Presuming you’re an avid reader of the blogaruu, you’ll know the significance of this great blogaruu coming up. Down date time. Mighty. Delighted. Finally. After months of gibber. Nonsense. Muck. Wading. Swamping. Wriding. Couple near mental wobbles. Eventually. I think. The book. Done. Giddy up! Wuu to the duu. Happy days. Celebrate on. Finishing the book does wonders for banishing the green monkeys after a night of boozing as well. Nice little side effect. Goodbye demons of Doubt. Beaten off. Gone. Spark reignited. Pep in my step. Welcome back. Head down. Ploughing on. Speaking of which. Mo-jo. Flooding back. No more choosing to write a quick chapter which just popped into my head, over a girl lying in my bed. Two secs there, just have to write down one thing. Just in case I forget. Which, quite obviously, is spoof. Seeing as that implies, that there was once a girl in my bed. Tut. I am a spoofing ape. Continue Reading »
Tag Archives: Gibberish
Naked Fat Man. Please. Sit Down.
Leave a commentFor arguments sake, let’s just imagine that my head is a room. At the moment, it’s bare. Empty. Really empty. Hard to imagine such a thing, with regards to my head, I know, but try. Anyways, all the furniture has been taken out. Except for one chair. In the middle of the room. And one guy, who’s also in the room. Running around. Like a mad man. Naked. Hyper. Riddled with ADD. Spouting out gibberish. Pouring. Wide-eyed. Rambling. Naked fat man. Now and again you can calm him down. Trick him. Get him to sit on the chair. And tell you a story. Starts off. Sounds good. Something catches your eye for a second though, distracts, turn your back for a second, and he’s gone. Jumps up. Runs back around the room. Rattling off about something new. And he won’t finish the story until you can get him to sit down again. And tell it in the way you want him to say it. So getting him to sit and stay in the chair is key. That one spot. Rein him in. Make him talk. And talk. And keep going. Until you have enough out of him and you’ve finished writing your first book. Continue Reading »
Randumb
4 CommentsBrief blogaruu. Update you might say. An announcement. Drum roll. Re de de. The title of my upcoming book shall be… RANDUMB. Giddy up! I wasn’t sure if I was meant to keep it underwraps or not. Should’ve asked sooner I suppose. I have been informed to set her free. Just in case, she’s been registered. Although I don’t think you can register book names. Good work by me. Anyways. Time has come. Open the cage. Away she goes. Randumb. Go on the book! Still tweaking the subtitle…
The Random Dumb Adventures of an Irish Guy in LA
Or, merely…
The Dumb Adventures of an Irish Guy in LA
Or…
The Random Dumb Adventures of an Irish Mark
Or…
The Dumb Adventures of an Irish Mark
Ha, this kind of thing is what has dancing through my head. Devil in the detail. Which to do, which, to, do. Feel free to chime in, comment-wise. The more muddle I get in my head the clearer it might become. Although my publishers could just step in. Continue Reading »
Fine. I’ll Comb It.
6 CommentsWho wants to hear a ridiculously pointless story?! Ah well, it’s not ridiculously pointless. Ah well, it actually is. Maybe not completely pointless. To one person. Probably just the one. Probably. Although if you are one of the many people who have ever felt the need to insist I should comb my hair, maybe you might find it of note. Probably. Not. Thing is. I just remembered. How big a combed head I used to be. Immaculate parting. Straight as an arrow. Splitting hairs. Like a landing strip. White line down the centre of my head. Nicely tanned during the summer. Brazilian. Or whichever one that is. Perfect divide. No stragglers. East. West. A combing king. King Combs! Bit of Brylcreem. Followed by a quick flick of a brush. Either side of the Berlin Wall. Little bit of a fringe. Check in the mirror. And. I. Was. Dancing! Continue Reading »
Vaseline. Alley. Riding. Carrots.
4 Comments
Not too sure what a typical Valentine’s Day consists of… Bed. Breakfast. Chocolates. Flowers. Wining. Dining. Whining. Drunk. Lingerie. Hip hip hooray? Not too sure. Mine was similar enough to that. Ish. Kind of. Not at all. More like a typical Sunday. Back in the pre-cave days. Hand bags. Man bags. Russian. Riding. Chinese. Haggling. Dancing. Carrots. Juice. Mexican. Flowers. Bouncing. Drag. Puff. Vaseline. And. An. Alley. Typical enough. Continue Reading »
The Royal Rambles
Leave a commentTexts. Wonderful little things. If for no other reason than keeping a timeline. Remind you of certain things. Blurry events. Shorter form of the blogaruu to be true. Which my memory would be completely lost without. Unfortunately. If a few days go by. Without blogging on. Particularly when a fair old whack has gone on. Everything comes back sporadically. Illogical. Nonsense. Sharp bursts. Flying out. Checking notes. Scribbled drunk gibberish. Illegible. Reaching for sent items. Unfortunately having gaps missing. Missing texts is missing memories. Wondering what happened for that three hour period? Or that one? Forgetting to wonder about it. Enabling the onslaught of flashes to finally flood in. Continue Reading »




