High Friends In PlacesPart 2/3 - "Kentish Men socialising with Men of Kent & other stories... act 1"

I'm ill this week. NOT the Beastie Boys meaning of ill the other four tons of liquid pouring out my nose meaning. I lost a day to it yesterday, I got up around five and felt like I was pissed as a fart, I mean punch drunk fucking hammered. not nice. Seeing as this second installment has taken me nearly a month to get to the stage it is now I've decided to segment this third of a post into many smaller posts for added confusion..... and I just don't care anymore.

Do enjoy.


Prologue

It has always surprised me to find out where readers of this steaming pile of literary no nos are actually located in the world. I've never been one to check with software and such where people that read this slight on humanity seem to reside, but every now and then I receive emails from people, written in broken English, stating that if I were to be posting these thoughts from their country I'd be stoned for treason, buggered up the bum by crack addicted pitbulls or poked in the eyes with sticks or something.
I've always thought that I had a few readers in Canadia (® Gus Greeper - 2007) a few In the U.S and everybody else reading away would be sitting in the warmth and soggy comfort of good ol' Blighty. Apparently not the case. Cue a quick impromptu consultation with a man that has many international fingers in many intercontinental pies:

"Fully Loaded, Deaf and Dumb and Done says:
How would you best respond to a threatening email from another country?

Scott☆ says:
why did you get one?

Fully Loaded, Deaf and Dumb and Done says:
several

Scott☆ says:
what did it say?

Fully Loaded, Deaf and Dumb and Done says:
called me gay

Scott☆ says:
hahaha

Scott☆ says:
why?

Fully Loaded, Deaf and Dumb and Done says:
plus I've got holiday coming up, i wanna send you some emails.

Fully Loaded, Deaf and Dumb and Done says:
something I wrote

Fully Loaded, Deaf and Dumb and Done says:
on t blog-site

Scott☆ says:
what did they say?

Fully Loaded, Deaf and Dumb and Done says:
Broken English "You are disrespecting god"

Fully Loaded, Deaf and Dumb and Done says:
maybe they actually think I'm homosexual

Scott☆ says:
hahaha

Scott☆ says:
which country?

Fully Loaded, Deaf and Dumb and Done says:
Not sure, plus I've always been respectful of Clapton.

Fully Loaded, Deaf and Dumb and Done says:
boom boom...

Scott☆ says:
haha

Scott☆ says:
tell them to fuck off

Fully Loaded, Deaf and Dumb and Done says:
yep yep

Scott☆ says:
or come here and fight you

Fully Loaded, Deaf and Dumb and Done says:
I'd lose.

Fully Loaded, Deaf and Dumb and Done says:
i have the physique of a chubby 14 year old girl

Scott☆ says:
tell them to fuck their god and burn that book of lies

Scott☆ says:
I'll be you

Fully Loaded, Deaf and Dumb and Done says:
the only people I can take in fights are chubby 13 year old girls

Scott☆ says:
haha"

We all know of course the correct response should be along the lines of "Why don't you come over here and say that, why don't you come over here and *give me a kiss (*to be pronounced: "Gizza-kiss")". On quick a side note I would like Scott☆ to be my legal representative should I ever go to trial for anything.

All of my own religious beliefs aside (including my theory entitled: "If Jesus was just a really really good magician then is Paul Daniels the quiet second coming?"), what I find difficult to understand is that if whatever religious faiths include the capacity to forgive, why don't these people just accept persons such as myself as lost causes and go about their day? Quite opposed to banging a drum and rubbing the (revised, rewritten and some times assumed) word of god(s) in the faces of the generally disinterested non believers.
It's extremely hard for me to understand how anyone can get even mildly offended by anything posted on here, It's just words on a screen,no big deal, HOWEVER, the little thought that goes into what I would call a 'classic' CJC post would astound and flabbergast the worlds most lazy and would even make my year 8 maths teacher Mr Davies raise an eyebrow and mutter something about socks and the pulling up of them.(The man always insisted it was no less than a miracle I made it to the classroom at all let alone on time... good guy).
So this would be, for lack of a better phrase the glue of these three posts. Whether you are yourself a Kentish Man, a Man of Kent or maybe even a crazy Canuck, this post is for all of you.
As for those with god(s) on their side and a chip on their shoulders, A friend of mine told me today that he went to school with someone that insisted that when playing the National Lottery you had a 50/50 chance of winning. This, the yokel insisted, was solely due to the fact you would either win or lose. This section of the three part opus that is this post is wholly dedicated to the worlds jaw dropping, lackluster logic that even the most obtuse and torpid mind can conjure. It is the dribbling back seat driver lodged in a child seat at the rear of my brain, completely confused as to it's surroundings and entirely unable to stop licking the inside wall of my skull...
...It does, however, have the best road trip stories.


High Friends In Places
Part 2/3 - "Kentish Men socialising with Men of Kent
& other stories... act 1"

I didn't like Kent. As the quintessential Essex boy that I am (that's quintessential NOT stereotypical) I found Kent initially over expensive and full of posh nobs and rubbish chavs. Allow me to elaborate.
I was living at the time in a very small village just north of Ashford, surrounded by the wealthy that want to be green but only to the point that they get to wear those croc shoes that make you look like you're a special needs child. You all know the type:

These bastards represented what I thought was the norm for the area for the first 2 months of me living down here in the Garden of England. That was until one day in the pub....

Sall, Sethrey & the gay(e) Gordan
True to my aforementioned quintessentialism, the very first thing I did when moving down here was to scope out the my new local pub.
I had hardley sunk my first Guinness when I had struck up a conversation with a local gent named Gordon, we talked about our repective dogs and how great the area is for walks until the conversation turned to speakers and drivers, a conversation that had lead from my asking of what his profession was and what it entails. I have always been of the persausion that you can tell quite a bit from people by their willingness to talk to perfect strangers in a bar and what they drink. He said that he restored furniture for a living and built cabinets and other furniture, I mentioned that the only time I myself had any kind of experience with that sort of thing was in high school when my bass player friend had built a cabinet for a bass amplifier fitted with a 15" Celestion bass speaker.
It was at this point we got into a (slightly beer buzzed) miniture argument about the quality of different brands of speakers, with him proclaiming "My daughter knows lots about speakers! She'll be here in a bit, she works for a speaker company! She'll be able to set you straight about speakers...". Enter Sall O'Mall: I would like to point out that I very rarely get introduced to new people as somebody else's "Gay Lover" and so on the very rare occasion that it does happen it's the kind of thing I tend to remember regardless of alcohol consumption. I was not very aware about the meaning and importance of this first meeting, after all I have always tended to keep my circle of friends a small and exclusive group. After talking to her for a few minutes (and assuring her of my total non-involvement in any of her fathers imaginary homosexual exploits) It became clear to me that she in fact knew very little about what made a good speaker citing such truths as "wattage is actually irrelivant in our speaker systems" and "so long as the sound is good what else matters?" with my only replies being "you don't know the wattage?!.... They don't tell you the wattage?!?!?!?". Confused, drunk and with what can only be described as a permanent puzzled look on my face I politely excused myself and dragged my befuzzled beer soaked mind off home.
Around six months later I started working for Bose, we'd make a weekly trip to a rubbish pub in town and watch local bands play funk-rock covers and that would just about mark the first time I met Seth (Pictured here showing off to me some urine that he'd made in the night) He works with Sally's dad as a furniture / wood restorer really bloody hard from what I've seen. He also makes these strange cube-chair things that are designed as space savers for the home. Lucky for me he is one of those rare people you randomly meet with not only wicked taste in obscure american indie rock music but the ability to wax lyrical about the subject. Needless to say we get on really well and spent a long weekend together in the Welsh countryside at what has been the best festival I have ever been to, a fact due to the setting, the bands and in no small part, the company I was keeping.


Coolio.

act 2 in the post.



"If my theory is correct then David Blaine is the anti-christ surely!...
... also christians with an itch to scratch, please note my inner strength and political correctness not to tag any obvious penis or masterbation joke onto the end of the phrase 'wood restorer' in this post. Complaints to be sent to the usual email address. Thanks."