October 25, 2005

Ok, so you want a punchline?

Follow-up to Development Essay 1 Resources from Something Random

An Englishman, and Irishman and a half-Spanish blogger all have to hand their development essays by 2pm on tuesday the 25th of october 2005…

The Englishman has his finished and doublechecked by his tutor by the previous wednesday, strolls onto campus tuesday morning, hands it in and then goes for a big cholo breakfast with his mates.

The Irishman just about finishes it the night before, is forced to cycle onto campus in the rain but manages to hand it in 3 minutes and 27 seconds before the deadline.

The half-Spanish blogger screams at her computer than goes to bed, wakes up at 5am and smashes her alarmclock with the heel of a shoe then proceeds to swear at God, herself, her computer monitor and her empty teacup before resorting to half an hour of primal scream therapy. After waking all 5 of her housemates she breaks down into tears and manic depression and throws the keyboard against the wall permanently damaging the F5 key and a small section of desk. With the keyboard now temporarily out of action she resorts to throwing another shoe. The shoe bounces in a wholly unsatisfactory manner and elicits another scream. Housemate #5 makes a noise that indicates irritation, and blogger hits adjoining wall for good measure.

After a brief pause to catch her breath she fashions a voodoo doll out of socks and declares it to be "Täald"(1), the god of 293-word-essays which she then proceeds to stab. Flashlight interrogation and water torture however, also prove unsuccessful and the essay remains uncompleted. The decorative sheepskin rug on her floor is pulled aside and a rudimentary bonfire is prepared over the pre-existing iron shaped scorch mark with the remenants of wine soaked essay notes. Täald is staked to a biro and told to contemplate the mysteries of life in the few seconds left to him while the cojones curse(2) is recited. A little shoulder devil reminds the half-Spanish blogger that notes although made of wood are unlikely to be too flammable when soaked in wine. She goes through half a dozen matches then is forced to agree. Strapping Täald to her hip with a bandana, she grabs a sharpened bic biro and wades out into the dark hallway to hunt down her furtive essay. Meanwhile her shoulder devil props up the shoulder angel on a chair in some dark recess of her mind, there is a faint odour of chloroform in the air.

She has to be careful, the essay could take almost any form and it has had weeks of practice evading her. Ten minutes later and after much deliberation, she decides that it is not the pot plant, the doorknob or the sofa; nor is it the kettle or the small bag of sugar on the worktop; her analysis of a punnet of cherry tomatoes is inconclusive.

Suddenly there is a knock at the front door. She answers and is faced by a tall thin man. He has very watery eyes and a thin moustache that hovers above slightly skewed lips. She asks if he is her essay. He replies that doesn't recall ever being an essay. The shoulder devil prompts her to poke him. She does, and also throws a teabag at him for good measure lest he be an evil spirit. The strange man takes her to a strange room where they give her tea and mozart. The tea tastes a little funny. She thinks the pictures she draws make the man look a little worried – especially the black one; he doesn't like the black one. This tea is rather strange. All the voices are far away now, they are sinking deep into the soft walls. She falls asleep and thus starts her 20 year journey through mental institutions and the subsequent rehab for dependance on "crazy pills" and a lifelong struggle with mind altering drugs.


Yeah I don't really get the joke either. But I'm pretty sure I've heard it somewhere before…

Oh christwaggons this isn't good...

M xxx


1) It should be mentioned that Täald is also the patron saint of all that shit that creeps into your Ikea shopping trolley when you aren't paying attention only to be discovered as you recover from your Ikea-coma and load everything into the car "WTF?! a shoehorn shaped like a snake and a set of eight novelty placemats shaped like a fornicating octopus?! surely i didn't just pay for all this..."

2) A fearsome spanish curse that involves tying a gods cojones in a knot until a certain offending object is returned to you. In this case it also involves large amounts of warpaint


p.s. the F5 key doesn't control anything vital does it?

- 8 comments by 2 or more people Not publicly viewable

[Skip to the latest comment]
  1. Mathew Mannion

    The F5 key controls your computer turning on. Sorry.

    25 Oct 2005, 04:31

  2. Oh. That would explain the startup issues I've been having :s
    Thanks for the info, time to pester my techie dad methinks…

    25 Oct 2005, 05:58

  3. I think you just made it to the top of the list of strange people on warwick blogs… ;-)

    25 Oct 2005, 09:27

  4. Does this mean your planning to get stupidly drunk this evening? Fancy some company?

    P.S. The F5 key is refresh.

    25 Oct 2005, 09:47

  5. I nearly bought that novelty shoehorn too, but I thought it was a novelty backscratcher.

    25 Oct 2005, 10:36

  6. Wow… er, anything wrong?

    GOOD LUCK, you half-crazy, half-Spanish blogger you! :-)

    25 Oct 2005, 10:39

  7. Mozart sucks

    25 Oct 2005, 12:29

  8. No, surely not. I'd swear there are a couple of hobbits out there in the system who are worse…

    Drink sounds very good, very good indeed, probably too good. Tea would also be excellent. Ooooh and a biscuit!

    lol. I tried to get it for my dad because he broke his old one but he stated he's rather break his back than use some fluorescent snake piece of Ikea-ming. :| i rather liked it myself.

    Nothing wrong, my brain just seems to be taking a term-long break from it's duties. Normal service will resume er… well… sometime in the distant future i presume. :s

    Ah yes, but Beethoven sends me flowers…

    25 Oct 2005, 17:30

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