Hi. I’m Log! I’ve been writing in this blog for about six months now, and I don’t feel like we know each other. Let me tell you about my day!
The first thing I do, every morning, is fling my legs gaily from the bedclothes, tap my foot on the floor – rat-a-tat-tat – and hurl myself into the rampant position. I open the window, and catch the bread that I slung into the sky on the previous night (I am a really good thrower). It’s toasted golden by re-entry, and covered in a thick layer of salty butter that I choose not to question.
I stride into my work, where I am the boss. I go into the kitchen, and say saying something amazing, like “Somebody make me a coffee, before I die from MONDAY”. By eleven o’ clock I’m bored of work, so I wink at someone, shout “Haha! Daventry won’t streamline itself!” before putting my hands on my hips and thrusting my groin at the door. In response, the door swings opens, and the force of my thrust carries me through.
Then, I walk around town for a bit. Thanks to a muscular deformity (by which I mean superpower) in my ankles, I’ve got this awesome skill – I can do a somersault without even bending my knees. I spend a lot of time standing outside restaurants, staring at couples eating their meals. They ignore me for a while, but eventually the woman gets upset, the man starts to get angry, and just as he stands up, I do this insane backflip, without even bending my knees. There’s a brief moment of indecision on his face, before I put a lady’s wig on, kiss him, and run off.
By 4pm I’m hungry, so I go into Greggs the Bakers and eat pretty much everything, by which I mean two sausage rolls. They’re best when they’re fresh, but sometimes they’re too hot, so I put the end to my mouth and blow, to cool the meat. Only thing is, my lungs are totally bionic and I often blow the meat into a pram, and the mother’s all like “Oh God there’s steaming pork on my baby” and I look unimpressed and say “if that was Scooby Doo it would have eaten it by now” and the woman says “it’s not Scooby Doo it’s a baby”, and I say “well if you’re just going to state the obvious I’m going home”.
When I get home, they’ll have delivered my new carpet. I get these amazing carpets imported every day. They’re like totally turbo-soft, and if you get really close you can see it’s made of fuckin’ dogs, which is totally amazing.
It’s comfy as hell, like, but you have to get a new one every day as their little skulls break. After an evening of dancing around to The Spin Doctors and REM, you’re wading around in crushed jawbones, vitreous humour and adorable little puppy paws. I’ll tell you something for nothing, though – for microscopic puppies, they bleed like your fucking mother used to.
It’s nearly bedtime now, so I rinse the blood and pork off my face, and set about saying my prayers. I believe in Jesus who died on the cross, although I really don’t get what God was up, only having one Jesus.
If I was God I would have had around ten thousand Jesus, like one every 200 miles or something, so people would say “did you see that guy who rode around Bethlehem on a donkey?” and someone would say “no way there was some dude on a donkey in Nazareth or something like ON THE SAME DAY” and they would say “either that donkey is a fast as Log or he is a fucking miracle worker”.
And when boats were invented and people found other countries, they’d say “we worship this guy on a really fast donkey who you can’t kill” and they’d say “What, the bloke with the beard? We’ve got him too, fuckin a!” I mean all respect due to God, but I think he really fucked up the whole Jesus thing. I could definitely have done it better, especially sincewatching Bruce Almighty, which outlines most of the common “human with God’s power” pitfalls.
That’s the prayer I say every night, before chucking some bread into the sky and going to bed. I totally feel l like I know you all better, now I’ve told you all about myself. If you want to share anything of your own daily routine with me, feel free. I’m utterly, utterly going to give a shit.