Goodbye Cruel World (also, return to the Stomper's Den (again))

I will have you know that this may be the last time I write for a very, very long time. If ever. I have made this decision because as of a few weeks ago, I have begun to focus all my energies into the study of Magic. Some people may yell out ‘thank the lord these ramblings will cease’, I immediately put a curse on you heathens and vow to use magic in the future to somehow destroy you.

Here is a picture of me in the foreground creating destruction for you aforementioned jerks. i have in this depiction used magic to round you all up in the one place and then launched an explosion in the general vicinity.


Although I have planned to destroy the non-believers, I know on the other hand there will be a lot of people out there in the world who will be quite relieved that I have now found my true calling. I would not be surprised if between 30 and 40 people exclaim ‘Yes, magic. That is probably what he is destined for I suppose.’ Or something there or thereabouts.

While I am mainly learning Magic off the internet at the moment, I plan to extend my knowledge by
a) reading books in regard to magic
b) buying posters of my favourite wizards to hang up around the house (Gandalf, Pug AKA Milamber, Merlin and last but not least Catweazle)
c) trying to figure out the difference between Ceremonial Magic, Illusionist Magic, Paranormal Magic, Religious Magic and Magick, with an extra ‘K’. Then deciding on which branch of magic I would mainly like to focus on as I slowly become a magician of note (or potentially a sorceror or Warlock).
d) Finding someone who can teach me about witchcraft and the occult
e) Referring to myself as The Great Maniac Holstfield Wonders and wearing a cape at least 90 per cent of the time.

There is a fair bit to get through, but seeing I am back in New Zealand and I have no car and am bored as I have ever been, I have a lot of time on my hands to make this dream a reality. I have already learnt around 5 magic tricks and have ordered the ‘Art Of Levitation’ DVD on my mother’s credit card as an early 30th birthday present.



Although she does not really approve of my practicing magic or constant cape wearing she can hardly deny me this request on such a milestone of a birthday.
As previously mentioned, she is widely known as the Morning Stomper due to her 6am passages up and down the hallway with a ferocity and volume that can strike fear into the hearts of many men. Because of her reputation for hallway gusto and speed, combined with her renowned interrogation techniques (which we think she may have learnt from infamous Nazi interrogater Hanns Scharff), many would think it an unwise idea to ever question her authority whilst living under her roof. But I, like my 16 year old brother (who is most certainly the favourite child), have the courage of a lion. And sometimes of late, questions have had to be asked.

‘Where the heck are all the towels in this god forsaken hellhole?’ I asked one morning yelling naked from a towel-less bathroom (post-shower, pre-teeth brush).
‘Your brother needs them for his running competition tomorrow so I have packed them into the car so there is no chance of him being without,’ the Stomper replied whipping down the hallway at approx 80km/h leaving a trail of destruction in her wake.
‘Thanks for NOTHING! What will I dry myself with?’
'Why don't you use your bear and wolf towel to dry yourself?' yelled my brother from the lounge. It was obvious he was really getting into the swing of school holidays by simultaneously drinking chocolate milk, playing X-Box and sitting around in his undies at midday.
‘Because A) its a cape, not a towel you maniac! And B) I am not a big fan of taking it off my custom made cape hooks unless it is for a totally valid reason.' I replied knowing he would appreciate my reasoning.
‘Don’t call your brother a maniac. Here’s a bathmat.’ Said the Stomper as she tore past again, handing me a peach hand towel which she had collected at some point in the morning on one of her many, many laps between the kitchen and the laundry cupboard.

I knew that if my skills at magic were stronger by now I would not get treated like this. Like some second rate member of the family who is not allocated towels and also asked to ‘housesit’ when it was time for a ‘family holiday’ instead of actually attending the ‘family holiday’. I now know that Magic is my only ticket out of here, to infinity and beyond etc. I would show them. I would show them good.



But first I need to get my mental state right. It has been a tough time resettling back in New Zealand because Kenny Powers the pig is now too big to fit in my room comfortably and I have had to build a makeshift shrine for him to live in outside my window. Luckily I can reach my hand out to ‘Kenny’s Sex Shack’ and still be in contact with him physically, and also within reach so I can pour Nutri Grains onto his custom screen printed American Idol dining plate.
At least he seems happy to be here and is not afraid to go into the woods at the bottom of our section any more. Which essentially, I still am.
The other thing that has been tough about adjusting to New Zealand have been my constant headaches and recurring nightmares about plane crashes.
It is one thing to go down in a flaming plane wreck in a dream, but in these particular dreams I am also basically dying of starvation at the same time. I can confirm that this is not the greatest feeling on planet earth.
Luckily I know that more people per year die from being killed by donkeys than by plane crashes.
And because of this I feel safe to fly again, but on the flipside of that coin I am very wary of any donkeys I will meet on my travels and feel as though now is a good a time as any to be constantly carrying my slingshot around just in case.
I should have known there was something up with donkeys from the first time I went to a farmpark called Staglands and my dad put me on top of a donkey only to be bucked off seconds later into a medium sized pile of rabbit pooh.
Anyway, screw donkeys. They can all get stuffed.




I have a riddle.
Q. A woman shoots her husband. Then she holds him under water for over 5 minutes. Finally, she hangs him. But 5 minutes later they both go out together and enjoy a wonderful dinner together. How can this be?

At first I thought the answer was
A. She is married to Bernie from Weekend At Bernies and he is dead when they go out and enjoy the wonderful dinner together.




But the actual answer is
A . The woman was a photographer. She shot a picture of her husband, developed it and hung it up to dry.

Which I think is a reasonably boring answer.