I was getting fat. Seriously fat. Couldn’t see the scales beneath me.
150kg. Time to see good ol’ Doctor Jenkins.
I sat down in front of him. I could tell he was examining the fat in my face.
“Doctor, look at the state of me. Is there any medication you can suggest?”
He raised his eyebrows.
“I’ll be referring you to a dentist.”
“But, why? There’s nothing wrong with my teeth.”
“Oh yes there is. The dentist will need to remove your sweet tooth.”
If you would like to get in touch, contact me at email@example.com mentioning ‘Darker Stout’ in your message title.
I went to see the doctor because of stomach pain.
As soon as I walked in, Doctor Jenkins sprang off his chair and announced: ‘You have stomach cancer.’
Astounded, I asked how he could know such a thing, and so quickly.
He answered: ‘It’s just a gut feeling.’
Cher lecteur, veuillez m’excuser mais celle-ci ne marche qu’en anglais:
At least one of us got smashed…
A picture and a sentence. What does that make you think of?
Today’s social media platform of course.
Instagram especially, where pictures and their captions have a life of 4 hours (apparently), before disappearing into the vacuum of ‘there are 60 posts per second on Instagram’ and 50% of those are teenage selfies. That’s my impression at least.
So let’s take it back a bit. Remove the branding. And hell, let’s even use French.
Let’s remind ourselves that before technology gobbled us all up and sold us the dream ‘we can all be artists now we have a camera, and we can show off to the whole world via Internet,’ there was the world of craftsmanship, where things went a bit slower.
Let’s think of a small provincial town in the south of France, where painters brush away, without being hurried by any ‘your work will be worthless after 4 hours; therefore you should be churning this out; not quality, quantity please.’
And equally as important – and as Maupassant, Faubert and Balzac would – let’s get that one sentence of prose right.
It was the big day. The one I’d been apprehending. Heart surgery. Damn. I’d had knee surgery before. The only fun thing about that was the crazy dreams on general anesthetic.
I was lying down in the operating theater. The operation was moments away.
Doctor Jenkins came into the room. He had a strange look on his face. The nurse asked him if everything was alright. That’s reassuring I thought. Just knock me out so I don’t have to witness this, please.
“No all’s not alright, I won’t be able to do the heart surgery.”
“But why not!?” The nurse and I simultaneously inquired.
“I’ve had a change of heart.”
When you talk about blogging, you think about a target audience.
When I launched Darker Stout, I just figured sharing funny experiences and stories would attract quite a few readers.
As a friend put it: “Who doesn’t like stories about transsexuals and lad culture!?”
To which I answered: “Is that sarcasm?”
This friend is always ironising on things, so I’m never quite sure.
“No no! It wasn’t meant to be sarcastic although it did seem that way.”
Darker Stout wants to make you laugh, if only get a chuckle or a giggle out of you.
Human beings differ from other species, in that they are the only species that can laugh.
OK that’s getting a bit too documentary-style and that’s not what’s planned. This isn’t Vice’s depressing documentation of the brutal Philippines drug war. Nor is it the simple memes posted on 9Gag.
Darker Stout is closer to the movie In Bruges, with dark humour paving the way for a look at modern life with a smirk on your face.