Being Mr. Kenny

In honour of Italy winning the World Cup, I used Google to translate my last post between English and Italian a couple of times. Congratu-ma-lations, Italy!

Before that we begin, I would wish to render to dinieghi the two. In the first instance, the title it seems to imply that it uses this regularly blog in order to make the parodies. That one is one lie. Secondarily, this tree of the device of the device of the starter device really does not have nothing to that one to make however with parodies, but the of “parody” that healthy one that “to take the orina from” more well. I ask justification to my readers this misdirection.

The argument of the tree of the device of the device of the device of starter of the odierno is mines to notice, behind schedule, of how much taken to that a mighty of the iron that I have usually on sanity of the mine is loosening little. From the moment those, I am working in the tree-room of the device of the device of the device of starter of an institution financial institution of the institution of the institution of the company and there is insignificant to carry out it to the malvagità of letters but of the speech of the company from the Scottish of the vedove. Of the Scottish di Vedove incidently, hatred! There is more unit to a company that hardly the finance, learns prays in order to remember itself correctly of of your tree of the device of the device of the starter device!

My madness takes to the figure to the foolish risata one to the things that really are not amusing. For example, yesterday they have been asked to sign for a package. I have begun with the M. that that usual one and then, of whim, I has decided to go sure a hardly crazy that what and scribble of illeggibile. That, then I have thought, I was the height of the spirit. I have even taken the fotographia to it when the type of delivery has gone to use the toletta, but after to see the look of the deep worry on the face of my friend when the glie has indicated it, I do not transmit it here.

Other similar events have included the opening of three sides of the envelope with opened it of the letter so that it was opened like a book — this has given the mirth to it that particular one — and also accidentally flicking letters through the office when tests in order to open them. Then for in order repeating it on the capienza the support one of the periods. It is the joys of the operation with the tree of the device of the device of the starter device!

The contributori of the factors can include the fact that are puttinges close to the machine of the coffee, than the means that I have one taken the constant of caffein during the day. Behind in order that moreover sees my tree of the device of the device of the device of starter of it determines the days to you that they speak about my impressionabile dependency from love of the food.

And what do you know? It’s still more easily understood that eighteenth century writing!

Before we begin, I would like to make two disclaimers. Firstly, the title seems to imply that I regularly use this blog to make parodies. This is a lie. Secondly, this post actually has nothing to do with parodies anyway, but “parody” sounds better than “take the piss out of”. I apologise to my readers for this misdirection.

The topic of today’s post is my noticing, of late, that the mighty iron grip I usually have on my sanity has been loosening slightly. At the moment, I’m working in the post-room of a financial company, and there is naught to keep me company but poorly addressed letters from Scottish Widows. Incidentally, Scottish Widows, I hate you! There are more departments to a company than just finance, please learn to address your post properly!

My madness takes the form of giggling at things that really are not funny. For example, yesterday I was asked to sign for a package. I began with the usual M, and then, on a whim, decided to just go mad and scribble something illegible. This, I thought at the time, was the height of wit. I even took a photograph of it when the delivery guy went to use the toilet, but after seeing the look of deep concern on my friend’s face when I showed it to her, I shan’t post it here.

Other similar incidents have included opening three sides of the envelope with the letter opener so that it opened like a book — this gave me particular mirth — and also accidentally flicking letters across the office when trying to open them. Then doing it again on purpose a couple of times. It’s the joys of working with post!

Contributing factors may include the fact that I am seated next to the coffee machine, which means I have a steady intake of caffeine throughout the day. See also my post of a few days back talking about my emotional dependence on love of food.

A friend and I were talking about old books, specifically how they write “to-day” and “to-morrow”, all hyphenated like that, and also how they blank out place names. Like, “He lived in the fair city of B——, in the county of S———”. Quite pointless.

Anyway, I also complained of the fact that they didn’t really ever seem to have a strong grasp on the concept of a sentence. Maybe they weren’t invented back then, who can know. But I thought I’d have a go at writing a passage in the style of an eighteenth century author. It’s actually quite fun. The rules seem to be that you must go on forever, and talk about whatever you want. You don’t even need anything in particular to say, you just have to use a lot of words. It’s a lot like blogging.

I guess the only difference from blogging is that you do have to know how to use punctuation. Here, however, you don’t use it to ease reading, but to trip up and confuse your readers as many times as you possibly can. You are permitted — nay, encouraged! — to make detours and digressions, and wander off to wherever you please.

In the eighteenth century, the use of semicolons and dashes — like this — permitted sentences to go on for fucking ages — why, an expletive! — before coming to a stupid inconclusive conclusion; — and here let it be said that the very existence of an inconclusive conclusion is in question — the question — to use the vernacular (and to further confuse this sentence) — begs the question! — a sorry state of affairs I’m sure you’ll agree; — but I have made that error so common amongst young people — namely that of serious digression — I must make a return to my original intentions; — and indeed, alas and alack, I find that I have forgotten my original intentions — but this by the by because — as I am sure you can see — I have kept this sentence alive for more than a paragraph now — which is of the most critical importance, and what is more, no one is any the wiser — ha ha! — for I have not actually said anything of any import; — though do note that I have used an exclamation mark and not put a capital after it — and why not? — I may even ask a question but then continue as if nothing happened until one finds that one is left with a feeling akin to that which causes you to ask, where did I leave my glasses? — but more importantly — and here I insert the most egregious irrelevant and pointless baggage into this already overloaded sentence (just because I can) — I note that I have not yet used the subjunctive — a pox be upon this wanton lack of grammatical excess!

Anyone who has ever spent more than 30 minutes in my company will tell you that I have a certain weakness for food. My mother tells me I’ve had this soft spot ever since the I was first given solids. She says that on my first mouthful I became ecstatic, and once I had finished the meal I wailed like a banshee until more food was prepared for me. I guess I never looked back.

It’s not that I like to stuff my face — well, I suppose it is really — it’s just that when I’m hungry I can think of nothing else except what I could eat to fix the problem. Waiting in the queue at the deli, I am like a child on Christmas day. What about gherkins this time? Or humous? Have I given enough thought to the possibility of olives? And so on.

But it’s deeper than looking forward to food. If I know I’ve got an especially nice sandwich, I actually get a little emotional when I think about eating it, and I’m always bitterly disappointed when I’ve finished it. This is why I always buy chocolate or crisps when I’m taking lunch. Lunch without chocolate or crisps is like a car without an engine — or the Post Office without queuing — there’s just no point!

I am sick of having to shave, I really am. It is unfortunate that my facial hair is so utterly pathetic — growing, as it does, almost exclusively on my chin and in two patches on my upper lip. Otherwise, I might consider growing a beard and giving up shaving for good.

It is such a pain to have to mess around with bits of shaving foam and razor blades, and having to look in a mirror which remains cloudy to the point of uselessness. One thing I will not put up with is cutting myself when shaving. I am really truly sick of that. My attitude of late has been, “if my skin is stupid enough to grow something that sticks out, it’s got no-one to blame but itself if it gets shaved off”.

My skin retaliates by bleeding copiously, for hours it seems, all over any item of white clothing in the vicinity.

I was wandering through a nearby park on my lunch break the other day, when I came across these two signs:

I thought this was particularly inconsiderate of the trees, since usually they shout when they’re dropping a limb.