Starting Over

I used to blog infrequently at this site. And I write all manner of shit everywhere else and I'm trying to make a go of it full time. So now this is my new blog, I just kept the old one for old times sake.

I got 365 days till the next time I can honestly tell someone that today is the nineteenth of May. By then, I will have blogged one million words. And on this blog, there will be stories, poems, social commentary (this is my media-friendly term for badly thought out shit I pondered on the bog), reviews and all other kinds of shite I need to do in order to exercise the creative part of my brain. A lot of it will probably be self-aggrandising, egotistical, vanity shite but hey thats the internet and my skidmark wasn't the first in the bowl. Though it might have a cool shape.

Basically, the reason I'm doing this is I had loads of different things going on in various blogs and other sites and I wanted to kind of centralise everything so I didnt have to remember loads of passwords and stuff.

Anyway, this is the first post of the new fourfoot blog. A Million Words A Year. If I had a calculator I could tell you how many words that is each day but it's about two thousand seven hundred or so. That's less than a hundred an hour. Pizza Piss.

By the way, if you're thinking of opening a place where you can eat pizza and go for a piss, then help yourself to that name, Pizza Piss. I have form in this naming of eating establishments game. I once tried to convince JD Wetherspoon, that foul mouthed cokehead, that he should name his chain of pubs Wanker Tankers. This would be about 1996. We were trying to hitch a lift back from Leslie Crowther's funeral. We'd originally been promised a lift back but me and JD were asked to leave the church after belching a version of Abide With Me.

Anyway, I says to JD, "Wankertankers. That's a great name. It's catchy and it'll be accurate for your cavernous holes of drunken dolery." JD says to me "Who would drink in a place with a name like that?" I said "Man, you're selling pints of Stella for one pound sixty. Your target demographic would drink in a pub called The Old Child Molester for those prices." Anyway, to cut a long story short, we never spoke again. I had polaroids of him flicking bogies at Prince William during THAT funeral procession and he owed me £200 for losing that bet in the first place. They were crazy times and he was a crazy guy. It should have been wankertankers. It could still be Pizza Piss.

Back to the original subject, I'm gonna revitalise some of my old shit ideas here like knobituaries and maybe deathbirds. Certainly I'll be emailing crap celebrity email addresses again to see if I can get any response. If you like me, link to me and shit like that.