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IS IT TIME TO PANIC YET?

This may be the final pre-asylum message from the official panic officer; we don't know.

 

Take heed. Treasure the words. He knows what he is talking about. He's doing all the panicking for you. Thank him when you see him.  

STARTS

 

Listen up, punks, this is it. This is what you’ve waited for, this is it, this is… FOUR.

 

Four days out. Were you able to pack this weekend, even a little? Have you got some last shopping in? Packed a high energy, non-melty treat to snack on over the notorious day three ‘I’ve gone too hard’ hump?!

 

It’s OK, it’s not too late. Check your hems. Order those carbs. Polish the knob on that cane. Grease that NERF barrel. There’s still time to shine in so many ways

 

Now, maybe the eyes of your mind were bigger than the time you had available. Do not despair. If you don’t get everything done, you’re leaving something to do in the time after this Asylum, and before the next one! You know, the blue times. Finish it then, be immeasurably more splendid next time around. It’s OK.

 

Now, I keep hearing about ‘panic this’ and ‘panic that’. I’ve got my hands full here panicking for all of you lot, so please don’t make me come over there and clean up more panic where you are, too. This is a full time job, and I don’t want to put in panic overtime. Not now. I need to find my giant wrench, and I’ve looked everywhere*!

 

So, if, in these last few days you feel the panic creeping in, just think ‘NO PANIC’:

  • Notice your mental state

  • Open your nostrils with a pair of chopsticks

  • Place your hands over your ears

  • Aerate yourself with slow breaths

  • No quivering

  • I see what you’re doing

  • Cease that right away

 

* I’m not even joking.

 

ENDS

 

THIS MESSAGE WAS FOUND CHISELLED INTO A CRUMBLING, ANCIENT TEMPLE WALL 20 YEARS AGO. A BURNT OUT PAIR OF TIME TRAVEL TROUSERS AND A CLUMP OF ORANGUTAN HAIR WERE NEARBY. INVESTIGATIONS ARE ONGOING

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A message from the Chief Panic Officer 9 August 2023


Ladies, gentlemen, and everyone else too fabulous to be so conventionally defined - hello.

In two weeks oily machinists will be starting engines, brave explorers will be waxing boots, be-scarved aerialists will be tightening nuts and nozzles on jetpacks, and beautiful debutants will be styling hair, moustaches, and merkins. Yes - preparation is well underway!

This means excitement levels can be raised to ‘marvellous’. Panic of course, remains totally off the table. Now is the time for calm and content activity. Social calendars to be synched. Pennies to be taken from jars and traded at the bank for golden coins - to be spent on frivolity and joy. Swappable items unearthed, and perhaps even special items taken out of secret hiding places… not at all to be traded illicitly (not at all! We love the brave PIE men who manage the security of trading so magnificently!). [Please all whistle]

What I’m getting at is - get ready. We can begin counting off the days. Counting down the hours. Cutting up the calendar into manageable chunks of antici-*

Those of us on the more nervous, anxious, or demented side - please hold on to your heads. There is time, and you have the skills needed. Anyone saying differently can get a poke in the ear with a buttered breadstick next time you see them.

A fortnight. Two weeks. The remainder of my 30s. That is all that’s left on the calendar till the lovely professionals open up the gates and let the inmates into The Asylum.

It’ll be splendid to see you all there.

THIS MESSAGE WAS FOUND RECORDED ON A WAX CYLINDER, 30 FEET BELOW ‘FLOATER’ LEVEL IN THE LONDON SEWERS BY A DEDICATED TOSHER CALLED CLARENCE. OUR THANKS TO CLARENCE. WE WILL BE RAISING MONEY FOR THEIR FAMILY.

*PATION.

END

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A message from the Chief Panic Officer 29 July 2023

 

If you’re reading this, you may want soothing words, a reassuring pat on the shoulder, or a solicitous, “there, there.”

 

But it’s A-OK to get excited. Be dizzy, silly, and creative - overflow with ideas. If you’re here on this page then you are connected to your people. You know that bizarre, creative, subversive, well-dressed fun is coming soon. Fun with people like you, people that you’d love to meet. Friends you may not know yet.

 

However - whatever you do, do not panic. Don’t panic. Panic? No.

 

Panic is taboo, forbidden. There’s a secret code phrase between you and it. There are 33 degrees of strange rituals, funny handshakes, and questionable clothing between your position and the state of panic. There’s a brick wall, backed by a moat, and maybe even preceded by a jolly little ha-ha. There you are on the other side of it, a being of joy and serenity, not even able to see the second-hand concept of panic.

 

You know why? It’s not your job. So don’t do it.

 

Some of us have been professionally panicking for some years. We’ve got the semi-official badge and everything. And we do it because we care. The Chief Panic Officer panics on your behalf, day, and night. Some say he eats antacids like candy. Others that he gnaws through a fencepost every night in his sleep. Some whisper that he’s taken to running around the grounds of Lincoln Castle and showing his unmentionables* to the ladies. He’s doing that for YOU.

 

No more panicking over split hems, droopy weapons, half-painted NERFs, last-minute great ideas, or dreams of outfit improvements that speak only of humanity’s hubris in their complexity. You are good enough already, you look great, and you’re going to see friends who all agree.

 

If you bring yourself to The Asylum we’ve got a lovely members’ only jacket ready for you. Yes, it ties in the back and stops you fidgeting, but it’s really very comfortable and in the future we think practically everyone will be wearing them. 

 

(Or, if it’s two days before and you’d totally forgotten all about the whole event, and you’d recently sold all your finest outfits to pay for new fence posts, then I tell you what. I’ll spare a little panic, just for you. Please find me later and hand it back.)

 

Let’s get ready to have some fun.

 

THIS MESSAGE WAS RECORDED AT 12,000 FT. AS THE C.P.O. HURTLED PAST WHILST ATTEMPTING TO UNFOLD A DECKCHAIR. NO EXPLANATION WAS GIVEN. NONE IS EXPECTED.

 

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*Unmentionables: Latin declension tables. Absolutely ghastly. Those fine ladies don’t need an off-brand ablative thrust at their faces.

 

ENDS

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