THE BALLAD OF STINKY LIPS - PART 2

 Okay, so I re-opened this smutty behemoth, and the first thing I noticed was it's big. You just won't believe how vastly, hugely, mind-bogglingly big it is. I mean, you may think it's a long way down the road to the chemist's, but that's just peanuts to this shit. If you read the first part, viewable here, then you'll have read roughly 3,000 words. That doesn't include my preamble where I tell you about my birthday, my failing health, and my life in this shitbox care home. If you read the porn element of this post too, you'll have read a further 2,000 words, give or take. If you'd spent your time instead reading George Orwell's Animal Farm, you would be one sixth of the way through it! The same is true of John Steinbeck's Of Mice And Men. Feeling pretty good about your life choices, are you?

Never fear! As a reward to you, loyal reader, I give you permission to outright lie about whether or not you've read either or both books. If anyone asks what you thought of either tome, just say "It was a little too heavy-handed for my taste," or "I get why it's important, but personally I found the message to be a little too on-the-nose." You're now effectively 55,000 words in credit - The Malfunctioner will not be beaten on value!

Today was the last Sunday of the month, so I treated myself to my monthly takeaway. I bought a pizza, and due to Papa John's crazy pricing structure, bought 2 sides and a small bottle of drink as well, because that wound up being £3 cheaper than just buying the pizza! Then they were out of all their drinks, so they said I could have a large one for free next time because they can't give partial refunds! How about just selling the food with an honest profit margin rather than trying to fool our dumb capitalist brains into thinking we're making a great financial decision just because we've ended up with a few thousand calories we didn't want? Why do all these places offer Buy One Get One Free deals and never half price 'za?

What else... Ooh, I saw Last Night In Soho, and while it won't have the rewatchability of Edgar Wright's other movies, it looked great and had some great performances, and despite a couple of creepy images it was about as scary as Doctor Who at its scariest, and less gory than the goriest episodes of Buffy, or the new Chucky TV series. I did love this shout out to my corner of the world and the town my parents call home:

It's an old gag, but it lands well here! As far as I know it's legal to share clips of movies if you comment on them like this, but I'd love a cease and desist, so e-mail me for my address if you're a fancy Hollywood lawyer and want to send me one. The ball's in your court!

WHAT HAS MADE ME HAPPY RECENTLY?

 I realise the last couple of posts have been kind of a downer, and so I wanted to share some things that picked me up during my long absence. Truth be told, I was intending on writing this yesterday, but ended up in a dead sleep for virtually the whole day (they woke me up for meals, I would wake up when my bladder needed emptying, otherwise I slept from 11pm Tuesday to 4.30am Thursday with little else to show for it. My sleep schedule here is erratic; sometimes I stay up all night with a catnap in the afternoon the following day; after too many of those the Sandman takes me off for an extended stay. Luckily, today happens to be Thanksgiving, so that was kind of fortuitous! Yay!

The main thing that motivated me and was the inspiration for picking this blog up again was a self-help book, that had a ton of good common sense advice with examples rooted in world history. It's called the Bible, motherfuckers, and you'll wish you'd read it too when Satan is jizzing hornets up your stretched out asshole with his veiny, three-headed cock.

WARNING: May cause dilation of the pupils, discoloration of the cheeks, mental illness including strong belief in fictional beings and irrational distrust of scientific fact.

Nah, not really! Can you imagine?! I'm ashamed to admit that I haven't really read much more than the regular blogs. And some very text heavy games, if that counts. Because I'm wearing a mask most of the time and lying pretty flat, it's hard to read a regular book or comic. Gaming is better if I've been repositioned on my bed correctly, but the warm embrace of television is there on tap twenty-four hours a day. Maybe that would be a good place to start off my recent recommendations with.

TV Shows

Getaway Driver: This eight part gameshow, hosted by Michelle Rodriguez and streaming on Discovery+, is such simple genius I imagine it was conceived of years ago and technology has only just made it possible, with drones and go-pro cameras making it possible to follow high speed action for little cost. The premise is simple: three drivers take their own cars to a 40 acre compound, and Michelle Rodriguez gives them each $2,000. If they can make it to one of two unmarked exits before being stopped by two expert drivers then they get to keep the cash. If their hot rod gets fucked, well, better luck next time! The two that do best then do it all again at night, with some roads closed off, three experts, and one exit. The fastest to make it out gets $5,000 and the chance to race again the next night, if they want to. It's high risk, low reward, but the racers are generally likeable characters in it for the bragging rights as much as the cheddar. If you don't give a fuck about swearing then I'd have thought it would be great family viewing over the holidays; who doesn't like car chases?

3%: I should probably preface this by saying I like pretty much any scripted TV show or film where players are trying to figure out how to beat a game! And by extension but with varied results how to break out of prison, pull off a con or a heist, cheat on a test etc. I really liked the Sony Escape Room movies the first time I saw them, and enjoy the Saw franchise way more than I should (and the spin-off, Spiral, with Chris Rock and Samuel L Jackson was a delight - a Saw movie with great actors effortlessly giving great over-the-top performances? Yes please!). I started watching Squid Game the day it came out,enjoyed it, but couldn't believe how it caught on!

In one of several "Shows to watch if you liked Squid Game" articles I read about a Brazillian show called 3% that fits that genre perfectly. Fortunately it's on Netflix. A story told over four seasons, it was set in a future where a city was on the verge of collapse as there wasn't enough resources to go around. A Process was established that anyone who turns 20 can apply for, and only the top 3% pass. These Elite people travel by submarine to The Offshore, which is a futuristic sci-fi paradise, with cures to disease, no money, advanced tech, plenty of food etc. The rest go back to The Inland, which is basically a slum. We start by following Process 105 in the first season, but just about every episode has a different game or challenge, whether it's part of the Process or an Inland gang initiation or whatever. Also, big ethical questions are raised, which are also my jam.

GAMBLING WITH MY HEALTH... AND HITTING THE JACKPOT!

 I wrote yesterday that in the downtime since my last post in August "I've basically been doing worse, physically and mentally." The word "basically" really does soften the blow there, doesn't it? Jesus Christ, what an understatement!

Since I last checked in to tell you about my health I've suffered three episodes of Hamster Heart (SVT), mini pulmonary embolisms, right side heart failure, sub-COPS level SAT readings, and weeping leg ulcers. I only found out about this today, other than the bouts of Hamster Heart, which are pretty hard to miss, the home had documented that they'd recognised the symptoms but not told me! Not that I could have done anything about it. Apparently I also go cyanose when I roll on to my side. I've graduated from a CPAP to a BIPAP (if you're reading this Vanessa, you called it!) and am also on 2 litres of oxygen for 16 hours a day.

To borrow another famous understatement: I told you I was ill.

Bested only by Leslie Nielsen's "Let 'er rip.

 A few weeks ago I was visited by the mental health team. As I wrote back in March, I had a meeting with them in February and they came up with a bunch of ideas of how to help me in the room, but then sent me a letter saying: "As your current issues with your mental health are based very much on your situation, we are unable to provide any support until you have made steps towards changing your situation. We feel that at this time your needs are most appropriately met by weight management services and we would encourage you to work with them towards discharge from [your care home] and getting back into your own property. At this point if you are still struggling with your mental health, you can be re-referred back into mental health services."

As I wrote in March, this was a soul-crushing denial of help, a cruel Catch-22. It was like a lifeguard refusing to help a drowning man until he demonstrated strong swimming skills. One of the women I saw in February came back again last month, and told me in the room that I seemed a lot more depressed. She wasn't wrong.

Not only had the mental health team passed the buck, but weight management services have not met me either. Every specialist or GP I've met here has come to the home unannounced; they know I'm not going anywhere and that they will need to liaise with staff before meeting me anyway, so I'm always the last to know. Well, round about September my social worker told me that they'd written letters to me but I'd never got back to them. I explained I'd never received them and gave her permission to give them my e-mail so they could get in touch directly. A month later she asked why I hadn't written them back, and I told her I hadn't had any e-mails either, (not even in my spam!). I asked her to tell them to CC her so I would definitely get them, and that was the last I heard of it.

AMERICA IS A CUM-STAINED HOTEL ROOM...

 ...and Corona is a black light. Not my words, but a tweet from Megan Abram from March 10th, 2020 (well, almost, I inverted it). That beautifully vivid metaphor stuck with me for the next year, as the cracks in society began to appear, and we realised how undervalued and underrepresented certain members of our society are. The idealist in me was hoping that shelf stackers, bus drivers, cashiers, and trash men would be recognised as indispensable members of our community, and be treated as such. I thought at the very least they would make things better for nurses and carers, as the whole country banded together once a week to applaud for them. It wasn't to be the case. The world's billionaires got richer whilst the rest of us thought over the thin end of the wedge.

Readers from outside the UK may not be familiar with Captain Tom Moore, the retired army officer who, in April 2020, decided to walk a hundred lengths of his garden as he approached his hundredth birthday, hoping to raise £1,000 for NHS Charities Together. He raised nearly £33 million (£39m after rebates), and became the Guinness World Record Holder for greatest amount raised for an individual charity walk. He received 1.5 million donations, 150,000 birthday cards, and a knighthood. He contributed to a number one charity single, received the Sports Personality of the Year award, and the Pride of Britain award. A film about him is being produced, and he has been commemorated in postmarks, New Year's fireworks, and flyovers, and has had his name given to everything from trains and boats to police dogs and horses. My grandad wrote to Piers Morgan suggesting the army stop using the word "captain" and use the word "captom" instead.

A motion to increase nurse's salaries was voted down in the Houses of Parliament shortly after, whilst COVID-19 was hitting us hardest. Maybe if we'd shouted for pay rises rather than clapping, maybe if instead of sending birthday cards people had sent letters to their MPs, maybe if we questioned why it took a pensioner exhausting himself for money to be allocated to support key workers, we could have made a real difference.

Captain Sir Tom Moore died a hero shortly before his 101st birthday, having caught the coronavirus while being treated for pneumonia, and Piers Morgan never wrote back to my grandfather.

 "Tomorrow Will Be A Good Day." Sorry Tom, but that's not always true.

Things weren't much better in hospitals across the pond that April. Hospital workers were making surgical gowns out of garbage bags and posting photos of how their faces were bruised from wearing the same pair of protective goggles all day. Refrigerated trucks were being used to store dead bodies. Things were looking grim.

I was still using Twitter at the time, and on April 11th posted a tweet complimenting a host of a podcast I listen to, saying that he does a great job of looking out for the fans and making sure they always get good value for money when they put out merch, paid bonus episodes, and the like. Another listener responded thus:

 "He has given us more than a bang for our buck. I said before he gave us a nuclear missile for our buck. I make Hand Grenades for a living so I am an expert in BANG"

I tentatively replied, fearing I knew the answer: "Have to ask... Are you an essential worker?" He wrote me back:

"Yes. I make products that support Law Enforcement. I have been working a lot of OT lately"