THE OK GUY

Greg’s an Ok guy.
That is, if you like that sort of guy, otherwise he’s quite capable to come across as a major pain in the ass. Why am I so brutally, sadistically frank, I hear you ask… Well, that’s me, I’m afraid, and if you have something to sell that’s better than honesty, I’ll write you a cheque right now. Anyway, back to Greg…
See, Greg wouldn’t have such a hard time coping with life’s little hang-ups
if he were just a tiny bit more confident!

His main problem seems to lie in that vast field where women usually graze.
He desperately wants to jump that fence, and jump the whole shabang as well, for that matter, but he simply can’t.
His confidence legs are just not long enough.
In fact, you could safely state that he almost hasn’t got a leg to stand on.
Tell you what, I’ll get on with the yarn, and then you can blabber your miserable opinion.
Greg has always had a thing about little white socks.
He used to get quite worked up at school cause the girls wore them as part of their uniform.
Every morning, in class, the guy spent 90% of his time looking at girls’ feet and the remaining 10% figuring out a way to score.
Greg had NEVER had a date.
Eighteen years old and virgin in every possible sense of the word.
Bloody Hell, I am longwinded, aren’t I?

Anyway, one fateful Tuesday, yer man’s last ounce of common sense went on holiday and Greg completely lost the plot.
He did something not even geeks with permanent acne and computer screen burnt out eyeballs would do for love or money.
What he did altered his life to such an extent that should you meet him today, you’d probably think me a terrible liar for saying that he’s indeed the same person.
He somehow managed to hide in the school and after everyone had left the building, he made his way to the gym. That was where the girls changed into their uniforms each morning.
After raiding every single locker, he found himself in possession of some 600 pairs of little white socks and a frightening collection of underwear.
Now, he had to get out of the place, of course….
He chose a window at the back of the building, which looked onto the playing fields.
He opened it, careful not to make any noise, and was about to crawl out when a cruelly sharp 2-inch wooden splinter on the window ledge made friends with Greg’s most valuable assets.
Now, what usually happens when someone’s testicles meet a 2-inch splinter is not that difficult to imagine, and our man kept logic alive by means of a ponderous jump onto a row of metal garbage cans and a scream not even Meatloaf could manage.
Dazed by the pain, Greg staggered in the general direction of the basketball pitch, but was almost immediately apprehanded by none other than the headmaster himself.
The latter marched Greg straight to his office where Greg learnt five important things.
• 1. The Headmaster was very, very gay.
• 2. The Headmaster had every intention to prove that to Greg.
• 3. The Headmaster was going to call the police and subsequently expel Greg from school, unless Greg complied with one or two little experiments the Big Cheese had a mind to try out.
• 4. The Headmaster also liked little white socks, but not on girls, really…
• 5.The Headmaster was actually a very reasonable person, when things went exactly his way.
By the time our guy had grasped the value of Item Number 5, he had become an OK Guy.
By becoming the Headmaster’s steady boyfriend, Greg earned rights to a much improved lifestyle, as well as excellent academic grades.
Ok, he lost the cherry. So what? He drives a BMW and has enough pocket money to go to Cuba.
I must say, he’s still extremely shy around anyone belonging to the opposite sex, and every now and then he seems to walk a bit funny, but heck…. he’s an OK Guy in every gay club on the South Coast, and that proves you that there’s still hope for anyone, no matter how ugly!
The point is quite simple, really. Try hard enough and you’ll get somewhere.
You don’t have to bend over backward to get from A to B… forwards will do.

PIGS FLY

Yes, they most definitely do, and there’s zip all you can do to convince me otherwise.

Come to think of it, you shouldn’t attempt to convince me at all.
See, I’m a sensitive soul, who takes umbrage easily, and God only knows what I would do if you picked an argument with me on this one.
You may, on the other hand, try to understand the nature of my statement.
How? I sense you ask…
Simple.

Given the notion that there is usually a damn good reason for just about anything, it may perhaps spring to your clouded mind to investigate the roots of the matter first.
If done correctly, this course of action may well produce surprising results.
You never know. But, I repeat, it must be done correctly.
Well, how then?
All right.
Let’s start with the basics.
I’ll set up a little scenario to help you grasp matters more easily, ok?
To start with, I’ll give us both names.
Let’s see… I’ll be MARTIN!
Yes, that’s good, ‘cause it’s not too fancy and not too common either.
Unless, of course, you’re from East Sussex, where Martins are fifty to a penny.
You won’t believe how many bleeding Martins I know down there.
One day I might introduce you to a few of them and then you’ll understand what it’s like to be confused.
Anyway, I’m Martin too, now.
I’ll call you… Trevor.
And we’ll assume that you’re from South London.
Camberwell maybe, or Peckham, if you like. You choose.

Ok… Hello Trevor.

At this point you say ‘hello’ back (because it’s the polite thing to do) and then sit back patiently, so I can explain to you what’s going to happen next.
I’m going to write a dialog between you and me.

You read it, then think a bit, and if you’re not a complete dodo you might see the light.
Not a big, huge, piss off neon light.
Perhaps not even a 40 watts light bulb, but at least you won’t feel as if you’re in a coal cellar with a balaclava on the wrong way round.
Ok, ready? Here we go.

Martin – PIGS FLY!
Trevor – Begging your pardon, sir… I didn’t quite catch that. Could you please repeat?
Martin – Pigs fly.
Trevor – I see…. Really?
Martin – They do.
Trevor – That’s interesting.
Martin – Is it?
Trevor – Well, it is…. I suppose…
Martin – Why?
Trevor – Er…. Dunno, really.
Martin – You don’t know? Do you usually say things for no reason?
Trevor – No, really…. Well, I just said it was an interesting concept ….I don’t know. I think I made a mistake….
Martin – A mistake? What mistake?
Trevor – No, really. I was just being polite.
Martin – So if I were to tell you that you were a brainless git you’d be telling me that it was an interesting fact just because it’s polite to acknowledge a statement, right?
Trevor – Well… I don’t know about that…
Martin – Let’s try! You’re a BRAINLESS GIT
Trevor – Pardon?
Martin – You’ve heard. You’re a brainless git.
Trevor – Why?
Martin – Because I think you are.
Trevor – That’s not a nice thing to say!
Martin – Nevertheless, it is my honest opinion. Come to think of it,I also happen to believe that you are an utter imbecile, acomplete fool, the champion of moronity.
Trevor – I say! That’s very RUDE! How can you be so rude to me? I did nothing!
Martin – Exactly! You did bugger all to question my statement and focused on feeling sorry for yourself instead.
Trevor – I did?
Martin – You did.
Trevor – But you started on me!
Martin – Did I? When?
Trevor – When I told you that the notion of pigs flying was interesting.
Martin – Interesting to whom?
Trevor – To me, of course!
Martin – Who gives a damn about you?

At this point, Trevor (that’s you) takes a hyper jump to Coventry and sits on a lonely bench to ponder about the unfairness of life.
He ponders and ponders, until all aspects of his ridiculous existence have been thoroughly out-pondered. Then he completely breaks down.
He screams dementedly at the top of his voice, searching for the most vitriolic insults.
He doesn’t care about the throng of people that, attracted by the sudden noise have gathered in a curious circle around him.
He doesn’t see them, actually.

All he can see is thousands of pigs, streaking across the sky, doing cartwheels just above the cathedral.
And all he can hear is Martin’s voice – calm, collected and painfully clear.
“Told you so…..”