All of the team at Al’s blog want you to be happy. You matter to us, personally, as direct individuals. We are the blog that cares. About you. Personally. You. Yeah you. With the face.
So with the rainy days of summer fast approaching, how will you get by on just one blog per day? We understand your fear because we can look into your soul. We even know what you did that day.
Despite that – (or because of it?) – we have chosen to share how it all works. After this short course you will be able to write your own Al blogs as the darkness of summer falls, so if you need an extra one you can just write it yourself.
1: “The technology. She no worky.” Identify an item of technology. Ideally an unnecessary luxury item. A dishwasher, mobile phone, boiler, furby, computer programme etc. Specify how important it is for you and how something normal is impossible to do without it. “I can’t leave the house if the furby isn’t working. It’ll scare the cat.” Now specify something about it that isn’t quite right but is easy to fix. “Needs a new battery.” Now complain about it a bit. Imply that you could’ve fixed it but you spent the money on booze or eggs or socks. Make jokes in an attempt to win people’s loyalty and try to get them to forgive the fact you just haven’t fixed the damn thing. Try to distract them from the truth, which is that you’re putting obstacles in your own way out of masochistic habit. Then throw your arms up in resignation and say “Well, it’s the life I’ve chosen.” Never ever fix it. Eventually replace it. Pretend like you’re a martyr.
2: “It’s all futile. Life is a spiral towards inevitable death. Look at the shiny thing! There are other dimensions.” This one is easy. Start with something irrefutable but hugely dark about the human condition. Then find something beautiful about the darkness. Then get all mystic and say things designed to needle orthodox thinkers. End with a maxim of your own invention. It doesn’t have to be good. If they’ve got that far they’re sold anyway. “A teddy bear might be full of nothing but fluff, but who’s to say that fluff can’t store, hold and return love just as it can with warmth?” Tick. Have a beer.
3: “Look mummy look, I’m acting I’m acting!” This is the one that costs in car insurance premiums. Talk about how you’ve been eaten by your own stubborn choices as if you’re bound upon a wheel of fire. Get weird and technical about some detail and use jargon. “This space can support great intimacy if you bust yourself for pushing and keep driving for the target despite the devil.” Try to alienate everyone who isn’t an actor. Try to annoy everyone who is. Sign off with something mawkishly sincere so nobody can attack you. “God I’ve never felt more complete than I did as I was licking flour off the blackboard dressed as a goblin. Somewhere to my left, I saw a tear trickling down an old man’s cheek. Or was it just rheum? Who cares. I was happy. Tickety-boo.”
4: “I’m on holiday and I’m punching this terrorist.” Go somewhere dangerous and do the worst possible thing can do in the circumstances. Get away with it. Write it in the present tense as if you’re just … inevitably happening to the world.
So there you are. Now you know the secrets.
Occasionally you can mix themes. “Look mummy look I fixed the technology.” “I’m on holiday and it’s all futile.” Keep on doing it until you punch the wrong terrorist and wind up in hospital. Then write one perfect piece about the shreds of the NHS. Fail to click publish. Leave on a gurney. No worries though – there are other dimen