A bottom crack completely covered in highlighter
including a warning I'll be a madman by Christmas and a good poetic way of commemorating fireworks
Hello. It is November 2024. This is the twenty-third monthly instalment of Interesting Skull, a newsletter of unfeasibly incredible jokes and strikingly pedestrian lifestyles written by me, occasionally interesting writer Mike Rampton.
This coming Tuesday is your annual chance to recite both the best poem I’ve ever written and the best poem ever written:
Remember, remember, November the fifth.
This is the rhyme you remember it with.
The day that you set all those fireworks off,
Is the day that comes after November the foff.
My book There’s No Such Thing As A Silly Question came out last month. In theory, anyway — due to some kind of maritime incident (one of my least-favourite types of incident) a lot of deliveries were delayed, and smaller shops like “Amazon” and “Waterstones” didn’t get theirs. Many pre-orders still haven’t been delivered, which makes the whole thing look a bit like I’m a big fibber.
But I’m not! It’s real! It’s in shops! Look!
But don’t take my word for it — enjoy this glowing five-star review in The Sun, this reasonably good one from the Yorkshire Evening Post (also printed in the Lancashire Evening Post and written by someone with the surname Norfolk, which I think makes it count again), or this article I wrote for the i paper about kids and questions.
That last one is, if you think about it, me being paid to write about how great I am, which is all I’ve ever wanted.
1
“I spend all my income on poo!”
“Gross!”
“No, after tax.”
2
“I’ve been studying karate for a few years in a nice village.”
“Green belt?”
“No, my hard work at karate — which has taken place in an entirely rural environment — has seen me progress to wearing a blue belt.”
3
“Who’s better, the person that takes notes on a ship or the person that wrote 2001: A Space Odyssey?”
“Ah, the sea clerk.”
“I’m going to have to ask you to clarify.”
A fun thing: I’m writing another book, but this one will be way faster, and come out in May 2025 from HarperCollins. The idea is that reading it makes you into a massive, absurd genius — it’s basically a big book of facts for kids but delivered in a manic, overexcited way. Part of my pitch was “imagine if Schott’s Original Miscellany was completely written in highlighter”. I was asked to write a statement for a press release, which I don’t think I’ve ever done before. This was it:
“I am beyond thrilled to be working with HarperCollins Children's Books to create a generation of super-geniuses. I have 100% confidence they will all use their towering superhuman intellects for good, and that none of them will use their colossal brainpower in selfish or terrifying ways. HarperCollins have worked with some of the greatest names in literature, including Agatha Christie, J.R.R. Tolkien and Hilary Mantel — they all did their very best, but imagine how much more they could have achieved if they had access to my book. We can only dream.”
I don’t have very long to write it, so by the time I get to the end I won’t be writing in character as a maniac anymore, as my mind will have entirely dissolved. Great!
4
What do you call three satirical postmodern SF novels which popularised many ideas later taken up by conspiracy theorists and introduced the concept of Discordianism, printed on some squeaky cheese that is at its best when grilled?
The Hallouminatus! Trilogy
5
I had a round, circular, ring-shaped, hooped, annular loop of dough containing sultanas, dried grapes and currants. It was a synonym and raisin bagel.
6
“Al Gore’s wife is visiting a town in Ireland and appreciated a well-ventilated space.”
“Tipper? Airy?”
“No, Cork.”
I went on a camp in a disused railway station with the Woodcraft Folk this month. They are an organisation that seems to pretty much be “godless, right-on Scouting with messages of peace and togetherness but with a few dodgy words about Native Americans knocking around here and there because it was a different time” — lots of taking kids to woods to muck around and teaching them how to build fires and use drills. It’s ace, and the camp was really good fun but incredibly knackering — one of their traditions is that the kids wake the adults up by bashing pots and pans together, and that sucks. The boot of my car currently doesn’t open due to an electrical fault, which added a layer of Winnie-the-Pooh type nonsense to everything — removing bag after bag of camping supplies, fancy dress and firewood from it all involved a surprising amount of crawling. The crack of my bottom is rarely properly covered anyway, so this was all particularly undignified and I’m probably on a register now.
7
“When it comes to choosing a topping for this sweet pie from the southern states of America, nothing can be better than the nut of the hickory species carya illinoinensis.”
“Pecan?”
“No it can’t, that would be a horrible topping for a pie.”
8
How does Ozzy Osbourne clean his Swedish car?
In a black Saab bath.
9
What do you call a poet from the Middle Ages with a teacup on his head?
Geoffrey Saucer.
October in numbers: Got quite depressed in five different bookshops. Think I went past Mary Beard on an open-top bus. Played about forty games of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles pinball. Drew two robots, one bat and an owl. Saw the aurora borealis from my street. Went to parents’ evening. Watched a documentary about wrestling and read a good book about a ship. I… don’t… do… anything.
Buy my book / PayPal me £5.30 for a pint of Kronenbourg / Follow me on Instagram / Enjoy my jokes on Blue Sky / Or just tell me I’m good!
Next issue: December 6th, unless I get excited and write 25 jokes about Christmas again. I should have almost finished my new book by then and might be a dribbling incoherent mess! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha how will anyone notice the difference ha ha ha ha nobody ever looks at me BYE BYE HAVE FUN THIS MONTH
10
WHAT I AM CURRENTLY READING
Where To Mine For Mercury by H.G. Wells
Kicked In An Intimate Area by Willy Bruising
Go Marching In by Wendy Saints
Where’s The Frog? by Cindy Pond
What Cilla Black Wishes You by Laurel Uck