Well I’m at work, sat at my desk, working. Apparently. In fact I’m not sure what I’m doing because I’ve decided to let my subconscious mind take over; which as I’m sure you can appreciate is a risky maneuver. I think that such a maneuver, along with a lot of the other risky maneuvers I perform, should require a licence.

Imagine if, just like a driving test – you had to take a test for life. If I was as successful with life tests as I am driving tests, then I’d be fine and pass first time. Well, until I bugger everything up and end up failing at life four times over.

I am also strongly in the belief that mud should be marketed as a nutritious diet alternative to kangaroo poo. Plants don’t seem to mind either, but the great thing about mud is that given the right weather conditions it can smell quite nice. Kangaroo poo wouldn’t, and if a kangaroo noticed you bending over to take a sniff of its poo, followed by a quick lick, a bite and some swallowedge, then I wouldn’t be surprised if the kangaroo kicked your ass. And then jumped on your head. Repeatedly. Until you cried out “Mother!”

What if mother’s weren’t allowed to give birth? If they get pregnant but can’t give birth then they’ll never be able to be mothers, so does that mean that they’ll cease to exist? But it gets you thinking doesn’t it? Like take the dodo for instance… is it possible that the leader of the dodos decided to stop every female dodo from giving birth, slaughtering all the ones that were already pregnant, and forced the male dodos to give up Shloer?

No wonder they went extinct.

I reckon that ‘Extinctification’ would be a great name for a game where the object is to eradicate the life of different species, making them completely extinct. You start off with weapons such as pencil sharpeners and plastic spoons, and work your way up to thermonuclear warheads and STD-infected nymphomaniac worshipers (branded with your own choice of bio-engineered fast-acting STD) as a way of wiping out an entire species. You can even own a pet dog and train it to do tricks.

But what I really hate are paper cuts. Thankfully my sheer hatred of them has scared them away and I don’t recall having one since college, though I might be wrong as my subconscious mind doesn’t always remember to keep me up-to-date with such manners – which is possibly why I overslept yesterday making me over 7 hours late for work; bastard subconscious forgot to tell me the time…

What do you call your subconscious and in what ways has it buggered up your life lately? Oops, gotta go – my subconscious is coming back over and I don’t want him to read what I’ve written – shhhh!