Roar like a lion

I'm having another one of those reflective moments in my life, where I look back and reflect on why I am where I am right now, these reflections are probably the pre-cursor to a huge midlife crisis where I will most likely end up in Thailand being alternately mouth and arse fucked by a unusually well endowed pre-op transsexual, then coming home with every STD known to man, and probably even some that are unknown to man, and sadly only known to my pus weeping cock and balls. Getting out of the airport (after a body cavity search of cattle birthing proportions and looking for something other than a fender stratocaster to buy (as I already own one) probably a Kawasaki Ninja (the 90's one) then struggling to find a crash helmet to go over my fucking moon like head, and eventually riding off full revs into a petrol lorry at 190mph and turning my entire body into one hairy fleshy origami, ending up bleeping away in a hospital wired up like a bomb vest listening to my relatives (the ones that could be arsed to turn up) deciding with Bupa, which death tone I would like to have on my life support machine, I could have the “lose a life” jingle from Super Mario, which would make my passing easier to my son, the doof doof from Eastenders, or the shutting down Microsoft windows music.

I would then reflect (finally) on my life from the hospital, (I wouldn't be in a bed, from the extent of the injuries I had suffered on that motorcycle, I would probably be in a lasagne dish, or the dustpan from a dustpan and brush set), on all of the things I had reflected on previously, and possibly summarise that I spent far too much of life reflecting and not actually having lived, a reflection of reflections, what a waste, what a terrible insipid dribbling life to have absolutely ruined my mothers vagina and my dads sex life to spend a life pondering.

My mates (the 4 or so people I actually consider to be mates) would probably stand around, joking amongst each other, recounting some of my nights where I was mildly amusing, and made bold statements about the state of the world (well out of my depth I might add), and after some debate they would conclude that I was actually an acidic nasty bitter fuck hole, and clock watch until they heard the super mario death music, and fuck off to the local pub and oogle the barmaid. I expect even my staunchly tee-total brother would go along and raise a rare glass of stella artois so my twisted guts out painful ending, the entire treacherous group instantly forgetting about me, the fucking cunts, then from the after-world, if I was actually interesting enough to have made it there, I would wish death of them, slagging me off as I died in hospital, and even then having the neck to turn up to my budget funeral and go back to my mums house and eat her food which she would have lovingly prepared from Iceland for less than £20, wankers. I'm deleting all of them off my phone as soon as I have finished this latest reflection....

Sorry about that, I lost track, unusually wallowing in self pity, I'll reflect on that another time.

Thankfully, unlike those who look up to the stars and question their place in the world, I know exactly why I am right here, it isnt divine intervention, fate, it is much more simple than that. It is because in 1992, I roared like a lion, that very action back in 1992 set off a chain of events that would shape my life (which was cock shaped) and lead me to this point, a sliding doors moment that was over in almost an instant, but was pinnacle in me sitting here and writing this drivel.

I was at School studying 3 A-levels, Geography, Chemistry and Government and Politics, I soon realised I had made a massive blunder going back to the same school that I did my GCSE's in, chock full of the same cunts and a few months in I dropped out of one of the A-Levels, Government and Politics, which was essentially the requirement to read the paper every day and know who the chancellor of the exchequer was.

Soon after that I sat in the library and had the first of my “guiding voices” which were probably unbeknownst to me mild schizophrenia (this will become clear later..) the voice told me to leave, leave now, leave, just leave, why don't you leave, leaves on the line, leave it out, leaven bread, leaver arch file, leave all your troubles in your old kit bag, etc, it went on and on. Suddenly, I said to one of the other students, “I bet you 15 quid I leave school right now, we shook and I got my bag and walked out. He never paid, the cunt.

Then, the following Saturday I went into my weekend job at the now defunct Texas Homecare, where I was constantly given the cream of the shit jobs, creosote spills, angry customers, plumbing enquiries, I was 17 for fuck sake. I was given the task of unloading about 2 tonnes of fibre board and suddenly the voice started again, quit, leave, go shazam, adios etc, eventually, and after I had vomited up the milkshake that I had downed in one on a hot summer day, the worst possible drink to have after heavy lifting, I left the rest of the wood and went home, and told my mum I had quit, everything. She gave me the “you cant sit around here on your arse all day” talk and then Texas rang, the manager, my mum was talking to him and I was in the background saying “tell them to fuck off” I then went into a ponder in my bedroom, a ponder that lasted about 2 days, solid sitting and staring out of the window.

Most people would have formulated a plan and set about it. I just sat there. I had wanted to be an architect, this was never going to happen on account of my walking out of A-Levels, so instead I had to settle for an apprenticeship as an architects little bitch. A structural engineer. It was an awful job and an awful place, opposite a crematorium, with the windows opening we could tell when some poor fuck was being toasted, a sort of smell of bacon. Hours would seem to pass and five minutes had gone, a clock watchers nightmare, seemingly even time didnt want to come into this place..

I eventually realised that I would end up in the crematorium if I didn't leave and set about getting another job, as it was the early 90's things were OK and you didn't have to go through the pointless HR self affirming rubbish of a multi psychometric interview and tests etc, firms were willing to just take a punt on you. I had a phone interview with a “quantity surveyors” that was looking to take an apprentice on, the money was over double what I was earning where I was and I needed it. I had ran down to Argos with my first pay packet and brought a camera (advanced photo system) and a Sony tape walkman that was brushed chrome and had settings for normal or ferric tapes, auto reverse and bass boost. I came home with my bounty only for my mum to ask me for rent. I was furious.

I had arranged a phone interview with the quantity surveyors place at the time when my bosses would be down the pub. The call came in and I was having a cordial chat with the director of the new place and it was going really well.

The other apprentice, who had ghastly acne and was very pale and looked like an uglier anaemic Andy Murray (with full blown aids), was listening intently to how phone interviews should be done. I was nailing it and the bloke was saying he was interested in offering me the position and we were going about dotting the t's and crossing the eyes whatever, and then it came back, that thing happened again, that voice, my inner guiding voice, like Morgan Freeman, and this time, the instruction....Roar, roar like a lion, roar, roar like a Lion. This went on and eventually I could no longer hear the mans voice, just the inner voice and eventually I cracked and obeyed its command, and out of nowhere, just roared, loudly, just like a lion (as the voice suggested) there was silence on the phone....the other apprentice was beetroot out of confusion and embarrassment for me, then on the phone the man just said “eh?” I slowly put the phone down and turned back to my drawing board and continued my work, the other apprentice, still open jawed said to me “what the fuck just happened?” I just said “roared like a lion” and that was that.

Who knows what would have happened if I hadn't listen to my inner guiding voice, I'll never know. I just know that things didn't pan out well where I was. I was made redundant, the whole firm went under and I spent my last day in the office stomping around, breaking things, axe kicking the typewriter and finally wearing my bosses suit jacked doing a very bad impression of him and finally flexing my muscles ripping it down the back like the hulk, (he was a tiny little man).

I did have a few more brushes with the inner guiding voice, telling me that if I didn't jump down the last two stairs the world would end and I would get cancer (after?) or something equally as bad, I went along with it for a while and it sneakily became 3 stairs, I think I got up to 6, my mum was asking what the huge thumping noise was every time I came down the stairs, I started to blank the voice when it suggested one day that I leapt down the entire staircase.

Another incident on a bus when I was talking to a pensioner (woman) and the voice started to instruct me to spit in her face, spit in her face, spit in her face and make it better after, etc, I had to get off the bus and walked home confused. Its still with me in some ways, when I am in meetings its suggests the worst possible things to say or do, not in the way of an order, but just as a way of cheering me up and pulling me through some dull as dishwater (that Ken Barlow has drowned in) meetings. Thankfully, with the help of forums like twitter I am able to vent these out as they happen, thanks for listening.

I would just like to confirm that I am in control and would never act on these voices, I don't get stabby and knifes never come into it, its just goof ball stuff like walking into a meeting and picking up a biscuit with my arse crack and seeing how everyone reacts, before explaining I would use my hands but they are dirty. Its probably mild schizophrenia, but fuck it, its a giggle.....(go get a knife, get a knife...I'm joking).

On the whole the inner guiding voice has thankfully subsided, its not mythical, its probably myself playing a prank, I love a laugh, even if its on myself and ends up financially devastates me and ruins my life (hey, go out with her, get engaged, moved out of London, do it do it do it...), its a chuckle, its a good story for down the pub with my treacherous back stabbing death disregarding fuck bubble mates...

I have no idea why the roar like a lion thing happened at the time, I later went on to another job, outside of he building industry where I met the strange chain of people that resulted in me having a child, a drunken random meeting with the women who would end up front shitting my perfect son out of her vagina, (its a wonderful memory), (although the whole thing ended worse than the TV series Lost), I'm still blessed with a son (and I'm doing alright on the women front).

To summarise, I wouldn't change a thing, I would just like to be a better friend so the cunts cry like little bitches when my pilot light finally goes out.