I get paranoid about flying, okay? — It’s not about crashing. I couldn’t give two shites about head butting the ground at sixteen million centimetres per second. I’ve studied the plane crash scenes in Castaway and The Grey. I’ve even considered the possibility of survival. Suppose I had to choose between a homosexual relationship with a netball on a tropical island…

Karma works in very mysterious ways — My Grandfather told me that opportunities for charity could come in strange forms. He became a big believer in karma after meeting a Korean Monk in 1957. That same Monk taught him Tonglen, which helped him turn his life around after killing several people during the war. He also told me that karma was a two-way street and that people can get karma…

My friends and I took a trip to the home of golf — It’s ten am at Golf Mecca. I meet up with Gary and Tim. We take selfies to start the day — I look like a drug dealer in golf clothes. Unbelievable. It’s as windy as Lucifer’s anus, and I’m at some racetrack without horses. Do they send the horses out when the race starts? I see…

Medium’s own Amy Poehler is nowhere to be seen — It’s 2020, and I’ve ghostwritten two articles for a food manufacturing entrepreneur from Slovenia. “What are you gonna do with the articles?” I asked the man, who told me he would publish them on a platform I’d never heard of called ‘Medium’ where apparently writers got paid for blogging. At that time, I was busy building online blogs in WordPress after paying money to…

One of those damn days, innit? — It’s been months since yer sent yer novel to at least six bastard literary agents. You were happy at the time with their submission guidelines that said they are too fancy to write you a five-second email telling yer that yer shit ain’t shit. But today, it’s not good enough. It makes yer wanna mail them all dried-out ghost pepper turds with cocktail umbrellas stuck…

Nuclear oblivion might not be so bad after all — “You have to feed the cats,” yelled my wife from the other side of the bed. “Fuck the cats,” I mumbled. Such retorts are now possible since my wife and I decided to get separate quilts — a game changer for marriage and, surely, ‘a positive step on the road toward separate beds,’ as she puts it. Between my wife’s constant Hitler-like commands and the cat…

The search for a guru is tricky, innit like? — So, it’s Tuesday, and you’ve just sucked down your fourth bong for the day. You’re in the middle of the episode where Angel and Spike have a threesome with Buffy, but Spike ruins the party because he had Burger King for lunch. And you think that despite Spike’s heinous gas, he’s a damn keeper with his platinum Max Headroom greased hairdo and Hadrian’s wall…