Discworld

I haven't blogged in a long while, for good reason. I've been reading. Yes. I read. My manic humour has to come from somewhere. Inspired by some thing. And my thing of choice is Terry Pratchett's Discworld.

I've had moments when I couldn't touch his books. Periods that lasted 6 - 7 months. A year or more sometimes.

It's like the Baskin Robbins that I used to enjoy a pint at a time until my body finally rallied all of its bits into an angry pitch-fork wielding mob and collectively launched brown liquidy spew out of my mouth. It said, "Hey, Bile! And you, Stomach! Not you, Asshole! Grab these picket signs we're storming the Esophagus!"

Then I had to stay off the ice-creams for some time before I could launch myself into another delightful chocolatey binge.

Terry Pratchett is my indulgence. He takes the world as we know it and wraps it in a veil of twisted satire that doesn't actually do much veiling of anything. Instead, it reveals. Reveals the twisted truths of the world that we live in. In the privacy of our bedrooms or toilets where we happen to be reading, we can own up and laugh at ourselves, "hahahaha yeah I'm guilty of that. *snort* " Something we might only do with only the closest friends, and even then not all the time.

Terry Pratchett pokes fun at all of us. And I love it! Can't get enough of it!

And I'm going to share with you some of his literary gems. I don't even care if you don't get it. Like his books, this blog post is completely an indulgence for me. Mwahahaaa.

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Here's a minor example of his wit...

"Everywhere he looked there were 'fat' geysers. Rings of ancient, congealed yellow fat, so old and rancid that even Sam Vimes wouldn't dip his toast in it unless he was really hungry, encircled sizzling little pools. There were even black floating bits, which on second glance turned out to be insects that were slow learners in a hot fat situation.

Vimes recalled something Igor had said. Sometimes dwarfs working the high strata, where the fat had congealed into a kind of tallow millennia ago, found strange ancient animals, perfectly preserved but fried to a crisp.

Probably... Vimes found himself laughing out of sheer exhaustion... probably battered to death.

Mwahahaaa.

The snow was falling heavily now, making the fat pools spit.

Vimes sagged to his knees. He ached all over. It wasn't just that his brain was writing cheques that his body couldn't cash. It had gone beyond that. Now his feet were borrowing money that his legs hadn't got, and his back muscles were looking for loose change under the sofa cushions."

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Excerpt from his book, "The Fifth Elephant"
.... this excerpt reminds of my current place of work which I won't name but YOU know

Captain Carrot explains, "In Uberwald the dwarfs and trolls haven't settled their old grievances. There are large areas controlled by feudal vampire or werewolf clans, and there are also tracts with much higher than normal background magic. It is a chaotic place, indeed, and you'd hardly think you were in the Century of the Fruitbat. It is to be hoped that things will improve, however, and Uberwald will, happily, be joining the community of nations.'

Vimes and Vetinari exhchanged looks. Sometimes Carrot sounded like a civics essay written by a stunned choirboy.

"Well put,' said the Patrician at last. "But until that joysome day Uberwald remains a mystery inside a riddle wrapped in an enigma."

"Let me see if I've got this right," said Vimes. "Uberwald is like this big suet pudding that everyone's suddenly noticed, and now with this coronation as an excuse we've all got to rush there with knife, fork and spoon to shovel as much on our plates as possible?"

"Your grasp of political reality is masterly, Vimes. You lack only the appropriate vocabulary."