Suggest A Butterfly
There’s got to be a bit of give and take here.
We’ve done a lot of good in this here section, giving blood to the bloodless, giving organs to the organ-needing, buying Fairtrade to not ruin lives, learning first aid to help save some, voting because it’s what Vera Lynn fought and died for, volunteering because it looks good on the CV, banking ethically because someone has to, using gift aid because it’d be silly not to, using social networks for good instead of for nothing, meddling for the sake of it, getting a charity credit card even though they’re a bit shit, giving our glasses to the four-eyed and our books to the bookish, giving to charity instead of not, using libraries instead of book shops, using public transport like we’re on the dole, using renewable energy like we’re in the future, using a personal ashtray whether we smoke or not, using menstrual cups whether we have periods or not, burying ourselves in cardboard coffins whether we’re dead or not, cutting down on paper to save cutting down trees, ditching bottled water because it’s stupid on a scale of such vastness it’s visible from space, and so on and such and such.
But when I say we’ve done a lot of good in this here section I’m using the royal we. You haven’t done nuthin’. Gang, I can’t keep doing this by myself. Suggest a Butterfly. Tell Team Zero how you reduce your carbon footprint (Steve from Chebb suggests using less carbon), what to do with our old yogurt pots (Jan from Leeming turns them into a delicious chutney) or how to convert others to our way of thinking (Jim from Bristol suggests some form of violence-based brainwashing system). You’ve got ideas and experience and passion and enthusiasm I can nick so billions of regular readers can go forth and butter your flies.
You can email your Butterflies to my team of ghostwriters, DM me on Twitter, message me on my OnlyFans if I hit hard times, or post in the comments which may or may not be open according to how many offers of knock-off handbags and cock pills we’re flooded with. And tell other people what you’re up to. Drop a Butterfly in a Facebook status update, tweet one in a Twitter tweet, farn one at Syllable Message. Tell your sister. Have her pass it on to her dentist. Tell me. I’ll add some swears and plonk it up here.
We have ideas. They should be shared. Let the Butter fly!
Suggest A Butterfly
Other people will do it
Your idea could save the world!
Photo credit: The Zero
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Like most of you, when I first saw WALL-E I assumed it was a documentary and was relieved to find we had at last discovered a solution to the madness of short-term landfillery. However, on attempting to contact and marry EVA, Pixar security guards informed me not just that I would be charged with breach of the peace but also that the film was a work of speculative fiction.
Devoted as you are to yer man The Zero, and as closely as you monitor my good works, you’ll be aware I do the odd bit of fundraising in spite of hating it almost completely. The past few years I’ve been meddling with Yaknak Projects, a small charity set up by a few friends to run two children’s home in Nepal. They need £16,000 a year to keep the homes running, a delightful spot of constant pressure that cheers them greatly.
As you’d expect from a man in my position, I have literally thousands of children. The groupies that gather at the foot of Zero Towers are as fertile as they are up for it, and the rise of my master race is progressing nicely. Sadly, due to the sheer size of my collective progeny, all of whom are disabled rad-fems, I am unable to support any of them financially or emotionally, thus creating twice as many social problems as I was hoping to solve.
So there I was a few weekends back, minding me own business, spending a reasonably pleasant day in the company of friends, or at least people paid to be friendly towards me on account of how my fame prevents anyone getting too close, when I witnessed what can only be described as a road traffic accident, being as how it was an accident involving traffic that took place on a road. I won’t lie to you: it was full on proper scary.
With the Olympics all done with and the Paralympics prepping itself for interest considerably less feigned than usual, it’s time to reflect on the heroes at whom we marvel, the champions who capture our hearts, the icons who inspire a generation. Jessica Ennis. Usain Bolt. Me.
That whooshing sound round the back of your head was February going past us and past me and past this blog in particular. Being as how I’m spending my days chained to the desk writing essays and my nights chained to the desk drooling on them, the old do-gooding has taken a back seat of late. Unless you count the social work. Which no one does. Tell people you want to be a social worker, they make like you’ve offered them a glass of cancer flavoured piss.
The problem with this social work lark is although I’m getting stuck in to solid gold do-gooding on a daily basis, the confidential nature of it all means it ain’t worth shit for blogging. I go out, I do good, I come home, I write essays, I use every drop of energy and I’ve got on non-blogging activities and meanwhile this place gets neglected and cobwebbed and dusty and forgotten, going all potty and Miss Havisham and playing bridge with Buster Keaton.
You’ll recall how last year I finally worked up enough balls to give up a safe job in the middle of recession and go back to uni. And how I’m now training as a social worker, taking my meddler status from amateur to professional. You’ll recall all of this because you are, in the act of reading this blog, engaging in the last legal form of stalking. You’re watching me from afar, waiting for the right moment to ask for an autograph, tell me you’re my biggest fan, or take me to your underground den of torture and have me as your bride.
They say the word ‘hero’ is overused these days, applied to anyone who kicks a ball into a net or resists the metric system or rescues orphans from a burning paedophile ring. But I’d argue in some cases the word ‘hero’ is not used enough. I’m thinking particularly here in the case of me.