The Tale of Nutty Transmitter McGee

Post CXXXVI

Here’s the story of mackerel, Swee’Pea, and pineapple.

Some would argue charging up a small hill, no, let’s call it a mountain, armed with a shoe in one hand and an old-fashioned lit torch in the other, a face as angry as the most powerful of seas and a constant mighty lion-esque noise coming from one’s mouth, is somewhat of an overreaction. Well readers, you clearly haven’t met me before, because this is exactly the plan I had. Now, look, it may have been somewhat fantastical, but I was angry. Damn angry. That television transmitter, 2000 feet into the sky, had a flying shoe coming. “DIE YOU MONSTER!” I’d scream after throwing said shoe. My plan then involved planting the torch into the ground nearby and whacking the transmitter with a bag full of dead slimy mackerel. “YOU MAKE MY LIFE A LIVING HELL!” I’d shout, as I continued my mackerel bashing until I was tired. I then resort to kicking the hell out of the transmitter. I’d probably be arrested at that point but, what a noble cause. Something to be proud of, something to tell the grandchildren about. They’d call me Nutty Transmitter McGee. You know what I’d do after the police released me? Round two, baby…

Oh, you know what it’s like. You toil, and toil, and toil, and wonder what ‘toil’ means, and then toil some more. Tudicula. A machine for crushing olives. That’s the Latin word where we get ‘toil’ from. And what it means. Although I wasn’t crushing olives. Why would you crush an olive? What is an olive? Wasn’t she married to that green giant fella? Or was it that spinach fella? Hmm. Doesn’t matter, really. I think she was fooling around with both of them, personally. She was fickle. Heck, we don’t know who the father of Swee’Pea was. Just left on the doorstep. And 71 years later, Popeye adopts him. 71 years? I never see the green giant, anymore. I wonder if Popeye killed him. Sorry, where was I? Ah, yes, ruining childhood memories. It’s what I do, guys.

So there I was. Crushing olives. No, wait, that’s a euphemism. For, for – you know, erm, toiling. Not a euphemism for, erm, I don’t know, something kinky. Well, you know what the kids are like these days. Decades ago, the only photo one took of their tinkle was for a doctor for his study into the first case of a newly found disease. I wonder if ‘crushing olives’ was a euphemism for anger, because that’s sort of what I’m getting at. Actually, I was getting to it two paragraphs ago. No, wait, sorry readers, that’s not true either. I was getting to it before you arrived. How? YOU WERE LATE, THAT’S WHY!

It’s nothing important. You know what it’s like. You get hung over the little things and then try to forget the little things by becoming hung over. And that’s a really, really, really bad thing, kids. Stay in school. The more you know, yada, yada, yada. I was blog redesigning. All three of them. I spent several hours a day doing that, for the best part of a week. Because I know jack crap all. I have weird transcendental luck. I can achieve something without actually achieving it. Like, I might be aiming to retune my guitar, but somehow, I’ll end up making a pineapple radio. Well, brilliant. No longer do I need to fix the guitar I can’t actually play, I can just listen to someone else. I’ve sort of achieved it. I don’t know how I got there, but I bloody well did. Hell, yeah, I rock. Call me, Mr. Pineapple. No, wait, don’t, that’s actually a terrible name. The Pineapple. Hmm, I’m really not very good at anything, am I?

All I was seeing was HTML coding like that dude in that film that’s like an acid trip. The Matrix, that’s the ticket. I didn’t have time to recuperate before I had to go and help mother tidy the attic. It’s only partially boarded. Ah, you have no idea how misleading insulation is. You think, ‘Oh no, I’ve fallen off a shelf I was precariously balanced on, and I’m falling toward the part of the attic not boarded, this is gonna hurt – oh, wait, there’s some nice comfy insulation, all is well’. Oh no, no, no. I’ll wait a minute while you go and rub some insulation all over your face. “ARRRRGH! IT BURNS! IT BURNS! SAVE ME WONDER WOMAN!”

Itchy red face and covered in rashes. Sadly, not the bacon kind. Tired. Headache from God only knows how many hours of sitting in front of a screen full of coding. I was miserable. A virtual hug from an online friend came about at that point. Ah, the world isn’t so bad. I’ll just switch on my television and presume the wellness will continue…

Ooh! Doctor Who. My favourite. Ooh, I really like this episode. Yea! So excited! What a great end to the week! All is well! Oh. Hmm. That’s strange. There’s no signal. But no, wait, fate wouldn’t do that to me. We had a deal after the last time this happened. I get my programmes and I won’t kidnap fate’s hamster again. Come on. I’m clicking my fingers. Wondering why that isn’t working. Oh, no. Please. Not now. No. NO. NO! NOOOOOOO! YOU BASTARD! NOT NOW!

Curling up into a ball, rocking back and forth and weeping didn’t bring the signal back. Hence why I formulated the plan to get revenge on the transmitter, which lately, keeps having problems. It’s only two miles away. I keep having to retune into the next nearest transmitter 46 miles away and I get a perfect picture. But I don’t like that. The nearest should be the best. Nothing between me and it, flat land all the way. So rather than go through the proper channels, I thought, well, hey, why not throw my shoe at the transmitter?

Dad came upstairs at this point. “MY GOD! Your room stinks of -” Well, yes, you can probably guess the rest of that. It wasn’t what I needed. The smell was a pile of old socks I’d forgot about and found in the back of my wardrobe. Long story. He brought up some incense sticks. And you know what? That incense really worked. Calmed me right down, it did. I felt like I was floating in the sky over an ocean of rainbows. It had the same effect on mother, who has arthritis. It was so effective for her joints that she said, I kid you not, that she was considering a more permanent solution by going to Amsterdam to get some cannabis. She was joking. I think. I have very strange parents. Incense sticks and cannabis. I don’t think any of their weirdness was passed on down to me, though. Do you?

I don’t know why father brought me incense but it really put things into perspective. I was wrong to want to take vengeance on the transmitter that keeps making me miss my programmes. Very wrong. Yup. Wrong indeed. So very wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Hmm. No, wait, I wasn’t. I really wasn’t. I was totally in the right. Oh, yes indeedy. You hear that kids? Next time something makes you angry, throw a shoe at it.

What? I’m not their father, why should I be a good role model?

Go nuts.

American feminist, journalist and social and political activist, Gloria Steinem (b. 1934), once said: “The truth will set you free, but first it will piss you off.”

Peace Out :|:


I’d love to hear your thoughts on this post. You can leave a comment and/or like this post below, or by clicking the title on the top of this post if you are on the archives page. Likes and follows greatly appreciated. Thanks.


Please feel free check out the latest posts from my other two blogs:

To Contrive & Jive
New Posts Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday
Click Here To Read The Latest Post

Hark Around The Words
New Posts Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday
Click Here To Read The Latest Post


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