Wednesday, 25 March 2009

Texts are the new novels (Part 1 in an occasional series ...)

I’ve had it with facebook. Eight hundred pictures of me red-faced and drunk, a format change every few months that makes it look ever more like the wretched Twitter, I can’t find any events I’m meant to go to … no no no. I’m back to texting and emailing in a big way.

Being a terrible horder of most things I hate to get rid of messages but I’ve discovered fantastic software that allows you to download all your texts and save them as Excel or Word files. Reading them back in this disjointed and decontextualised form is confusing and frequently hilarious. I can no longer attach a story to most of them and it makes them all the more intriguing. ‘What kind of odd life is that?’, I wonder. ‘What strange people’. Below are some of the ones I like the most. One day far in the future cultural anthropologists will look back at such documents and say, ‘Umm … what?’ Apologies if you recognise your life in here somewhere …

Eating cheese in bed. Yes or no?

Been invited to birmingham by beautiful french cellist.

How can we make katy perry die? I don't know what she's for. Did you get called a dirty stopout? You are one.

Cruising the guys in the pound shop.

Tell him to turn up drunk.

Club flyer for student venue: 'Please respect the club and yourself by drinking responsibly. All drinks one pound.'

England would be rubbish without gay men doing all this.

Seeing or typing the words ‘ped egg’ is making me boke.

Get a job!

I feel underdressed in Preston station.

Dressing gown, crisps, sex and the city, no boyfriend. I'm perfectly happy.

Rob him!

Don't remember getting in. think i snogged some bloke in front of his boyfriend. Oops.

Watching old corrie fights on youtube. Suggest you do the same.

I can't deal. I want my hair like that NOW.

I spent my last red cent on a v v brown ticket.

I left the cheese out overnight and now it's orange polystyrene. Fail.

I'm a leopard and a social piranha.

About to eat a jaffa cake with dairylea on it. I'll let you know how it goes.

Do you sometimes forget some people are straight? I do.

I'm cringeing and watching with my back to the screen.

I'm crying and dancing at the same time.

I'm in temple doing the jukebox. Can't BELIEVE you're not here.

I'm playing it right now, complete tune, grace jones meets black box.

I've bought thirty pints of milk and taken the rest of the week off work.

Ick re your hideous daughter. ABORT!

Teen sex quiz in MEN. Filled in accordingly. Question 2: Can you have a laugh together without anything sexual being involved? Answer: No.

'I took a lethal overdose of drink and drugs' 'oh no what have you had?' 'five blisters of paracetomol and a cup of tea'

that adidas advert with beckham estelle ting tings missy elliot has given me cancer

You would do a poo-wee all one word at my shamaze outfit

Put the rest in the bin and spray fairy liquid on it. Nobody wants to fuck fatty.

I hate being let down. It really bothers me. Its because i'm notes on a scandal and construct entire weekend around returning a library book.

So Much sex and aggro in town today i love it. Just been butchered by budget hairdresser. Not a word when we meet. Can't wait to get it under the tap.

The next train at platform 2 is the 18.49 north western service to blackpool north calling at Shitsford, crapton and misery-on-sea.

I've put that i'm a bisexual chinese lady with black twins who speaks farsi and writes kinyarwanda. That'll show em.

The support band are making my pants vibrate.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Some of my old texts:

‘We’ve got to do, like, a vagina fashion show, so I’ve got to imagine what my vagina would wear now’ First year student.

Job in Guardian: ‘Theakstons Old Peculier Crime Writing Festival Co-ordinator.’ They’re also looking for job title shortening editor.

As much fun as fellating Engelbert Humperdinck or using Piranha instead of deodorant.

The badgers sing of sets and streams, of tumbling down bands and irritating the foxes.

And the beavers serenely wash their tummies to the rhythm of the cows slipping and the hottle bottles ringing.

McRhubarb xxx