Whenever I’m exhorted to run, run, run, as fast as you can!! by a creature and get fed up with breathing, I pass the time by thinking hard about consonants. I thought of a particularly new and long one the other day—not that day, though—and it sounded a bit like this…but backwards! And there were long, heaving noises, because I was running—as fast as [I could] (probably)—and was making long, heaving noises.
Outside my house on this very day—give or take one day, but mainly just give—last year.
I awoke this morning to find beaming sunshine; blue skies; fields of green (but no red roses, too); 40 degree heat; and animals frolicking in the meadows.
It’s a bit of a xanthic mess outside.
But before you scurry alfresco in desperate search of nuclear fallout and The Rapture—which empirical statistics suggest isn’t imminent for another 345-odd days*—appreciate for a few moments and not one moment longer that it’s a very yellow autumn this year.
I’ve seen trees—and bushes; and hedgerows; and shrubberies; and curvilinear Quattron televisions—with more yellow in them than the sun. Children are dancing—or is that skipping? It’s not immediately clear without a telescope—through mammoth stacks of yellah leaves instead of red ones!
Or, at least, they would be, were it not for the invention of bazooka-style leaf-sucking apparatuses, which have made streets clean and youngsters—including those of us at the wrong end of adolescence—less delinquent in the domain of foliage-stack terrorism.
The next time dad heads outside and praises his weird, gatling-gun-alike leaf-genocide-machine for keeping our drains unclogged, I’ll summon a Herculean bit of might and climb a tree—probably a sycamore—in an effort to dislodge more leaves to stack by way of a rake. And then I’ll jump in them and entire crowds will be green with envy. Or yellow.
Halloween.
Not sure how it came to this, but now I investigate far-eastern bionic lavatories equipped with posterior-pampering utility and automatic opening and closing functionality. They have buttons and everything.
I say, I’m getting jolly peeved at all these clothes-hangers I’m breaking.
I found the crumbled remnants of one unfortunate specimen lodged beneath my armpit this afternoon as I rumbled around Hillsborough Forest, awestruck at the sequence of percussive sounds generated by the pitter-patter of my feet across the barren earth. That’s the second clothes-hanger to which I have laid waste today as if I were some sort of Norman—and the eighty-sixth I’ve devastated since my evil infantile mitts worked out how to negotiate with wardrobe doors when I was two.
Wishing only to mystify and puzzle everyone, MADHOUSE’s new HUNTERxHUNTER anime adaptation—sporting cantankerous flashing disco lights and screaming, iridescent magicians animated by Japan’s finest and evillest cartoonists—proudly and very victoriously summarises my taste in music in one fell swoop! (A fell swoop that probably slapped an infant—maybe even several infants!—over the head while manoeuvring in its brave and swooping method.)
Here we have enough legions—veritable kingdoms!—of auto-tune to make Friday look under-dressed; and there’s more howling and caustic screeching here than a children’s nursery cafeteria run by the veggie-man.
It’s stonkingly good. There isn’t a spot of subtlety for miles!
Heavens! Can you imagine what would happen if this man ever presented the EuroMillions?
“£23,000,000 isn’t good enough for our prize,” he muses, frowning. “So I’m going to add a zero onto the end of that!”
Well played, Nintendo of America. Nicely.
But, my beloved Nintendo of Europe—you will do even more nicely.
Startling news! They’re not animating Jinchuu at all! They’re animating the Kyoto Arc instead! Again! And from Misao’s perspective! Misao’s perspective! Huzzah! Misao must be, like, my 32nd-favourite character in the series, nudged closely out of the 31st place by Okubo or the deceased blacksmith that made Kenshin’s sword.
About me
I'm Jack. Sometimes my hair is untidy, riddled with goblins and smurfs. When I scream into the Grand Canyon, it inspires pained howling in wild dogs and wily coyotes, and compels all leaf-eating mammals to scuttle for higher ground in wait of the great flood. I think Goku is an existential paragon. My life's trajectory is adjusted towards becoming a hermit and dying alone somewhere on top of a golden mountain at sunset. Which is a jolly good innings, all told.
