So, my piece about writing out The Great Gatsby has been filed and pronounced ‘great.’ I’ve just written the fourth of my weekly poker columns and they’ve been described as ‘the best thing on the site.’ My book is being written and it’s going swimmingly. I’m not as homeless as I used to be. My face doesn’t need combing as much as it once did. My drinking has plateaued and the amount of alcohol I consume at the moment (still lots) appears to be doing wonders for body and mind.
You know what this means, don’t you? It means that everything is going to fuck up soon. Or does it? Perhaps if I preempt it it will. My whole Pitching the World life to date has been taped together by me saying, “Things are good, now watch me go and flap them up” and then invariably going and flapping them up. You could say it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy. Or you could say that my life is generally shambolic and inky and determined to do me in no matter what I predict or don’t predict. Who knows? But we’ve had enough now, haven’t we, of all that “Hahaha, I’m going to balls my life up.” Haven’t we? Haven’t we (and this is the royal we here, not you. You’re not complicit in this. You’re rather fetching, in fact. I like you) grown a bit tired of all that caper?
So watch me not fuck things up for a bit. Or, perhaps, watch me fuck things up to such an extent that it renders this particularly slender post the most prescient and banana-minded thing I’ve ever written.
Do you want to see a picture of a banana? Or a bunch of the things? Of course you do.
A sort of banana orgy, earlier.
Pitching the World 