The Key To Life

µ The Key To Life Itself µ

Now look here, I'm not trying to impress you or anything, but I think I might just have discovered the key to life itself. Actually, I probably haven't. It's just one of those things, you know, the phenomenon of tripping over something in the street and realizing that it's actually what you've been looking for over the last few decades, or however long. To begin, therefore, here's a hidden chapter you never knew about.

Play us some music!

H: The Key To Life Itself

So I guess you found me, you treasure-hunter, you. Oh well, it's no use hiding anymore, I guess that if you can't even keep out of the way of prying eyes on the Internet, where can you hide? Incase you don't know the context of this little piece of writing, here's the rather dull deal. It's the supposedly hidden eighth chapter of my latest 'book' of otherwise 24 pages of A4 called 'Record of Underachievement'. Yes, ha ha, very clever title, I know, I've heard it all before. But the fact that the paper version isn't actually complete says a lot, I guess. If you're simply yearning for more slices of literary fruit cake then read on, because I kinda feel like writing. And I'm sure this relationship we've already made with one another will last, well at least for the next few hundred lines of garble or until I get completely bored and spontaneously dump you (whichever is sooner, of course). There's no complicated warranties or guarantees in here. This Web site isn't even secure, so I accept no responsibility for what the large man behind you right this moment is about to do to you with that rather threatening knife. Don't look behind you... no, just duck. Better? Thought so. Unless he won the fight you kicked up. Darn, it's annoying when that happens. No worries, though. Just die, do all the admin-Heaven-gates-let-me-in bit, yada yada yada, and then just politely ask whoever takes charge of these things to let you back down to this lovely planet again. It's so simple, yet so effective. Then in your next life, you'll remember to take up bodybuilding lessons before you're in that situation, and the sky will once again be blue with specks of purple here and there. No small print is a-written on my forehead, just take me as I am and swallow me whole. A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down in the most delightful way. Unless you've got cancer... let's not go there, this is a family site and should be suitable for broadcast before nine o'clock. No controversial blokes in equally controversial ironed suits here, because they'd upset the little kiddies. And no nudity. There, I've said it. Oh well done, Gippy, you've gone and lost three-quarters of your audience who thought this site was only an excuse to cram a few innocent pages full of hard-core porn. Bloody hell. Have you people got no taste? You know, it may come as a shock to you that not all Internet pages involve females sans vêtements. Some of them are actually informative, useful and NOT smutty in the slightest proportions. It's all true, you know. I've seen some sites like that. Maybe we need more people on this fair planet that are not obsessed with women's nipples and various other anatomical parts I won't go into right this moment, but might in a few minutes - we'll just see who's there to persuade me. And I am going rather over the top on this subject, so I think that to stop it rushing down the river of doom, I'm going to slam on the brakes before I crash into that great big stone breast over there. No, that reference wasn't gratuitous. If you think it was, well screw you. I'll do what I think is right, and if it involves risqué Web sites, speeding taxis and large stone breasts, then so be it. Maybe I'm just letting myself go. Maybe you're the oppressor. Maybe you should shut up for a moment and read. Oh bugger, that's the other, remaining quarter of my audience gone. Two rules of writing a Web page: never mention that the page doesn't involve naked women, and never insult the reader. The customer is, after all, always right. Just take a look at some of the other sites around. Go into Yahoo (the best search engine in the world, of course, I'm sucking up again because otherwise I'll be evicted) and search for, well, something innocent yet full of innuendo, such as the word 'melons' or 'jugs' etc. What's the chances that you'll end up with sites dedicated to either tasty breeds of tropical fruit or anything to do with practical water-carriers? Not much. The Internet is perverse, I'm sure of it.

But if you don't know me that well, you'll probably be expecting of this chapter some sort of content mildly related to what the chapter's set out to do - you know, that old cliché of actually writing what the title says. Well, whoever said that Stephen Hawking's 'A Brief History Of Time' was indeed a brief history of time? It was just a load of stuff about quarks, which for all I know could be some sort of rare South American bird. What about everything else which has happened on this beautiful planet over the last few billion years? He didn't mention anything about the Romans, I'm pretty sure of that. And what about Stonehenge, or the Pyramids in Egypt? What about the first Western settlers in America? I looked long and hard for any sign of it, but alas, t'was in vain, my friend. So why, therefore, am I compelled to write about the key to life itself? For all your knowledge on the subject, I may have had the key in my own possession but lost it down the side of a sofa, or something! I may know where the key is - or I may not. Anyway, if I really did know where it was, what would possess me to reveal all on a bloody Web site which the whole of the known world can read with the help of a stinking phone line? I'd want to keep it a secret, wouldn't I? I wouldn't want some spiritualist hippies making a pilgrimage to my house from their homes in Brunei and bashing my door down in a useless yet amusing protest against the oppression I give you people, would I? Besides, they knew the door wasn't locked, so why kick up a huge fuss about kicking it down? Why don't they just ring the bloody bell like normal people instead of making a big fuss about it? Honestly, talk about overacting. It's ridiculous. Why don't these campaigners just try and talk things over instead of putting turf wigs on top of statues of Winston Churchill? It's never going to prove a point and they know it. Put it this way: can you remember what the hell it was that they were protesting against when they gave Winston a supposedly 'punk' look? I sure can't, and I'm sure I'm with many people on this one. All we remember is that they ended up looking like utter pansies and they got into lots of trouble with the police. So please, next time you get the urge to do something silly like that, suppress it and call the Samaritans first. Or even better, log into Yahoo, the best search engine in the world, of course. It's what many leading celebrities choose to utilise as their one and only search engine for the 21st century. Like who? Erm... well, me, for a start. I'm hedging my bets here - that statement rests on the hope that I'll be famous and offensively rich in a few years time. But it's an excuse to suck up to my 'landlords' so anything that will lower my rent, I guess. Not that I would condone that sort of behaviour anyway. So back to our original point...

What's the meaning of life, then? I've teased you for this long, anyone else would have thought I was just deliberately avoiding the subject to fill up space. (Thanks for noticing, I'll ignore that last comment...) I don't know, myself (bang goes another 500 readers) but really, if you've been searching for this page through something like Yahoo (the best search engine in the world, of course) and you've been typing in 'Hey, man, what's the meaning of life?' then it's obvious that you've got something wrong with you, because otherwise you wouldn't be asking such profound and hard-to-answer questions. Maybe you're feeling a bit under the weather, or maybe you're just feeling crap because you've just split up with somebody very special. Aaaah, I have sympathy. When you're down and troubled, and you need a helping hand - and nothing, oh nothing is going by... close your eyes and think of me :-) and soon I will be there to brighten up even your darkest night. I'm here to help. If you feel as if your world is caving in, E-mail me and write as much as you like. But really, it's probably something like that which has led you to this place initially. Well have you tried taking up a different way of life - a new religion, for example? It's simple. Just say goodbye to the button at the bottom of this page and log in to the Church of the Subgenius so you can get on with your new life. You'll see the light! Kiss goodbye to all your troubles, stuff them in your old kit bag, anything. Just fly away on the Concorde of change, and watch in awe as the wings fall off, all four engines explode and it comes crashing back down to earth. But worry not, your soul will be accepted into the afterlife just like everyone's pets will soon be. Don't worry, be happy. Just remember, PLEASE, to click the Goodbye button at the foot of this page. It won't do you any harm, it isn't a cunningly-concealed Hyperlink to some hard porn site which your sensitive eyes may not be ready for yet. Besides, you may consider it a little vulgar if you're in the process of preaching to the world about how unbelievably good this new religion is supposed to be, I guess. So click it, you haven't got a thing to lose. If you're only going to bid farewell to one thing today, make it the harmless and innocent button at the bottom of this page. Why, I hear you repeatedly scream in my ear? Well stop screaming and spitting, I'll tell you. No, actually stop now, you're pissing me off and I'll get violent in a minute. Anyway, should you be stupid enough to exit this site without clicking the button because you were too keen to log straight on to 'Asian Babes XXX', you will find that I will brand you an unworthy citizen and condemn you to peel potatoes and eat carrots for the rest of the month. And that means you, as well, if you are but a guest who has simply slipped upon this Web site like a banana skin on an ice rink. Everybody must click the Goodbye button otherwise this happy face :-) gets angry >:-( and the girl 8:)3)= gets an arrow through her skull --->, get it? Got it. Good.

And the problem? Nowadays everybody wants to talk, like they've got something to say - but nothing comes out when they move their lips, just a bunch of gibberish, so 'make love to' that but they forgot about me. Everyone's forgotten about me. The good times, the bad times, the times we used to spend together no matter what, you know - it just seems like we're drifting faster than the continents themselves. Back then, it used to be so funny, writing all this stuff. It was open, unabridged and on paper for all to see. So what's all this suddenly about? I'm writing in an obscure Web site which no-one will probably ever look at, for purposes of getting away from all you lot. It sucks. Why am I suddenly in hiding? Why do I suddenly not want to talk to anyone - that is, except for Yahoo (the best ssearch engine in the world, of course) and possibly my pet cat curled up in a small ball in the corner of my room? Maybe it's simply a lack of communication. It begs the question why I was so adamant that you didn't actually read this 'hidden' chapter in the first place. You've forgotten! Off with your head! All you want from the Internet is to E-pull on one of these offensive chat-rooms and then forget about it because of the new-found completeness of your life. You'd exchange E-mails (ooh, how bloody romantic) and you'd wonder how big her double-eights were, or how large his exclamation point was should you be that way inclined, ladies. Maybe then you'd send your lucky E-bit-of-alright an E-rose plucked fresh from your E-garden @}-`-,- and you'd start kissing :* and possibly getting in there a little bit further :-P or ending up simply drooling :-L~~ over each other. You little E-devil }:>. But really, would you ever consider sending your one true love some sort of E-valentine? An excuse for me to throw up :O)) if ever I saw one. It's insincere. You don't want to know the extent of someone's true devotion by clicking on a Hyperlink and watching two animated rabbits be animated whilst being surrounded by cute red hearts, do you? Quaint, possibly. Sincere? No, not really. It's fine for a laugh :-D but for goodness' sake, never think about pouring out your heart in an E-mail to anyone. It would seem like their computer was the one giving the love and not the lover giving the loving. Know what I mean? Yeah, baby. Good luck to you.

And I'm afraid that's it for now. Log on at a later date for the next installment. But first, click this...