Status Updates From The Rebel's Sketchbook

'Right', I said, with my best attempt at coming across like a cool and calculated hitman. 'I'm the one you're looking for. Take a pew.'

the last story: heart broken.

Sentenced! Holy sh#t!

Loving this collection of stories so far.

‘It’s a penis.’
‘That’s right,’ Shane said. ‘It’s a penis.’
‘But what’s it doing on your forehead?’
‘I have absolutely no idea.’

So I left the job centre feeling as if Sue had taken a shit on me from a great height. To make matters worse there hadn’t been any decent vacancies listed in the job centre; there were just different categories of shit jobs. There were shit jobs, shitter jobs and the shittest jobs in the world. There were definitely no jobs in the not shit category; it was just fifty shades of shit.

‘Gnome fetish?’ I said as I lit a rollie. ‘The fuck is a gnome fetish?’
‘You’re familiar with gnomes, right?’
‘Noam Chomsky?’

At the end of the day, when you've got nothing, it's hard to fight back against the business bastards. You can ignore the court orders; you can ignore the pigs and the politicians; you can even ignore the bailiffs for a long time. But you can't ignore the business bastards. Money fucks you.

The cop swipes me under his nose and confirms that I’m a blunt although he refers to me as a cigar made out of marijuana.

It’s a strange thing eating up your own hand.

I don’t want to be a bellboy or a supermarket till boy; I don’t want to be a desk jockey or a retail assistant selling sportswear to the morbidly obese. I want to be a philosopher. I want to sit in silence every day and think deeply. But because nobody will pay me to be a philosopher I’ve got to do something mind curdling for eight hours a day, five days a week.

I watched as our planet came in to view. It was like a glowing blue and white blob of greatness. You wouldn’t believe it but from out there our world looks really peaceful; as if all that goes on is animals playing together and fishes swimming around the oceans. But we know that’s not true: we know it’s a place of drudgery and illness and loneliness and despair and getting ripped off and wanting to be left alone.

I don’t know if you’ve ever been before but Coniston Water is a pretty place. It has some old wooden rowing boats and a steam yacht bobbing up and down on it, and all around are these sprawling mountains. It feels very wild; like behind every cluster of trees you’d find a gorilla taking a shit.

Nobody cares about the real you. They only care about the personality you created online; the clown that you placed on the world’s stage. And as the years roll by you begin to resent that personality more and more, but you can’t do anything about it because you know that half of your fan base is only coming back to watch some idiot you made up for a bit of a laugh. I hope other YouTubers watching this take note.

The YouTube audience comprises of two types of viewers which you have to cater for at the same time. While being irritating enough to provoke revulsion in half of your viewers; you also have to convince the other half that what you are doing is totes amazeballs and then watch as both factions go to war with each other. That way everybody’s happy – especially the advertisers.

‘When we call this country land of the free, we really mean land of the free to sort yourself out. That includes stocking enough toilet paper to last a nuclear winter should the occasion arise.’
‘But I thought it was the government’s responsibility to look after its citizens.’
‘It’s vaguely implied,’ Buddy said as he knocked back some more scotch. ‘Good hooch, right?’

‘So we can rely on you?’
‘Like a stiff drink and good woman,’ I told him.
This response was good. It made me sound like a macho bad guy in an action flick starring Jean Claude Van Diesel.

It began as a hobby, but when I managed to reach thirteenth place on the global leader board my control pad became glued to my palms. First I was calling up my boss with a fake cough, telling him that I’ve got a bug and eventually I couldn’t even find the time to do that so I stopped calling in and just quit. I then spent every spare minute of my life playing Hatchet Job.

Next in line was some posh cunt who, from here on, I’m going to refer to as Posh Cunt. He had a mouth full of Hollywood teeth and his peroxide feathered hair reached down to his shoulders. I didn’t like this cunt one bit. For starters his flowery designer suit probably cost more than all the money I’d ever earned in my entire life times by one hundred and fifty thousand. He was a right cunt.