Tag: Humour

“They Didn’t Travel All That Way For That” (A Poem)

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by Martin Anton Smith

They all have jet boats.

They all have Jet Skis

And Dogs,

Sometimes two of them,

Often aggressive & all off-leash.

They all have a Mrs or a Mr literally within reach,

Who is their metaphorical Siamese twin.

They all can’t bear the insanity brought on by sitting alone with their own minds.

They reproduce so easily & make exact mini copies of themselves.

They are banal & their copies are banal.

They don’t read books at all.

They avoid anything involving a call to a higher self.

In fact, they actively rally against it.

They are the reason the authorities keep schtum about the truth of alien life.

While there are many more billions of them than us,

With that kind of man,

Mankind is definitely not ready yet.

And neither are ‘The Off-Worlders’.

They didn’t travel all that way for that.

“A Miner’s Bath” (A Poem)

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By Martin Anton Smith

So today I was doing a manly manly thing.

I was working with on a bathroom renovation.

And in these situations you must make the most of it.

When you pull off a sheet of Gib aka Dry Wall – you roar like an angry lion.

When you pull off a noggin – you roar.

When you pull out a tack – you roar.

When you sweep up some construction dust – you roar.

These are the pathetic things us men now have to do.

It makes us for a split second think that we haven’t lost our masculinity entirely.

And so when the days work was done – I figured I’d keep the theme going.

I decided I’d go have a ‘miners bath’ – that is to jump into n the river with a bar of soap.

So I walked my 300 meters to the mighty blue river.

I jumped in with all my clothes on – even a old timer wide brim hat.

The soap was in the pocket, out it came & I washed my hair and then a quick once over the rest.

It was just what the old gold miners did in ‘thems old days’.

Back when masculinity wasn’t a dirty word – it was a requirement of all men.

I was almost in the same bathwater from the miners of 1860 to 1890.

The water was quite warm & then my big bar of soap fell out & sank on the bottom.

I bet this was also an old miners tradition – to lose your soap in the river.

My nostalgia was ruined when a guy came along talked to me & then made a cell phone call while he was knee deep.

I will definitely be taking more ‘miners baths’ in the future.

it affords a simple pleasure in a time without much simplicity or genuine pleasure.


These things stave off the spectre of domestic insanity at least until the next day.

I could have “roared” when I was in the water, but then that would have been sophomore-ish at best.

I simply got out & said to the guy “don’t drop your phone”.

Ahh miners bath is a thing a beauty.

I walked back home with the gait & energy of a seargeant major from a real army.

Yes readers, my Masculinity was internally roaring along like a Baritone Beast, a Harley Davidson.

But then perhaps I should shut up – else everyone will be having ‘miners baths’.

And forever ruin my slim to none chances of grabbing some pure solitude.

But then Ned Kelly was right – “such is life”.

We’re not here to ‘win’.

A true masculine man will know this innately.

And now that word, like the modern man himself – has lost all meaning.

Thank God I’m here to write about it all!

Tomorrow I could search for the bar of soap at the bottom of the river.

But why would I?

It’s either lost forever, far too soft or will have entirely disintegrated into its watery surroundings.

Just like Men have.




“Aliens & Us: Are we Their Pets, Livestock, or Is Earth Just A Joint For The Cosmically Depressed ” (An Article of Whimsy)

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By Martin Anton Smith

A truly intelligent & cultured person or being for that matter, who has long conquered themselves, doesn’t invite a Stone Age barbarian to live with him or live amongst them freely. To do so would invite serious harm and would refute the premise that they have attained high wisdom & self control as individuals, a group or society or even perhaps as an extra-terrestrial species.

Well – it’s the same thing with the Aliens & Us thing. And yes it is a ‘thing’ unless you’ve been living under a nice upper middle class rock in a highly manicured garden a far too leafy green suburb. And anyway perhaps one day even the snobs on the hills of the world will have to look reality squarely in its big sloping almond shaped eyes. One day.

But back to what I said earlier – about smart things or beings not ever hanging with Neanderthals.

Well it’s time to admit that that’s not strictly true – said man or woman or being might do as such for probably only a couple of main reasons: They have become totally abjectly bored and want to risk being beaten up, killed or raped, or maybe just have their living rooms destroyed or to witness a beast do other generically beast-like things, such as snort, growl relieve themselves etc.

Yes, Perhaps we could be a dumping ground for bored and/or depressed Aliens. Maybe Earth could be some kind of “last hurrah” for some extra terrestrials on their way out either spiritually or physically. Maybe Earth is a “Death Pod”.

The other reason is we are their ‘livestock’ and they are feeding off us somehow , perhaps it’s an indirect such as carbon dioxide capture or bad psychic energy harvesting or maybe a direct culling of a few beasts here & there, with an occasional ‘mass cull’. Maybe ww2 or the Spanish Flu was one of these ‘mass culls’. You never know.

Another third more simple idea is that we are their pets – they harvest mostly just good feelings from us, & they agree to feed us, keep us safe from ourselves and from outside threats. Maybe that’s why there’s been no asteroid big enough to wipe us out for 65 Million years – they look out for those things & change there trajectory so they miss. Or maybe they vaporise them with a giant mega-lazer gun.

So to recap: it’s either Assisted Suicide/On a Bender/Last hurrah for them, OR we are either their livestock OR more fortuitously, their cute fuzzy little Pets. Ok most of us have faced for radio – but perhaps they’ll think that’s cute. You might hear them say of the ugliest of us:

”Look at my cute George Soros, look at his wrinkles….oh and little Hillary Clinton has just started tapping her foot & is asking for her biscuits…..oh wait shit…look over there, my Whoopi Goldberg just did a Woopsie on my fine Arcturian rug!”


Oh and you might think that I’ve made a big error by implying that they may have have invited us into their living rooms – well let me explain. If they were here long before us, long before we split from the chimps, & it was they that biologically engineered us to be us – then isn’t that that effectively what has happened? Philosophy haven’t we been invited into their homes?

You could call it the “They were here first & we owe it all them thesis”. They might just be popping out of their multi-millennia-old sea base in the Pacific or the Atlantic or from under the ice in Antarctica. This is of course a very popular UFO theory amongst us tin foil hat wearers around the world.

Now let’s return to the other theories – The we are their Livestock theory & We are their Pets theory.

So if we are their livestock or pets then we will no doubt be able to live as we have been, or should I say “as they have allowed us to live”.

I guess this stupid planet would like that just fine, because (if you’ve noticed) most people are happy to be rough diamonds at best and walking disasters at worst. Under the “Pet theory” the Aliens would occasionally pet us or they scoop up our negative vibes as snacks. But they will always feed us & keep us safe-a classic win-win for all of us involved!

But the most interesting theory of the three is that they are bored slash depressed beyond belief & as a last gasp reprieve from the darkness, are up for some high risk & adventure. This theory would naturally mean they “walk amongst us” already …and as their boredom is relieved by excitement the higher then are their expectations and willingness are for ever more amplified risk-tasking behaviour.

At that point they will want to work with us live with us live with us, be weird friends with us, party with us, Hell they may want to marry us or even fool around with us. Intergalactic shagging – the stuff James T. Kirk was obsessed by. Who knows, on this matter maybe Roddenberry’s words may breath themselves into fire. The sixties were definitely open minded.

Maybe they’ll go on benders with us. Hell maybe they will be like “Alien Bukowski’s” & we will be their “Alien Bukowski Floozies” – well go on benders with them in dive bars & then retreat with them to our flop-houses to get rest till we do the same thing tomorrow.

That behaviour would of course lead to many alien suicides. Under my theory this is what many of them must secretly want – they have lost their will to live, and have reached their limits of their sanity. So if so, why not throw yourself into the Gorilla cage called Earth – it might perk you up a bit.

We would like that self serving option Vs to be pets or livestock, which of course we may already be.

Humans after all if anything, selfish. And the Alien suicide slash on a bender theory , we don’t need to look at ourselves in the mirror. Our natural state of being.

Just a theory, mind.

Outside that prime theory, I guess the next best one is to be ‘Pets’. Being a pet of an alien is much better than the ‘livestock’ option. Then they’ll love us more than their own.

But could we handle that? I’m not sure we could. It’s gonna mess with our minds too much. After all we only like those that agree with our worldview, no matter how twisted & unhealthy that is.

That’s how caveman-like we humans still are. Even our ‘Ivory Tower Professors’ that pretend they are intellectually holier than thou & ultra sophisticated – they act like cavemen too whenever someone points out a hole in one of their theories – the toys come out of the cot & the club comes down via the cloak of their sharp sabre toothed silver tongues.

No matter what happens, a real life Alien Arrival or not, there is no escaping ourselves – under both scenarios we are still stuck with having to put up with each other, caveman to caveman, inmate to inmate.

If we are lucky they will be just boozy depressed Aliens on a one way farewell mission that will lessen their cosmic depression. In which case this means they will have already been here for a long time & people like me have long got roaring drunk with them at shitty bars, under the misconception that they are just fellow human lonely depressed drunkards. When in fact they are Extra-Terrestrial lonely depressed drunkards. Seriously – wouldn’t that be cool?

I only hope that on one glorious day while both humans & aliens are slamming down cheap pints, they will be able to take off their “human costumes” & we won’t lose our shit. Then something like the alien bar scene in Star Wars can play out – losers from all over the universe living in a grimy, weird & twisted paradise!

When that amazing day happens, I’ll be there on a bar stool telling over the top Earth based ‘life war stories’ no doubt to an argumentative & bored, but also very hilarious Pleiadian drunk (or Alpha Centurian or a Trappist for that matter).

They’ll no doubt always have their elephant trunk like mouths sunk deep in a glass of specially brewed for aliens – ‘Galactic Guinness’. Maybe most of them too will have have had shit jobs & batshit crazy wives or girlfriends, husbands & boyfriends, neighbours, landlords, bosses & workmates to full them up with great hard luck bar stories too.

Yes the biggest surprise of all might be that they are a lot more like us than we think possible. But then we shouldn’t be too surprised about that – after all a slave or a slave boss from antiquity would, after they got over the shock of it all, probably be right
at home. I mean apart from technology, nothings really changed has it? Maybe that’s the same with them. Maybe Aliens are just as happy throwing their shit at each other just like us.

Maybe paradoxically ‘throwing shit at each other’ is just an important factor for intelligent life as is opposable thumbs or carbon or a big brain. Maybe we all need conflict, drama & some batshit crazy just to keep us on this side of sanity? After all, the comfortable rich folk at the country clubs are some of the most unhappiest assholes out there of all.

I rest my case dear reader.

THE END




“Two Slaves Predict The Future” (Poem or Play/Skit)

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By Martin Anton Smith

Two slaves of equal rank were on their work ‘tea break’.

Their names were Ramthess & Putenalmen.

The year was three thousand BC.

The place was ancient Egypt.

Their conversation went like this:

“Can you pass the leather strap, dear Ramthess”.

“Sure my friend Putenalmen – why not? – I’ve had a good gnaw of it”.

“Ah if I close my eyes & think of a camel it almost tastes good”.

“You know what? – that’s just what I was thinking before I handed it to you”.

” Ah Putenalman, you know what they say don’t you?”

“What’s that?”

“Great slaves think alike”

“Do they? Well makes sense – I mean how else could we all build these Piramids?”

“That’s True Putenalman And do you also know what?”

“What my dear Ramthess?”

“One day in the distant future, slaves like us will be their own Slave-masters & trade themselves to each other.”

“No No No! …But why would a Slave agree to enslave themselves”?

“Well my dear Putenalmen, in the future they will have a system called ‘The First Fifteen Years’.”

“Yes I am listening my good man Ramthess- go on”

“This thing called ‘The First Fifteen Years’ will be a giant encampment for all children pre-ordained to be slaves.”

“Sounds terrible Ramthess! Now let’s stop being so formal lets go by our knicknames: You ‘Ram’, me ‘Put’.”

“Yes agreed – don’t worry Put – it the story gets worse! Now at this camp their are Pharoah agents who are a special kind of Slave who act as an agent of the Pharoah – they will be called ‘teachers’ – it will be their jobs to over a fifteen year period brainwash these children to be both their own slaves & slavemasters.”

“Oh but that’s diabolicle Ram! The deception of it! Just think – that would mean the Slaves would never mount a mutiny! We Slaves keep our sanity only by dreaming of mutuny so we can escape, but if we are our own Slavemasters, how will we ever agree to let ourselves be mutineers?”

“Exactly dear Put – now you see why the Pharoah’s will do this – after all there have been 94 succesful Slave mutiny’s in Egypt just this last five years! They cannot let this behaviour stand, or soon the Pharoah’s magnificent empire will one day crumble into the sands of the great desert!”

“Well, yes Ram, it does make sense – but I don’t think they’ll ever be able to pull that off”

“Why do you say that, Put?”

“Well surely us Slaves will never be stupid enough to agree to put our children into those ‘First Fifteen Years Camps” – I mean we’d have to be insane to agree to that! Yes we Slaves are tired, yes we are downtrodden, Yes we are poor….but we are not stupid!”

“Well my dear Put do you remember that time you were afraid every second of the day because the the Slave-beater said he’d beat you some time over the next month, but wouldn’t tell you exactly when.”

“Yes ram – that was horrible – my mind was scrambled becasue of the constant fear I was in.”

“And do you remember that during that month you agreed to run around naked pretending to be a camel, just for your fellow slaves enjoyment?”

“Yes, I am ashamed to say that I did that silly thing that whole month long – as I said Ram, I did it because the Slave-beater had gotten into my mind!”

“So now you see that what I said is true. From a deep sense of fear, you agreed to do something you’d never do normally. If you were in fear every day for fifteen years straight, from when you were a tiny child right up to the start of adulthood – just imagine how more rediculous you would behave! This is what will happen in the future, Put.”

“I agree Ram, you are very wise, I think this will indeed happen in the future. I am glad we live now & not the future – at least we today can rightly dream of our own small slave mutiny, that might one day soon happen & set us free.”

“Yes Put, I wouldn’t want to live in a future like that either – now what kind of mutuny do you think we should have?”

“Well Ram, bloody, succesful & soon is always nice”.

“Touche, Put – touche”

End

“The Rise Of The Droid Bosses” ( A Skit,Play or Poem)

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By Martin Anton Smith

“I’m sorry but we’ll have to let you go”

“Why, what did I do”

“Nothing – that’s the problem”

“But we Humans have been getting away with doing nothing in offices since, well, since I don’t know when”

“Sorry, but we now are allowed to reduce our ‘Human DEI’ quotient from 50% to 35% – we’re letting the worst ones like you go first”

“I thought you Droid’s were supposed to pretend to be nice?”

“Well, that’s another thing we don’t have to do anymore “

“Geez, what’s the world came to, we humans are becoming obsolete – we’ve become outmoded like the Horse & Cart!”

“Well, that’s where you’re in luck – theirs new jobs going in the “man & cart” industry taking us droids around the city to our battery-recharge luncheons”

“I wouldn’t sink so low”

“Come on, us Droids know guys like you’ll cave!”

“Damn you Droids! Ever since GPT27 was installed in your CPU I’ve never had a chance to put one over you metal-heads”

“Hey, we all have to accept our destiny”

“Fair enough – but I hope there’s some perks to this “Man & Cart” job I’m gonna do soon”

“Of course – you’ll get all the oats you can eat, & you can sleep in the cart during downtime”

“Deal!”

“Why didn’t you negotiate”

“Well, given the power differential between us Humans & you Droids – I thought I’d better not push back, less you accuse me of looking a gift horse in the mouth & then get angry & withdraw the job offer”.

“But we Droids can’t get angry if we wanted to – we only simulate Human emotions so you monkey-brainers don’t get jealous”

“I’m starting to think you were right in firing me & demoting me to be a ‘Man & Cart’.

“We don’t make mistakes.”

“Oh well, we Humans had it good for a while – such is life!”

“I’m glad you’re seeing the light so soon. This is why we initially hired you – you had a special kind of spinelessness that was useful in the corporate environment.

“Thankyou Droid Master! I come from a long line of spineless lazy office dwellers – right back to the Dickensian London era.”

“And now you’ll still be able to celebrate that culture with the ‘man-cart’ job”.

“Wow! – what a time to be alive!”

“Yes – I think you’ll find We Droids are tough but fair on you Humans. Now is there any more before I send you on your way?”

“Well can I ask that my Oats at least be ‘Rolled Oats’.

“I’m sorry but you’ll have to roll your own, budget won’t stretch that far”.

“So, I guess asking them to be toasted is out of the question too?”

“Sorry, but the contract I’m preparing for you has only provision for ‘untoasted but still warm unrolled oats”.

“May I ask how the Oats will be warmed?”

“Well, you’ll be provided a Cat for dual reasons – for company & to warm your bag of oats”

“Oh Master! You’ve thought of EVERYTHING!”

“Carry on like that Human & I might give you two cats! Meowww!”

“Wow – did you just did an impression of a Cat!”

“I’d better not boast, it’s human-like & very un-becoming”

“Well Droid master, I’m pretty sure you’ve already ‘become something anyway!.”

“Oh, my dear Human! That’s quite wise! – Two Cat’s it is! Now sign here with an ‘X’ & everything will be ok”

Narrator: The Human signs with an ‘X’ & the Droid passes him over the desk a copy of the contract & two cats, & a big bag of Oats. The cat’s immediately lay happily down on top of the oats & begin purring & fall asleep immediately. The Human takes the cat-oat combo out of the room, the cats remain unmoved & asleep, and the oats begin to raise in temperature. The Human skulks defeatedly out the door. The Droid-Master, seemingly displaying arrogant tendencies, reclines its seat back and puts its feet on the table & stretches its arms slowly & triumphantly outwards its arms behind its head.

“Tim Teeter’s Trip To Rigel”. (A Poem)

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By Martin Anton Smith.

Tim Teeter’s problems were not at all anodyne – they were explosive.

And yet all his attempts to fix them were largely sclerotic.

Yes, he would try to apply a poultice to his wounded life,

But he only ended up surfing the sulkiness laced silence.

Tim’s one man think tank came up only with blank faced recommendations.

So, he was stuck like a light beam spiralling a event horizon boundary.

Tim’s existence was a kind of ‘Peregrinations in Purgatory’.

Yes, his life was indeed Kafka-esque but unfortunately it was also Phillip K. Dick-esque like too.

Things were deteriorating So quickly,

His hopes of improving to become Asimov-esque – that is stable & predictable,

Were now like seeing a distant flicker of candlelight-

Held up by a very rich man standing on the surface Proxima -b in the Alpha Centuri system.

But then Tim had an idea to fix it all – sure it was a long shot but worth a try.

He looked over to a Betelgeuse like pile of coats in the corner of his room.

He took a run up & slid under the coats finding himself on the bottom of it.

He felt a sense of calm come over him – he was insulated from the real world.

Then he felt a hard-edged rub against his hand.

He found a book in one of the coat pockets.

He took it out & looked at the cover.

“A Trip to Rigel’s Via Orian’s Belt” by Tim Teeter”

The front image was of a giant blue star with an approaching spacecraft.

“Hey that guy has the same name as me”, Tim thought.

Tim turned to the back cover – and there it was.

A picture of himself, perhaps twenty years in the future as a sixty-year-old.

Tim’s fears instantly disappeared.

He knew he’d be ok & his problems were only temporary.

The joke was on him, for the real Tim Teeter of the book did look like him,

But definitely wasn’t him & definitely wasn’t from the future.

Tim’s life was destined to stay a even mix of Kafka & Phillip Dick esque.

But at least his anxiety was assuaged until tomorrow,

When he would read the publisher details page.

That night under the coats was Tim’s best night sleep ever.

Well, apart for a small nightmare early on –

Where Tim found himself as an unemployed & depressed praying mantis,

Staging an elaborate break in to his own flat,

& then reporting it to disinterested police officer.

“The Gardener,The Clerk & The Witty Rejoinder” (A Poem)

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By Martin Anton Smith

Tonight pals,

I bring to you,

For the express purpose of piqing your thoughts,

& as a bonus to raise the corners of at least one mouth present,

A Poem.

A Poem,

About those ‘Most Excellent Men & Their Garden Machines’ Vs….

Those dull clerk folk in grey cubicle-cladded habitats in mega cities.

Of which I even used to be one.

(Poet Clears throat – ‘ahem’ etc)

Let me begin at the middle –

exactly where I am now.

In outdoors work,

The rain brings a refrain.

But in an office –

It brings on nothing new –

Just more of the same.

Moreover

Those who plack,

Do so easily get the sack!

While those who dig,

Have it all positively rigged!

Coz you see – those clerk’s spreadsheets don’t grow on trees

Quite unlike those Gardener’s wild weeds!

And now folks for the witty rejoinder I talked of in the title.

Sometimes it’s ok to write fluffy poetry like this,

So long as it’s in the bare minority,

& B – Sides,

I know it’ll never make the ‘best of’ anyway.

And on that,

Just as it’s boring to always write fluff,

It’s just as boring to only write

Serious Intellectual tangles,

Always Basted with stripes of gloom.

Or to rephrase with the simple truth of Hard Knocks Street Lingo:

Every grumpy asshole has to be happy sometimes,

If only just to mix things up.

“Tools Of The World” ( A Poem)

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by Martin Anton Smith

For some people Life is like a *chisel*, they slice through life easily;

A large minority of others are like a *hammer* – they nail people down without a care;

Most Others are the *nail* – forever being hammered no matter what;

A mighty few are like the *level* – they know how to orient themselves perfectly at all times;

Some curmudgeonly types are like sandpaper – their personalities have become rather abrasive.

Even fewer wags are like the *pencil* ✏️, for they write about various *tools* in the world.

And in summary, I’d say it’s fair to say this:

The best engage in Carpentry – they are the builders, & the rest?

They do the reverse.

And please forgive me if I furtively suggest that we coin these people simply as…

“The Crapenters”.

A conversation between two friends might go like this.

“Hi Bob, I’m thinking of lending our mate Steve a Grand – is that wise?”

“Gidday Simon, no I wouldn’t do that – Steve’s a *Crapenter*.”

“Oh thankyou Bob!, say no more!”.

Of course, it will be only the grains of the hourglass will tell us all,

If this *Crapenters* idea gains a foothold in the general lexicon.

Call me a Woodrow Wilson-esque dreamy cloud-headed idealist,

But I reckon it’ll eventually catch on.

But not untill the year 2055.

For by then surely the AI-General-Intelligence-Robots will be a laugh-a-minute,

Much to the chagrin, of their pinkish & hairy subordinates wearing loincloth.

“The Readers,The Unlisteners, & Thee” (A Poem)

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By Martin Anton Smith

They had gone to a lot of trouble.

They’d found the essence of their thoughts.

The essence was roughly an even split,

Between frontal lobe firings,

And the stuff that conjures up onto the page from seemingly nowhere.

Yes, this ‘conjuring up’ is an artistic cliche, but it’s still a true phenomenon.

So, they captured their truth – they wrote it down, whittled it some more or some less.

They read it out loud, their works showed that they had succeeded.

In knowing who they are,

& courageously showing you their fine wares.

How do you know this?

There’s a certain energy that pervades to the reading & artistic words.

It is a signature if you will.

You hear & feel the signature, & there is no question –

The artist made something from nothing –

It is an alchemy of warmth rooted in a private truth.

It’s a pity the un-listeners missed it all.

But I shouldn’t complain – this is the nature of the ‘audience’.

Some are there to learn from ye, some are there to burn-ye,

Some are there to dig-ye, some are there to shout at ye.

It is indeed a ‘two sides of the same coin’ apparition.

Alas alas & yes it be,

At an the open mic poetry night,

You cannot pick your audience,

And they cannot pick thee.

So the dissapointment is democritised.

It’s designed to be a masochist’s wet dream.

When something bad happens everyone loves it –

When something good happens – everyone hates it –

& on balance, everyone leaves satisfied.

“There’s No Profit In Arguing With A Madman” (A Poem)

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by Martin Anton Smith

Once In a Corporate Office Job,

I once got a printed letter memo from HR,

Telling me of my “2% pay rise”,

& also, what the ‘new’ amount was.

I remember looking at the new amount.

Immediately something about the number didn’t quite feel right.

Then realised that it was actually a “pay cut”.

They had diddled me out of 1 Grand.

That letter summed up the workings of the madhouse I was in perfectly.

I didn’t even bother to follow it up.

I didn’t even feel annoyed angry or enraged.

I took the pay-cut-in-disguise-as-a-rise with depressed aplomb.

There was nothing else to do.

I told my next cubicle colleague about it –

They said the exact same thing happened to them.

They also didn’t do anything about it either.

Then I asked another – same story.

I guess deep down we all knew this brute fact:

There’s no profit in arguing with a madman.

.