The Bible According to FTD

So we’ve got the Lolcat bible, the Mormon bible and I’m pretty sure Chuck Norris has his own version out there somewhere.  I mean what the fudge?  I figure, all these bibles out there, why should FTD have it’s own version?  Of course, this foray into the blasphemous nether-regions comes out of sheer boredom on my part.  But Goddamnit (or rather Jamesdammit in this case) it’s a way to pass a Saturday afternoon.  So come on, kids!  Let’s re-write the best-known piece of fiction ever created!

The FTD Bible

As written by the 4Chan Disciple J. “Infamy, They’ve All Got it Infamy” Cleverley

Book 1: SEGA GENESIS

1. In the beginning, J created the blog and the lulz.

2. And the blog looked crappy and was void of humour.  And the stale-ness was inherent in the CSS coding.  And so, the blog of J moved over to WordPress.

3. And J. said, Let there be an awesome wicked banner graphic, and there was an awesome wicked banner graphic.

4. And J. saw the wicked awesome banner graphic, and that it was indeed both wicked and awesome: and J. decided to keep it.

5. And J. called the banner graphic Header, and the content Lulz.  And the content and the humour became the first post.

6. And J. said, Let there be more Lulz, so that eventual readers may laugh themselves off of their fucking chairs.  And let it divide the strong-bladdered from the weak-bladdered.

7.And J. made the Lulz, and divided the strong-bladdered from the weak-bladdered, and it was so.

8. And J. called the Lulz Teh Funniez, and the Header and the Lulz were the second post.

[Segment lost due to lack of creativity on my part]

26. And J. said, Holy crap, this shit is getting a little stale.  I need a cheap gimmick to make people keep on reading this blog!  And let him have dominion over my conscience when the Lulz dry up, and over the content, and over the discours found herein.

27. And J. created Rhy in his own image, thus fooling people into thinking he was schizophrenic.

[Segment lost due to lack of creativity on my part]

THE SECOND BOOK OF SEGA GENESIS

2. And on the seventh day, J. was out getting drunk with his friends so there were no Lulz.

3. And J. blessed the seventh day, and sanctified it, because that in it he had had too much to drink the preceding evening and was hungover.

[...]

21. And the Lord J. caused a deep sleep to fall upon Rhy, and he slept.  And He split Rhy into two Rhys.

22. And the second Rhy, which J. had created, gave He a fruity French accent and presented him to Rhy.

23. And Rhy said, What the fuck?  Who’s this fruity French motherfucker?  He shall be called Napoleon, because that’s a typical French name, amirite?

[The Christian flamers thus broke down my door and crucified me in the name of their lord Jebus, claiming that I was an infidel. Thus ends the Bible according to FTD]

Jesus was a Communist,

J

And The Circus Leaves Town…

So here we are back in the glorious and luscious lands of Britain… Well, more like the Isle of Wight, which is neither glorious nor luscious.  I really could spend this entire post bitching about the IOW, but I’ve done that plenty of times before.  Still, the island holds a certain…je ne sais quoi.  Alright, the people are slightly oddball. There are virtually no ethnic minorities living here in Ryde and the weather is erratic.  But I feel more at home here than I do in France.  The air is gritty and I can smell several different vintages of urine on the streets… But goddamn it, it’s home!

Oh mon dieu!  Am ah late for ze sent-ee-mentality?  For ze derring-do?  For ze-

No, although I’m not sure why you’re here.  Aren’t you supposed to be in France with the rest of my split personalities?

We hid in your suitcase.  Fucking cold in the bowels of that airplane though.  And I only had this alibastair retard for company.

You poor, poor soul.  Anyway, I think we had best fill some space here.  Going through the list of the different statistics for FTD, you learn to appreciate just how fucked up some of the people who read this blog are.  Especially through the search criteria.  Here are a few of the ones that really stuck out.  Rhy, if you please.

Oh… Well, we have… lesse here…

Kids fuckin kids.

If the guy who typed this in was looking for child porn, I’m afraid he’s sorely mistaken by coming to this blog.  We have every other type of perversion, but that’s a no-no.  Of course, if he’s typing that in as if to say “oh, those fucking kids” we apologize wholeheartedly and will do anything to avoid a libel suit.  But if you were looking for child porn…. Dude, hand yourself into the fucking cops, man!  Napoleon, how’d you like to take this next one?

Mais bien sur, mon brave!  Ze second search crit-ee-ria ees:

Dostoyevsky on Abortion

But ‘ave you not heard?  Dostoyevsky was an eemposteur!  Ze Tom Cruise wrote all of his books and ‘ee was ze backyard abortionist!  Oh, sacre bleu!

And hold up!  One person wanted to know…

IS THAT A FUCKING SHAMWOW?!!

HOLY SHIT THAT SHIT IS SO INTENSE THE MOTHERFUCKER NEEDS A FUCKING HEADSET TO SELL THAT SHIT! FUCK! SHIT! Oh, and Vince the Shamwow guy was recently arrested for beating up a hooker.  D’oh.

Before we leave, I’ll leave you with this: Chimps Pay Meat for Sex

Bbl, off to feed some chimps <.<

J

My cup runneth over: how Rhy and Napoleon came to be.

Oh, I love these nostalgia visits so much.  For one it’s an excuse to burn up some not-so valuable  spare time.  Then again, I have that shit coming out of my ears.  I suppose I just need to give Rhy and Napoleon some breathing space.

That’s right.  It’s been too long, bitches.  Napoleon’s come out of retirement and I for one was sick of being kept in that duffel bag under your bed.  Metaphorically speaking, yanno.

Ah, ze fraiche ‘er ees good on mah skeen!

A lot of regular readers to this blog might be wondering just who the hell you guys are and how you came to become semi-regular contributors to FTD.

Ahh, ze nostalgia.  How zat tale of ah-camaraderie and schizophrenia brings a tingle to mah spine!

No, that’s just the Alzheimer’s setting in old chap.  Anyway, get on with the story so that it finishes quicker.

Alrighty then.  The year was 2008 and I had just reached the climax of my creative potential.

Meaning your limited creative spurts had just run out and you were getting desperate.

Erm.  Yes. Ah-HEM.  Anyway, I had recently written a piece on Tipper Gore which met to universal acclaim from my peers.  I was looking for something to fill the void.  And that’s when I hit my first recognized minor depressive episode.

And guess who stepped in to fill the void?

I wasn’t and am not schizophrenic.  But I’ve always had a habit of making up conversations for myself.  It’s helped me get the worst of my thoughts out there and properly develop my imagination.  It may sound immature or crazy… But it’s just what I’ve done to cope with the situation I’ve been in.

Vous avez forgot about me.

No, Nap.  I’m just getting to you.  See depressive episodes are difficult to cope with.  First of all, I’ve never been able to properly get through to my parents about this sort of thing.  Not even my mum who’s gone through this sort of thing when I was younger.  It’s always put down to “teenage angst” or shit like that.  But I know it’s not normal for me to feel like this.  I can’t really get into it without going on a long tirade and going completely off subject.  Anyway, Napoleon came about as a manifestation of my frustration with France.

Zat ees whah I am expressed through zees red-eeculous stereotahpe-uh! Sacré Bleu!

I just get annoyed with the country sometimes… My frustrations with many failed relationships, the social situation… I don’t know, it pisses me off sometimes.  So Napoleon and Rhy came along to fill the void.  All of a sudden I found myself becoming more creative and more optimistic about life.

We gave your creativity a kick in the ass!

Yes, you did.  You bastards, you.

And so what’s our future?

I don’t rightly know.  Due to recent and somewhat unfortunate circumstances concerning my personal life, I feel as if I may be slipping into yet another minor depressive episode.  Whether or not Napoleon and Rhy will help me through this is unknown.  I fear that my apathy might take hold once again and my creativity and spontaneous schizophrenic dialogues may dry up entirely.

So we’ll be put into that fucking duffel bag again?

Perhaps.

Motherfucker.

Fils de pute!  Ah weel not be treated lahk ze Man in ze Iron Mask!

Or in this case, the imaginary man in the Marché Plus plastic bag.

Do not turn mah words against me, Rhy!  Remember Napoleon’s campaign of Russia!  Remember Trafalgar!

What, where Napoleon got his ass kicked?

Sacré Bleu!  Nom de Dieu!  Sainte Marie!…

Oh, this may take a while folks.

Till next time,

J

Conversations with myself part 3

Oh hai there Rhy.  Napoleon not around?

Nah, he’s convinced that if McCain gets into office he’ll invade France, so he’s kinda hiding at the moment.  Anyways, how’s the Isle of Wight?

Still inbred.  But I dunno, not much is going on at the moment, except that I’m trying to avoid the Halloween crazies.

But Halloween isn’t until Friday.

Yeah, but that doesn’t stop all of the morons out there from celebrating it early.  Fuck, I was even invited TO a Halloween party on Friday, but kindly turned it down.  In essence, I laughed in their face.

You call that being kind?

Well, look on the bright side.  I could have stoved their head in with a brick, but I didn’t.  But it’s best I don’t go to stuff like that.  Already I have enough problem dealing with thickos when I’m sober, but when I’m drunk and in a room full of mindless cretins dressing up like bigger twats than usual, empty bottles tend to start flying through the air.

You don’t sound like you’re doing too well at the moment.

Yeah, I’ve been better.  But the only way I know how to vent is through the all-encompassing medium of DANCE!

Let my powers of electric boogie astound you

But seriously, I’m up and down at the moment.  On the one hand I’m happy to be back in the UK with decent food and even better beer and… ZOMG stores that stay open on a Sunday.  But on the other hand I miss my friends.  ‘Specially her.

Oh, the famous Scarlet Woman?  The Femme Fatale?  The-

It’s okay, I think we get the message.  Stave off with the clichés.  Yeah, her.  It’s been kind of difficult recently, because I’ve been having to ask myself a lot of questions about just where I want my relationship with her to go.  Also, it doesn’t really help that I have no fucking idea whatsoever what she wants.  But I’ve veered from being 100% sure of what I’m going to do about it all to that killing uncertainty that makes you feel empty inside.  While I prefer to have things occur in a spontaneous manner, I gotta admit that for this one I’d rather have a gameplan.

Lesser men would turn to drink to forget about their problems.

That’s sort of what I’ve been doing.  Just before I went back to the UK I touched my first beer in around a month and it went to my head.  Later while I was trying to get back to sleep I had some very stupid ideas about what I was going to tell her etcetera.  In hindsight, I’m glad I didn’t.  ‘Twould have been a baaaaad idea.

But surely you’ve got good friends to see you through these rough times?  A shoulder to cry on maybe?  A… oh, I’ll dispense with all that.

That’s the thing; I HAVE got some great friends who’ve been supportive throughout all this.  God knows putting up with me when I’m in this mood can’t be easy for anyone: I can be a right tosser sometimes when I’m in a mood.  But I dunno, I’m not great at this “emotional rollercoaster” stuff.  Especially when it comes to talking about it.  And then I end up thinking and winding myself up about the problem at hand, people notice and ask me what the matter is.  Then I end up lashing out at those closest to me when they don’t deserve it and are just trying to help.  Hell, that’s what I did last Caturday.

Did you apologize to them?

Not really, no.  But I am sorry for the way I can be sometimes.  I guess I’m just a little fucked up at the moment.  But they don’t deserve the shit they get from me sometimes.  Nobody does, because at the end of the day it’s me painting myself into a corner.  I suppose it’s just my way of reacting to not having any idea what to do.  It’s the helplessness that kills.  But I’m not good at that emotional stuff, even with my friends.

So what set you off on Saturday?  Or was it just spending two hours with a hyperactive coke-head Charbo?

I guess it was the realisation that this week would be difficult for me.  I came to England to escape my problems but that really just exacerbated things in a sense because I do miss her terribly.  As clichéd as it sounds, when she’s not around it does actually feel like something has been physically taken away from me.  I suppose that’s why I spend so much time with her these days.  But I don’t want to end up fooling myself into believing that our relationship is something it’s not.  God knows that’s happened before.

Shit, you’re in deep, my friend.  Wait, what’s that I hear?  A fanfare?  Oh shit.  It’s…

BONJOUR MES CHERS CAMARADES!

Oh, Jesus-Tapdancing-Christ on rollerskates.

You stopped hiding Napoleon?

Mais oui, mon p’tit alter-ego.  Ah have deecided to face ze pig-dog McCain on ze beaches of mah native Normandie!

You were born in Hull with the rest of us seperate consciousnesses you stupid bastard.  You only came to fruition a few weeks ago when James decided to create a funny semi-regular feature for his blog in hopes of keeping his faithful readers entertained for a little bit longer.  God knows it was full of stale material before.  Besides, you should be taking a break seeing as we’re not in France.

Actually, I think Napoleon represents my thoughts about France and the situation back there.  He’s a tangible manifestation of my worries and my problems back there, including a slight pang of homesickness for the country.  Fuck, Freud would have a field-day with me.  Folks, I should take this opportunity to reassure you that I’m not schizophrenic or insane.  Well, maybe a little crazy.  I just use these little conversations to do a little bit of psychoanalysing.  Also to fill space, because I have more to write when there are three different people expressing themselves through me.  But my problems are very real and my words sincere.

You cannot tell a lie.  That’s my job.

Indeed it is.

So what are you going to do about your little problem?

I’m not quite sure.  I could do with some advice from people.  Anyone who thinks they have a decent grip on relationships (cept you, Dad.  Talking to you would only embarrass the bejesus out of me.  No offense) who could offer me advice.  Or anyone who knows just what the fook she’s thinking.  But I don’t think anyone does.

Anyways this convo is becoming way to weird, even for me.  I’m orf.