I sexually abused my ironing board

I sexually abused my ironing board

I came home drunk the other night at about 3 am. Fuck knows how I got home. But I remember running home with a kebab at a very fast pace. It was a Wednesday night and I had been to that beacon of hope “The Venue Nightclub”. I can’t remember much about my experience other than watching one lonely guy dancing alone on the dance floor for several hours to Motown hits. It was a slow night and I went out with RORO Corp. Unfortunately I put the play on one of the members of RORO Corp and embarrassed myself. I can’t remember this though. It was a great night but I would like to publicly apologize to both members of RORO Corp for my sexiness. Sorry girls. We did some fancy dancing though. I was like Prince on acid. When Mojo meets RORO Corp it’s always a good time. That shit’s historical.

So I got home and sexually abused my ironing board. We’ve been going through a lot recently. It's been hard between me and the aul board lately (pictured above with new 'lover' Kermit the Frog). Last week we both decided it would be best if we see other people. We’re not really talking but when I came home drunk I roughed it up and give it a good seeing to. I’ve gotten the silent treatment ever since. But that’s understandable as I’ve just raped my ironing board. I don’t think we’ll ever patch things up. And Kermit's definitely not going to forgive me. He said he wants to cut off my legs and eat them as an ironic punishment. This is a new low.

I’m scared of the lollipop man

There’s a lollipop man around the corner from my house and he gives me the heebie-jeebies. I have passed him on many occasions over the past two weeks and he stares at me as I pass him. He must be a paedophile. I’m scared Mummy! He also just sort of jumps out in front of moving cars like Willy Wonka. He has a maniacal laugh and all the children look equally as scared as me. He lets them across the road and then watches them for about 5 minutes as they walk away. I have day-dreamed about being an Anti-Lollipop Man Super Hero. I would spend my days monitoring all the Lollipop men in the country and if one stepped out of line...BAMMM!! KAZAAAAM! Mojo would be there to contact the authorities and help to speed up the legal proceedings. Lollipop men, Mojo is watching you.

The drummer had a rat up his ass

I went to a jazz night the other day and I was sitting there stroking my make-believe beard and I realised the drummer had a rat up his ass. He had quite a pained expression on his face. It made me have a pained expression on my face! Every time he hit the ride cymbal his face would scrunch up into a rather weird shape that both horrified and amused the audience. He definitely had a rat up his ass that he was trying to shit out. I was sitting there and I had a Mojo Moment. I stood up and declared “This isn’t music! If this were my club I would banish you all.” Jazz is musical masturbation and theres only so much jizz you can swallow before you learn your lesson and need your stomach pumped out in the "BEBOP HOSPITAL OF DEEP SELF-LOATHING."

Alan Yentob must be sent away

I’m tired of the Guardian and Alan Yentob. I wish they would just go away and leave my mind alone. Alan Yentob, the Creative Director for the BBC and presenter of the Culture Show is probably one of the worst people to spend a day down the pub with. You’d have to keep explaining to him the off-side rule. And he’d sit there with his glass of chardonnay and I’d have to listen to him critique the life I lead. Here’s how a Mojo-Yentob conversation might go:

Alan (A): “What are you doing down the pub all day when you could be in a museum looking at some art?”
Mojo (M): “Museums are shit Alan.”
A: “Museums are shit? How can you sit there with your pint of...."

[Pause]

M: “Beer?”
A: “Yeah, with your pint of beer and say that museums are shit?”
M: “Because I’ve been to the Louvre and the woman shouted at me because I touched a sculpture. A sculpture Alan, that wanted to be touched.”
A: “Jeez, you’ve a lot to learn.”
M: “Fuck you Alan. I never say that about your tragic grasp of lad culture.”
A: “What about the ballet? Or even the opera? Or the theatre?”
M: “Look, I’ve been to see them all and they’re bourgeois badges of the middle classes.”
A: “What do you mean?”
M: “Well, name one gangster in the hood who goes to the opera. Ticket prices alone make it inaccessible for most young people. I mean if you are a fly mofo and you somehow had 40 quid to spare that week, are you going to drop some e in a rave or sit beside a bus load of old dolls at La Traviata?”
A: “Oh good heavens, that’s not the case.”
M: “Alan, I know the brothaz and I know the sistaz and I know that they’re not wasting the skunk money that week on a Harold Pinter play.”
A: “Erm...”

[Awkward pause, a barmaid passes and winks at Mojo....some canned laughter]

M: “Exactly Alan. Exactly. Do you want some Scampi Fries?”
A: “Ugh..no way.....how can you eat those? They smell like thrush or something worse.”
M: “Haha, you're right...But you stick with your caviar. Your taste buds have only evolved to enjoy fish turd.”
A: "I am Alan Yentob! ALAN YENTOB!"

[Alan Yentob stands up abruptly, downs his Chardonnay, grabs his Guardian and storms out of the pub]

Cue canned laughter and a big breasted blonde to pass the camera.

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Have a wonderful day
MOJO