Ed O'Meara - Literally Literary Reviewer...

What Every Man Thinks About Apart From Sex by Shed Simove

Consider Dante's Inferno, Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, Bronte's Jane Eyre, Brown's Da Vinci Code. All earthshattering classics, all genre defining masterworks, all towering obelisks of human civilisation. Well, except for the Da Vinci Code, which (nevertheless) can be utiilised practically without any serious buttock rashes or chafing.

However within all these magnum opi, these very pillars of literary triumph, there lie scarcely perceivable weaknesses; fine fault lines of plot, continutity, character or dialogue that threaten to undermine the entire work. Those moments when Dante's muse abandoned him, Bronte was distracted by a housefly or when Chaucer quoth: "Sod this for a game of dead Frenchman jenga. I'm going down yonder tavern for a cheeky mead." And so, such imperfections, such shortcomings, such flaws have plagued artists since time immemorial.

But not so in the work of Sheridan "Shed" Simove. For within these pages lie not only one of the greatest insights into the human condition ever committed to page, but something more fundamentally important. For this is the first and only literary and academic work which is ENTIRELY WITHOUT FLAW. There are no plotholes, no clumsy dialogue, no errors of judgement, grammar or logic. By the very nature of the work, its perfection is indisputable. All this can be immediately proven beyond discussion with one central concept:

Because this manuscript is entirely empty, not a single word is out of place.

This is the only work that, with only one edition, can be understood by every language in the world, every creed, colour, culture. Every disposition of human existence: from the bedazzling heights of the learned scholar to the animal-like gruntings of the illiterate X-Factor contestant.

Truly then, this work has the power and the destiny to unite humanity. Or if not humanity, then at least manity (by which I mean males, rather than manatees.)

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Diluted Squash

Sportswear-clad kids who hang around in front of shopping precincts get a lot of stick from the police. They could avoid suspicion of wrongdoing by carrying around squash rackets. Then passing police would think, "Look at that large group of young squash enthusiasts enjoying a pre-game cider." Sports equipment generally helps your image, with the exception of baseball bats. They just make you look scarier. Sometimes it’s very subtle. A bag of golf clubs makes you look like a sportsman. A single golf club makes you look like a psychopath. Chav kids could do worse than hiring themselves a caddy.

My flatmate’s from Ethiopia. He’s a big, black bloke with dreadlocks. He looks like a rasta but he’s not much of a rasta. Last night we got stoned and listened to Dire Straites.

I was getting squash coaching in a café. The guy was explaining techniques to me. “Treat your squash racket like an extension of your arm” he said. Then I spilt my coffee.

Caddy required