This Is This

Dear This Is This,

Why oh why oh why must the TIT resort to such back language in its posts?

Heh. You said tit.

Hello reader,

I am trying not to put my foot in it in my new job. I normally find this easy to do.

———-
Exhibit A
Conversation at AOL

Colleague: Hey Cliff, remember Sally? Did evening shifts? You know. Worked on the Shuttle crash?

Me: Oh yeah… Mental.

Colleague: She used to go out with Simon here.

Me: …but nice.

Simon: We’re still quite close actually.
———-

Luckily there haven’t been any incidences like that yet. But early days, eh readers? Early motherfucking days.

Well, I could swear all day but that’s not why you’re here. Sure, we have some laughs and we talk about things and - no, actually, that’s it.

Maybe I’ll write about stuff in the news on occasion, but I don’t pretend to do much else.

I don’t tackle the issues so much as get up close to them, fall over, then roll about and look around indignantly for some kind of free kick

What I will do is wait until I’m called up by the likes of Wendy and, like a cheap whore, will jump (the cheap whore being me, OK, let’s be absolutely clear about that) will jump through the Fiery Hoops Of Meme when summoned.

The idea of this one is to take a book you’re reading and turn to page 123 and skip to the fifth sentence and then transcrive sentences six seven and eight.

I normally have three to five books on the go at a time - one serious main one, one bedside one (although this is rarely actually at my bedside) and one work one. I don’t mean it’s a work-related one, but it’s one into which I have to put a little effort, either to become a person or writer, which looking back at this last paragraph, doesn’t seem to be working.

Book 1
The Playmaker by Thomas Keneally
It’s a book about the first years of the penal colony of Sydney, set around the convicts putting on a play.

A number of journals, including the one Ralph kept, recounted that the convict constable Parr refused to set the rope around the boy’s neck. In the end Harry was forced to mount the ladder and adjust the rope himself, doing it deftly for fear the boy said something to him, pleaded, or - worst of the lot - granted forgiveness. Luckily forgiveness wasn’t his style.

Book 2
Love And Marriage by Bill Cosby

“But you’re missing the full benefit,” I told her.
“Why don’t we try to get that in a picnic at Death Valley next week?”
Teaching your wife little things, like how to broil herselfor brush her teeth is a form of education that can move the student to throw something at you.

Book 3
Petit Traite Sur L’Immensite Du Monde by Sylvain Tesson

En etre reduit a exprimer sa pensee dans une tour obscure. Viennent 1960 et les annees de l’amour libre. Quanr on s’aime, on veut que ca se sache.

Tranny: Reduced to having to express ourselves in an obscure turn of phrase. Then came 1960 and the years of free love. When you’re in love, you want it to be known. (Plus ca change, plus c’est la meme chose. See what I did there?)

I in turn tag my father Ted (heh. Never thought about that before) at Riviera Writer, his wife Writer’s Moll, Meg and relatively new and welcome commenter Miss Tickle.

Also on This Is This
I think it would be much funnier if the dummy was this calm, normal character and the ventriloquist was this nervous, edgy, abrasive and immature sociopath
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