Author Topic: A little from my autobiography  (Read 850 times)

Offline BeejayWells

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A little from my autobiography
« on: April 21, 2009, 08:26:47 AM »
 The following piece is the introduction to my autobiography
' WHO THE HELL IS BEEJAY WELLS ANYWAY'
which will most likely never get published
I wrote it mainly to leave behind  for my eight and a half year old daughter
when I pop my clogs

                                       Introduction, or moaning and groaning                          
   
        It's the early hours of the morning and sleep just  wonít come.Thatís the way itís been for me as long as I can remember, never being able to switch off when I get into bed.Lucky are the people that can fall asleep as soon as they go horizontal. Me I just lie there,tossing and turning,staring at the wall in the dark trying to remember the colour of the peeling wall paper. Sometimes I canít even remember where I am, Iíve moved from place to place that many times.
        Now here I am in my late fifties, looking back over a life that seems to be full of ex-wives, ex-girlfriends, expense, kids, dogs, cats, fish tanks and people after money.Thereís also a whole lot of miles behind me spent in the search for something thatís always eluded me. Still it could be worse, couldnít it?
   It might be back where I started from, and wouldnít that be a bloody irony. So instead of waiting for sleep, death or retirement, (hopefully death Ďcos retirementís too far away) Iíve decided to put my thoughts on paper, well at least on my computer to start with. Just between us though, me and the computer donít work well as a team so it could all end in tears, and I  just know that this story is going to take me forever to do because Iíve only got two fingers that know how to type. I only use one though and leave the other one on the subs bench so to speak.
   This means that while you are reading this account of my pitiful existence Iím probably retired in some cockroach infested wrinklies home on the Costa del Misery.
   Most likely I'll be sitting in a rocking chair with only one rocker, waiting for a nurse with the facial features of a sad garden gnome, to bring me a meal that a pot bellied pig wouldnít touch unless it was force fed with a rocket launcher.
     Why am I even bothering? I mean,look at the odds. Iím fifty nine and my mother is in her eighties , so I can only hope that sheíll last long enough to buy a copy Ďcos Iím sure nobody else will. In fact I donít think my mother will buy one unless it comes with a free clip on wine rack for her zimmer frame,and my sister wouldnít even read it unless the S.A.S. decided she needed interrogating and used it for torture.
   Still,Iíve made a start and for once Iím determined to finish something Iíve started even though there will be many people saying
   ďYeah yeah.Weíll not be holding our breath.Ē
   And while Iím not really a vindictive person Iíll be hoping that some of them do. At least until I have finished what Iíve started. I wonít name names though because I canít afford any lawsuits. In fact there isnít much I can afford right now, with money being so tight that when comes to paying bills I just shuffle them and deal one. Right now Iím down to my last pair of jeans and whatís left of my T-shirts have more holes in them than a U.S. Presidents declaration of truth and a Baghdad hotel put together.
   I no longer own a suit which is fine by me as it means I canít go to funerals or weddings, and as four of the weddings Iíve been to have been my own, youíll understand why Iím in no hurry to make an appointment with my tailor. Four times is enough.
   Why four times you ask? Simple. You donít keep a car for life, yet the car takes you to the pub and brings you home when youíre pissed. Does a wife do that? More to the point. Does your car keep telling you to mow the lawn or get a shave on your day off? I donít think so, plus the car is easier to turn on and it doesnít get headaches. Mind you neither of them listens when youíre talking to them so you canít win either way. Learn from your mistakes my mother always told me, but how can you do that when you donít have the time to finish making them.
       There are always new things to get wrong and if they are out there you can put money on me being the one to find them. When making a balls up becomes lucrative then Iíll be a millionaire, not that I  really ever wanted to be a millionaire. Not at all. Iíll be happy just to be able to pay cash for my tobacco and ignore the health warning plastered all over the packet, and thatís another thing.Why donít they, also, put the health warning in Braille so that blind people can know that smoking is bad for them?                      
   If I sound a little cynical itís because I am. Letís face it, being cynical can be a great asset, especially when some asshole is trying to sell you something, and, when the Jehovas bloody witnesses knock at the door, you donít feel guilty about telling them to piss off.
   Iíve even known the morons, sorry, the Mormons to knock on the door and try to sell me their brand of religion, and, as I believe that nearly all the shit going on in the world today is a direct result of dick heads Ďspreading the wordí, it is not a good idea to sermonise on my door step, thank you very much.
   I mean if there was a god who Ďin the beginningí created man in his own image,how did he know that women needed boobs, good legs and a nice bum, and letís face it, he wouldíve been in Eves bad books right away for not taking the extra day to invent little necessities like make up, the wonder bra, the Philips lady shave and aspirin. It would also have been extremely sociable of him to invent marijuana so Adam could chill out whenever Eve had a headache.
It's not speed that kills but the sudden stop

Thunderbolt

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Re: A little from my autobiography
« Reply #1 on: April 29, 2009, 10:25:34 PM »



Gidday BeeJay,

I love your stuff, mate.  I thought it was George Carling come back
to visit us after his recent sad demise.  Same caustic wit; same cynical
view of the mess we're all in.  You're sane, you know. You're gonna hafta
face up to that and grapple with it.  It can be treated of course but a lobotomy
these days is pretty exxy.  GWB got his free I believe.  Stay the way you are.   
You're okay by me.   Pity about the sister, but maybe your Mum will come good
if she can hang out till you get published, which ought to be soon.

If you're not familiar with George, Google him up on YouTube but be prepared
to wet your pants.  I wasn't, and I did.  I reckon you have a product to market,
and you could be getting some good advice from the comics in these pages to
bundle it together.  We need more input from grumpy old Baby-boomers like you.
Focus on your product, brush it up and market it.  Do a series of stories on the
things about our plight and blight that reach furthest up your nose and go for it.
Make stuff up.  Exaggerate.  Stir.   If you don't, the buggers will just go on doing
what they're doing and they'll all go blind.   Go . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  BeeJay!!