Bang goes another year.
Time for another round up of Burning Salad errata. Here are a few things that I didn't post about at the time...
1. The moustache. Experimental facial hair that it was, I kind of liked it. So did some other people who said, Oh I like the moustache. And then when it was gone, Aw, you look good without the moustache, I never really liked it. My girlfriend was not one of these people. She hated it all along. All in all it had something like a three month run on my ugly mug. Ex-moustache, I salute thee.
2. Walking dogs. I have been walking a couple of dogs for a wee while now. My contempt for the canine is absolute. Dogs, I hate you.
3. Man buys machete. It's true. I saw a man buying a machete. He did it really casually like he was buying a houseplant or something.
4. Pop Star Porn. In order to protect the innocent (and guilty) I'll have to be a tad circuitous about this one... I found a magazine that belonged to a friend that had pictures of naked ladies in it. So I cut up some pictures of some people in a popular band and pasted them in said magazine in a semi-ambient fashion. Then I replaced the magazine and forgot all about it. The resulting psychological shock came a few months later.
5. Punching Pigeons. On Glasgow's Buchanan Street you have to go down a slight slope at the top. In certain weather conditions at a certain time of day, you can find yourself walking straight into the sun as it reflects off of a lot of wet Starbucksy surfaces. There are often a lot of pigeons there too. Often they take off and fly up the street at head height- or at least my head height. On more than one occasion I've had to duck very quickly at the last minute to avoid what would have almost certainly been a pigeon in the face. Anyway, all of the above happened to me one day apart from the ducking part. I was in a bad mood and without thinking about it I ducked to the side and went for the airborne pest. And I caught it with a short jab at close range. The bird flapped a bit and flew away and a few people stared as if I had just spat on an old lady. I didn't care though because it was a good shot and I had just fulfilled a long standing ambition.
Anyway, here are the full versions of the above nonsense. Remember there's some porn here, just in case you're at work (and you don't work in the porn industry).
That moustache:
DOGS
I've never been a dog person. Despite their unwavering obedience, loyalty and fascination with sticks, dogs are, as a species, running off into the distance of my affection for animals.
When I was too young to know any better I used to pester my parents incessantly to get a dog... 'Get a dog', I would say...
To which they would reply 'No', before explaining that dogs grow into big animals (also known as dogs) and that these big dogs would constantly hassle you for a variety of annoying dog reasons and if you ignored them this would somehow turn them into bad dogs and this was a bad thing. And what's more, they pointed out, this would go on for years before they finally died.
It was only much later in adult life that I came to realise the benefits of never having fostered any sort of affection for the canine. They are easily the dirtiest, most annoying creatures currently in circulation. Now, I realise that this sentiment will probably single handedly alienate me from the nation's legions of dog lovers, pet shop owners and werewolves- but I should point out right now that it is not without its foundation in experience. I am, as it happens, a dog walker. Yes, you read that right.
Every morning at around eleven o'clock, it is my duty to exercise a pair of remarkably enthusiastic yet deeply stupid black labradors. And the walk in the park is... well, not exactly a walk in the park, as they say...
Apparently bees are able to see ultra violet light which allows them to navigate by following patterns in the sky imperceptible to the human eye, and accounts for their seemingly erratic, yet somehow graceful, movement through the air. Dogs would appear to have a similar, albeit infinitely less poetic, ability. Regarding their senses, that is- thank god the bastards can't fly.
As is well known, it is the dog's sense of smell that sets him apart from his fellow mammals. Again, not in the respect that other animals don't have an incredibly well honed sense of smell... it's just that dogs are the only ones that seem to be obsessed by using it to sniff out their own species' shit. And, like moronic bees who have kind of missed the point, they use this ability to navigate. (At least they don't try to make honey). Walking a dog in the park is, to all intents and purposes, a giant connect-the-dots of faeces. Walking two at once is some kind of dog-shit pinball.
And so, every day I go from turd to turd as my unruly charges indulge their fixation. Often the doggie-dung has been at least partially reclaimed by the elements. (More often than not, the rain has done its best to rid the world of yet another animal crap). But they will not be deterred. They root around and sniff and dig, and then suddenly stop; Somehow having decided that it is high time they were on their way to the next canine poop.
On the way they seize the opportunity to hone their secondary skill set- namely the act of pissing. (Piss on the trees; piss on the bins; piss on each other; piss on stationary children, tramps, ducks... and when you run out of piss, go looking for more dumps until you can piss again).
And then in that small window of dog activity that doesn't somehow revolve around what they can squeeze out of their bodies, they get to decide what actually goes in. And the consensus seems to be that anything smaller than their own heads is ideal... plastic bags, small branches, bubble gum, bike tyres, tinfoil, books...
Who knows, maybe it's just because I'm a cat person. But I don't really buy into that whole Cats v Dogs thing. I've got a sneaking feeling that my indifference for the dog and his foolish ways would remain intact supposing I was an owl person. Or a crab lover. Or a moth fanatic.
MACHETE
I saw a man buy a machete today.
There is a small shop in Glasgow famous for it's somewhat 'eclectic' range of merchandise. Despite being billed as 'Music and Electrics', the stock consists of an array of musical equipment (of varying quality), (non-essential) electrical goods... and offensive weapons of all kinds. It really has to be seen to be believed... second-hand accordion... .22 rifle... metal detector... 8-inch serrated sheath knife... bass amp... 3-kilo crossbow... and so on. It's like some kind of relic from a bygone surrealist age when people would cheerily kill each other with hunting knives on a matter of principle and play banjo over the corpse.
Although I am not a fan of violence unless it is being committed by paid professionals, I do own a small pen knife that I use, controversially by Glaswegian standards, for its traditional purpose of sharpening pencils. Unfortunately, despite expert workmanship worthy of the Swiss army, it had started falling to bits and so I found myself in the guns-and-guitars shop.
It's always amusing. One day I'm going to raise the stakes and walk straight in, go right up to the counter and say, 'Yes, I need a hand grenade please'. And then in the inevitable pregnant pause, 'Maybe two'.
And so, there I was waiting for assistance in purchasing a replacement pen knife. And I was fully mentally rehearsed... "It only has to fit in my pocket, not up my sleeve - It really is for sharpening pencils, so no, a ninja throwing star won't work - I've already got a second-hand metal detector, thanks". Then the man came out from the back-shop and just walked past with an unidentified package under his arm. It was not the shape of musical equipment.
He proceeded to walk to the counter where he took a deep breath as casually as possible before pulling back the cover and revealing part of a very large and heavy looking machete. (No doubt all machetes are very large and heavy. Along with sharpness, those are the only features that make a machete a machete and everything else not a machete). He didn't even get the chance to display it in all its glory because the customer just said, "That's fine, that's fine", as casually as he possibly could. Some money changed hands and that was it, the transaction was complete. Apart from the security check.
The security check completely redefined the whole concept of security. By reducing it to nothing more than a mundane and easily lied-to question. The machete selling man said, 'Just for security- what's your name and address?'
Now, I try not to be too fast to judge a person by their appearance (I've got a fairly 'cross the street' look) but I'll wager the machete buying man lied about his identity. He did not look like he was on his way to the amazonian jungle and needed the heavy-duty slicing implement to carve his way through the rain forest. He did, however, look like he was on his way to the end of his street with a score to settle and needed it to chop part of a person off.
The man at the counter simply wrote down the dubious information on a piece of paper and bid the nut farewell.
My turn.
'A knife please' ... 'Which one?' ... 'That very small one' ... etc etc.
'Just for security - Can I ask your name please?'
'Certainly. Patrick Bateman'.
NAKED LADIES
Okay, before you start going on about my Photoshop skills- these images were cut and pasted the old fashioned way in real life. The purpose was to freak out [someone who shall remain nameless]. And it worked because I forgot all about it until [my anonymous victim] came across (pun intended) my small act of visual trickery a few months later. Also, it's worth pointing out that it was never done with the intention of posting on the net. And it was done at a time when the slutty musicians in question weren't yet in the sort of position where they could sue me if they felt like it. But, you know, what the fuck.
Seamless.
