Not my last post

Hello there to anyone who is listening. True to form, it’s taken me a month to finally do what I said I’d do and create a blog about Arizona. However, it has also taken me a month to do anything interesting and actually get bothered to write about it, and what better time than my BIRTHDAY to be motivated?

I’m going to begin with my trip to Austin for the AWP Conference. AWP stands for Anal Winter Period, which is something a bit like a nuclear winter, but this one smells all faecal and is much browner. A bit like your history teacher in relation to your biology teacher.

Anyway, it’s a writers’ conference, and we stayed in a Hilton. This was the view from my window:

The view was considerably different in the day time. Cars went around with their lights OFF, and the crane moved. There was also a glowing orange orb in the sky, heating the surrounding water and making for sticky, sticky air-muck.

Here are some little shots about town:

No! I knew they would come, but I never thought it would be then. Their army had been lying dormant for many years, and they had always implied imminent attacks. We should have been prepared.

This is actually nothing amazing. I have, in fact, been supplying free smells since 1980, and to date this is about as much fuss I’ve made of it. No neon signs for me. This is yet another example of how much more reserved we are in our home land of Belgium.

No, in fact, I don’t got slam. Nor do I got films:

Nor do I got milk, beef or pork (apparently THIS is the other white meat). However, one thing I DID got was the following picture. Jaime had pointed out to me before that she had spied a mascot doing the rounds, presumably part of the SXSW festival whose HQ was in the same convention centre. As most people are aware, I have a love for mascots, particularly if they are able to fall into any one or more of the following categories:

• dirty, grubby or badly-kept mascots
• badly made or fitted mascots
• uncomfortable, or miffed mascots. Mascots who clearly wish they could escape their life as a mascot, and pursue a career which does not make them ill with heat exhaustion
• mascots in fights with other mascots
• mascots being kicked and generally abused by those they are supposed to be catering to, e.g. children kicking Mr Wimpey in the nuts
• Mascots whose object of manifestation does not align with what they are promoting. See the Sexual Harassment Panda episode of South Park, which is, in my opinion, the funniest ever.

Well, the Podcast Pickle fell into at least the latter category, and I’m guessing the one about hating one’s job, too. In the taxi on the way to the airport and flight back to Phoenix, and knowing of the Pickle’s existence, I was delighted to spy the little green bastard awkwardly strolling in the midday humidity beneath 100lbs of polyester. Like a paparazzi cunt, I whipped it out, and then reached for my camera. Ladies and gentleBen, I present the Podcast Pickle, the most pointless job in Texas:

I hope this bastard got into a fight with the Blogging Banana. Podcast Prick.

Ok, first post over, and thank God I’ve broken the seal (by that I mean I need to piss) on this blog-awful God.

And remember: I’m eating in Chili’s tonight. You’re not. (Unless you’re Jaime or Charlie, or any number of white trash Americans across this here nation). More specifically, CRAIG, you’re not having a Chili’s tonight. I AM.

Drippingly,

John