Rule #1

My new goal is to gather a dozen (and one) aphorisms, collate them into something vaguely gospel-ish and then tour the world preaching my self-improvement philosophy/racket.

I think I would quite like to be paid (lots of) money to drone on about the 13 secret techniques of Fundamental Joey-ism, a layman’s guide to navigating your pointless existence with alacrity … if only you mf’ers will buy my book.

Maybe I should also do a podcast/Youtube channel… since basically EVERYONE with more than ten followers on any social media platform feels the need to bleat on about everything other than their niche area of expertise with a sense of assertiveness that might presuppose a serious mental disorder and/or rampant, untreated hubris.

Also I don’t want to be left out. I feel I can do egomania as well as the next ignorant monkey. See previous 500 posts about various subject matter in which I proceed to lay out (and then solve) all the worlds problems. Why I have not yet been canonized and prefixed with the honorific ‘Saint’ (Joey) is a matter of some some consternation to me…

In any event…

As rules for life go. This one seems like a pretty good opener. Possibly on par with White 1.e4.

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People on the internet are a suspicious bunch. Except me… obviously. There is definitely something wrong with the rest of you though. Broadly this covers, not sending people pictures of your junk. And being skeptical when someone in Nigeria wants to wire you your inheritance. Although… now that I think about it, sending someone who wants to wire you your inheritance a close up of your blemished and unshaven scrotum is probably a permissible exercise. In fact this would likely solve one of the worlds biggest problems… negative reinforcement 101. It would take more willpower than I can imagine to continue with a career path that meant sending out 10,000 solicitous emails and getting ten thousand unsightly testes in return.

I think it is likely also acceptable to swap out low hanging gonads for an unkempt pudding hatch, should you, obviously, not be the proprietor of such gear…

 

Got milk?

There’s no coffee in our house. Well… no real coffee. Only instant and decaf. I feel ashamed even writing that. I’m sure people have been burned at the stake for crimes less serious than this…

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Under normal circumstances, I drink my coffee black, you know, like my soul. I don’t have that missing gene that allows for the repetition of this (kinda manly) act with instant coffee.  To make granular coffee from a jar palatable I require some form of sucrose simulacrum and the nutrient dense liquid produced by an in-calf dairy cow (maxed out with hormones and antibiotics)

Hm… no milk in the fridge either. Seriously our pantry and surrounds is a dirge to a dystopian wasteland where nothing lives.

Having a breast fed infant in the house however… *coughs* means that the top shelf of the fridge is packed with bottles of expressed milk from the female of the species.

I eyed these… kinda creamy bottles for a moment. Just a moment mind you…

Putting your wives breast milk in your coffee… seems… well… it seems wrong. Like something you would probably be judged for by your peers.

Which… when I thought about it, at least I know where this stuff comes from. I know what my wife eats, she’s not on any growth hormones or antibiotics. I’ve seen her shower at least once a day… in fact her hygiene is likely superior to my own. So why the weird reticence to dilute the swill in my mug with it? Happy to put milk in my coffee from another species, the origin of which is at best unknown to me (and if I was intimately familiar with the process unlikely to touch another dairy item ever again).

We ended up getting Starbucks.

Weirdly today I wasn’t John. Or Joel. Or Larry. Or Methuselah (although that would be quite something).

I’m notching it up as a win. Even if the coffee wasn’t.

Drum roll… crash.

‘At least I’m not as bad as this guy…’, I confidently assert, handing my wife my MacBook so she can have a look…

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Of course in the pop quiz that follows I only get two right. Bass and Toms. (My wife is a drummer)

I should learn just to keep quiet.

Adulting

Being a grown up and taking on the ‘responsibilities’ that are thrust upon you as time marches on to its inevitable conclusion is something I’ve taken up only under extreme duress! I’m pretty sure I’ve referred to myself as ‘adulting’ before… because well… to be completely honest I like to poke the apocalypse, if only to see what will happen. And (obviously) to annoy people like Joel Runyon blue tick.

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Besides is the apocalypse necessarily a bad thing? Sure we’ve attributed a lot of negative connotations to the word… but really, think of the benefits. No more taxes, Star Wars movie reboots or Network News. Okay, there might be the religiosity of the chaff being separated from the wheat and thrown into the eternal fire (personally I have my doubts) but besides that potential niggle I see mostly upside.

When does someone become an adult anyway? I don’t necessarily remember there being a formal event or ceremony? Some have recently argued this is one of the big problematic features in the world today… a lack of a ritualistic event where we are bequeathed responsibility and the moniker of adult and leave our childhood behind us, a point in time where we are taken from the field and yoked to the cart of life as it were.

I’m tend to channel Admiral Akbar on this (and probably on a lot of other things too)

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I’m not advocating a complete lack of responsibility or a surrender to the whims of chaos…. but I do tend to think we are a sum of our experiences, a progression as it were and this notion that we need to have a cut off date where we start ‘taking things seriously’ is a little silly.

…also intimating that I am somehow ‘less’ because I refer to myself occasionally as ‘adulting’… well, you are probably right. If only because adulting isn’t a real word. (I know this because its underlined in red)

Consider me admonished Joel Runyon blue tick. Vaguely I wonder what the corrective action for word crime is? Its probably something quite serious… like immolation or flagellation… or… eh… other words ending in -ation.

 

… discontinuation.

Whats in a word

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[Jo] This makes me smile. Mostly because I know people who get really bent out of shape about things like this. Ha ha. As an aside I do think we are inclined to use the term Nazi quite loosely these days… seeing as there is no Nazi party anymore. Lowercase nazi doesn’t really mean anything… ie. Nazi… a member on the Nazi party. I don’t think you even really use it as a lowercase adjective… (the things I think about when I’m waiting for markets to open)

I mean being an actual Nazi is quite a horrific thing. Why do we cheapen its effect and meaning by using it quite carelessly. Do we actually mean Grammar fascist? That doesn’t really make sense to me either…

In any event. If you care about the English language so passionately that incorrect grammar upsets you, I’m sorry that you get lumped together with this particular ideology. In all honesty… I don’t even really understand the idiom of ‘there, there’ when comforting someone anyway… If you want to comfort me… slip me $20. That will almost always cheer me up. Unless of course I though my grief was worth at least $50.

#justsaying