Cindy and Scott are newlyweds, whoopadeedoo!

Well, hey.

Again, sorry for the unnecessarily long break. I am aware my followers get a trifle angsty and existential if I'm not around to guide them. Sorry, men. These past few months must've really sucked for you.

I have another excuse. I was preoccupied with this girl-puppet I was seeing. Turns out I was wrong about her, though -- she's a mega-bitch and she broke my heart. Angry Puppet has spent the last few days drawing moustaches all over his collection of photos of her; little Hitler moustaches and also some handlebar ones. I may even post them on Facebook and then tag her in them. That oughtta teach her. So, basically, I've returned to the blogosphere for some solace; for a very public place to air some grievances and claw blindly out of this heartbroken funk I've found myself in.

*sigh*

I'll leave you now with a clip from one of my favourite movies: a mind-bending psychological thriller set in Reagan's money-hungry 1980s. It's called The Wedding Singer, and it stars a really precocious little upstarter who I can't help but compare to a Taxi Driver-era De Niro. Or a young Angry Puppet, even. To quote the film:

"You see, some of us will never find true love. Take for instance ... me. And I'm pretty sure that guy right there. And that lady with the sideburns. And basically everybody at Table 9. But the worst thing is that me, Fatty, Sideburns Lady, and the mutants over at Table 9, will never ever find a way to better our situation. Because, apparently, we have absolutely nothing to offer the opposite sex."

Amen, Brother Sandler.

Now if you will excuse me, I have a playdate with my good friend Johnny Walker.

Puppets and pieces, October 13th

Some of you have been asking where Angry Puppet has been the past few months. Angry Puppet doesn't really have a good answer to that. Mostly he's been "working" on his autobiography (read: picking his teeth with the corner of his Moleskine). Unfortunately, every time Angry Puppet conjures up what he thinks is a winning turn of phrase, it turns out to be lifted straight from Leaves of Grass. Curses, Walt Whitman! I'll sing your body electric if it's the last thing I do.

Anyway.

For the rest of this blog entry, Angry Puppet vows to refer to himself in the first person only.

I'm disappointed my autobiography hasn't written itself as quickly as I thought it would. But, you know, whatevah. I have bigger fish to fry these days. For starters, I met a girl. That's right, we go on dates and everything. She's a hot piece of puppet ass, if I may be so bold. I also turfed all my Moroccan cookware and in order to concentrate on the gastro-molecular sciences, a la Heston Blumen-thing. Shoot, I may even release a cook book. 

On a more frivolous note, I am also endeavouring to grow a sincerely staunch moustache this Movember. If anyone wishes to act as a sponsor, please drop me a line.

Much love,

A. Puppet

xo

Celebrity doppelganger: Betty Draper

Fans often ask me, "Angry Puppet, if you were a character from a popular high-brow American television drama series, who would you be and why?" To which I reply, "Why, Betty Draper, of course."

This is Betty Draper:

This is me:

Yeah, I know. I've heard it a thousand times before -- I've been stopped in the streets: "Excuse me, are you Betty Draper?" I think it goes beyond those skin-deep similarities: our appearances so artfully kept that nary a single hair should shift out of place in a stiff breeze; the jewels, the crinoline petticoats. It's also in the defiant curl of our lip. Our rounded shoulders speak of a thousand abandonments. It's the way we've both been scorned by the one we love. And it's in the profound sadness in our cornflower blue eyes.

Next time you sit down to watch Mad Men -- while you're feeling great about having your finger so firmly on the pulse of the zeitgeist -- ponder this: what is Betty Draper but a mid-century Angry Puppet?

    

SEX!

Hola, bitches!

How are we all? Good? Good! I, too, am good. More than good, in fact. I have decided to whip myself into shape. I took up Pilates! I don't even know what Pilates fucking is, but it's doing wonders -- just look at me, I'm glowing like a pregnant woman!

Anyhoo. Dramatic physical transformations aside, Angry Puppet has been beavering away at a new project. You'll love this one. IT'S MY AUTOBIOGRAPHY! Heheh.. beavering.

My autobiography is expected to hit the shelves just before Christmas this year. The working title is SEX: The Angry Puppet Story. My PR team came up with the title. They told me sex sells. Eyeroll! Oh fucking well. Ridiculous title or not, SEX: The Angry Puppet Story will map my metamorphosis from forgotten youngest child in a family of seven (or nine? I'm not sure), to my rising star as an eccentric poet/songwriter, blogger and literary stalwart, A-list party boy, and eventual revered cult hero. I can guarantee it will be uncensored, uncut, shocking and mildly exploitative. No detail will go unwritten! Especially that chapter about my recurring skin mycoses (athlete's foot, jock itch, ringworm ... you name it, Angry Puppet's had it).

It will be Angry Puppet as you have never seen him before, AND, may I also point out, there will be no ghost writers!!! Angry Puppet is writing the thing 100% himself from cover to cover. Angry Puppet abhors ghost writers! Angry Puppet says "NO" to ghost writers! However, to ghost busters, ghost dogs, ghost trains and the movie Ghost, Angry Puppet says "YES"!

Okay, I must get back to it. I'm in the middle of the chapter where I talk about my chance encounter with Dr Phil, and how it made me question my belief in the necessity of surnames. Love you's all. Over and out.

New direction: COMEDY DUO???

Hi all,

Again, I apologise for the lack of activity on this blog. This time, it was due to Angry Puppet taking a trip back to the Mother Country to visit his parents. His parents did, in fact, have wireless internet. But they didn't know the password. Boomer Generation huh. Eyerollery!

Anyway. Nothing much has changed; I'm still trying to find a way to refresh my act. The Political Comedy bit didn't take off. Snoresville! Nor did my Observational Comedy routine -- I mean, sheesh ... there's only so many observations one can make about airplane peanuts. What's the deal with them? And that's about it.

I think I've worked out what's wrong with my act: I'm missing a partner.

I need a straight guy around which to base my crazy slapstick antics. A Laurel to my Hardy, if you will. A Richard Willcock to my Geoff Symons. Unfortunately, very few folk share my layered, screwballish and irreverent outlook. Nor do they possess such razor-sharp wit or impeccable comic timing. Most of the people Angry Puppet associates with are dropkicks and/or public servants. This does not bode well.

So this is the dealio..

Me: I'm a puppet, sandy blonde-brown hair, medium build, beguiling face. I'm looking for a comic partner who is attractive but not too attractive, as I think it works better if I'm the pretty one. I'm willing to experiment with weaving music into our routine. I'm a competent flautist; I own a glockenspiel, and someday hope to play it.

You: You've had stage experience, either in the comic arena or other related field (ie poetry reading). You have your own transport (Angry Puppet doesn't drive, I need someone to take me places). You will be willing to forfeit the limelight and let Angry Puppet take over if need be; you will remain quiet during interviews. You will not make guest appearances on Spicks & Specks, Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader?, Thank God You're Here, et al. Remember: You are the straight man in our routine. You stand in one spot, and I dance around you.

I think that's all. Drop me a line if this sounds like something you would be interested in. I shall be holding auditions next week. I very much look forward to creating comedy magic with you.

Okay, I should get back to work -- State Government needs me. Much love,

-Angry Puppet.

Me + You = Comedy gold

New direction: Political comedy

So, um.

*flicks through newspaper*

How about those three prominent Turkish ex-military leaders being held on suspicion for trying to provoke conflict with Greece and thus pave way for a coup? How about it, huh? Turkey's Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erodgan is all "No comment" on it. That's typical Recep Tayyip Erodgan for you ... always the smooth operator, that guy. Anyway. Turkish military affairs specialist Gareth Jenkins suggests these recent arrests could trigger a "major crisis". It hasn't yet, though. But it might.

...There's got to be a joke in there somewhere.

*Cough*

*flicks further through newspaper*
So former US vice-president Dick Cheney has taken ill. Looks like he's got "chest pains". Hmm. Apparently the batteries in his defribrillator were replaced in July 2007. Maybe they should take a look at replacing the batteries in his.. ya know.. in his personality. Or something. Or his political career. Um.

What else? *flicks through newspaper*

British PM Gordon Brown has a whole bunch of bullying claims stacking up against him. Oh boy. Gee. Boy oh boy. That's gotta be damaging. Though come to think of it, this whole article is speculative. Jesus. Does anything ever happen in politics?

*flicks through newspaper*

Oooh, Robert Pattinson and Kristen Stewart have gone public with their relationship. I knew they were having it off with each other! I could feel it in my puppety waters. Go forth and breed greasy babies, kids!

New Direction: Observational Comedy

So what's the deal with bottled water? I mean, seriously. Is this the Apocalypse? Is water suddenly a "precious" resource we have to purchase? I mean, come on! Two thirds of the planet is water! It's so goddamn common I can make it myself by breathing on a piece of glass and voila, we have water. I mean. Come on. Seriously.

And what's the deal with speed dating? Am I right guys? We have speed dials, speed limits, there's that movie Speed.. what's up with speed?

And what's the deal with Keanu Reeves? Is he Asian or what? Because he totally looks Asian. Am I right, guys? You know what I'm talking about.

What's the deal with getting drunk? It's like, yeah, hey, check me out, I'm stupid. Oh and check this out, I'm phenomenally aggressive and whoaaa, what's going on now, suddenly I'm curled up in a foetal ball sobbing like a little girl. What's up with that?

What's up with heroin? I mean. Seriously! Have you people not seen Trainspotting? Does any part of that whole operation look in the slightest bit "cool" or "hip"? What about those "Choose Life" posters? Nothing cool about them.

And what's the deal with unprotected sex? It's like when we threw fondu parties back in the 70s and everyone was dipping their forks in the same pot of melted chocolate, if you know what I mean, and then we're all like, oh hey, what's up with this crazy gonorrhea shit? Where did that come from? You know? I mean, seriously.

What's the go with single-celled organisms? It's like, the rest of us have all evolved into complex multi-cellular powerhouses. Why can't you? Go big or go home, that's what I say. You know? I mean, seriously.

And what's the deal with John Mayer? I mean, that guy has banged pretty much every eligible lady in Hollywood and his music is about as inspiring as ... ah fuck it, I'm going to bed.

Qwerty

Dear Puppeteers,

I apologise again for the recent inactivity on this blog. Angry Puppet has been experiencing an intense lack of giving a shit lately. I have plotted out a line graph to help you better understand what I am going through:



I call this the Chart of Caring. Along the x axis (or maybe it's the y axis, I don't fucking know), I have listed percentages up to 100 which indicate my level of enthusiasm. The other axis has been divided into two periods of time: Then and Now.

As you can see, my capacity to give a shit has dropped from 90% (Then) to 10% (Now). You should try updating a blog you give 10% of a shit about. It's hard work!

Anyway. I don't want y'all to be alienated. Angry Puppet just needs you to understand a little. It's not easy being angry.

In the meantime, please amuse yourselves at http://www.badgerbadgerbadger.com/. I consider this website an inspiration to one-trick ponies the world over.

Speak soon, dudes!

Photobomb

Hmm.

So this entry was going to be about how Angry Puppet is jumping on the "Photobomb" omnibus -- but unfortunately the picture above is ridiculously unconvincing. That is some truly terrible Photoshop work. Adobe: on behalf of our Creative Director, Dave -- hang your head in shame, Dave! -- I apologise for this outrageous misrepresentation of the capabilities of your program(s).

Anyway. Angry Puppet needs go wax his chest now. He's going through an "open shirt" phase. Shamone!

Jump the sharks

Click to enlarge, dudes!

The Apex of Hilarity

Brothers and Sisters,

It was brought to my attention recently that some members of our community have been rolling their eyes at one of the greatest and most enduring comic routines: Animals Dressed as Humans. Any man who does not laugh at this:

...is surely a man made of stone. It's a chimp wearing a very small sea captain's outfit. It's funny. The multiplicity of reasons why it is funny are quite convoluted and technical -- if you wish to find out more, drop me a line.

As evidenced in the following picture, chimps in clothing have been delighting us since the turn of last century:

Look into that chimp's eyes and tell me he's not absolutely content with his lot in life. Wearer of suits, purveyor of laughter. Angry Puppet challenges you not to smile! In fact, to not smile would be to insult little Consul up there. He busted his nuts perfecting the Animals Dressed as Humans routine -- show him some respect.

Now, whilst chimps do hold the monopoly on the Clothed Animal market, the oeuvre extends far beyond our primordial friends. Below is a clip from the classic "Dogway Melody" (circa 1930s), a complex "dogsploitation" film which explores such themes as adultery, embezzlement and substance abuse. In this particular scene we gain a frighteningly bleak insight into the world of dog-on-dog sexual harassment -- yet never once does it cease to be funny due to the old-timey garb they're wearing:

Breath-taking. Rue the day the Animal Rights movement destroyed this clever and confronting genre of film. 

And so today, whilst on break from jamming on the sax along to my Roxette LP, I toyed with a bit of mathematics. For a long time, I have believed in a particular animal/article of clothing combination which may well be the Apex of Hilarity. And today, I think I found that combination. Behold!

I understand if you are finding the notes above difficult to penetrate; that is why I have distilled all the information into an easy-to-read table:

As you can see, through rigorous research, testing and analysis, I deduced a scoring system to reveal the funniest animal and the funniest article of clothing. The sloth, god bless 'em, rated as the funniest animal. The bathing suit swept the board clean and won the title of funniest clothing article. Therefore, the Apex of Hilarity is a sloth wearing a bathing suit.

As far as Angry Puppet is aware, no such occurrence has been captured on film yet. If it did, though, I am not sure the photograph could actually withstand the weight of its own hilarity, and thus would collapse in on itself, much like a neutron star dissolving into a black hole. If anyone ever captures the Apex on film without their camera bursting into flames, please let me know.

Other hilarious combinations include a cat in sunglasses, an otter in a turtleneck sweater, and a chimp in rollerskates. The lowest-rating comination was a dog in a hat.

Not funny.

I hope you have all learned something today. Please, next time you find yourself proclaiming that email your mother sent you with the pug dressed as Darth Vader as "low brow" ... have a think about the noble tradition behind it all.

Letter from a fan.

Dear Mr A. Puppet.

I am disappointed that your hiatus has lasted so long. Recently, whilst trawling the information superhighway, I came across a really rough patch of boredom. I sought solace in the comfort and wisdom of your celebrity blog, only to be cast out amongst the bitter nasturtiums of an un-updated web page. Keep it fresh Mr A. Puppet, we're all riding your coat-tails with our mixed metaphors.

Love,

A. P. Servant.

Dear Puppet Fan #2654,

I apologise for the lack of puppet-related activity on the internet recently. If you cast a look further down my blog you will see that on Sunday I reported I was suffering from a very serious infliction known as Swimmer's Ear. Sure, you will hear of a few wowsers here and there brushing this condition aside as merely an "ear ache". I thumb my nose at you, wowsers! I can assure you, Puppet Servant, I'm a very sick boy. The last few days for Angry Puppet have involved a lot of darkened rooms and bed pans, gentle sobbing and ringing a little maid's bell so my PR team could fetch me flat lemonades and chicken noodle soups. Please believe me when I tell you that Swimmer's Ear is no walk in the park.

Anyhoodle, it seems the worst of it is behind me. Today I managed to muster the strength to hit the "On" button of my laptop. But even that drained me of energy, and so I am presently dictating this entry to PR team member Richard, whilst PR team member Jenny fans me with a palm leaf. Whether I shall ever regain 100% of my strength is yet to be determined. Baby steps, I suppose.

Oh, also, I was suffering from a spot of Puppet's Block. Luckily you wrote me your email, and thus, gave me something to talk about. So kudos to you-dos! As token of my appreciation, Puppet Servant, I will be sending you a 5% Off coupon for any of the fantastic T Shirts in our merch range**.

Live large. Til next time,

- Angry Puppet. 

**Not to be used in conjunction with any other offer. Angry Puppet reserves the right to retract his 5% Off coupon if he decides you look gangly, awkward, or just plain silly in one of his T Shirts. Angry Puppet does not wish for his face to be associated with such sartorial tomfoolery.

Health update!

Just got back from the doctor. Turns out I'm not dying.. I have Swimmer's Ear. So uh, ignore all that death request nonsense in the previous entry. Boy is my face red!

Angry Puppet is at Death's Door

I'm dying, I think. My usually glossy and voluminous hair is falling out in clumps. I have developed a hacking cough. I feel like Mimi at the end of La Boheme. I always knew, though, that when Death came a-knocking at Angry Puppet's door it would be a somewhat theatrical affair. A fitting exit for what has been a very poetic life. At least I will leave a beautiful corpse.

In the event of my death, please grant me the following:

- A casket carved from a deep-sea coral bed, lined with silk woven by wild forest spiders (not low-grade spider-farm silk), lacquered with the blood of a thorough-bred stallion, then blessed with the tears of a newborn child;

- At the funeral, Gwyneth Paltrow sing her victorious cover of "Bette Davis Eyes" (I don't care who she duets with -- perhaps Brian Wilson if he is available?);

- Strictly no photos to be taken during the proceedings (the press will be circling like piranhas; and whilst I empathise with the Public's curiosity, I do not wish my death to be cheapened by the gossip magazines);

- I be cremated wearing my favourite Sunday morning kimono;

- That my ashes be cooked into a delicious Moroccan stew, and each funeral attendant eat a spoonful, and thus, shall carry a piece of Angry Puppet with them for eternity. I hear ashes are hard to digest. I'll be hangin' about your large intestine for a while; a long while. BTW, I have a great recipe for a spiced pumpkin and almond stew. With citrus cous-cous on the side. It's marvelous. I shall leave the recipe clipping in my bedside drawer.

That is it, I think. I shall leave it up to you, dear readership, to grant my dying wishes. My PR team will notify the press once I have "crossed over".

Much love.

A sonnet, regarding my marriage to the sea.

I once loved a girl, a sweet maiden fair

If we'd have met, then she might have loved me;

But she's wed to a dip shit with over-styled hair

And so I must marry the sea.

The sea's an old salt, she's dark and fermented

And like me, her soul's deep and blue

But as a bald Irish woman once lamented,

Nothing compares 2 U.

But, oh, I must cast my great pain to one side

So into the ocean, knee-deep I shall wade

Be mine, briny waters, til the day that I die!

(I wonder, though, will I get laid?)

My sweet maiden fair, betrothed to a douche

And I, with my salty blue bride

Our love has extinguished, an almighty whoosh

As I get swept away with the sea's tide.

I'm so full of anguish, eyes bleary and bawling

More angst than a song by James Blunt

I hate to resort to petty name-calling

But jeez, Russell Brand, you're a really nasty guy for stealing the girl of my dreams away from me.

By Angry Puppet

Angry Puppet Merchandise

I've gotten a few emails lately from my dedicated fan base requesting puppet merchandise. And so, I have spent the last couple of days beavering away, along with my newly established PR team, to bring you the first of what I am sure will become a vast collection of puppet-related merchandise.

This first T Shirt I'm not so sure about, however:

PR Rep Jenny came up with the slogan. Puppetude? Really, Jenny? I paid you how much to devise a portmanteau which only sort of makes sense? Talk about naff. You, Jenny, have naffitude.

On the other hand, PR Rep Richard came up with this pearler:

Now that's a slogan I am proud to lend my image to. I especially like the double exclamation points at the end of "Hey Everybody". Take heed, Jenny: this is a T Shirt for winners.

The final T Shirt in our range was masterminded by yours truly:

Jenny and Richard thought this one to be a bit sinister, but I reasoned with them that one man's "sinister" is another man's "edgy". And although "Hey everybody!! I am awesome" is a stroke of marketing genius, I also wanted a T Shirt in our range which would best encapsulate the man behind the Puppet. The diminutive Angry Puppet, if you will. Four words of pure, unadulterated angry. And I believe this T Shirt may be it.

Now. From T Shirts to crockery:

The mug wholesalers had a surplus of unsold "World's Greatest Dad" mugs, so they gave them to us for a discounted rate. Hence, I pass the savings onto you. Ignore the Dad part. I don't know.. only drink from the Puppet side or something.

That's it for now (Richard and Jenny got bored faffing about on Photoshop). I will let you know once we have more mad rad merch in the pipelines.

Alrighty. Angry Puppet has twelve pages of Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret to go, and he's itching to find out how it ends. I'll be goddamned if she doesn't start menstruating. What a waste of my reading time otherwise. I'm all like, Hurry up and menstruate already! It can't be that hard! Jesus.

Marriage, that blessed arrangement. *dies*

Angry Puppet's life: More six-word summaries

A snake, eating its own tail
An imperfect dove with clipped wings
The last player picked for baseball
Always the bridesmaid, never the bride
Sorrowful horse, ridden by unsavoury jockies
The incorrect formula on your spreadsheet
A mistreated child's toy; stuffing torn
Silver birch: beautiful tree, deadly roots
An atlas: outdated within a week
Gold sequins on a cheap t-shirt
Phrase, "I wouldn't sneeze at it"
I want to go home now

Angry Puppet's life, summarized in six words:

The sound of one hand clapping.

Bothersome

The man who sits in the cubicle adjacent to Angry Puppet has a deep voice, but a girlish cough. How does that happen?

Lunchtime Regrets

Old Year

So long, 2009! You have been a shi'ite year for Angry Puppet. I think the best fun I had all year was this one weekend when I cleaned my entire fossil collection with a toothbrush and some shoe polish. No, really. That weekend was amazing.

Miraculously, Angry Puppet received an invite to a partay tonight (the invitation specified it was a partay. Awesome). Angry Puppet plans on writing himself off, massively. Angry Puppet does not wish to remember the last few hours of what has been a sub-par decade. If you have ever seen the music video for The Prodigy's insightful meditation on domestic violence, "Smack My Bitch Up", that's how Angry Puppet envisions his NYE will turn out. Rock on everybody. \m/

Note: I am aware I should be wearing 2010 glasses, but obviously that wouldn't work, what with the zeros not being in the middle and all. This disappoints me greatly, the demise of the 00 new years' glasses. 2011 will prove an even greater challenge. I shudder to think about it.

Disillusioned Christmas

Angry Puppet feels angriest at Christmas time. It's the time of year he's most reminded of his current tenancy in an isolated tower of cold and bitter loneliness. Everyone else gets to fang on a massive turkey and wear stupid hats (as is my understanding of Christmas), but not Angry Puppet. I sit at home with my chicken-flavoured pot noodles, my model train-set almanac, and a slug of fortified wine. Boring. Have you ever watched Christmas Day television? It fucking sucks. If I have to sit through Its a Wonderful Life one more time ... ergh. You don't even want to know what I'll do.



Merry Christmas, no such thing.

Angry Childhood - Part II

At fourteen, I lost my virginity to this girl:

It happened the usual way: last school bell of the day had just rung out, so we retreated to the sports shed at the back of the hockey field and did it there. Best seven seconds of my life. She ruled the schoolyard. Her hair smelled like popcorn and Fruity Loops.

Then she ditched me for an introspective douche nozzle named Kevin. Honestly! I've never met a more impertinent, navel-gazing douche in my life. Smugness oozed from every pore on the kid's body. He was forever banging on about the end of his childhood, it was all My First Guitar this and Peace Rally that, blah blah blah, just discovered Dad Has Feelings Too and Mum's a Complex Woman. Oh boy, if I could go back, I'd put an end to his childhood. I'd end his fucking childhood so fast he wouldn't know what hit him. Feel the wrath, Kevin! You lousy, watered-down version of Angry Puppet.

Ugh. Angry Puppet needs to go eat his feelings now. Over & out.

Angry Childhood - Part I

I had an uneasy childhood as the youngest of four incredibly brutish brothers. They tried to quash my gentle, contemplative nature from an early age. I understand now this was partially due to jealously. Anyone can kick a football, or headbutt their way through firewood, or whatever, but very few can weave understated beauty through verse like I can. I also understand now that their ridicule has helped shape me into the man/puppet I am today. People look into my eyes and see rivers running deep. The same could not be said for my eldest brother, Dave:



Yes ladies, he's still single. Don't pounce all at once now!

Blargh.

Whenever Angry Puppet is feeling blue...

...He listens to this song:

Then Angry Puppet thanks his lucky stars his outlook on life isn't so emotionally superficial. Angry Puppet inflicts a gypsy curse upon the fool who green-lighted the release of this song. And to Lesley, the horn section, the camera-man, all those people on the bus: you saw evil being done, and not one of you stepped up to put a stop to it. Shame on you, shame on your families.

Now if you will excuse me, Angry Puppet has his Moroccan cooking class tonight. Over and out.

Katy's Theme

Raven-haired is my dear Katy,

I want take her on a datey

Her make-up's thick and kinda cakey,

Yet when she smiles, my heart goes breaky.

Although she's deep and contemplatey,

Lyrically, her songs aren't weighty

Her hobo boyfriend's rather flakey

I fear her standards may be shaky.

Her clothes inspire in me some hatey

If she were mine, I'd suggest, "Katy,

Ditch those jumpsuits in a lakey,

You're not a child, for goodness' sakey."

I think beneath the glitz and fakey,

A natural beauty lies in wakey

One day our paths will cross; it's fatey

And we'll be married, me and Katy.

by Angry Puppet

Apology

It has come to Angry Puppet's attention that he misspelt sphincter in his previous entry.

Angry Puppet would like to apologise to the Proctological Community at large, and to anyone else who may have been offended or upset by this tremendous oversight.

SORREH.

Oh hai.

So unless you haven't used the internet since 1998, you probably know what a LOLCAT is. If you have not, in fact, used the internet since 1998, there are two things you should know:

1. Geocities is dead. Sorry.

2. These days the internet is used primarily for the creation of LOLCATs, and thus, our majestic masters of the house have been reduced to the butt of everyone's jokes.

Honestly. Everyone knows cats rule supreme. If Angry Puppet were an animal, he'd be a cat: lithe, sophisticated, complex. Not either of the following:

Ugh.

Oh please.

Angry Puppet wants to give a fresh voice to the cats of the internet. No more of this "I can has" bullshit. And so, I sent these to LOLCAT HQ:

LOLCAT HQ haven't gotten back to me yet. This is a revelation, and they ignore. What's wrong LOLCAT HQ? Is it too real? Has Angry Puppet, once again, kept it too real? Of course he has. Story of my life. No good sons of bitches.

Goopy Goop

Y'all. *tips hat*

First up, I'd like to point out how amazing I look in the above photo. Gwyneth thinks I look like a young David Bowie here. I've gotten that a couple of times before -- he's definitely my celebrity doppelganger. So. There you go.

Second up, Gwyneth asked me not so long ago to contribute content to her awesome, awesome, awesome website GOOP. Awesome. G-Pal and I get along like a house on fire. We're both self-styled lifestyle gurus. We both radiate sanctimoniousness. We both know what's good for you. We both enjoy nourishing our inner aspects -- however, where G-Pal nourishes her inner aspect with coconut water, Angry Puppet nourishes his with poetry, and serenading ladies to sleep by playing Frente! songs on his guitar.

As for nourishing the outer aspect, we have no time for it. Fuck the outer aspect. It's lame.

So in this particular newsletter, Gwen invited a couple of deep thinkers (including yours truly) to discuss Pessimism. Enjoy.

Q. I have a friend who sees the world in a pessimistic light. This person is highly suspicious of people and situations, and sees, as well as experiences negativity at most turns. Why is this and what does it mean? What can be done to help someone of this nature?

A. Your friend is a wise person. Only the very highly suspicious survive. Angry Puppet learned to be suspicious a long time ago, and look where he is today: a rigorous blogger, already with 2 (count 'em, 2) followers. He landed himself a sweet job in the public service, pushing data from one Microshite Office program to another with ease and dexterity. Angry Puppet is known as the Data Whisperer in his workplace.

If Angry Puppet had applied "optimism" to his lifestyle and career choices, he'd most likely fail. His life would be one sorry aborted effort after another; failure at every turn. And that is no way to live. Pessimism got Angry Puppet into a very comfortable rut which he has no intention of hoisting himself out of. Things may not be optimum, but they're comfortable. Angry Puppet would rather be a comfortable pessimist than a shit-poor, constantly disappointed optimist.

Optimism is synonymous with getting let down, and describing oneself as a "realist" is a cop-out. Your friend don't need to go a-changing, he's got it sorted. Pessimism rules, everything else drools. The end.