Hello. It is August 2025. This is the thirty-second monthly instalment of Interesting Skull, an emotionally inconsistent newsletter written by me, featherlight anvil Mike Rampton. At least ten jokes, some thoughts, and naked pleas for cold hard cash.

I’m going to move this newsletter from Substack to Beehiiv before the next one, because Substack are a bit too relaxed about platforming Nazis, and the only platform I ever want to see a Nazi on is one of those ones in Prince of Persia that drop you onto a load of spikes. (There was also positive use of a platform with a trapdoor in it, towards the end of the Nuremberg Trials, but let’s try to keep this newsletter a bit lighter than that, shall we?) I think, from the perspective of someone who receives this newsletter, it should seem like nothing’s changed (apart from I might get even funnier) but it seems worth mentioning because there’s always a real chance I’ll bugger it up. Someone said to me, “I hear you’re planning to move the funny bits of your newsletter to a new platform.” I said, “Migrate jokes?” They said, “Yeah! And your less-great bits about being broke, friendless, unsuccessful etc.”

Three of my upcoming books seem to be available for pre-order. Poo What Where?, which feels like it was written ages ago, is out on January 15th from Bloomsbury and is on Amazon. It’s a funny, fact-dense exploration of poo, with fantastic illustrations by Gareth Conway (of Greg The Sausage Roll fame).

Solve The World’s Greatest Mysteries, illustrated by my old pal TBC, out on May 7th 2026 and nowhere near finished, is somehow available for pre-order on Bookshop.org, as is So Bad It’s Good: The Art Of The Terrible Joke, out on May 21st 2026. There’s probably limited value in pre-ordering books I haven’t finished writing yet, unless thousands of you (twelve people read this newsletter) do. It’s just a stark reminder that, you know, OH GOD I HAVE SO MUCH WORK TO DO!

I’ve “updated” my “website” to include all these projects. It is at mikerampton.com and needs overhauling really.

I asked my landlord who his favourite member of the Pet Shop Boys was, and his answer really created an unpleasant atmosphere.

“I did a scratchcard while riding the teacup ride.”

“That's a mug's game.”

“No, it's a teacup ride.”

“I love watching people hit each other in a ring, but am always looking for something more entertaining. I tried watching someone make drum noises with their mouth.”

“Beatboxing?”

“No it didn’t, I still prefer that.”

I do, mainly, funny non-fiction. You’re meant to go, “Ha ha ha, hmm, yes, hmm, ha ha ha.” I’d like to do something really beautiful one day that makes people cry. Making people cry with your art is an odd one. A lot of really great stuff makes people cry, but a lot of proper nonsense does as well. I cried at a film the other day because, even though it wasn’t very good, you could really tell everyone had done their very best.

There are picture books like The Paper Dolls and Love You Forever that, even after dozens of reads, just wipe me out. I tried writing a picture book earlier this year with the express purpose of making people cry — something beautiful and sincere and devastating. It was called Metally Petrolbottom, The Cutest Car In The World, and nobody except my agent and my sister liked it. (And me, I liked it. I thought it was good.)

I think the holy grail is to do something that makes people properly laugh and properly cry, but at the same time: two types of tears fighting one another. Guaranteed hiccups. There’s a lot of comedy stuff that also manages to be really gutting, but generally the jokes stop to make way for the tragedy. The “There were no survivors” bit in M*A*S*H, the heartbreaking end of Blackadder Goes Forth… Usually there’s a bit of a buffer, timewise at least. There are lots of tragi-comic moments in films, but they’re often more along the lines of “laughing at the absurdity of a sad thing” rather than “laughing and being sad at the same time”.

It’s hard to do. That’s why they never did an episode of Mr Bean where he digs a grave for his dying wife.

Two or three years ago I made some funny videos where I pretended to be sponsored by Kronenbourg (this one’s good). I thought it would be good if one of them was really sad, but also totally worked as a joke. So I wrote something, and was quite pleased with it, but then — and I absolutely concede that this sounds ridiculous — couldn’t say it without bursting into tears.

I can’t work out whether this means I’m an incredible writer, an incredible actor, both, or just, perhaps, someone living dangerously on an emotional knife-edge at all times. Whichever it is… I could sure do with monetising it!

“Man! I feel like a wagon!” — Shania Train

“Okay, so you claim to show a link between carbon emissions and global warming. That don't impress me much!” — Climate Change Denier Twain

“I’ve been exploring the municipal limits and the local urban/rural boundary with a member of The Who.”

“Town’s end?”

“No, Roger Daltrey.”

I need a haircut. I usually need a haircut. I considered doing it myself the other day, trying a short-back-and-sides thing with my beard trimmer (mainly because I had so much work to do), but feel like I’d end up looking like series one Blackadder. I had the realisation, though, when jabbing about at it, that when I start losing my hair, I’ll take it really, really badly.

Most things to do with ageing, I’m fairly comfortable with. There are many, many things that due to my age I will never do and never be, and I’m (mostly) alright with (some of) that. Handsomeness never quite arrived, and I’m old enough now that, even if I started earning a lot of money, I’d never really catch up. That’s, broadly, fine. I have responsibilities, complications and an awareness of my own mortality which precludes me from happy-go-lucky, carefree, silly adventures. It’s unlikely I’ll ever become good at anything I’m not good at by now. That’s all generally okay. I’m quite happy with the person I am and the priorities I have.

But when I lose my hair, genuinely, I’m going to be horrible and really upset all the time and I really don’t have the head for it and there’s a good chance I’ll become deeply unpleasant. So yeah, I just realised that! Cool!

“I've just been to the cinema to watch an Akira Kurosawa film.”

“Ran?”

“No, I drove... to watch Rashomon.”

“My relationship was clearly doomed after what my wife kept having at annual school fundraising events.”

“Summer fairs?”

“No, she only had one of those. But every year at the Carols By Candlelight event she’d have lots of crystal methamphetamine.”

I’ve got a job editing an OXO ad. I’m mostly working with stock footage.

I played the 1994 World Cup Soccer pinball game maybe 200 times this month. I was sent the Taiwan edition of There’s No Such Thing As A Silly Question — I hear the person at the publisher there is very forthright, a real go-getter, unafraid to make demands and take what they want: a real “Taipei personality”. I was also sent the US version, retitled There Are No Silly Questions — just different enough to be slightly unnerving, like I imagine meeting a professional lookalike of yourself would be. A potentially funny name for a very tall archaeologist is Clara Loft. A bottle of Powerade's favourite song is Mr Blue Drink by Electrolyte Orchestra. On the off-chance Rowan Atkinson is reading this and is up for the “Mr Bean digs his wife’s grave” idea, please hire me to write it — it could incorporate an homage to the classic “hanky full of snot” sketch, but this time the snot wouldn’t be from a sneeze! I’m brainstorming an idea about an unflushed toilet: there’s something in it. In July 1924, “Sandy Irvine? More like SNOWY Irvine!” would have been a very, very edgy joke to make.

Next issue: September 5th.

Land Of The Free by Homer DeBrave

The Name Of The Shelf In The Record Shop by India Nalternative

The Podcasts And Music I Like by Melissa Ninghabits

Oh No I Was Murdered By The Joker, Look At My Face by Rick Tusgrin

My Least Favourite Part Of Writing This Newsletter Because I Always Forget About It And Am Quite Tired By This Point by Karen Treeding