I rarely look at my WordPress stats. This is less of a self imposed rule and perhaps more of a sense of nonchalance or ambivalence I have towards statistics. While this information is useful (I’m sure) for bloggers who want to up their readership and appeal to a certain segment in the market, I use my blog primarily as a form of procrastination (and therefore, have no real readership goals or expectations). For example, right now, I should be attending the scary amount of (real) work I have clogging my todo list but instead I’m clacking away at the keys… achieving nothing of real consequence (again).

When I opened my WordPress dashboard this morning however, something caught my eye in the stats section under Search terms.

little maigre fucking blowjob

Wait.. what?

I had to google what maigre meant.

maigre. 1 : being a day on which the eating of flesh is forbidden by the Roman Catholic Church.

Which, as you can imagine, confuses me even more. (in all fairness it doesn’t take a lot) I’m assuming this must be a typo. Although the rest of the search term also upsets me. Don’t you normally search for blowjobs or fucking? (there might be some personal proclivity reveal here, ha ha) Maybe they meant meagre? In any event, I have now (annoyingly) spent a fair bit of time wondering what some paedophile* meant when he hamfisted his google search.

* I realise paedophilia refers to a prepubescent. But the ‘little’ in the search term tends to bend me towards labeling them as such.

In any event. Googling this phrase myself fortunately doesn’t bring up my blog. (It does however probably flag me on some sort of database) I will continue to ponder this strange occurrence while the basset rests his head on my head.


Perhaps with our combined intellect we can solve this enigma. (Don’t get your hopes up, the basset hound has actually now fallen asleep, which leaves only the dumber member of our dynamic cross species duo to ponder) Netflix said they doubted it would gain much traction after I pitched them our ‘detective’ show idea. Admittedly the premise of the pilot was us mostly lying on the sofa eating potato chips. We may have to go full YouTube…


 It’s going to be epic.