Joel (amos ob-la-dee ob-la-daa) Does A Guest Post

Hello. I’m Joel, fictional character created by Brid to live in her stories on this blog (often referred to as Joel Amos Obadiah, or, my preferred moniker, Joel Almost Obi-Wan). I’m doing a guest article. You may notice the lack of flowing prose, vivid metaphors, crystal-clear imagery and overly obsessive grammar nit-picking you would usually expect from this blog, but I’m sure we’ll get on just fine.

In general, I haven’t got much to say, and what I do have to say is of little consequence and little bearing on reality. Which, you could say, would mark me out as a poor blog-writer. And, I say in return, you’re probably right. But I’m all up for new things, unless the new thing in question is a nudist colony, or a lifetime’s kazoo tuition, or something silly like that. And so, in the name of ‘new things’, I took Brid’s password and began my First Ever Blog Post. If it works out, who knows, I might start one of my own. If it doesn’t, I’ll just keep vandalising Brid’s. After all, her password is pretty guessable.

Guess it.

Go on…

 

Guess.

I’ll give you a clue.

 It almost rhymes with ‘condensed vegetable oil’ and it’s not my name.

 

Anyway, I suppose it’s about time I started the blog proper, so here goes.

 

Parakeets. Who the hell do they think they are? I mean, I don’t own one or anything, but my granny does, and I tell you, they are a pretty low form of life. You might have heard of the recent floods in Ballymena, and my granny’s house was badly hit. And her parakeet, which had done nothing but fray my granny’s aging nerves, and anyone who came within twenty metres of the house, with it’s incessant noise and flinging birdseed through the bars of its cage, sat there and expected someone to rescue it as the floodwater rose perilously close. I mean it has wings. The thing has wings, and it knows how to unhook the door of its cage. Nevertheless, someone did the deed, and prolonged its wretched life by placing it on a floating raft and pushing it out of the house. And how did it repay this gracious gift? Birdseed. 

The parakeet, however, is just one of the many creatures whose existence on earth is at best unwanted. The wasp, the mosquito, the pigeon. All three creatures seem deeply, deeply angry about something, and take it out on us poor humans with venomous stings, deadly malarial diseases, and projectile faeces. And what reason do they have to be so angry? I mean, they are blessed with the power of flight. They could soar above us lowly ground-based hominids, but instead they take their fight to us and crap on our heads and get stuck in our beer cans.

 

That’s what I think about them.

 

So anyway, I think I’m getting the hang of this blogging venture. Think of something that makes you angry, then write about it on an obscure little section of the web for the Whole Wide World (and Mr Weir) to read.

I can do that. 

Look.

Here I go again.

Nightmares. What’s the deal, eh? They aren’t very nice, and surely shouldn’t happen, logically. Whether you believe your body is designed by God, evolved, or sneezed out of a celestial tortoise, surely nightmares go against all of the respective principles of those beliefs. Your mind shouldn’t actively try to scare you. Maybe they only happen if you spend too much time thinking, or blogging late at night. Hmm.

Theologically speaking, and I’m going to get dark here for a second, maybe Hell is the culmination of all your nightmares. Nasty. Still, I suppose for me it wouldn’t seem so bad, from another person’s point of view. I mean it would just involve Satan relieving me of my clothes and directing me to a room of nude kazoo players.

 

fin.

 

“The kazoo is every bit as dignified as the person playing it”  - Barbara Stewart