Thought Vomit #2: ft. ToofPayste & Hobbes

My toothpaste has mocked me again. Twice. I’m beginning to wonder if it’s toothpaste from the wash bag of Jesus.

Whatever the case may be, the miraculous properties of mundane toiletries has highlighted my own lack of productivity, so it’s time to motivate myself in the style of my friend Sam.

I want this:


So, I will buy it, if, and only if, I write a new bit of stand up every day this week.

It’s rather ridiculous that I feel the need to publicly announce this, but it’s the only way it will work. Otherwise I’ll not do anything and still buy it. Who wouldn’t? It’s the whole damn lot of Calvin & Hobbes.

The trouble is, it’s autumn. And autumn has a habit of beating me up. It’s not the weather or the lack of sun, it’s just that every year, without fail, something happens that makes me miserable and self-defeatist.

It would be nice to enjoy autumn. I’d like to spend the summer growing a beard, and then watch it turn yellow and brown and slowly fall off of my face.

Weirdly though, this autumn, nothing happened, yet inevitably I descended into a spiral like a liquored up kid on a helter skelter. I think it’s just habit now. Or maybe there’s something in my jumpers that acts as a depressant. Maybe wool is a downer. That might explain why sheep always look suicidal.

I like the word liquor. But if you have something that is like liquor, but not quite, is liquor there or thereabouts, you get Liquor-ish. Mmm, a Bacardi Breezer Dib Dab.

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