Jingle Balls

Merry Christmas and that kind of thing.  I hate the end of every year.  The falsified happiness, the expectation that we celebrate the fact that we are all one year closer to death.  It is collective insanity.  A gazelle never turns around to a chasing tiger and offers it a drink so why should we?

The worst thing about Christmas is the music.  The same songs in every shopping centre, supermarket, taxi, television advert and radio station.  The same sentiments, the same words, the same ideas, the same tunes.  Nothing ever changes at Christmas.  It is a tinselled up groundhog day of misery, eating bad food, showing gratitude for things we do not want and being forced to interact with people we do not actually like.

Therefore I would like to propose to you not to partake in the annual misery competition.  Instead, read something awesome.  The kind folks at Amazon are giving away Mourning Morning eBooks from the 25th of December to the 29th.  Set yourself a reminder.  Get yourself a copy.

Thus all that is left for me to say is Jingle Balls and may the Jesus be with you all.

P.S. There is one Christmas song that is worth listening to.  You can find it below.

Character Development

I am currently completing a screenwriting course with FutureLearn and the University of East Anglia.  They asked us to post our coursework for one exercise on our personal blogs.  You will be pleased to know that Hollywood hasn’t changed me.

The exercise requires us to post an outline to a character, as I have chosen to create a new screenplay, I shall merely let you guess precisely what the story is about.

By all means share your thoughts in the comments below.

List the characters main actions.  Start from the end of the film and work backwards.










List the characters wants and needs.

He both wants and needs a shit

He needs medical help

He needs anger management classes


Describe the characters self opinion.

He thinks God hates him

He is just trying to survive

He is short-tempered


Describe how others see him

He is uneducated

He is tired

He is a miserable prick

He is arrogant


List any important physical characteristics

He is rarely shaven

He has panda eyes

He is underweight

He waddles quickly, like someone in need of a shit.


My Jewish Communist Croustade

Recently my adopted homeland, Poland, has been in the news for all of the wrong reasons.  It has been distressing to watch a country that I love fall into the hands of the lunatics once again.  If you wish to read a little more about what’s going on in Poland, this is a great place to start: ‘The mutiny of the lemmings’.

Unfortunately, experience has proven that lunacy encourages lunacy.  Despite frequently tweeting bits and bobs about Poland, recently I have somehow found myself the target of Polish trolls. Check out the following example.

The sad fact is that a government which is openly bigoted, antisemitic, homophobic and racist only promotes such behaviors as socially acceptable. It is only further proof of the social regression taking place in Poland.

Now as an outed Communist and Jew, despite never having grown a full beard or worn sandals, or shared a sandwich, or fed the five thousand with the sandwich that I had previously refused to share, I feel like I should do my level best to be the very caricature which the trolls desire.

Therefore, I shall now present you with a poem about the bourgeoisie and Yahweh entitled:

My Jewish Communist Croustade

A tin pot dictator,

Sits atop a demagoguery of hate,

Whilst the secret puppet master,

Throws around his weight,

There ain’t no higher power,

Than this devil in disguise,

That never settled down,

Prefers the company of guys,

Oh in the kingdom of bigots,

A dwarf leads the way,

Where you must watch who your friends are,

And watch what you might say.

Unrequited paranoia,

Is a life in quite a state,

Where there is no discussion,

And there is no debate,

There ain’t no higher court,

This is a terrifying fact,

All the power in this country,

Belongs to one man and his cat.




Dear Frog

*to spare the embarrassment of admitting that I have a French friend I shall protect his identity by not calling him Vincent, and instead calling him Le Frog.

On a recent visit to our new home, Le Frog asked me ‘Scott, why don’t you ever write anymore on your website?’  It was a question that stumped me.  It wasn’t as if I had made a conscious decision at any point to abandon this site to rot.  It was  more of a case that life had some how gotten in the way.

In the last twelve months I have moved country(again), gotten married(for the first time), wrote some material for a musician(a different one), finished another novel(not yet published), tried to find a grown up job(and failed) and procrastinated a whole bunch.  The only thing more impressive than my list of bona-fide accomplishments is my list of things I haven’t done in the last twelve months: climbed a mountain(any one), tamed a lion(a vegetarian one), changed my underpants(now you are concerned) and grown up.

The thing is, or if I was to phrase it in a more honest manner, the writer’s excuse is that writing typically is reactionary.  It is as natural as breathing and farting(not at the same time).  Usually it is provoked by a thought that won’t go away, like a buzzing in your brain.  In my case it’s a form of exorcism.  If I didn’t expunge the host of negative thoughts that reside in my brain I would be physically unable to utter any other words than ‘fuck’ and ‘bollocks’.

If I am honest, those negative thoughts haven’t stopped.  I find it incredulous that so many horrible things are going on in so many parts of the world and the vast majority of it is a misery generated by humans on humans, whilst from the sidelines the leaders that are sent to protect us just watch in awe as entire countries borders are redefined on the whim of a lunatic.  I am resigned to this wave of passive indifference that has washed over every single one of us.

The truth is that I have stopped writing because I have become every thing I detest in modern man.  I have become a passive observer to a fucking horrible freak show.  Writing no longer feels like an action.  Writing no longer matters.  As Le Frog himself likes to say, ‘Sacrebleu!’

*He doesn’t really.

**No French person does.

***C’est la vie.

April Foolishness

Yesterday, as most of you are aware, was April Fools’ Day.  Therefore I must point out that my post about ‘Vampires Love Sausage Too’ was a joke.  I don’t know whether I should be proud or ashamed of the fact that roughly 10% of you lovely, lovely people clicked on the pre-order link.  For your sakes I hope it was nothing more than morbid curiosity which drove you to such silliness.

Keeping with my tradition of trying to keep my blog posts informative, I would like to inform you that I have almost nothing to inform you about.  Only that Alejandro Elbuho has moved to a new Internest.  Until next time, make love not war.