I Think Super Mario is a Leprechaun

I’ve just seen the trailer for the new Mario game that’s coming out on the Switch. I thought Mario was a human!? Mario Odyssey is based in the real world, instead of the Mushroom Kingdom, and so there are normal people milling around the city (New Donk City…) and Mario, by comparison, is clearly not human. I think Mario might be a leprechaun.

mario-midget

Everything I thought I new about Mario is a lie. Plumber my arse. That explains why he never a tool kit. He’s just a leprechaun with a fetish for boiler suits. Pervert.

Still, this is the first time I’ve been excited about a console coming out since 1996 when the N64 came out (mine’s been plugged in since 1997). The game looks damn good. I think I can get by Mario’s newly revealed perversion. That little deviant. The first thing I’m going to do when I get the game is jump on that woman’s head. I think she might be a Goomba in disguise.

Check out the trailer –

The Accidental Scoundrel – the book launch and trailer

They said it would never happen. But nobody knows who They are and so it happened anyway. The Accidental Scoundrel is finally coming out. And everybody screamed with delight.

Mark it in your diary, send postcards to your family, rethink your will, giggle in front of your friends, and high five yourself. In the face.


On the 3rd of November a book, that has sold under a million copies worldwide already, needs your help. A few weeks ago I saw it crying in a gutter and I said, “What’s wrong book?” and the book said, “I think everyone should buy me,” and I cried too. So I’m sure you can understand how important this is to me. No one wants to see a funny book cry. Charities are there for a reason.

My best advice for anyone who has been moved by this story is to buy The Accidental Scoundrel and then review it with many many stars so that it doesn’t have to be sad again.

Now, I realise that I may come across as bias in this case but I should reassure you that it is only because I am trying to sell as many copies as possible. And that’s ok because I want to sell books.

What you are reading now is a few paragraphs that people in the business call “promotional material.” In this promotional material I should be telling you about the book. About the story. But the plot is not important. It is only important that you laugh. It has a horse in it. And a street urchin. There’s some old conniving aristocrats. They steal whiskey together. It’s all really very riveting.

You know what you need to do. Pre-order it now from Amazon (it’s already out in paperback, but you can pre-order the kindle book now) – https://www.amazon.co.uk/Accidental-Scoundrel-Andrew-Chapman-ebook/dp/B01M23R7F1/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1477769188&sr=8-1

Invite your friends to this event, share it on Facebook, Reblog it, tweet about it, grafiti the streets, whisper secretivly about it to your pets. There is a facebook group for the launch here – https://www.facebook.com/events/203455376731775/

Or if you scan this QR code it will take you straight to the page.

the-accidental-scoundrel-qr-code

When Kids Ruled the World

I had a terrible realisation recently. I think I might be 11. And there’s a good chance you are too.  Let me explain. I remember my dad when he was in his thirties, as I am now. And I remember, very distinctly, that he was a proper grown up. He knew what he was doing. He had a business and a mortgage, he took us on holidays, could fix anything that broke. There was no sense that he was pretending to be an adult. I do not feel like that.

I remember when I was 11 and my birthday was coming up and I thought “When I’m twelve I won’t be a kid anymore.” And then nothing changed. And then my 16th birthday came up and I thought, “Finally I’ll be an adult.” I turned 16 and nothing happened. Soon I was 18. I felt the same. Now I’m 32 and wondering at what point some internal thing will click into adult mode and I no longer find fart jokes funny. Maybe it will be when I turn 40. I am still an 11 year old waiting to grow up.

I have no idea how the whole grown up thing works. From the outside looking in I probably seem like a fully functioning adult. I’m a dad, and I’m managing to parent well enough, I have a job and pay my bills, but secretly I have no idea what I’m doing. And then I thought, what if everyone else is secretly 11 too and we’re all just pretending at being an adult? What if our leaders are secretly running the country with no fucking idea what they’re doing? It would explain a lot.

And then I saw this picture on the front page of the Guardian newspaper of Theresa May and Michael Gove and I thought, “Shit! They’re 11!” God help us all.

20160728_233845

Further evidence –

Gove_713317c102465109RestrictedMichaelGoveNEWS-large_trans++eo_i_u9APj8RuoebjoAHt0k9u7HhRJvuo-ZLenGRumATheresa-May  gove-may1402327762670_wps_3_From_the_left_Home_SecretBoris-JohnsonGeorge-OsbourneObama-Crazy2770E34200000578-0-image-m-49_142871285569128166-unaxzb

I rest my case.

 

The Secret to Keeping your reader’s Attention – Clarity of Thought.

Blogs are like frogs. In as much as they rhyme. On a similar note, have you ever heard of the tree Kangaroo of New Guinea? Splendid animal. Probably my current favourite. It is essentially, as its name may suggest, a kangaroo. But it has decided, against all plausibility, to live in the trees. This was an unwise decision. Evolutionarily it makes little sense. All rationale and logic has failed this wonderful and stupid animal. As favourite animals go it ticks all the right boxes; it is cute, large, and stupid. You see it has chosen to spend its life up amongst the branches but is utterly unequipped for this way of life. It keeps falling out of them. If you visit New Guinea Tree Kangaroos may well rain down on you. Marvellous. Here is a picture of one –

Tree_kangaroo2This brings me to the main point of this blog post. Have you ever tried putting a t-shirt on a cat? Not an easy undertaking. Also a dog untied my shoelaces recently.

Some people say that what a blog post really needs is consistency. Things need to make sense and have an ultimate purpose. Tortoises. If they don’t readers won’t be able to keep track of the main point which, I think you will remember, is that the word blog rhymes with frog. Which is the main lesson of all this. But also one of the hardest jobs in the world is manufacturing cottage cheese. Ever tried milking a cottage? Horse. Also there are twenty species of armadillo and only one of them can roll into a ball. I never knew that. Found out yesterday reading David Attenborough’s autobiography. It’s very good.

It is critical at this point to reassure the reader that there will be an eye-opening point at the end of this post to explain all this nonsense.

Armadill tree

 

 

Armadillos are also not suitable for trees.

Thank you for reading.

hobo

I want to share a poem my sister wrote. She’s the woman who inspired my poem Mother of Squalor. With all its bizarre grammar and madness it is the truest thing thing I’ve read in awhile, with her in mind, and her permission, hobo

hobo

hobo

im a hobo a hobo and im doing it solo

ive got boxes and boxes and holes in my shoes

im homeless but that dont mean im gonna lose

im here alive this isnt a life that you just chose

 

my den is my haven its under a bridge

u dont need money to feel this rich

im happy and peacful full of dreams

i just wish i had a can of beans

 

ive got rats there multiplying

and i cant take no more

there chewing holes in my carboard home

oh i wish they would leave me alone

 

my carboard den is unreal such a frill

the joys of building a mobile home

its so much fun an i have no bills

its small and cold and i love being alone

 

at nightime i sit in the window of shops

begging and begging for a pound in my box

but these little bastards always bring me something hot

but all i want is a tenner to bye some pot

 

i love getting high smoking pot

it chills me out and helps me sleep

helps the pain when the rats chew my feet

theyve had two toes already they think im a piece of meat

 

ive set up traps with my boxes

but them little rats are smart

i even tryed to get them eaten by foxes

but the fox didnt wanna take part

 

if only the people who look down at me

would give me a pound so i can buy rat killer

to kill these pests so i can rest happily

but fuck it thats life such a shame i dont have a knife

 

im a hobo im a hobo and im happy this way

it sounds like hell but its all i need

im gonna go busking now see if i can get someone to pay

to get some pot and brighten my day

 

 

And should not be at the beginning of this sentence.

StrunkAndPtah

I don’t know what the key to this whole writing thing is. I’ve spent the last fifteen years trying to find out. I must have read fifty books on the subject. I think maybe its clarity. So much writing is just filler, or confusing sentence structures.

It becomes a kind of music. I know I break some grammatical standards but hopefully not in a way that jars. There is no sensible reason for a sentence to not start with and. Or begin with or. Here is some dialogue between two students whispering to each other in an English lesson –

“Why can’t a sentence start with and?”

“Because she said so. And maybe she’s right. Fuck it. I don’t know. And anyway, that’s not how we speak so why write like that?”

“But what if we lose marks by writing realistically.”

“You shouldn’t start a sentence with but,” says the Teacher, overhearing the conversation.

“Why?” says the boy.

“Because that is the rule.”

“You shouldn’t start a sentence with because,” says the boy, “It’s a subordinate conjunction that requires more than one clause.”

“I’m glad you’ve been paying attention,” says the teacher, “but my first clause was in the sentence you interrupted when I said; ‘You shouldn’t start a sentence with but’.”

“This is all very confusing,” says a drunk man stumbling into the classroom by accident.

“Can I help you sir?” says the teacher.

“None of this is real,” says the drunk.

Why did I write that in the present tense? The second most difficult tense for a reader after the second tense. I’ve never written in the second tense before. I think I’ll give it a go;

               You walk into the gents at the pub. A man by the urinal is touching   himself inappropriately. You enter the cubical with the broken lock. You drunkenly undo your trousers and let them fall to the ground. You sit down and pee. You would have pissed at the urinal if it wasn’t for that masturbating man. Why did you sit down anyway? Too drunk to stand. You focus on a round convex lens on the back of the cubical door and think to yourself, why is there a camera in here? And decide it’s time to stop drinking in this particular watering hole.

Good. That was fun. You know, as these blog posts get further down the page the empty beer can count on my desk gets greater. It’s no wonder I lose focus.

The Drinker’s Fallacy

Pub where Poet John Berryman (C) is talking to other customers. (Photo by Terrence Spencer/The LIFE Picture Collection/Getty Images)

I might need to apologise in the morning, but…

 

Is this a poem? –

 

I stood in my kitchen staring at the floor,

so many gatherings happened here,

and now I am hungry

and the kitchen is empty.

 

Or just a sentence that has fallen down a stair case? Splitting a sentence up over several lines does not make a poem.

The above is original but it is an example of a lot of stuff that is out there at the moment. It is why I have failed to enjoy poetry when I have tried. I have, for some unknown reason to myself (as I am a novelist at heart), started writing the stuff. I don’t think poetry needs to sit in the romantic teenage angst corner of the literary world, but it is hard for the stoic amongst us to find our way in. I love words, and I think poetry is well suited to them, but the above is just a pointless cop-out.

There is a satisfying cadence to the English language that can be showcased with poetry. Breaking up sentences and pretending it is art is an insult to that. Write better.

 

 

 

The Beaten Ream

Roald Dahl qoute

Enter Solitude

Stare into its face

Scream into its abyss

 

Grab your pen

Tear through the paper

Force ink into existence

 

Rake out your heart

There lies nothingness

Dying to bleed out and be

 

Your mind churns

Scraping against your skull

Cough and sweat those words

 

Piss into the glass

Whisky is your remedy

You hollow tired hack of a writer

 

Better is the world you view

You can’t see it from the inside

Solitude provides the high ground

 

Walk Between the Rain (a short Haiku story)

talltalefinished

A man in a coat

Poured whisky into a glass

Trapped in by the rain

 

The bar was crowded

All around him people talked

Hunched over his drink

 

He glanced to his right

The rain pounded the window

He refilled his drink

 

The barman knew him

He lets him keep the bottle

Only when it rains

 

The rain keeps him in

So he drowns himself in booze

The sun dries him out

 

The rain keeps, he stands

Leaves fifteen quid and a tip

Walks between the rain

New to Haiku

Fridge-Haiku

And now; a haiku

Five syllables, seven, five

The rules are simple

 

I need a subject

So I can give this haiku

Some needed substance

 

Haiku’s stand alone

Three pithy lines and no more

But I like stories

 

Good, I think that’s it

Haiku’s are pretty easy

I am a turtle

 

And now I’ve had a practice I’ll turn my hand to the dark and horrid world my writing normally inhabits – Walk Between the Rain (a short Haiku story)