March 21

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Connor and I gave each other a bit of a shock yesterday morning.

Hmm.

Sounds like the opening line of some cheesy homo-erotic fuckfest, doesn’t it? 

And maybe it is…

No. Don’t go there. He’s butt-ugly and far too young.

Anyway… here’s what happened…

Every morning at 0900 sharp, Connor calls me on Skype.

I pick up almost instantly and yell out my traditional greeting (he gets upset if I don’t)…

FAGGOTRON!

We never claimed to have sophisticated tastes in humour. Or to be PC.

And yesterday was no different…

… except this time I hit answered with my video on. 

That’s a big deal for me. There are maybe a half-dozen people in the world I’ll video-chat with, and now Connor’s been elevated to those hallowed ranks.

But as soon as Skype made the connection I wished I hadn’t.

“Oh… fuck, fuck fuck,”, he said, “you’ve got your video on and I look like shit”.

And he wasn’t wrong.

Picture this: Connor in his black dressing gown, hood pulled up, and glasses off, hunched over his laptop camera like Emperor fucking Palpatine taking a haemorrhoid-afflicted shit.

Even funnier?

The day before he’d had some weird-arse injections in his knuckles so his hands were all clawed like a fucking spas.

Oh, man… just how much did I laugh?

JUST HOW MUCH DID I LAUGH?

A lot.

I may have snorted once or twice.

My eyes definitely watered with tears of mirth and joy.

Still, as I remarked to him, what with my fucked-up brain and his fucked-up body, together we make almost a whole person.

What’s not to love, eh?

Trust us. We’re, erm, not doctors.

And together, me an’ ‘im, we’re single-handedly taking on the unspeakable menace of the High Street Zombie Apocalypse to save willing souls from the remorseless and relentless march of apathy, inertia, and sloth.

Cuz that’s all it is. 

It’s all in yer head and there’s nothing you can’t fix if you have a mind to.

This very morning I saw a thread on LinkedIN, owners of local businesses in Portsmouth blaming the council, the government, and the Lord Alone Knows Who Else for their struggles — with not a one of them expressing even the remotest desire or intention of doing anything about it themselves.

Let me be frank: it’s pathetic. It’s the ugliest face of victimhood I can imagine.

We, Connor and I, chatted yesterday about Stoicism. He, like me, is a natural Stoic. Each of us faces serious challenges in our lives: me with my autism, and him with shit going on with his body, shit they’re still trying to work out, let alone fix.

Do we gripe about it?

Sure we do. In between bouts of laughter and mutual insults.

Do we moan about any of it?

No. 

Never.

But most important of all we both just get the fuck on with things because no one’s gonna do it for us (which is entirely right and proper).

And this is why The Operation is turning out to be such a success.

It’s why Ground Zero will be such a success.

And it’s why, if you let us help you, your biz will turn out to be a success, too. 

Cuz there ain’t nothing can resist the combined, focused, and determined power of a cripple an’ a retard.

Truth.

Click here for Ground Zero details

Witheringly,

P.S. Funniest thing of all?

He’s going on some funky new drugs (don’t ask), and they apparently turn all your bodily fluids (and, erm, solids… really don’t ask) orange.

You couldn’t make this shit up (no matter what colour it is).

And he wonders why he’s not allowed to talk to clients and I’ve replaced him with a fucking sock-puppet.

Fret ye not: join us for Ground Zero, and I’ll deal with Connor so you don’t have to. 

Click here for Ground Zero details


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