Bowsy’s Theory of Non Existence

As I sit here contemplating the issues that affect all of us (Well, the issues that affect me, anyway. If they happen to coincide with your problems, that’s just good luck on your part that you get to bask in the shining radiance of my wisdom. I’m not trying to help) it occurs to me that many of the bad tidings that are brought to us in this stinking life, are the result not of our own actions or those of others, but of minute changes in the positioning of the stars that were in view the day we were born.

Astrology, as far as I’m concerned, isn’t taken anywhere near seriously enough. I’m convinced that if we sent Bruce Willis up on a self-sacrificing mission to destroy the asteroid that’s currently obscuring the Capricorn nebula under whose sky I was born, my life would instantly be the better for it.

Ditto Michael Keaton. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s people with weird permanently inquisitive eyebrows. Admittedly my face is entirely covered in hair and in theory if you shaved the right bits of it away, you would be left with a weird eyebrow. However, that’s not going to happen, and if any asshole tries to shave me they’ll soon find out about the full moon and why it shines bright red after I kick the crap out of it.

As I was saying to Rush Limbaugh the other day, there is not enough corporal punishment in this world. If someone’s ass needs kicking you are doing them a service by kicking it, and possibly preventing them from falling into a spiral of crime and deviation into which they would otherwise tumble.

I myself was thrown around the room by both Neal and his father as they shouted “Flying lessons, Bowsy” when I was younger, and I’m all the better for it. In fact, I believe another few trips and I would now be able to fly. Those bastards stopped as soon as they realised I was learning a new skill that could release me from my domestic slavery and allow me to see the world.

Of course, nowadays I have the advantage of being old, which means it is expected of me that I am grumpy and cranky. This is a wonderful development, and I use it to my great advantage.

Just yesterday I gave out stink to a milkman for false advertising. His sign claimed that the milk was 98% fat free, and I pointed none of the milk was fat free.  I maintained that every single drop of the milk, all one hundred percent of it, contained 2% fat.

You can’t let these people walk all over you. If you do, your stuffing gets squeezed down to your legs and you end up having your chest opened and an old windscreen cloth and half of Neal’s pyjamas get inserted permanently into your chestal cavity.

Then you get roped in to write crap for some damn website that he’s got, and have to listen to the likes of Elfy insulting you in the guestbook. Oh dear, I seem to have strayed from the topic. Wonder where I picked that habit up from.

Anyway, there’s a little known system of belief followed by some people, that they are the only person in the Universe and everyone else is just a figment of their imagination, put there for their entertainment and stimulation. Apparently this has been the reason given for the actions of some or the great serial killers. Or at least by the fictional one-time alleged murderer featured on British television police soap “The Bill” last night, but I’ve used poetic license and trajectory and decided it happens all the time. Sue me. Anyhoo, my own belief is the complete opposite, as I will explain.

I am convinced that everybody in the whole universe is real, except me.

My theory is that I am a figment of your imagination, created for your entertainment and / or stimulation. The evidence backs it up:

How many bears do you know who can write a five hundred word article in two sittings of fifteen minutes each? Very few I suggest.  In reality, most bears are barely able to string a sentence together without making a fatal grammatical error and becoming misunderstood.

The upshot of all this is that if I am a figment of your imagination, it follows that everything I say has come from your mind, not mine.

In other words, all of the opinions expressed on this page are yours. Every single one of them

More Bowsy