thefuckingdaddy

John and Mary meet.
What happens next?
If you want a happy ending, try A.


A.

John and Mary fall in love and get married. They both have worthwhile and remunerative jobs which they find stimulating and challenging. They buy a charming house. Real estate values go up. Eventually, when they can afford live-in help, they have two children, to whom they are devoted. The children turn out well. John and Mary have a stimulating and challenging sex life and worthwhile friends. They go on fun vacations together. They retire. They both have hobbies which they find stimulating and challenging. Eventually they die. This is the end of the story.

B.

Mary falls in love with John but John doesn't fall in love with Mary. He merely uses her body for selfish pleasure and ego gratification of a tepid kind. He comes to her apartment twice a week and she cooks him dinner, you'll notice that he doesn't even consider her worth the price of a dinner out, and after he's eaten dinner he fucks her and after that he falls asleep, while she does the dishes so he won't think she's untidy, having all those dirty dishes lying around, and puts on fresh lipstick so she'll look good when he wakes up, but when he wakes up he doesn't even notice, he puts on his socks and his shorts and his pants and his shirt and his tie and his shoes, the reverse order from the one in which he took them off. He doesn't take off Mary's clothes, she takes them off herself, she acts as if she's dying for it every time, not because she likes sex exactly, she doesn't, but she wants John to think she does because if they do it often enough surely he'll get used to her, he'll come to depend on her and they will get married, but John goes out the door with hardly so much as a good-night and three days later he turns up at six o'clock and they do the whole thing over again.

Mary gets run-down. Crying is bad for your face, everyone knows that and so does Mary but she can't stop. People at work notice. Her friends tell her John is a rat, a pig, a dog, he isn't good enough for her, but she can't believe it. Inside John, she thinks, is another John, who is much nicer. This other John will emerge like a butterfly from a cocoon, a Jack from a box, a pit from a prune, if the first John is only squeezed enough.

One evening John complains about the food. He has never complained about her food before. Mary is hurt.

Her friends tell her they've seen him in a restaurant with another woman, whose name is Madge. It's not even Madge that finally gets to Mary: it's the restaurant. John has never taken Mary to a restaurant. Mary collects all the sleeping pills and aspirins she can find, and takes them and a half a bottle of sherry. You can see what kind of a woman she is by the fact that it's not even whiskey. she leaves a note for John. She hopes he'll discover her and get her to the hospital in time and repent and then they can get married, but this fails to happen and she dies.

John marries Madge and everything continues as in A.

C.

John, who is an older man, falls in love with Mary, and Mary, who is only twenty-two, feels sorry for him because he's worried about his hair falling out. She sleeps with him even though she's not in love with him. She met him at work. She's in love with someone called James, who is twenty-two also and not yet ready to settle down.

John on the contrary settled down long ago: this is what is bothering him. John has a steady, respectable job and is getting ahead in his field, but Mary isn't impressed by him, she's impressed by James, who has a motorcycle and a fabulous record collection. But James is often away on his motorcycle, being free. Freedom isn't the same for girls, so in the meantime Mary spends Thursday evenings with John. Thursdays are the only days John can get away.

John is married to a woman called Madge and they have two children, a charming house which they bought just before the real estate values went up, and hobbies which they find stimulating and challenging, when they have the time. John tells Mary how important she is to him, but of course he can't leave his wife because a commitment is a commitment. He goes on about this more than is necessary and Mary finds it boring, but older men can keep it up longer so on the whole she has a fairly good time.

One day James breezes in on his motorcycle with some top-grade California hybrid and James and Mary get higher than you'd believe possible and they climb into bed. Everything becomes very underwater, but along comes John, who has a key to Mary's apartment. He finds them stoned and entwined. He's hardly in any position to be jealous, considering Madge, but nevertheless he's overcome with despair. Finally he's middle-aged, in two years he'll be as bald as an egg and he can't stand it. He purchases a handgun, saying he needs it for target practice--this is the thin part of the plot, but it can be dealt with later--and shoots the two of them and himself.

Madge, after a suitable period of mourning, marries an understanding man called Fred and everything continues as in A, but under different names.

D.

Fred and Madge have no problems. They get along exceptionally well and are good at working out any little difficulties that may arise. But their charming house is by the seashore and one day a giant tidal wave approaches. Real estate values go down. The rest of the story is about what caused the tidal wave and how they escape from it. They do, though thousands drown, but Fred and Madge are virtuous and grateful, and continue as in A.

E.

Yes, but Fred has a bad heart. The rest of the story is about how kind and understanding they both are until Fred dies. Then Madge devotes herself to charity work until the end of A. If you like, it can be "Madge," "cancer," "guilty and confused," and "bird watching."

F.

If you think this is all too bourgeois, make John a revolutionary and Mary a counterespionage agent and see how far that gets you. Remember, this is Canada. You'll still end up with A, though in between you may get a lustful brawling saga of passionate involvement, a chronicle of our times, sort of.

You'll have to face it, the endings are the same however you slice it. Don't be deluded by any other endings, they're all fake, either deliberately fake, with malicious intent to deceive, or just motivated by excessive optimism if not by downright sentimentality.

The only authentic ending is the one provided here:
John and Mary die. John and Mary die. John and Mary die.

So much for endings. Beginnings are always more fun. True connoisseurs, however, are known to favor the stretch in between, since it's the hardest to do anything with.

That's about all that can be said for plots, which anyway are just one thing after another, a what and a what and a what.

Now try How and Why.

-Margaret Atwood, "Happy Endings"



Flight delayed and at the wrong time, raced back to the airport w/out getting a chance to go to Haarlem for nothing, everything ebbing away from me... Languishing in the train station, I suppose I suffered the inevitable bout of psychic breakdown...

Home soon, in a day or so...

Current Song: Led Zeppelin - Nobody's fault but mine.
Current Mood: Nick Drake

God, get me home.

We summer boys in this four-winded spinning,
Green of the seaweeds' iron
Hold up the noisy sea and drop her birds,
Pick the world's ball of wave and froth
To choke the deserts with her tides,
And comb the county gardens for a wreath.

In spring we cross our foreheads with the holly,
Heigh ho the blood and berry,
And nail the merry squires to the trees;
Here love's damp muscle dries and dies
Here break a kiss in no love's quarry,
O see the poles of promise in the boys.
--Dylan Thomas "I See the Boys of Summer" (excerpt)



Some Crazy thread about me on a Something Awful expat site... Do they hate me? Do they love me, I haven't been on that site since I got kicked off for saying that Alizee must be a big hit anywhere the age of consent is 13... Ahhh, well... They didn't care for me and my acerbic wit. Pitty, that. Anyways, I'm the guy who uses both Mobdy Dick, and the Great Gatsby, and bits and peices of the poem Medussa, by Sylvia plath at the end.

Off to Haarlem to look for a tschoke for my miss_lady as I didn't get to go to Amsterdam yesterday, and Rotterdam is pretty damn bleak... (it's called Haarlem because apparently we bought New York from them for a Guilder! Suckas!), true story, anyways, from Haarlem on train back to Shiphol, and then back to the fucking Ununited Kingdom... bleh, home of the shitty attitude.

Last night went to eat in Haarlem after record shopping in Rotterdam, I'll post pix of me standing in front of Clone, and hung out with my friend + his ex + his ex's dad... we drank, and ate, and dad had about 7 beers in one hour... then drove us back home as we listened to Evanecence (dad + friend liked, I hated), and Maddonna (dad + I hated), friend liked... pissed in some bushes on the way home... how fun is it to piss in bushes w/ someone's dad? WOT A KONTRY! ...I asked for ketchup, and they said oooh Amerikan? Buh! I could be from England you know!

So all my peeps who lived near (K), start learnin' some Dutch! Cause next its Manchester -> Holland -> Paris -> Berlin -> Holland -> Luton -> London -> Home.

Miss you all!



very lazy update, so I'll copy the update I made for miss_lady, and add some embelishments as I get to it...

ps. pickled haring is nasty, I don't know what it tastes like, but I always bet on black.

hey, what's up, here I am not high at all in NL... off to Rotterdam w/ my friend Rob... went to a Holland-B-Que yesterday with all sorts of familiy people, young people and people nicking off to get high, though I sat leisurely on the bank of the water (I have pics), smoking some blend of tobacco and I dunno, durban poison, a much more relaxed not so stoned thing...

They had the vegan special, kebab's of real chicken, beef, and chicken wings, so take that!!! About 7 bottles of wine, one bottle of Absinth (used to light the grill), and 4? crates of beer...???? So far, Holland beats England in their lust for life.

My friend's old roomate droped her keys off the pier and into the water... whoops... It's funny watching youngsters converse with old people completely high...

I have picture of myself standing in Holland in a big field of grass man, it was totally like, wierd... they use it here for medicinal purposes, like making their yards green, and like, sometimes stuff like squash or carrots or flowers grow in it... yeah, so it's just like regular grass... this isn't Majorca... but you get a sense of the vast flatness of the nl or the null as they don't say over here.

I was introduced to a lot of people who said stuff to me that I didn't know, and I had to think back to my highschool days of learning what little dutch I could... everyone is relaxed, and even with the mixture of ages could all get along w/ the light tech-house playing in the background...

Off to rotterdam and then amsterdam (im in bevervijk now), we biked to a neighboring town for the YES-B-QUE... and watched League of Extrordinary Gentleman, which was Extrodinarily sleep inducing... bad script, two guys from lock stock, incomprehensible story, special effects of a submarine, and sean connery... Gussy it up all you want Trebeck, but will it mighty my penis man?



'elo Kiddies, Day whatever on my transatlantacism or whatever dashbored confessional would say...

Last night I stayed at a youth hostel, the optional factor being youth, since I haven't seen tooo many of those, so that I didn't have to a. spend money for an expensive hotel close to Camden, and b. not have to get an expensive cab ride from central/northern London to the sticks...

I even somehow managed to lose my railpass and the friendly bobby, er no... sorry just some dude who worked in the tubestation let me through...

Ate at the chop shop noodle restaraunt, since it wasn't brit owned, it was not called the choppe shoppe, anyways... had something that was ver much Pho (with the little slash over the o that i cant make), saw cute Korean boy, with that long straight semi brown hair....

First japanese backpacker alert: precisely at 12:00pm this morning... I know she's japanese because there is hiragana on the book she's carying... eating wierd food and generally looking polite and complacent, wheras if she was Korean she'd just seem haughty... (sorry it's true, ask any Korean)!

okay, after that brief announcement, went to barfly again, which was fun again, and maybe on my own a little bit more eye opening.

it's hard to tell if people are overzealous or just really cool... when you go from a punk mix of The Streets, to some song you know but don't know by heart, to Andre3000, to Nene Cherry's Buffalo Stance... to more punk. But everyone, especially the djs thee?? Queens of Noize..!? what what, I guess... seems very happy and nobody fights and all the pints are plastic and people just seem like adverts for maybe brit Urban Outfitters, and there seemed to be a lot more trucker hats, so I didn't feel too out of place, and chanted OI OI allong with another guy while his wife bouncy danced and the song goes, And I just cant get enough, OI!, just cant get enough, OI!

Like ronny dobs I think I fell down to much local joy and reverence either purposely or not in another country (at least one time I think I was air guitaring)... some Courtney off the only album I like by her since Billy 'I would accept your friend request' Corgan was producing it... Just joking sweety honey treasure darling sugar cone, if you're reading this... LET'S BEE friends, and there's a picture of a bee on it... I am not drunk.

Kebab, a stella that disapeared when I turned my back, and a cab ride home, the advantage of minicabs is that they are cheap, the disadvantage is that you may die in a firey blaze of crisps and petrol, and that you should really know where you are going, even if it's right down the street...

Then sleep in a bunkbed which is all the rage in the hostel scene since they can cram more people in a room.

The last plane to satansville, aka amsterdam leaves tonight at 19:45 or something metric... I'm going out to buy some records and some Gola shoes... for those who don't know, Gola shoes (and anything made by Gola) are famous for being crap, so now they are famous for being cool... so hopefully they will still have the crap price, not the cool price... Green and yellow striped trainers here I come.

'nothing to do, nothing to say, i think i'm going out of my head.' --??

'we all know you play the bottom and the top, we all know you like to hotbox' --peaches

'Players wanna play, Ballers wanna ball, I don't want none of that at all. I wanna piss on you, yes I do....' - dave chappelle.



Conversation at Office, #2:

TurboNegro fan: Fucking Navvy....
Other Guy: What's a Navvy?
TurboNegro fan: you know, they lay the railroad tracks all over
Me: you know, Navigator
TurboNegro fan: he's got it!
Me: Navigator Navigator...
Both of us: Rise up and be strong! The morning is here and there's work to be done...
TNF: All rise for the national anthem!

Irish Blood, English Heart? Or is that...



Carlsberg Special Brew is special at 9.0% alcohol per volume... puts you right to sleep... went to pub after 3 440ml cans, didn't finish my pint @ the pub, went home... fell asleep promptly... actually, that's as David Sedaris notes, passing out, not falling asleep. mmmm drinking! England is an alcoholic's paradise.... and not by accident.

Last day of work, got ahold of my euro using friends in the NL... Hardcore Gabba, here I come, I wanna hear 160bpm driving NoIZe!!!!

Yeah, I think I'll get stoned... I mean, a little... then careen around amsterdam on a bike, plus I have a place to stay now... hoorj mates! hoorj!

Oh go say hi to miss_lady and compliment her on her new modern primitivism!

Current Song(s): DATA - Living Inside me / Life After Mutilation - Nuclear Facelift.

Busty 'Town Bicycle' who needs to not have a biography on sale, and disapear from all forms of media PLEASE: Jordan, ne 25 yr old ex-page 3er, Katie Price

some recent Kateisms:

...the sexual tension between us was mind blowing.

...i'm not getting any younger. if i found the right man, i'd get married tommorow. ...et al

This girl experiences 'sexual tension' if there is a slight breeze, & goes through boyfriends the way that Stevie Nicks went through cocaine...



Oooh Oooh Ooooooh. Stainless Steel Providers.

Inclinado en las tardes

Inclinado en las tardes tiro mis tristes redes
a tus ojos ocenicos.

All se estira y arde en la ms alta hoguera
mi soledad, que da vueltas los brazos como un nufrago.

Hago rojas seales sobre tus ojos ausentes
que olean como el mar a la orilla de un faro.

Slo guardas tinieblas, hembra distante y ma,
de tu mirada emerge a veces la costa del espanto.

Inclinado en las tardes echo mis tristes redes
a ese mar que sacude tus ojos ocenicos.

Los pjaros nocturnos picotean los primeras estrellas
que centellean como mi alma cuando te amo.

Galopa la noche en su yegua sombra
desparramando espigas azules sobre el campo.

-pabolo neruda (1924)



Is it good?

Shish Kebab: yes
Kebab Kofke: nah
The Sleepy Jackson: dunno
90p chips: yes (mostly)
Carling: pee water
Stella Artois 5 6pack: o mais oui
The Great Northern: FUCK NO
Farmers Boy: yes, quite
Peacock: eh, okay...
Horn: Haven't Been...
H&H Kebab: cheep mystery meat! yes! take that cutesy lamb!

Current Raido Station: Xfm London.



Conversation between myself and client about concert job for Morrissey they are doing:

Me: Morrissey has meningitus you know, I heard it on the radio.

Client: Meningitus, that's serious, innit?
Client: Gaw, I hope we've gotten paid.

laffos.



It's official, someone who knew what I was talking about in England (as a preface to what I'll say next), pronounced it David Bow-eee, you're saved Avril, you moody everyteen.



More fun facts about England I had not previously known in 5 visits here: The crosswalk actually works... instead of making the pedestrian wait for up to 10 minutes to cross a busy street, possibly driving them to just jaywalk anyways, about 10 seconds after you push the cross button the green walk light comes on and you cross... simply fucking stunning...

You may die of old age before crossing some streets in the states, so dying by motor vehicle is a worthwhile gambit.

Part two: There is a lad's mag called, cleverly Lad's Mag... Smash Hits is still going strong. I do not know the contents of either mag percisely, but assume that one has teenybopper guitar boys, and pneumatic brit girls, I'm not sure which is which though.

Part three: I think tommorow is Memorial Day because bush is bombing, no wait, sorry I read that wrong, giving a speach or something...

You see it's much more cost effective if he just shows up once a year to do everyone, rather than acknowledging the deaths of any GI johnny doe who steps on a fragmentary grenade mine. Very prudent and frugal. Sigh.



Sunday update: Someone at one point in time, a young woman, attempted suicide in the room I'm staying in. I stayed up last night and couldn't sleep, not because of that but because I was thinking about what Margaret Atwood had said of the artist, the writer, anything where it's possibility that the would be aestete is a fraud, or a benevolent figure, but moreso in need of the reader to choose his or her own relevance because that is simply something the artist can not choose.



Bank holiday (monday) weekend, wound up going to barfly in Camden, dodging all the gothy folk, looking like they'd just stepped out of a Bauhaus or Alien Sex Fiend show circa 1981 all stepping into the Electric Ballroom...

Barfly sort of played goofy pop songs early like the sort of throwaway new wave tunes you might hear anywhere, some prince, etc... then it sort of launched into Kings of Leon, other stuff I didn't know, sort of nameless Punk, a few good songs I did know... lots and lots of drinking, some off it girl asking me + friend if we had any Charlie... how subtle, though she didn't use that phrase and it took a bit to figure out what she was on about... gurning wierdies, mean girls with nice boyfriends odd... lots of Groslch... round after round after a day of drinking, gave myself a nice night out after 50 hours worked in 4 days...

I was the only one wearing a trucker ball cap, so I must have looked the part of Viva la Bam... I stand by my style: wristbands, skate shoes, girls pants, jean jacket, Fall tshirt, and trucker hat... eh...

B+B is nice, it's more like staying in your relatives house than a creepy B+B... I got up at 12:30 today, and wifey end of the couple who runs the establishment made me rye toast and coffee and orange juice... perfect after a night of pints... worst part of the evening, well anyone where you have to go from the sticks to London was the inevitable minicab ride home... to the tune of 40.00 that more or less rougly translates to about 70-75 dollars !!! Of course I wasn't exactly sure of the address but ahh well... had a nice Kebab after getting pissed and you know, blah blah... gooooood times. Looking back, I should have paid my friend to drive me home, but he lives in Golders Green and we were both hammered anyways so I doubt he drove.

I need to write an invoice so I can get paid my 25% advance for my first job... Oh yeah, for those who thought I didn't work, I worked 18 hours straight, right from getting off a 8 hour plane ride since I missed my prior day's flight... but it comes back in commiseration.... (is that the right word).... kizash.

Nice to hear Gary Numan as bastardised by the Atlantic Jaxx crew, and further bastardised by Channel 4 I think... Oh the nu culture bleeds through everything.

I think my new company is going to be called Traumwelt Ink. gut stuff...

oh yeah, heard that milkshake song... also, the Scissor Sisters are quite keen. Ps for wierd wackiness pop-hop, check out The Streets.

More updates as the come across the AP wires...

Current Favourite Album Name: V/A (electro) - You bet we've got something personal against you.



England, land of milk and tea... no honey though... colder than I thought. More later, I'm getting paid to write this updae, in a manner of speaking.

Current Soft Drink: Lilt Fruit Crush
Current Packet of Crisps: Walkers Roast Turkey
Current Overplayed Crap: Beyonce
Last Football match watched: Man United: 3, Millwall: 0
Last Pint: Carlsberg Export
Last obscenity written on wall seen: the word 'wank'
Current Song: SWANS - She Cries (For Spyder)
Current Clobber: St. Albans School boy Uniform.
Current Mood: Feisty & Pining.