Wank in my mind

To shit or not to shit, that is the question.

Having a shit is one of the greatest things in the world. People put there noses up at it and say things like "how vile!" and "he's a no-good ragamuffin that Mojo." And they are right but they need to realise EVERY HUMAN SHITS!

This is great news of course for people like me who love to shit. Poo comes out of everyones arse! It's a Poo-Poo Revolution! I don't endorse the fetishization of defaecation but everyone should enjoy dropping the kids off at the pool. However the other day I was struck by the gravest dilemma a man ever has to face. I had to attend an important meeting and when I got to this other office I was walking like a pregnant dinosaur with gout as I tried to hold in the most beautiful poo I had ever created. Yes, I couldn't see the poo but I knew, by God, it was beautiful.

I shook hands with the guy with the tie called Mike and asked where the toilets were. He just smiled and said "use the en-suite baby". He pointed over his shoulder while my lower lip quivered nervously. To shit or not to shit? That was my question. My bowels rumbled and the MOJO POO VESUVIUS would soon wipe out the world. I didn't want to use the en-suite as I knew Mike "the Tie" would hear my screams and my cries of ecstasy and possibly banish me from the United Kingdom out of disgust. I weighed up my options and instead I said "I need to make a quick call first." I ran awkwardly out of the building and I swore never to return. My "quick call" lasted approximately a whole afternoon and it was the most spectacular afternoon I had ever spent running through town desparately searching for a toilet. Finally I found a toilet in a Public Drinking House and the rest is history. I don't like to reveal what happened but it was bliss. Afterwards I felt like a dear friend had departed and I weeped into my Sarsparilla as "Bar Stool" Goopy and " Pool table" Mick and Mack laughed at my anal tale of sweet delight.

I didn't know where I was going to go from here. I needed an angel to save me from this world. I live a regrettable life.

---- the end-----

I would like to dedicate this blog to Marvin the Marshmallow in apology for shitting in his toilet and forgetting to flush. He didn't banish me from the U.K. but I have to wear an electronic tag to track my every move so that I never poo within 3 miles of his house.

Lunch with Mojo

Lunch is fucking cla. Look at Obam-bam there....his popularity in the polls is decreasing but he's just had some lunch and he's going out there to fuck that Tea Party up. He fucking loves lunch plus hes thinking "Who are all these wankers? I just came for a quiet pint at my local boozer and these cunts showed up."

Yeah, lunch is great. For two years though I used to find lunch a total misery. I worked in the Mournes and I used to go to lunch with my boss every day. Now, we didn't work on Wall Street...we worked in THE MOURNES. He used to buy the Irish News and talk endlessly about the local deaths. He usually just made grunts. I loved him more than any man I ever met. In a little room in the middle of the mournes whilst the rain was pouring down outside on a dark November day we sat down for lunch.......

My boss = Ah, are you right?
Mojo = Aye, fuckin' shit day
My boss = aye
Mojo = what about you?

[silence]

My boss = (sigh) aye
Mojo = aye

[silence]

Mojo = you know I'm getting fucking sick of ham sandwiches. They're shite.
My boss = aye
Mojo = aye, wile bad craic like.

[silence]

[more silence]

My boss = awh......
Mojo = Wha?
My boss = awh no
Mojo = what's wrong?
My boss (whilst looking at the Irish news)=wee paddy fitzpatrick is dead .I must tell Mariead
Mojo = who's that?
My boss = wee Paddy?
Mojo = yeah, did you know him?
My boss = He's married to wee Margaret's cousin Gene.
Mojo = Who's Margaret
My boss = she's the lovely wee lady who passess the basket around at mass.
Mojo = ........................................................ oh. Did you know her?
My boss = aye, she gave me the basket last week.................. I was in the aisle seat. Paddy wasn't there though
Mojo = .....wile sad that...... it's always a shock
My boss = aye....poor Paddy....fucking wile sad

[silence]

[more silence]

[even more silence]

Mojo = What's it like living in the Mournes ?
My boss = Wha?
Mojo = You know the Mournes?
My boss = awh it's good like.
Mojo = fuck all is happening though
My boss = aye I know...but its good...look at the scenery........it's better than fucking Newry. That's one shithole! Ha ha!
Mojo = What? I like NEwry.
My boss = You're just saying that because you live there....
Mojo = I know.
My boss = you're a cunt
Mojo = fuck off you're a cunt.
My boss = Ah look....... Castlewellan are playing mayobridge at the weekend......big game!
Mojo = aye, that's a big one
My boss = aye
Mojo = Wile craic like

[Silence]

My boss = [grunt]

[more silence]

[rustling of paper]

My boss = back to work...c'mon ya cunt.

Mojo = shite


And that was my life every day for two years.


=============== the end =======

Mojo

The best thing you can do tomorrow

I'm just sitting listening to Glen campbell's version of "Wichita Lineman" and planning my tomorrow. It is a warm blanket of a song. It reminds me of going to the park with my da when I was a wee lad of 5, already knowledgable about the hypcorisy of modern society and pointing out older men in macks and asking my da "is he a paedo, pops?"

The best thing you can do tomorrow is switch off your mobile phone and fuck it in the corner of your room. Let it sit there in the darkness. Give your head some peace. We're not made to carry a phone around all day. It's a new idea I'm championing called "Phone Break days". We carry these fucking things about and it endlessly toys with our emotions. Why is nobody calling me? Am I a leper? Am I a fucking leper? Should I be texting my gay uncle in Edinburgh? What about my brother? Will he hate me if I don't ask him how he's dodging deportation?

I remember when mobile phones got popular in the late 90s and I thought, "mobile phones are only for cunts".. Little did I know millions of people around the world would have a mobile phone within a couple of years. Yes, little did I know that I lived in a world of cunts and I was also a cunt. I was innocent then. I purposely didn't get one for a couple of years after having an argument with my girlfriend in the middle of the Limelight ( a nightclub in Belfast, East Ulster). She was texting one of her friends during "Creep" by Radiohead and I shouted at her through the music "how can you text through 'Creep'?" I was then head-butted by some wobbly Belfast cunt and knocked to the floor. I then needed to have a piss and decided to avoid the queue for the toilets by pissing on the dancefloor. I blame that debauchery on the emergence of the mobile phone. If my girlfriend didn't have a mobile phone I wouldn't have got headbutted and I wouldn't have had to piss on the dancefloor during "Creep".

Yes, stop exposing yourself in public. You don't need to tweet so much . Be more private because you'll become nothing. Every bit of you will be public property and there'll be nothing left of your soul. Psychologists have said recently that Facebook and Twitter and other such social networking sites are destroying people's sense of self. Now, nobody has any private self. They can be put together like jigsaw puzzles by looking at their tweets and facebook profile pictures. I'm on facebook as Teddy Tango, named after the great athlete of World sport, Teddy Tango. I don't really want to reveal too much of myself and I think I'm happier about this. Too much time is spent in the culture factories, dreaming up new ways on how to make money from words, music and beauty. Step out of the factory and smell the roses. It's a beautiful world out there. We need to kill and dehumaize the MAN. His body must be unrecognisable to family and friends.

MOJO

(PLease note: The MAN = the political leaders, the bankers, the business men, the warlords and anyone who is responsible for the destruction of the Earth principally for short term gain)