Imagine there is a field with eighty bones in it. A hundred dogs are sent out to get those bones. Most dogs go away happy, most dogs get a bone – some may even get two. The unhappy dogs are the ones that aren’t very good at sniffing out and digging up bones: if there had been a hundred bones in the field they still would have struggled. Poor bastards.
Now, imagine that instead of eighty bones in the field there are just twenty. And instead of there being a hundred dogs, there are two hundred. Starts to become a problem, doesn’t it? And not only that, but there are more dogs on the way. Dogs that have been studying bone collecting at university for three years. Fresh, hungry dogs that haven’t spent the last six years bone hunting. Dogs that are finishing up their NCTJs.
At one point I thought I was going to become King Bonehunter. Now I’m not so sure. Now I sit at the side of the field with the slugs smoking roll-ups and I think, You know what, these bones can go fuck themselves.
A bone, earlier.
Later, I go to see my GP.
“This may sound unusual,” I tell him, “but for the last fourteen months I’ve had the sound of an air-conditioning unit in my head.”
“That doesn’t sound unusual at all,” he says, as if every other person who comes in here is half-man half-air-conditioning unit.
“Really? Because it feels unusual saying it.”
I’m not sure my doctor is a doctor; he looks more like a cleaner.
“I think it could be stress-related,” I say, wanting to tell him about the bones.
“Are you under much stress at the moment?”
“Yes.”
“It could be stress-related.”
Wow, I think, he’s good. No wonder he’s got so many bones. He’s probably got bones coming out of his ears.
“You’ve probably got bones coming out of your ears,” I say.
“Sorry?”
“I said: YOU’VE PROBABLY GOT BONES COMING OUT OF YOUR EARS.”
“Have you thought about cognitive behavioural therapy?” He asks me later.
“Yes. In fact, you referred me to a cognitive behavioural therapist a few years ago.”
“And how did you find it?”
“It was excellent.”
“Well, take this leaflet…”
I take the cloying, over-friendly leaflet and begin to stumble out.
“The toilets could do with a mop,” I say, and I’m gone.
An ear bone, earlier.
Later I decide (not for the first time) to take to my bed. I’ll stay in bed forever, I think. No-one can stop me, I think. And if someone did try to stop me then they would probably try and help me too. That would be good. I’m buoyed until I realise that I don’t have a bed. Homelessness is not as glamorous as you might think.
At night I walk around in the rain with my shirt off drinking whisky. The slugs are illuminated by artificial light against the brilliant white wall. I swig whisky in the rain with my shirt off. The slugs are oily and black and sinister and marvellous.
“Hi again slugs,” I say. “I’m ready to join you now.”
“MMMMURRRGGGHHHHH,” go the slugs.
“That’s right. I’m going to get all oily and black and sinister and marvellous and bed down with you. I’ve got a sleeping bag that I’m going to dip in tar. Won’t that be something?”
“MMMMM” go the slugs.
“And you will call me King Slug.”
“You can’t be King Slug,” says one. “He’s King Slug.”
He gestures to King Slug.
“Oh yes, of course. Well, I’ll just be a slug. An ordinary slug.”
“MMMMURRRGGGHHHHH,” go the slugs.
And off I go to search for that leaflet.
A slug, earlier
Pitching the World 
Yes. Yes yes yes. Fucking bones. Fucking fucking fucking bones. And don’t even talk to me about those pompous fucktard slugs. Good luck with the breakdown.
Slug Racer
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Oh, the breakdown is going splendidly thanks. You heard about the slugs, yes? Good. And the bones – the fucking bones? I’m sort of repeating your comment, but you sort of repeated my post so we’re square. But I’m reading your soon-to-be-published (on kindle) novel so you owe me one. Once I’ve read it. Which I definitely will.
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Wow! Massively worth the wait!
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Is that sarcasm L? I honestly can’t tell anymore. Let’s hope it isn’t. I miss you.
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Don’t be a dick! I miss you too xx
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Nice to hear from you again. Don’t forget my double book order!
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You too, Julie. And I haven’t – the book is being furiously (languidly) written as we speak.
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I enjoyed that
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I’m glad you did Dan. Thank you.
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PTW! so lovely to hear an update. Bone Slugs ‘n’ Therapy. I like it. Good luck. CB xx
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CB! The other day I was thinking about coming over to Texas. I won’t, of course, but I was thinking about it. At least I did that. X
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Good to know you’re still with us. If you weren’t with us, you’d be against us. And that’s not much chop.
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You’re quite right Chloe, if I wasn’t I would be. Did you mean chop? Or cop? Or chip?
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Yep pitchboy, I get it. Slug – a snail without a house. Very droll
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Um, yes, that’s EXACTLY what I was doing oldbloke. You see? See what you get around here? Layers.
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We get tiger slugs out here, they kick ass. Fucked up my hostas. Bastards.
Relieved that you are still present among us. Listen to Dr Mya – I prescribe a whole month in bed – July is hugely overrated.
Take care.
Mya x
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I hope I haven’t just been really insensitive. You have really got a bed, haven’t you?
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Thanks Dr Mya. Occasionally I have a bed, and if I had a full-time bed I would certainly convalesce in it for July. And August. Sorry to hear about your fucked-up hostas.
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Bone slugs n harmony.
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Yes Hugh! Except for the harmony, of course.
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pIUlwi9i0VE ??
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Gangsta Gangsata – did I spell that right? da aint no bones you cant get – fuk dem labs, mutz – yu 2 keewl 4 skewl,
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One of my all time fav songs is Bomfunk mc ‘Freestyler’ so I have beeen inspired to write a book about an olympiad swimmer – yet none of them will reply to my emails, fucking chlorine – obvioulsy affects their brains.
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Thanks Marge, I would love to write something in reply to your comments and I’m trying – I really am – but nothing’s coming. Nothing. It will though, and when it does you’ll be the first to know.
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It’s ok, I fully understand, I just re read them and turned my head away in disgust. I love Bones vs. Slugs, however. It is now in my top 5 x
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I’ve read this three times now over the last few days and it’s got better every time. Update more often. Or write a book. Yes. Write a book about you. Or, do what some internet funnyists do and compile your site, while adding a few new ones in so you can slap a huge ‘with unread material’ sticker on it. Then, you could pay people to fetch you bones.
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Whoa, just remembered you are writing a PTW book. And when I say remembered, I mearetreatad old posts and remembered I’d probably once read about it whilst drunk.
Hope it’s going well!
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I AM writing a PTW book, Rich Tea, and I WAS planning on just collating a load of these whimsical-fake-self-deprecating-bullshit posts and putting on the cover “With Added College Dog!”. Still might, in fact. You’ll buy a copy won’t you?
Also, the first line of your first comment cheered me up considerably. Ta.
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Coo, good to see you’re still with us m’boy. I’ve been wondering about you. After that last post, though, I’m now wondering about you even more…
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Imagine how I feel, Cath. With the wondering, I mean. Still, good to see YOU’RE still with US. Jesus, what’s with the capitals today? Anyone know?
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Still the best blog around
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Dick!
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Danny Wallace has more talent than you!
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If you don’t post more, these attacks will become more and more savage!
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You smell like a moldy apple
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Now you’ve gone too far.Internet protocol says I have to vehemently disagree with you and call you a name my mother would disapprove of.
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Your face looks like someone turned a tennis ball inside out and shit in it
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George Galloway wouldn’t have to wait for you to fall asleep before inserting something in you, you massive, massive bumder!
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L, you’re a right fucking charmer aren’t you?
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Nope
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Meg Ryan called, she wants her face back!
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Where are you Pitchy? Don’t take L’s top quality insults lying down.
x
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It’s nearly the afternoon so he’s definitely lying down, the shit.
A man goes to the doctor
“Doctor, I don’t know what’s wrong with me, my penis has shriveled up to the size of a pea”
“Ahh, son, it looks like you have pitchitis”
“How did it get that name?”
“After some dickhead who thought he could pitch the world”
“What a twat”
“Tell me about it”
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Does anyone have a dart gun?
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L, does being a foaming bell-end come to you easily or has this level of foaming bell-endishness taken practice?
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Since birth
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This is all your fault pitchy, my mind has fucked off without you!
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Twat
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You win, I give up
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