The Incredible cynicism of Wortel Jones

Deaf Germans who don't know how to pass a security checkpoint in an airport, a shopping experience filled with dread and the coming of winter...fuck if I can get my drum machine working I may have a wonderful day.

Mr. Jones has been about in the streets lately. I will attest to bloody noses and sore o-ring and a certain type of flu that mysteriously hails from Columbia. Yes I have been busy. Don't worry the rear end is not hurting from any post studio 80 action but rather from a changed diet to oatmeal, salad and fruit. I believe I have passed about 4 small children through my o-ring in the past couple of weeks if not a month. 'God! Have you no shame' I scream out the window at my imaginary friend Jesus only to receive a nasty noise from the local scum bags who are smoking joints in front of my house. If I only had a gun. If only I had a gun or a really cool stealth Amazon blow dart kit with a slow acting poison...ah but who gives about the details. 'God lives in the details'.

'Fuck god.'

That aside and another load dropped off in the 'pool' area I tend to the thoughts of my lungs and kidneys and not to mention my liver. Yes. I have been at it again. This time a 27 hour bender with an escaped convict from the prison of advertising and a lost bartender too old for his time. She comes swiftly in the midnight hours miss cold front. She comes tender until the 10th hour. The 11th hour is when you go to the San Francisco, a dive of wanna be dealers, small time big shots and off duty whores. The only reason the Wortel Jones was let past the gates of doom is sheer luck and lack of panic in my eyes. I could have eaten a baby or fucked a nun in that 11th hour. Bless my genetics as well. Harmless. Purely harmless. Some Nigerian 'business' man attempted to borrow my jacket. 'Silly man if you cannot pronounce Marmot then you probably don't own that jacket in your hand.' on of my warrior friends had 2 hours to sober up before taking his 7 year old to swimming lessons and the other, well he stayed up until is 11 hour shift at the bar. It took me an hour to find the Wortel bike in the middle of the street. I lost my seat cover that made me feel as if I was riding on a diaper (a good 5 euros wasted).

But I am digressing again. Where was i? oh yeah. I am remembering my horrid need to restrain myself and not scream "Where the fuck have you been living for the last 7 years?!" Metal detectors will go off if you don't take off or hand over the following items: your watch, your wallet, your belt, your glasses, your keys, your mobile phone, your boots with steel toes.' but unfortunately the gentleman in front of me was deaf. A fucking tour group of deaf Germans. Where? Ireland... how do you argue with someone who sounds like a beached whale when he is jammering at you in broken English. How can one fathom the rage mixed with disquiet knowing full well that 10 pills, 2 tabs of LSD + a host of many flavors of the dread pirate speed were coursing through mr. jone's grey matter making his noodle a finely cooked blend, much like frozen pineapple on caviar.
The man stepped forward.

The man was told to go back to the other side of the metal detector. He took out his keys. He put them down in the tray. He went through again.
The man was told to go back to the other side of the metal detector. He took out his phone (come to think of it, oh yeah SMS). he put it down in the tray. He went through again.
The man was told to go back to the other side of the metal detector. He took off his belt. He put it down in the tray. He went through again.
The man was told to go back to the other side of the metal detector. He took off his boots. he put them in the tray. He went through again.

Ad nauseum... My frothing mouth with white gunk in the corners and my wild sugar glazed eyes met with his. I know now that I am either evil or of another species. Mr. Jones had no sympathy and even now as he writes this a smile comes to his face thinking about a horrible scenario where that man meets a lawn mower... I will spare you the details but I will say that one could make sushi of this poor deaf man.

But the real issue now that I am picking my nose and feeling sneezy after another bump is that we live in a society where freedom is just another word that falls lightly on the table and is dissected. Take off your skin and leave it by the door. They aren't fooling anyone anymore. No matter whom America chooses in a few months, the rest of the world loses. Again.

And no matter how many times I try to change the snare sound it still sounds cheap.

-- Bloody hell, Wortel Jones...you've got some issues don't you? You sound as sour as you look on your picture --

If you want to let Wortel Jones know what you think, spam him to bits! He asked for it.

I want to be a consumer. I want to have that new watch that I saw on the television that I passed on my bike the other day, or was it while I was sitting in the tram idling by as two fat women from Spain babbled on about something that I really could not have given a fuck about.

Yes this is me. Wortel Jones. 


It isn't that I don't have the money (which I don't) but rather I am dead inside. There is not one 'thing' that sits on the tip of my tongue and says 'I need to have you.' In fact I cannot even think about a store I would like to visit right at this moment to buy anything that my heart would desire. I am the death of consumerism. I want to eat. I want to drink but that's about it. Scary.

But let's talk about infinite sums of money and the things that I could do with it. Shall we? Right.

Task one: buy some new clothes for my girlfriend. Simple and easy, that, nothing for me.
Task two: buy out every media outlet owned by Rupert Murdoch and set fire to anything that has the words Fox News on it. Cook dinner on that fire.
Task three: is there anything better than task two?

Will have to think about it, but for right now
I don't see any.

But back to stuff. By stuff I mean those three soft leather bags that the woman out the window is attempting to hang off her handlebars. Three bags, each one as useless as the other, holding god knows what kind of things (mobile phone, lipstick, vibrator?) I bet she could have bought books for 100 children in some war torn shit hole that is in the middle of that huge continent that I have never been to and never want to go to called Africa precisely the same number of Euros she spent on those three bags.

Now I have to mention the 4th bag…yes there is a 4th bag. You are probably not gasping in surprise because you know this person I am looking at. This person could be you! Yes I am an asshole and yes this woman should have thought a bit about the world before she bought three ugly soft leather purses and a plastic bag from H&M that make her look like a middle class Paris Hilton wanna be whore (Paris does give good head-saw the video). But, it is pouring rain on this woman as she rides off down the street and almost gets aced by the number 9 tram as it rattles by Waterlooplein (yes after that place where Napoleon was upended by a miscalculation of a ditch). Useless consumerism is the god of last nights disco and tomorrow's shopping adventure, my anger is world…grammar is not my friend.

And another but yes and then again moment that props up my small and soft brain, I enter my flat and have to step over 4 bags and three pairs of shoes.

How the fuck did I get all this stuff? I suppose I got it before I started working in advertising, before my soul became a bland white greasy powder on a mirror.

Tell Wortel Jones what you think, spam him to bits!