I’m a walking stereotype, that’s what I am. A walking bloody stereotype. Not an original bone in my body, if I say so myself. A cliché a minute, that’s me. I can’t really blame anyone but myself for this – I’ve always been far too quick to come out with the smart comment, always ready to open my big mouth without engaging my brain and coming out with rivers of horseshit. Somehow, it’s never occurred to me that I should look too closely at what it was that was actually coming out of my mouth. If at all. How’s that important? How would that matter? Always coming out with the yap, that’s me. The yap, the yap, the yap. Always the smartass yap.
So now my own yap has gotten the better of me. You could say that. If indeed you wanted to. Always the yap. What’s the Craic boys what’s the story hows it going. The Yap coming out of me so damn fast that it’s like it’s got a life of its own. A life of its own, a mind of its own. Not much of a mind, but a mind all the same. It does its own thing. Yippity yappity yap yap yap, that’s me. Yes Sir that’s me. It surely is. As fast as you please – so damn fast it’ll make you jump. It’ll shoot out of my mouth so fast you’ll hardly see where it’s coming from. In such a hurry to get out there. To get out into the world. Like that’s so damn important. But what are you going to do when you get out there, huh? Did you ever think of that?
What actually comes out makes no damn sense at all of course. That’s the whole point – the Yap is completely devoid of any meaning. The Yap is the Yap. It’s a desert of meaninglessness, a wilderness of banality. Of course it’s devoid of meaning; that’s the whole point of clichés – they’re a substitute for genuine meaning. They’re what we make do with instead of the genuine article. Who likes meaning after all? Meaning is dodgy, meaning isn’t safe. What’s safe is our yapping. All of this hideous monstrous verbal effluence that keeps on coming out of our mouths – that’s what’s safe. The stereotypes, the clichés, the banter. The good old shit talk. You really can’t beat that good old shit talk can you yippity yippity yappity yip yip yip. What’s the Craic lads? What’s the story? What’s the yap? Don’t mind if I do! It’s six of one and half a dozen of the other. How’s your father. Bob’s your uncle. If you know what I mean. I was over the moon like…
I don’t want you to think that I’m claiming to be any better than anyone else in this respect. Far from it. As I say, I’m one of the worst offenders. I’m a walking bloody stereotype, I am. Every time I open my mouth it’s to come out with yet another dumb cliché. To add to the mix. The Meme-sphere that we all exist in. The Memoid Universe. That we all live in. Something inside me wants to participate in the Meme-sphere – it wants to get out there. Something in me wants to put it out there. Is desperately urgent. To emit the Meme-spores. To irradiate the known universe. But whatever the hell that ‘thing’ is, it surely isn’t me. I know that much. It isn’t me, it’s the Yap.