By Mr Morose
Boy oh boy. I just can't seem to get a break. Alongside being born with banana shaped feet and inside-out internal organs, God kindly took the liberty of giving me the face of a professional boxing glove tester. I've been hit by cars, walked into glass doors, been shanghaied in a religious cult, lived in a tent for six months and continuously been a victim of crime. Money is repelled from me. Skin cream brings me out in hives. Paracetamol gives me migraines. What I'm driving at is that I have always suffered chronically with bad luck, which I'm presently trying to remedy.
My friend Richard once told me that you make your own luck. Anyway, since he's only a figment of my imagination I probably shouldn't listen to him. Instead, I paid a visit to Zezaurian temptress/mystic Joy De Vivre for some of her sage advice and voodoo mumbo-jumbo. After kicking me in the gonads, she proceeded to read my palm. "Milk, bread, lentils, coffee, pile cream" she cooed. I'd forgotten to wash off the shopping list I scrawled on my hand, so we tried reading tea leaves instead. It didn't sound good. According to those leaves I don't have long left, and it won't be fun. Whatever, I had enough of her superstitious tripe and sought out a more realistic solution and called my Grandpa.
Well, I might as well have phoned Jesus, the use that did me. He told me that I have a negative attitude and that the idea of blaming things on bad luck is a way I avoid taking personal responsibility for what happens in my life blablabla. He should stick to playing scrabble.
So, just when I thought I'd never get to the bottom of my problem, the answer presented itself to me this afternoon while I was sitting on the number 43 bus. There he was, hiding behind the pink-hued pages of the Financial Times, occasionally glancing over at me with a knowing glint in his eye. It was a bloody great ostrich wearing a porkpie hat and a waistcoat. You may recall me telling you about the rhino and the eagle who control hangovers and emotional pain. Well, this crafty bugger seems to be in cahoots with old lady luck. I still haven't figured out a way of getting him off my back, but when I do, you'll be the first to know.