Schrödinger’s Ballbeg


— I’ve been reading magazines for more than thirty years, Brian, I think I know when something’s good.
— Far be it from a blind minion like myself, I mean it’s beyond my means, or even my appetite…
— Yes, far be it from you, far be it from you. Of course, Brian, you mewling, you unfortunate runt you. Pass the crackers.
— Well that’s just what I was getting to, now hear me out, a minute please, it’s just I think… I may have discovered something.
— Oh, like Columbus?
— More like Columbo. Is it wise to eat all of that brie? Regardless, m’lord, me ol’ pal whom I love so dearly. Look, I have to get your opinion on this, I mean it’s all quite unbelievable.
— Go ahead, Brian, one can only stand to bear such snivelling for so long. Out with it, please now.
— Well, I will ask you this, now hold on to your handkerchief. Yes, my dearest friend and eternal hoarder of dubious cheeses, I shall put it to you…Yes. One minute.
— Hurry on, you old thief in the night.
–This is it. My question, I put to you, my chief, his cheeseness most highly.
— Go before I hit you.
— Do you think… Do you think it might be scripted?
— …
— …
— Well of course it’s all scripted, Brian! What did you think was happening?
— I for one maintained belief in the integrity of…
— The integrity of who, Brian? Whose integrity are you questioning now?
— It’s a can of worms though.
— You’re supposed to eat the worms, you idiot. Now pass me my cheese.

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If I were to just start writing, writing like this; and you were to begin reading… What would happen? Do you think?

Would some strange psychic connection between us two be established? It’s hard to say really.

I could be writing your future, something like Nostradamus.

Regardless of it, this is what you’re reading, and so the human spirit endures.

He was probably just having a laugh, Nostradamus. Anyway, I’m not sure who this is directed at, but you should probably read it…

One day you will be delightful, a positively bursting source of crooked energy, of that, I am sure.

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Altogether now we crumble, some of us flaking. That great shining silver spoon of destiny has pierced the crust, our just desserts.

Nightly there’s a shambles that is happening. Coaxed from the good green growth are several connivers. And now, all along the peninsula, tawdry falls are being taken by their pilots. Three sublime mice have been relieved of their snouts, the best of which is to be smoked by aging lags.

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Have you ever wondered after the existence of loot? Why if I were to excavate your eye sockets? (Yeah, those little holes that your eyes sit in, we call them sockets, yeah, like an electric lamp.) I could mine a veritable fortune. We call this: black romance.

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From the end of time there has been a multitude of duplicity. (Get it? No, forget it.) Foreign expats rummaging as immigrants.
Every seven centuries a geezer belches.

This is the nature of our world.

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If I were to place this placard on a plinth, pulmonary thrombosis should surely grip thee. I fashioned this map of Ronnie Corbett’s consciousness after a veiny pattern found on your mother’s lower leg. Of course I wasn’t looking any deeper than I should’ve been, I mean he’s hardly tall enough to pose a threat is he? But yeah I formed this excuse while you were in the kitchen: it’s to form the basis of charitable fruit machine that warns of the dangers of Deep Vein Thrombosis, whilst appearing so outdated (naturally enough)that it serves simultaneously to comment on the redundant family values of yesteryear.

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It is said that a criminal prisoner is apt to age at a rate much superior to that of the free-living everyman. Old gents are more likely to be seen trotting about in their twenties, having retired mostly from birth.

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Sometimes, when you are awake at night, I am whispering through a plastic tube. So that you may become frightened.

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