We name this baby Sensational

Eye went up to Buckingham Palace quite by chance the same day the new Prince's name was revealed and the hysteria was thick in the air (or maybe the humidity being at 55% has played tricks on my memory).

I love the Royal Family - I love that they are antiquated; that they are essentially only symbolic; I love they're kryos nurture to the nation; and the good word they do as ambassadors and figure heads; I love that people from far and wide know them and come to see them. I am very proud of our Royal Family, but is this particular news feed not a little fatuous? For everybody involved - watching and filming - simply waiting to hear a name?

We all suspected it would be George,  and let's face it if you want unusual and interesting names your better off looking south to Africa - but that would cause a conflict of interest: because all these news crews hunger for is the stupid name of a very particular person. If they went to Africa the news crews would get caught up in all kinds of ungodly mess. Yes: death, civil war, rape, child soldiers, genital mutilation - from east to west ante-Christian cultures dealing with a post Christian corruption.

What is more important though? Take a look at the bigger picture and remember the responsibility the media has to report fair, just, relevant and informative information...what?! The baby has Louis as a middle name?! Woooo!! Nelson who?

Dear Louie. A letter to Louie C K

Dear Louie,

I have an anecdotal allegory that hit my mind and body simultaneously so hard the result was that I had a heart attack. This is how the story goes:

I was sitting in my room in a greatly chilled state of mind and I got to thinking about my day job: I work at a Nursery where we grow herbs. We sell loads! We’re herb dealers. Put that Mary Jane down son, throw that stuff away and pick up some RoseMaray. A thousand unit’s of Basil? Flip that. Ten thousand Chives? Done.

I started to think about the wastage – roughly 10% is grown and then thrown away...Due to it being too high, or whatever. All at once the word’s struck me, and the ‘Bit’ evolved:

So there’s this guy at work, Mikey - If this were Snow White he would be Dopey, and that’s for lack of mentioning his twin: Dumb Ass. One day Mikey came into work, and to the trained eye he was pretty drunk - I mean he smelt like Oliver Reed’s toothbrush did, and does now wherever it may be. This detail went unnoticed by our Manager and he set Mikey the - already in normal circumstances challenging - task of noting and throwing away 10,000 pot’s of Mint.

Well, Mikey got at it as best he could - feeling like he did and being how he is. Where the whole card house came tumbling down was because he also had to note every individual pot he threw into the compost heap: He was throwing two in and getting distracted, and not noting them, and then half realising, and then losing his pen – one time to the compost heap along with a handful of mint – and this went on...What I am trying to say is that he was trying to COMPOST MINT TOSS (!!!Compos Mentis!!!!)  but he couldn’t because he was so shit face drunk!!

Well that’s it for the story, but yet there’s still more!

When this came to me it creased me so hard inside it all got too much. Because what I was doing when I had this thought, was what I am usually doing when I have most Eureka moments – giving my man turkey the old hand jive. This sudden dual responsibility my mind had self inflicted on itself, of trying to process both deeply involved tasks at once was too much – and boom.

Next thing I knew I was in hospital and my first thought was recalling my last thought, as I hit the deck grabbing my neck and my ‘turkey neck’ equally hard: and that was You - not in a gay way but to tell you this little thing that did so much. I guess it’s actually a double whammy - an anecdotal allegory, inside an anecdotal allegory, and the message is: ‘Never strain yourself by tossing too hard if your either A: Drunk, or B: Stoned, because you’ll do yourself a mischief’

If this by any chance gets to you I’d love to hear what you think.

Regards, Louis. G. W.

England.

(N. B, - Fiction)