Welcome to a special festive edition of Foamy Foughts! There’s no festive theme to this column, its just as I can’t be arsed to do anything huge I’m just going to write down a random collection of thoughts that have been running around in my head for a good while. These thoughts may one day make it into any stand-up routine I’d have to do in order to stop having to get a real job:

The American are now dropping toys on Afghanistan to say sorry for the bombing. “Sorry we blew up your house, here have a toy one instead.”

They’re also dropping cakes for Christmas, say a cake had killed Bin Laden, imaging the headlines “Bin Laden Creamed!”, “Bin Laden, piece of cake!” A tabloids dream.

I’m sure dropping Christmas presents and cards in a country where 99% of the population are MUSLIM will do a lot for East-West relations. Next Christmas:  To combat terrorism in Palestine George Bush fires copies of Mein Kampf into Israel.

In another piece of baffling news, the Welsh police forces are digging up a body in connection with a murder. The problem is that the dead body they’re exhuming is the main suspect! Job done I say.

Oxymoron number 487568: Steps: Greatest Hits

After a lot of thinking (I’m a Media Student) I have finally discovered how to get into the most ironic sphere of work: Careers guidance. You know how there was always one boy in your year who looks about forty? Well imagine the scene, Johnny walks in for a careers guidance interview. He knows if he picks office work he’ll be stuck in a dead-end office career for forty years. If he tells him he wants to be a film director he’ll laugh. So how does he get the most respect from the careers guidance teacher? How does he make this sad man leave him alone? Johnny tells the career’s officer that he wants to become a careers officer. But to Johnny’s surprise there is no formal training, oh no. The careers officer immediately swaps clothes with Johnny, assuming Johnny’s role of school-boy and Johnny starts his new career three years early. The careers officer then becomes the only boy to grow a beard at thirteen, and slowly slips out of school never to be seen again at fifteen.

I hate work, I got up at six in the morning (Did you know that existed?) and I worked for roughly twelve hours, I got sixty quid and had to watch line after line of female students in formal wear pose for photography, while I aided the photographer. Now If only I can find a job where I can get paid for being the carpet in one of those shoots.

Cilla Black spends all her time forcing people at least twenty-five years here senior into hopefully having sex in seven days, with a bit of encouragement from her good self, while she video tapes the week. However if I try to force two people only five years younger than me I get arrested!

You know that court order prevents me from going anywhere near a school for the next five years! A good thing really because if I ever get my hands on that P.E. teacher I’ll stand on his size fives. I mean three years of persecution just because I suggested we break for Tea during a Cricket lesson. I think the icing on the cake though was that I tried to call the match off due to bad light. After that I was always picked last for football, rugby and basketball. But there was always one sport, which I, and the rest of the plebs could count on: badminton. Gaily whacking a feather at each other with the grace of a hippopotamus. And swimming! I’ve never seen so many people claim to have athlete’s foot! I further pissed my teacher off by claiming I had aids, which prevented me from swimming.

And the changing room banter where the room was split into to factions, the people who could play sport, and the people who could spell P.E. And the rugby team would call the non-sporting people “Gay” before proceeding to slap each others, wet, naked arses with a towel. Athletics was the worst, I had to do a one mile-cross country run, my finishing time: five years, eight months, four days, three hours, and twenty-two minutes. That’s right, I still haven’t finished it.

Well that’s it, FoamWorldOrder will be taking a week-long break from the 24^th to the 1^st or perhaps second of January for Christmas.

Have a Foam Filled Christmas!

© Paul Hunt 2001