This evening I’ve been making images based on some of my tics. I’ve made models of some common household items that I’ve re-branded:

“Kellogg’s Krispie Cunts.”

“Kellogg’s Righteous Krispies.”

“Kellogg’s Life Krispies.”

“Mild Green Fairy Worm Cum.”

“Pesto, Pesto, Piss.”

It’s been a pretty random day.

I overslept.

“I have a face made of Plasticine and poo.”

Not quite, but my face is very bruised from where I’ve been banging it.

Nobody’s won the election.

I went to work.

I split a bag of concrete over my head.…

The lair was buzzing with activity this evening as we played host to some Bank Holiday fun including a roast dinner, poker and Robocop. Here’s a quick summary of the evening through tics:

“I have a king and an eight.”

“I have a five and a three.”…

Ku Klung Klung might not mean anything to most of you, but there will be a few people reading this who might recognise it as a tune by Red Dragon. The track is apparently about what it sounds like when you have sex with a skinny girl.…

I was on a bus at lunchtime. There were a couple of men near me and we’d all been there for some time. I’d already said, “Sweat like a leopard on speed.” I’d noticed the two men laugh at this and a few other things.…

Recently my tics have started to interfere with my speech in a new way. There are times when I start a sentence and it finishes up as a tic. This can be confusing and frustrating as well as funny.

My friends and family usually know, without having to ask, if something’s a tic or not.…

This morning I overheard a conversation between Fat Sister and a friend of ours who’d stayed the night on the sofa in the living room. He’d heard me screeching and called out to my sister in the kitchen:

Sofa Mate: Are you OK?…

“Think of a number between 4 and 10.”

“Divide it by 10.”

“Rape it up the wall.”

I’m going to share thirty minutes of my day through the reactions I’ve encountered along the way.

3.00pm: I popped to the shops during my lunch break to pick up some plasters to protect the my knuckles from the wear and tear they’re currently suffering from the tic that means that I bang my chest.…

TH: Knock knock.
Leftwing Idiot: Who’s there?
TH: God.
Leftwing Idiot: God who?
TH: Your fucking God of poached eggs.