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middleageddad.bsky.social
Vox Populi
@middleageddad.bsky.social
21 followers 320 following 7 posts
Middle aged white xennial, generally horrified at everything, including my own aging.....in fact it's mostly my own aging
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middleageddad.bsky.social
These are fantastic
scsheil.bsky.social Steven Sheil @scsheil.bsky.social · Apr 10
My talented wife @jeaniefinlay.com has turned my 'Adrian Chills' stories (short horror stories inspired by the Guardian columns of Adrian Chiles) into actual columns!
A mock-up of a Guardian column. The headline reads: Every autumn I am shunned by friends and neighbours. But I think I've finally broken the curse. The text reads: Year after year, I struggle to give away an enormous crop of scarred, worm-eaten apples. Each Autumn I rise, my scarred, worm-eaten hands digging up through the earth to reach the surface, my sightless, worm-eaten eyes facing the cold white moon above. On flesh-stripped, worm-eaten legs I tread the desire paths which wend their way through the trees, pausing with each broken step to bend and reach for the mangled fruits which pepper the orchard floor, the heavy hessian scrumper’s sack which hangs from my whip-wounded, worm-eaten shoulders becoming gradually filled to the point of bursting. When my sleepless bones can carry no more, I set out on the slow walk towards the village, to find the kin of those who made me pay for the theft of their crop, ready to give back what they so cruelly demanded. My scarred, worm-eaten hands knock on each door, and I await their answer. I bring their own rotten fruit, ready for them to taste. A mock-up of a Guardian column: The headline reads: Scatter cushions and bedspreads - can someone explain to me what they're for? The text reads: Every night I hurl them off the bed. Every morning they are replaced. I don’t know how or by whom, but the cushions are there; varied in size and colour and pattern - some small, some large, some soft as marshmallow, some rigid as bedsprings - they crowd the pillow where I lay my head each night like a Greek chorus. And like a chorus, some nights before I throw them on the floor, I swear I can hear them whispering. On the last night of my stay, I have disquieting dreams. My limbs whither to almost nothing, becoming little more than limp tassels attached to a bloating trunk. I feel my neck retract, pulling my rapidly diminishing head into the straight line of my shoulders, my bones disintegrating into mush. Soon I am looking out through sightless eyes from a body that is all torso, its skin now woven like fabric, muscle- and bloodless. I strain every part of what remains of my body to edge myself along the wooden floor and up the bedpost to the bedspread. There I join the chorus and finally hear their whispered song, now clear to my earless ears as what it always had been - a siren call. A mock-up of a Guardian column. The headline reads 'Where have all the headphones gone on public transport? The noise is eating into my soul'. The text reads: The bus is stuck in traffic, has been for nearly ten minutes now. I’m at the front on the top deck, so I can see the problem up ahead - two vehicles have collided, strewing debris across both lanes. Two police cars frame the scene, their blue lights pulsing in the evening rain. All I want to do is get home. The headache which has been squatting in my skull this last while is filling more and more of my consciousness, blotting out every other thought, every other sensation. Everything but the sound. Somewhere behind me, music is playing, the tinny tsch tsch tsch of a mobile phone speaker. The noise is eating into my soul. It’s like a skewer on which the pain is impaled and revolving, a parasite buried so deep it has become an integral part of the host. I try to move my head to see what kind of person would subject others to this torment, but all I can glimpse is an outstretched bloody hand on the bus floor, the cracked phone beneath broken fingers. Above the noise, beyond it, I hear the sound of ambulances approaching. I try to turn again, to see the face of my torturer, but I can barely manage more than an inch. The shattered windscreen which cradles my bloodied head like a crown just won’t let me move any further.
April 10, 2025 at 9:06 PM
middleageddad.bsky.social
For some reason Stevie isn't on any of the 'funny people' starter pack things I blindly signed up to, despite being funnier than a lot of the people that are on those lists...so give her a follow
5teviem.bsky.social Stevie Martin @5teviem.bsky.social · Nov 19
this is really good and quite moving which is surprising considering how much I don’t get on with the lad
zafarcakes.bsky.social Bilal Zafar @zafarcakes.bsky.social · Nov 18
MY FIRST SUBSTACK PLS SHARE IF U LIKE IT ETC

-bz

open.substack.com/pub/zafarcak...
November 19, 2024 at 9:00 PM
middleageddad.bsky.social
How did I miss the existence of this podcast?! Move over Rory and Alastair....
November 17, 2024 at 12:27 PM
Reposted by Vox Populi
misterabk.bsky.social
Will the detective investigating your murder be sad?
A spoof of an infographic showing a map of Europe, colour-coded by which countries will offer food to visitors. The caption is "Will the detective investigating your murder be sad?" The Nordic territories are labelled "sad", Northern Europe is labelled "sad & wet", Eastern Europe, Southern France and Northern Italy are labelled "sad and drunk" and the Mediterranean nations are labelled "sexy". It's less funny when you explain it, to be honest.
October 7, 2023 at 5:22 PM
middleageddad.bsky.social
youtu.be/UPDEe2xdJ1k?...

Why was I not informed these existed sooner? They've also reminded me Sassy Trump is a thing too....
Zapp Brannigan presents Quotations From Donald J Trump #11
YouTube video by Helmer Prexy Productions
youtu.be
November 14, 2024 at 11:24 AM
Reposted by Vox Populi
alixabeth.bsky.social
I really really wish people would stop anticipating Trump voter buyer’s remorse with such certainty. This administration is their Birkin bag. They may come to see the price they pay as a sacrifice for the feelings it gives them.
November 13, 2024 at 6:11 AM