January 28, 2008

If the answer to all things science is the very essence of time, space and matter, and how they fold and conform and gel with one another to produce, or aid, life, then I have no idea why on earth the likes of Stephen Hawking was looking through a telescope.

It's really quite simple, you see.

Time: The equation of which Justin spends walking towards a train station, multiplied by the amount of Very Pissed Off Moments he will spend watching the train leaving before he gets there. Momentarily.

Space: Inches, normally. Inches so brief, so small, that I can feel the air pass across my brow as the wind from the now-leaving train - now renamed from "Richard 1040" or some such, to "Cunt Central Hope You All Die" - edges out of a station that I am stood at, as always, and as always, too, behind a very old and should-be-pensioner, who is insisting on paying for a 40p ticket with his credit card. Which he doesn't have to, because he gets them for free, anyway. But that he's also forgotten. Because he's too old to be alive anymore. Forgetting, also, that I am old enough to be alive, and at work, and, frankly, to get out of my way.

Matter: Matter? Matter? Of course it fucking matters! I spend half of my life sitting and watching traffic lights, or trains leaving, or bridges lifted, or ferries leaving, or planes taking off; I get highly frustrated when I see the world seemingly move on in my absence, while I sit there impotently waiting for the next Fucking Old Man To Move.

Gah.

Rant over.

Kill pensioners.

Vote for me.

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