Guest Post: Introducing Chas Analogue. Sorry.

Hello my names Chas. It isn’t of course. It’s a ridiculous pseudonym that came to me when reading the back of a Pizza box. This seems as good a way of finding a name as any other. Current social convention would have me named after some racist, semi educated kicker of wind or place of conception (I’d be up the bum and trickled out again, most likely). I hope the previous sentence informs you dear reader of the level at which I am pitching this. If bum-love offends you. Or willing aggressively contagious flesh eating diseases on any section of the public I deign to acknowledge and find irksome, then look away now. Commencing Rant in, 3, 2 1…..go for it Starsky.

Life is time, and time is? Money. Money, I find, is very much like confetti at the wedding that is life. Throw it out there, let others enjoy it and keep none for yourself. Watch as your finances are metaphorically trodden underfoot and only very occasionally nestle in the soft cleavage of solvency. Below Is a short passage in no particular order about nothing specific, with little evidence and lots of opinion. Think of the rambling prose as indicative of the life your dear author leads. Then sprinkle on some hundreds and thousands, and for hundreds and thousands read shit and syphilitic rat Jism.
The first lesson to be learned about money, is that it can be exchanged for goods and services, indeed these goods and services can be purchased with money not even in your possession. This is called credit and life is about spending as much money on credit as possible. In the afterlife, credit ratings are actually reversed and prizes are given out (citation needed). The ideal situation is to have spent slightly more money than you can ever possibly pay back, thus achieving the blissful limbo like state ‘Robbing Peter to pay Paul’ (both of whom you’ll meet in the afterlife anyway and they’ll just get Jesus to hassle you for the money for all eternity). There’s very little point making sound investments, saving frugally or scrimping and saving. You’ll die anyway, the world is a cruel and imperfect place and because I said so. Simply take as many credit cards, store cards and unsecured loans as possible and spend, spend, spend. Nobody expects people to pay back these debts. The proper government guidelines are as follows:
1.) Move back home with your parents and exist on a diet of coco pops and cheap processed meat.
2.) Become adept at evading creditors and their sub-species the venerable debt collector (perhaps employ a funny voice).
3.) Declare bankruptcy, wait a while, get away with it.
Bankruptcy can extend to one’s emotional reserves (see what I did there, nice Segway). I feel this justifies my views on the wonders that are….
Relationships can be approached in any number of ways (ok there are two, but that’s a number). In my experience you are either a dumper of a dumpee. These two types of people are the twitchy meerkats and slow witted sloths of the relationship world. The prime difference being who realises first that things aren’t working or that things are fine for them but the other person thinks things aren’t working. Pulling the trigger on operation “fuck this loser off and on to the next” is all that matters in a relationship. Emotions, growing as a person, and the meeting of two minds is all gash. Paranoia, and your darling spouse receiving length from good old Luis on that business trip to Barcelona are the metaphorical (and my literal) stark reality. If you never get dumped, you win! Of course popular Hollywood movies, literature through the ages, blind faith or even a happy, rounded childhood would have you believe in true love. Well people believed the earth was flat and where did that get anyone (other than some precarious balancing on the edge).
It is important to make your potential spouse feel small and unimportant, grind them down so their self-esteem is so low they wouldn’t dream of leaving you and exist only to make you cups of tea and fulfil your grubby little needs on request. If they start to feel good about themselves or have a social life, for god’s sake dump them sharpish to protect your fragile little ego. Essentially ensure you’ve let yourself go only slightly less than your spouse, it is after all a race to get back to your most false and attractive self to find your next victim partner. You may think I’ve just had a bad experience and yes I have, it’s called life. Things all seemed so much rosier in the good old days before taking any adult responsibility which brings me to…….
University is a breeding ground for future heads of industry, managing directors, astronauts and Ninja assassins. OK, it isn’t. All good jobs are either fantasy, filled by idiots who want to “help people” or given to that, special strata of society who go to one of those elite institutions that Daddy paid for. My advice,. Give up. Become good at drinking and pool, that way you can at least impress somebody at the pub, or remain coherent enough at a typical proletariat meat-market of a weekend to convince some X-Factor fan to touch your genitalia. Let’s face it, 50% of people go to university, thus rendering it next to pointless. Consider it a holiday from real life and don’t waste it attending lectures. Form some half arsed opinions based on what Tarquin might have said and ponce around in a scarf being cynical and protesting the G8. Perhaps conduct an experiment on whether it’s possible for humans to subsist on pot noodles, watered down lager and the smell of their own pretentious farts! Science and all good sense tells us that trousers were designed to be worn on or near the waist and that most household items will burn when microwaved. Do you really believe “the man” on this one. Investigate. If you need a hobby (to pass all the free time not going to lectures), why not try finding a cure for the latest social disease picked up from, ummmmmm, you know, what’s their name…….. Nearly-closing-time Jones.
It’s ok though, once a fine education has been received there’s the wonderful world of work until you die to look forward to. With the current sliding scale for pensionable age, rest assured it will always be just out of reach. The cold hand of death (or your 130 year old quasi-dead partner thanks to modern medicine) will grasp us all at the end. I will leave work as a topic for another time though, far too much to cover in a couple of paragraphs.

Until next time (unless I can’t be bothered)

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