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Ex-Tabula Rasa

I shall try to define myself in a sentence with a pithy comment at the end:
I'm just an English bloke who lives in Canada after marrying a Canadian lady he met while living in Japan. Yeah, that old cliché.

Shameless Self-Promotion:
My utterly hilarious blog is here
And another one is here

Wow! I'm on Twitter now!
Averaging three stars a tweet since the death of Favrd!

Still Want More?
Email me for fun and frolics*! My address goes along the lines of Japanese (dot) smoth (@) gmail (dot) com. *Actual ratio of fun to frolics may vary.
Sep 29 '14

After a Weekend of Research, a List of Wrestling Moves that do not Work on a 2012 Mazda CX-9

  • Russian Suplex
  • Sidewalk Slam
  • Crippler Crossface
  • Inverted Cloverleaf
  • Spinning Bulldog
  • Wacky Spaniard
  • Three-Quarter Maurice Sendak
  • The NeverMavis
  • Gutway Disenabler
  • Shropshire Bungalow
Sep 27 '14

Arnold & Son CTB



Arnold & Son CTB


Sep 25 '14
Sock game: I tried to give a fuck.

Sock game: I tried to give a fuck.

Sep 25 '14

Car Insurers Don’t Want You to Know About this SIMPLE Trick to Lower Your Bills!

Meet you insurance broker face to face. Immediately after sitting down, say “I wish to speak to Mister Greyfriars.” Use those exact words.

Your broker will say he does not know who Mister Greyfriars is. Do not be discouraged. Ask two more times using those exact words.

After you have asked three times and the broker feigns ignorance, say “I demand to see Mister Greyfriars. It is very VERY important.” The second ‘very’ should be at least half a decibel louder than the first.

You will say this three times in total. The broker will continue to plead ignorance. He may threaten to call security or the police. He is bluffing.

After you have asked this three times, stand up and say, “I am ready for my challenge. Mister Greyfriars awaits me.” The broker will now stand up also and will direct you to a door in a seldom visited part of his office.

The door will open to a staircase going down. There will be torches on the walls. You will hear dripping noises. Your broker will escort you to the bottom of the stairs, then he will tell you that he can go no further.

At the bottom of the stairs, there is a narrow corridor. Walk down the corridor. There will be doors either side of you. You will hear noises. They will be unsettling. Do not enter these doors, and do not linger outside them. Under no circumstances should you make a sound or look back to your broker.

At the end of the corridor is a large wooden door. Knock on the door three times. A voice will ask who is knocking, and you must answer “I have come to see Mister Greyfriars.”

The door will open by itself. The room inside will be unlit, and you will not see what lies within. Step inside. The door will close behind you.

Close your eyes. Do not open them. No matter what noises you hear, no matter what feels like it is brushing against you, no matter how strong the urge to run becomes, you must stand perfectly still and keep your eyes closed. Avoiding the urge to spontaneously defecate is desirable but unlikely.

When the noises stop, do not open your eyes. Turn around and step forward. The door will close behind you, and you may look. Your broker will be there. You will be asked, “What did Mister Greyfriars tell you?” and you will respond, “There is nothing beyond the unperceivable.” The broker will nod and lead you back upstairs.

You will save 10-15% on your car insurance. If you have a parking garage, it could be as high as 20%.

Sep 22 '14

Something I learned

People will reblog any old bollocks so long as it’s tagged ‘poetry.’

Sep 22 '14
Sep 22 '14

A Poem

I went to Like your Tumblr post

But I double clicked the heart

It lifted for a second

Then immediately tore in two and disappeared

I was going to click it again

But I couldn’t bring myself to

In case I crushed your heart again

It was a really nice picture of a cat riding a tricycle though

A really nice picture

Sep 20 '14
Just fuck off and fucking hibernate already, you useless bunch of garbage-spreading twatvermin

Just fuck off and fucking hibernate already, you useless bunch of garbage-spreading twatvermin

Sep 19 '14

My New Punk Band Name:

The Angry Pedestrians

Debut Album:

Sidewalk Rollerblader Clothesline


Throwing Bottles at Red Light- and Stop Sign-Ignoring Cyclists

If You’d Have Worn a Helmet You Wouldn’t be Bleeding Now

Kiss my Elbow, Tightpants

Your Choice was Cars or Me (You Chose Wrong)

The Ballad of the Skateboarder who Never Saw it Coming

Sep 16 '14

The Details I Remember

Our first kiss was in a corridor outside the bathrooms in a busy bar and karaoke complex. A few minutes earlier we had been sitting at a table with friends, eating bar food and drinking alcohol, when her leg touched mine and didn’t move.

"What are you doing?" I whispered.

"Isn’t it obvious?" she replied, smiling, "I’m attracted to you."

I don’t remember the exact circumstances behind our being together around the corner from our table, standing outside the bathrooms as people pushed past us to get in and out, but there we were. And we were there for a while, until we finally realised that a) we were an obstruction and b) our friends were wondering where we both were.

The last train to my city left before everyone else’s and when I got up to go she accompanied me to the door, where we kissed some more. We kissed just long enough that when I got to the train station, puffing and panting from having run like the wind, my train was slowly pulling away, the conductor solemnly shaking his head at me.

Back in the bar everyone - including her - offered me spare beds and futons, and I took her up on the offer. She was on the other side of the prefecture, an hour away from my town, but her offer seemed more genuine than the others, no matter how much more convenient they would have been.

When we arrived in her town, we danced up the winding hill road to her house, tipsy and excited. There was a shrine next her her place, up some steps. We decided to visit it, stumbling up in the pitch blackness, where even the moonlight was obstructed by trees. We reached the top and I stepped forward, straight into a sharp metal brazier. Giggling, we went back down to her place where we washed my wound and put a band aid on it.

She still jokes that she scarred me for life that night. It’s there on my shin, a two-inch indent that acts as a reminder of our first kiss, which we refer to as the BTI: Buddhist Temple Incident (even though it was a Shinto shrine, not a Buddhist temple).

The last thing I remember was lying in bed with the girl I had been attracted to since we first met, a couple of months before, not sure how this had happened, but blissfully happy. She rolled over in the darkness and whispered, “I adore you,” before falling asleep.

She doesn’t remember that part at all.