Neal’s Belch 152 from August 2004
I always like to start the day with a breath of fresh air and a good long stretch of my arms and legs.
I usually use one of those old stretching racks that you find in torture chambers. They’re also excellent for putting your toast on, until it becomes dry and crispy. I love makign toast. I always start by making sure everybody’s standing up around the table and holding their glasses high in the air, so the short-sighted among them can’t see me so I won’t get all embarrassed.
Then I make a small speach. Usually I say something like “God bless all who sail in this group of people who have just buried their sadly missed great great grandfather and are about to embark on a round the world cruise with his money, not realising that it takes months if not years for the proceeds of a will to be distributed. Luckily they have an overdraft facility. Unluckily, they can’t afford it.” I adjust this to suit the occasion.of course.
Then I crack a little joke.
Something like, “Two cats walk into a bar. One of them orders a Guiness, the other is a traditionalist and has a saucer of milk”. I won’t bore you with the punchline, you’ve probably heard it already. That usually breaks the ice, which has by now become fused together in one solid lump in it’s bag in the freezer, and badly needs to be broken.
My sibling is getting married soon but it’s in America and I’m not familiar with your traditions, so I’ll probably just say something about how lovely everybody is and thank the organisers for the nice tea and biscuits. And besides, I just added this paragraph in as an afterthought because today’s belch was looking a little shorter than usual. So this is just to stretch it out a bit and make it look like you’re getting value for money. Which of course you are, because you haven’t paid me one single penny for this. You cheap bamtard. Dammit now it’s starting to look too long. You’ll start expecting a long belch every time and complain about being short changed when it’s just average length. I am not a hairdresser, for chrissakes
By this time, everybody at the assembly is usually getting a little tired of the inane puns and attempts at cleverness, so I don my coat and go for a walk outside in the cool, late night breeze. I like to sit on a wall and gaze up at the stars as they make their way into the MTV Awards in a hotel at the top of the hill. I once won an award for my ability to speak the Irish language, when I was eleven years old. I can’t tell you very much about it because I would have to tell you in English, thereby detracting from the aim of that particular awards scheme. Which would be irresponsible and I wouldn’t do it.
I’ve never been an irresponsible person. I always put my used razor blades inside a bottle or carton before disposing of them. If it’s a glass bottle I make sure to smash it into tiny pieces so that the garbage removers don’t hurt themselves on a huge shard of glass. However I also try to ensure the pieces are just large enough so that they can’t accidentally, or on purpose, be eaten by a baby worm or octopus that might be hiding in the bin.
Adult worms or octupuses, however, will just have to take responsibility for their own diets.and try to avoid ingesting the pieces of glass. I can’t be responsible for the actions of grown adult octoposes.
I must say, though, I admire the ability of those creatures to walk around on eight legs while still maintaining an air of dignity. I have never ever witnessed an octopus looking shabbily dressed or hunched over and walking like a drunken sloth. Not that sloths can help it. I’m not having a go at sloths here, I’m just using them as an example. Get off my back, for chrissakes.
I’m not even wearing a saddle.