#74 Andy Burns: Doppelgänger

OK, here’s the thing about Luis Suarez, yeah? Everyone hates him, I know, including myself. Even Liverpool fans hate him now, as after proudly supporting his racism for many years they later played against a team containing him and were rightly appalled when for some reason Suarez was a big of a complete shithouse when playing against them as he was playing for them. Also, he celebrated scoring a goal against them, which he shouldn’t have, because Liverpool FC is a pure club that is in every Godly man’s soul and it shouldn’t be possible to enjoy hurting them. I’m not a Liverpool fan, by the way. Quite the opposite. Luckily, the team I support has been beyond reproach and criticism for as far back as I can remember, so I feel safe making these jabs. But yeah, we all hate Luis Suarez. He cheats, he dives, he hates the Jackson Five. Even if he was an exemplary character, even if he planted trees on the centre circle of every football ground he played in to combat climate change, even if he carefully measured each shot he took to ensure the ball would fly out of the stadium and land in a nearby orphanage to give those poor little tykes something to play with, on a base level he just possesses an extremely unlikable face. It’s not his fault, I know (though he can now afford plastic surgery many times over), but nor is it our fault – being as we are simple humans – to want to slap that dumb face of his, or at least enjoy it experiencing some sort of severe emotional pain.

IS THIS GOING ANYWHERE?

2 SPELLLING: The Turning Wheel

2019 #10

Gee, thanks a lot Christmas Day…

Now I’ve got to start at the first day again! And finish, because it’s currently close to midnight on Boxing Day while I write this, and numbers two and one of this year’s list will be announced before many of the millions (and millions) of fans of this blog get out of bed. Isn’t it a damn shame that I had to stop at fifteen consecutive days though? I hear that when you reach twenty consecutive days you actually start earning money for writing. New York Times columnists get paid $350k a year, and you know how? They just never stop their daily streak! Charles Blow is currently on a 16,939 [SIXTEEN THOUSAND NINE HUNDRED AND THIRTY NINE] day streak! He started on his fifth birthday by harshly critiquing the level of presents that he was somehow expected to enjoy that year (“A Space Hopper, mother, really? And how, exactly, is one expected to improve one’s life by simply bouncing around on an inflated orange ball? What epiphanies is one expected to reach? Am I expected to gaze into that lifeless face and see myself reflected in his sad eyes? Perhaps this is intended to be Gerald Ford, whose ‘bouncing’ support is laughably intended to keep myself and others like me precociously and intermittently above the bottom line of the hard ground below us? And you said it talked. It definitely doesn’t talk, you fucking whore”. Yeah, some of Blow’s early work can seem a little problematic to modern sensibilities), and has just popped out another article every day since. Admittedly, he can sometimes obviously be struggling for material, His fourteen thousand eight hundred and seventy second article was just him ranking the different noises his chair makes when he sits down, his fifteen thousand and twelfth post was just the entire lyrics of Scatman’s World by Scatman John followed by the sentence “Is it not still the case? #ScatmanDidItFirst”, while his sixteen thousand four hundred and second post was just a piece of clickbait suggesting that Kylian Mbappe might be sighing for Liverpool. But you know what he did after writing each article? A spellcheck, yeah? To check the spelling? Or, perchance, the Spellling?? See, it all fits in, don’ tell me how to do my job.

I’LL BE RIGHT HERE, LITTLE DEER