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It’s just struck me that if someone searched the internet for dnots and website, or dark night of the soul and website, wefail wouldn’t even come up in the results for being the designers of the design….of dnots. So I guess I should post this to rectify the dnots ( dark night of the soul) website design search conundrum!

But it seems unfair, nay, cheap, to leave you this way. So I shall riff you a dnots unrelated story. I just had chips, ham & egg. It was delicious, but I think I overdid the ketchup. While I was eating it I was thinking …man, I wonder if putting in dark night of the soul (dnots) and design, even brings us up on Google. That’s just the way my mind likes to roll.

I wanted to sit in my garden, just for 5 minutes. For some air and a bit of a break. But no, I can’t do that, because World War 2 Fred marches around his garden at all hours…looking for stray neighbours to unload his verbal gattling gun upon.

He nailed me good and proper, I was only one foot out the backdoor, but he sniped me and took me down. 1 hour later and my ears are ringing through hearing the same story about his platoon approaching Berlin to corner Hitler.  I think Fred could have possibly talked the Nazis into submission. They probably streamed from the bunker, ears bleeding, with Fred close behind, talking. I sometimes want to tell him the war’s over, but I fear he would attack me.

Sometimes I don’t bother trying to shake every last drop out, I just let it dribble in my pants.

watch?v=Mw6IKGFm7fk&feature=channel

The wife looks agitated, she’s in one of those moods that you really don’t want to fuck with, then from over the top of the book she peers at the table and says “you continue down through the derelict vestibule until you reach an alter”. I of course tell her I take a look around, to which she abruptly spits “4 Spider Horses lower down from the walls behind you and corner you in the west archway.

I laugh, she still looks pissed off, I tell her Spider Horses were not in Monster Manual Edition 1 and therefore cannot be used tonight.

She ignores me.

“The Spider Horses use a rapid movement of 18 and pin you down, D12 STRIKE, 5  hit points, special attack, WEBBING…STRIKE….you cannot move, the Spider Horses surround you and begin spinning you into a cocoon, STRIKE STRIKE STRIKE.”

It’s fucking bullshit, but I sit there and don’t say a thing.

we know you’ve been waiting a long time, craig.

I am happy to enclose THE FIRST SCREENSHOT of what we’ve been working on for
many many months. I took it with my camera phone and smuggled it out of
wefail los angeles while no one was looking.

NOTES:

1) as you can see martin fucked up on your hair. we will try and fix that in
march.

2) I know my suit is waaay rad. we are looking into a way to give you a suit
like mine. THE TRICKY part is that we somehow want to keep me in the suit
too. we’re working on this. it may require a new version of flash.

3) we may not be able to include martin until a new generation of computer
hardware is available to accomadate his giant bald stupid white english
head. we are also taking into account that he will also want a suit like
mine and that’s going to require a lot of cpu horsepower and quite possibly
ANOTHER new version of flash.

4) I don’t think either of us is muscular enough.

In England, we call it NETBALL, and we wear coloured jerkins to differentiate players. If one team scores they have to BOW to the other team to show how gallant they are. There’s also supposed to be a QUARTET play by the side of the court to keep the viewers entertained, who must all wear white from head to toe. The game lasts from dinner to high tea, and on completion, both teams come together for cakes, sandwiches and pots of earl grey.

If you ever find yourself in England, I would suggest that you take in a netball game. But you mustn’t talk loudly, it’s considered very bad form.

High Tea at Netball

I hate new years. They never go anywhere, they just add up until you end up on a hospital bed dying of Emphysema. You tell yourself that at some point, before you reach that death bed, you’ll do all the things you’ve always planned to do. But it’s nonsense, happy thoughts to keep you going, subconscious fake happiness that pushes you on, to pay the mortgage.

All of those goals will pass without you even attempting them. You may as well just put your favorite pajamas on, climb up onto that hard hospital mattress, and wait for death. My favorite pajamas are grey with red pinstripes, and I never take them off.

I went out on Saturday, and everyone thought I was hilarious. I was telling jokes and a whole group of people gathered round to listen, some I didnt even know, they’d just been drawn in to my mayhem. They started chanting my name eventually, and I stood smiling, nodding in self-appreciation…with the halogen spotlights shining off my fucking enormous, bulbous bald head.

….it’s me. He said “I just think the fans expect more of me”. I’d heard it all before, he said “We should have our own time, take a break to really venture out, and find who we really are”. I knew who he was, he was that same old dagger, placed firmly between my fucking shoulder blades.