Banter, as it could be described, or possibly not according to Google Dictionary's example: "the men bantered the waitress", Upon first read I pictured an inquisitive twelve year old me asking my innocent, over-loving Mother if all men enjoyed bantering waitress', or is it just a select few? Nower days I am wiser, hardhearted and would sooner endeavour on falcon punching every pram-wielding teen mother that I make eye contact with...
But that's just me.
The nature steams from years of independent religious schooling, years of dog-eat-dog school yard politics, eons of religious based activities forced down my throat (metaphorically speaking), I at the tender age of 11 was in fact an altar-boy, i've been around enough priests and nuns to successfully hijack a small aeroplane and crash it into The Kaaba, in the name of big JC in the sky. I do however have fond memories of those times, I remember once putting a porn magazine in my Maths teachers briefcase, he saw it at the beginning of the lesson when he opened the case to remove the class register, after the lesson ended he left without saying a word - I loved religious school. I recall i was once excluded from school for two weeks for selling a bag of pizza seasoning to a kid two years below me, nothing happened to him - surely by assuming the role of a playground entrepreneur and capitalising our clientèle's stupidity shows that I at least learned something, isn't that what school was all about? Preparation for the concrete metropolis of our post-20th century Capitalist society? Oh... and God. In a lower subconscious of my internal memory banks - filed under: Only tell drunkenly at a gathering to make everyone uncomfortable - I find that I inadvertently knocked out a dinner lady. After placing two school chairs on the vending machines at the beginning of the day, and re-enacting a bastardized version Lennon and Ono's 'Hair Peace, Bed Peace', I went on about my day. Only to be interjected by the shrill of the head mistress storming onto the playground, and escorting me into her office. It was at this point - as any teenage-punk-rock-hero would do - I thought: "Fuck this shit." I later find that the aforementioned dinner lady, Anne (who stands at 5"4) had attempted to free a comrade Double Decker oppressed by the machine, upon opening the door she was greeted by a chair to the face. My chair, well more the throne of Yoko. Our argument was that our escapades were in the name of art. Art has no home in religious school. Again I was excluded.
My friends and I always have this constant battle for one-upmanship - it's funny, innocent even, until someone oversteps the line. For example calling my home telephone and connecting it to a Chinese restaurant - innocent, I know. Calling my home telephone and connecting it to a Chinese restaurant when it's 1am on a Friday night, and your sons just come home smelling of stale marijuana and cheap deodorant, takes a turn for the worse, thus provoking my borderline BNP voting Father to become a little irate. It's all fun and games though; stealing people's shoes, pissing in shoes, putting milk and cream in bags, stealing oversized Leopards from house parties. Normal Shit. Boredom being the reason we do any of this. Boredom led to this Blog, shit, i'd say Adolf Hitler was just bored of the Jews controlling wealth and in basic terms he was right-ish.
Note: Im not a Nazi.
In this time of economic downturn poor is the new rich, we are all currently in-vogue, trendy us, can we read Vice now? Anyway I'm rich on the inside, even without money, i've been swallowing your jewellery for years. I'm off to shit a gold bar and kick back with an Ounce of cocaine in a reclining chair and wait for David Cameron's octopus heart to consume us all.
In this time of economic downturn poor is the new rich, we are all currently in-vogue, trendy us, can we read Vice now? Anyway I'm rich on the inside, even without money, i've been swallowing your jewellery for years. I'm off to shit a gold bar and kick back with an Ounce of cocaine in a reclining chair and wait for David Cameron's octopus heart to consume us all.
Joshua Charles.
