Wednesday, August 21, 2013

Beep Beep Boo Hoo

I think I'm tired and run down, how can I tell? The microwave and I just had the following conversation:

Me: I'm tired of making excuses for you.
Microwave: *Silent accusatory stares*
Me: I'm sorry that was really mean. I'm just tired and run down.

My saving grace throughout the Edinburgh Fringe this year has been the amount of Televsion I've been watching in between shows to calm down. It's a saving grace that whilst you're running around wildly trying to work out what's funny and how to do it, you can occasionally see an advert for Phone Shop and see that comedy is totally subjective and success can come for anything.

Literally anything.

I've got a cold... it feels like all my bodily fluids are trying to escape through my nose via some serious internal bruising through my sinuses. My legs are heavy, heavy like Catholic guilt, and it's not just from all from the Minstrels I've ingested over the last 6 hours. There were a few Twixs in there too. How do you correctly pluralise Twix? Should there have been an 'e' added?

Maybe you can't do it, maybe that's the problem?

 Maybe you're never supposed to have more than one Twix.

I don't know any more and neither does the microwave. He's just sitting smugly in the corner like the fastidious prick he's turned out to be. His insides are full of cheese and he smells like burned food but I'll be damned if I'm going to clean him out.

What am I, his mother? No. He doesn't have a mother. Because he's just a microwave.

If you microwave a Twix for a few seconds it's delicious - the caramel goes all melty and chewy and I like it. My friend Jenna and I used to do it when we were little. We'd have been littler if we didn't like eating a Twix each so often. See how awkward that sentence became because I don't know how to pluralise Twix? That's the problem with comedy Twix chocolate bars. They're irritating bastards that no one has written down hard and fast rules for.

I'm not saying I blame the microwave, but I'm certainly not going to let it get me down any more. If he doesn't want to play ball then why should I go begging at his partly see through door? Either you're transparent or you're opaque, microwave! Why do you have to be both? Who are you helping? Not me, that's for sure. I'm sick of you.

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