Monday 5 November 2012
Sometimes, it tends to happen that after I’ve been on a bit of a writing blitz, I can find myself struggling to come up with an innovative idea for a story or a post. Typically, that’s when I write a few Armchair Philosophy posts, a few opinionated rants, or posts about my friends, family, or job. Today, I am again at that point. I’ve finished writing Zoom and its sequel, Tilt Shift, and I’ve written a few posts for my Armchair Philosophy category. Still no cracking idea for a story.
So, I’m falling back on my wonderful world of lists to provide me with writing fodder. And what have I chosen to list? Well, I was feeling a lil down and I figured I’d write a list of things that I find . . . icky. Yes, that is the technical term for it. Now, bear in mind that this is my list of icky things, and therefore, you may not find some or any of these things icky. The key term however, is my list. Here we go . . .
- Spiders: Top of my list of icky things is those horrid multi-legged, multi-eyed mini-beasts. And let’s face it, not all of them are mini. Anything that needs that many eyes to see is fundamentally wrong. Come to think of it, anything that needs that many legs to get around is also fundamentally wrong. And anything that can be as big as some of those suckers are, and still move as fast as those suckers do is very much, absolutely, completely, totally, and utterly fundamentally wrong. Not to mention that some of them are grossly hairy, and can shoot said hairs like lil arrows into your skin, and they’ll irritate the crap out of you. No, spiders are definitely wrong, and very, very icky. Hate. Them. To. The. Point. Of. Arachnophobia. Bleurgh. I have been known to drown them in insect spray, so that they’re all white and foamy, refusing to remove my eyes from them until they’re dead and flushed or binned. Hate. Them.
- Snotty noses: I can cope with wee. I can cope with poo. I can even cope with vomit. But I cannot cope with snotty noses, inclusive of nose picking, and in the case of what I see in my day job, booger eating. Get a tissue people; it’s that simple. Hey, I can totally cope with watching medical procedures whether they’re on TV, or I’m in the room when the procedure is being done. I can cope with being under a local anaesthetic when I am required to undergo a medical procedure. In fact, I actually prefer to be conscious when undergoing medical procedures if it is at all possible. But snot? Nope. No way. That is utterly chunderous.
- Offal: As previously mentioned, I have no issue with watching medical procedures, unlike many members of my family, not mentioning anyone in particular, Mum. I didn’t mind dissecting a lung in high school; the kidney was kinda cool too. It’s just that, well, who the hell eats stomach or stomach lining or whatever the hell tripe is? What are you thinking? Go buy a steak, for goodness sake. And steak and kidney pie? Why would you destroy steak like that? Brains, liver, kidneys, heart, lung, tongue, and tripe they’re all in the mega-icky part of my icky list. However, I do have one concession and that is pâté. Yes, I know it’s made from liver, that’s why it’s referred to as liverwurst. My Eastern European heritage and ancestry has genetically imprinted me with the love of liverwurst . . . as long as I don’t think about what it’s made of. As soon as my brain focuses on the fact that liverwurst, or pâté as the Nuevo-riche like to refer to it, is made of duck or chicken liver, BAM, my throat closes off and I’m likely to revisit the wurst.
- PDAs: Public displays of affection. You know the ones . . . excessive, over-the-top, you expect them to . . . I’ll leave that thought unwritten. The image that is burnt into my memory is horrible enough; there’s no need to burden you with it as well. As best as I can put it, as simply as I can put it: get a freakin’ room, people!
- Robert Pattinson & Kristen Stewart: Need I say more? Okay, I will. She never smiles. She wears a permanent and unflattering smirk. Come to think of it, I don’t necessarily think that any smirk could actually be flattering. Sweetie, if you don’t like doing the junkets after films, find another job. He has a weirdly flat face and that disturbs me. I’m not into tanning, but damn, that boy is pastier than I am, and that’s saying something. Let’s not even head in the direction of him destroying celluloid vampires . . .
- The Kardashians: All of them, and I don’t think I really need to go any further with this one.
Like I wrote before, this is my list of icky things, so if you disagree with any of them: Frankly my dear, I really don’t give a rat’s hairy buttock. But just out of curiosity, what would you include on your list of icky things?