The Art of Sarcasm, Loosing Ones Mojo . . . . . And Wasps

As I said yesterday I have lost my wit and humour, folk have tried to reassure me that I am still witty and write in a way that only I can write (well me and the Ghost Writer) due to a unique skill in being able to string total rubbish together in such a way that as a whole it is total rubbish (the whole greater that the parts so to speak). I know that’s true,, that very nice Steven Spielberg has told me many times that he finds it hard to believe anyone could write such total rubbish. It is words like that that make me realize I am indeed unique and thanks to such encouragement I will persevere with my tale (not tail as I don’t have one of those).

It was a strange morning because I woke up to grey skies and the wind blowing all the blossom off the tree in the front garden, that and the as yet still small young leaves on the trees made it look and feel just like autumn. I told everyone in school it was autumn and that summer is now over, and one or two folk thought this was slightly amusing, this I put down to the possible sarcasm of the remark, so I pursued  this idea further as a way of recovering my mojo (wit). So I explained that summer really was over (enforcing the sarcasm) and that their lives were entirely futile and that in the great scheme of things they are meanly ants, small insignificant ants. I appeared to get a bit of nervous laughter from one or two pupils so thought I would push the point a bit further, so having told most of the girls they were merely girls destined for a life of drudgery, babies and fighting in the aisles of the supermarket, while there partners get drunk in the pub and fight and get locked in a cell for the evening. I thought I would go for the jugular and told the headmaster he was rubbish and that his sense of dress was worse that that of a Japanese Elvis impersonator wearing a giraffe outfit and a straw hat.

It appears sarcasm is trickier that I thought as I spent much of the day tied to a tree covered in honey below a wasps nest with a tub of itching power poured on my head. It is a difficult decision between staying perfectly still and not being stung or having a good scratch and getting attacked by wasps. I don’t think telling the wasps they were rubbish and had a pathetic buzz that was not worthy of grannies door bell with flat batteries fitted helped much,  apparently wasps don’t do sarcasm and have no sense of humour what so ever.

I noticed that on my return home Sooty the Cat was practising sarcasm by lying perfectly still on the bed and not being stung by wasps.

Mum said I am an IDIOT, but agreed about the headmasters dress sense.

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