Nobody's Friend

Those Killer Sausages

2012-01-13T02:06:00.003Z

Sausages kill.

Worried Reader: What if I swallow an aspirin after consuming a sausage?

Blogtor: The aspirin will thin your blood but you will suffer from internal bleeding. Before either really takes effect the sausage will kill you.

Worried Reader: Then I will not eat this sausage. Thank you, Blogtor.

Blogtor: No need to thank me. Saving lives is what I do.

Turks Disgusting

2012-01-13T01:39:00.011Z

The Turks would appear to be disgusting or worse.

Fuck Off Radio 4

2011-12-21T00:35:00.004Z

I am unemployed again, somewhat but not largely due to alcoholism.

The worst thing about unemployment and somewhat alcoholism is Radio 4. I end up listening to it all day while sitting in a freezing flat poking away at job prospects on the Interweb.

Repeated twice today, some amuse-the-middlebrows twat has been busy claiming that the entire English language relates back to farting.

Terms such as 'feisty', 'clamorous', 'caring', 'honourable', 'decent', 'reasonable', 'intelligent' and 'so forth' all supposedly strandentwine back to some embarrassed OED suggestion about the onomatopoedic... clattering of the buttocks.

Just after14:00 tomorrow it will be the Archers again and then more stupid nonsense and more fat girls doing stuff in Brighton and

French Despicable

2011-12-18T10:55:00.002Z

The French are despicable.

Die Rechnung

2011-11-24T05:52:00.005Z

A seasonal website here at Danse Macabre. And by seasonal I don't just mean Thanksgiving or the Winter Solstice or Christmas or my Birthday next April. Or next Christmas.

Who Do You Think You Are Kidding M Barroso

2011-11-24T05:39:00.005Z

Now don't you go telling our Mr Cameron to fuck off.

Fresh from the Bubbling Springs of Greenwich

2011-09-07T03:38:00.001+01:00

...we bring you "Time Itself", drawn from its very Fountainhead and lovingly bottled, corked and labelled by colourful yet patient indigenes who will accept nothing less than the purest of perfection.

Show them a bouteille of Source du Temps and they will spit on the ground. Surely no self-respecting sommelier would offer a product with artificial hour added? But he would, and they do.

Break open a flask of "New York Minute" in their presence and you will be lucky to live. Short of so many essential ingredients, you might as well buy a fake Rolex from a Times Square hustler.

Now available in a handy spray-on format for your shower or car.

Well.

2011-08-25T00:15:00.001+01:00

Looks like we have.

WARRR against er LIBYA

2011-06-20T23:35:00.001+01:00

We continue to be totally winning this one.

Tired Old Hippy Plays Country

2011-04-07T00:37:00.009+01:00

Or is the country playing him.

Next week... the Wurzels play Nazi Germany.

End of the Depression

2011-02-28T23:13:00.006Z

At long last I am in a full-time well-paid Job and no longer as unemployed and bankrupt as Ireland.

I have a lovely girlfriend to entertain me at weekends.

I may never have to listen to Radio 4 again!

Pictured: Woman's Hour.

Towards a Ginger Rodent Highlander Bakeoff

2010-10-30T20:03:00.010+01:00

Okay, Edinburgh is not the Highlands but it is closer than Harley Street.

Bishop

2010-10-24T03:25:00.002+01:00

This bishop's mitre is a true work of art, simple and subtle yet very elegant. Created in white and gold it is classy and tasteful, ideal for any bishop. A high quality mitre at an affordable price, this mitre would make a great gift for a bishop upon his ordination or anniversary. Please measure head size carefully and accurately as mitres are custom made and cannot be returned.

Book of the Day

2010-08-21T05:51:00.002+01:00

"When the Winos Shout" by Marjorie Schiffel.

Tomorrow is another day.

An Essay Upon Not Fucking

2010-08-21T04:36:00.022+01:00

By popular request!!!!

An Essay Not Upon Fucking.

And Or And Or Or Or Or Not An Essay Upon Fucking.

Soon all your Booleans are belong to us.

This happened to me once. You would cry too if it happened to you. Only with me it was thirty years ago.

Incoherence

2010-08-16T00:44:00.006+01:00

You think I can't do incoherence?

Suck on this.

...

...

...

... it's... maybe we could mention a rabbit AND a cabbage. No? Maybe turnips and goats. I turnip the goat. I goated your turnips.

I... what is this with vegetable and animal? My sheep is in your cabbage patch.

But then again it is, and it is more feeding than incoherent.

I rock your world. 2x inanimate objects... damn.

I absorb your soup.

Poetry Corner

2010-07-30T01:41:00.008+01:00

Were I (who to my cost already am
One of those strange, prodigious creatures, man)

A spirit free to choose, for my own share,
What case of flesh and blood I pleased to wear,
I'd be a dog, a monkey, or a bear,
Or anything but that vain animal
Who is so proud of being rational.

The senses are too gross, and he'll contrive
A sixth, to contradict the other five,
And before certain instinct, will prefer
Reason, which fifty times for one does err;
Reason, an ignis fatuus in the mind,
Which, leaving light of nature, sense, behind,
Pathless and dangerous wandering ways it takes
Through error's fenny bogs and thorny brakes;
Whilst the misguided follower climbs with pain
Mountains of whimseys, heaped in his own brain;
Stumbling from thought to thought, falls headlong down
Into doubt's boundless sea, where, like to drown,
Books bear him up a while, and make him try
To swim with bladders of philosophy;
In hopes still to o'ertake th' escaping light,-
The vapor dances in his dazzling sight
Till, spent, it leaves him to eternal night.
Then old age and experience, hand in hand,
Lead him to death, and make him understand,
After a search so painful and so long,
That all his life he has been in the wrong.
Huddled in dirt the reasoning engine lies,
Who was so proud, so witty, and so wise.

Pride drew him in, as cheats their bubbles catch,
And made him venture to be made a wretch.
His wisdom did his happiness destroy,
Aiming to know that world he should enjoy.
And wit was his vain, frivolous pretence
Of pleasing others at his own expense,
For wits are treated just like common whores:
First they're enjoyed, and then kicked out of doors.
The pleasure past, a threatening doubt remains
That frights th' enjoyer with succeeding pains.
Women and men of wit are dangerous tools,
And ever fatal to admiring fools:
Pleasure allures, and when the fops escape,
'Tis not that they're belov'd, but fortunate,
And therefore what they fear at heart, they hate.

But now, methinks, some formal band and beard
Takes me to task. Come on, sir; I'm prepared.

'Then, by your favour, anything that's writ
Against this gibing, jingling knack called wit
Likes me abundantly; but you take care
Upon this point, not to be too severe.
Perhaps my muse were fitter for this part,
For I profess I can be very smart
On wit, which I abhor with all my heart.
I long to lash it in some sharp essay,
But your grand indiscretion bids me stay
And turns my tide of ink another way.

"What rage ferments in your degenerate mind
To make you rail at reason and mankind?
Blest, glorious man! to whom alone kind heaven
An everlasting soul has freely given,
Whom his great Maker took such care to make
That from himself he did the image take
And this fair frame in shining reason dressed
To dignify his nature above beast;
Reason, by whose aspiring influence
We take a flight beyond material sense,
Dive into mysteries, then soaring pierce
The flaming limits of the universe,
Search heaven and hell, find out what's acted there,
And give the world true grounds of hope and fear."

Hold, mighty man, I cry, all this we know
From the pathetic pen of Ingelo,
From Patrick's Pilgrim, Sibbes's soliloquies,
And 'tis this very reason I despise:
This supernatural gift, that makes a mite
Think he's the image of the infinite,
Comparing his short life, void of all rest,
To the eternal and the ever blest;
This busy, puzzling stirrer-up of doubt
That frames deep mysteries, then finds them out,
Filling with frantic crowds of thinking fools
Those reverend bedlams, colleges and schools;
Borne on whose wings, each heavy sot can pierce
The limits of the boundless universe;
So charming ointments make an old witch fly
And bear a crippled carcass through the sky.
'Tis this exalted power, whose business lies
In nonsense and impossibilities,
This made a whimsical Philosopher
Before the spacious world, his tub prefer,
And we have modern cloistered coxcombs who
Retire to think, 'cause they have nought to do.

But thoughts are given for action's government;
Where action ceases, thought's impertinent.
Our sphere of action is life's happiness,
And he who thinks beyond, thinks like an ass.
Thus, whilst against false reasoning I inveigh,
I own right reason, which I would obey:
That reason which distinguishes by sense
And gives us rules of good and ill from thence,
That bounds desires with a reforming will
To keep them more in vigour, not to kill.
Your reason hinders, mine helps to enjoy,
Renewing appetites yours would destroy.
My reason is my friend, yours is a cheat;
Hunger calls out, my reason bids me eat;
Perversely, yours your appetite does mock:
This asks for food, that answers, "What's o'clock?"
This plain distinction, sir, your doubt secures:
'Tis not true reason I despise, but yours.

Thus I think reason righted, but for man,
I'll ne'er recant; defend him if you can.
For all his pride and his-philosophy,
'Tis evident beasts are, in their degree,
As wise at least, and better far than he.
Those creatures are the wisest who attain,
By surest means, the ends at which they aim.
If therefore Jowler finds and kills his hares
Better than Meres supplies committee chairs,
Though one's a statesman, th' other but a hound,
Jowler, in justice, would be wiser found.

You see how far man's wisdom here extends;
Look next if human nature makes amends:
Whose principles most generous are, and just,
And to whose morals you would sooner trust.
Be judge yourself, I'll bring it to the test:
Which is the basest creature, man or beast?
Birds feed on birds, beasts on each other prey,
But savage man alone does man betray.
Pressed by necessity, they kill for food;
Man undoes man to do himself no good.
With teeth and claws by nature armed, they hunt
Nature's allowance, to supply their want
But man, with smiles, embraces, friendship, praise,
Inhumanly his fellow's life betrays;
With voluntary pains works his distress,
Not through necessity, but wantonness.

For hunger or for love they fight and tear,
Whilst wretched man is still in arms for fear.
For fear he arms, and is of arms afraid,
By fear to fear successively betrayed;
Base fear, the source whence his best passions came:
His boasted honour, and his dear-bought fame;
That lust of power, to which he's such a slave,
And for the which alone he dares be brave;
To which his various projects are designed;
Which makes him generous, affable, and kind;
For which he takes such pains to be thought wise,
And screws his actions in a forced disguise,
Leading a tedious life in misery
Under laborious, mean hypocrisy.
Look to the bottom of his vast design,
Wherein man's wisdom, power, and glory join:
The good he acts, the ill he does endure,
'Tis all from fear, to make himself secure.
Merely for safety, after fame we thirst,
For all men would be cowards if they durst.

And honesty's against all common sense:
Men must be knaves, 'tis in their own defense.
Mankind's dishonest; if you think it fair
Amongst known cheats to play upon the square,
You'll be undone.
Nor can weak truth your reputation save:
The knaves will all agree to call you knave.
Wronged shall he live, insulted o'er, oppressed,
Who dares be less a villain than the rest.
Thus, sir, you see what human nature craves:
Most men are cowards, all men should be knaves.
The difference lies, as far as I can see,
Not in the thing itself, but the degree,
And all the subject matter of debate
Is only: Who's a knave of the first rate?

All this with indignation have I hurled
At the pretending part of the proud world,
Who, swollen with selfish vanity, devise
False freedoms, holy cheats, and formal lies
Over their fellow slaves to tyrannize.

But if in Court so just a man there be
(In Court a just man, yet unknown to me)
Who does his needful flattery direct,
Not to oppress and ruin, but protect
(Since flattery, which way soever laid,
Is still a tax on that unhappy trade);
If so upright a statesman you can find,
Whose passions bend to his unbiased mind,
Who does his arts and policies apply
To raise his country, not his family,
Nor, while his pride owned avarice withstands,
Receives close bribes through friends' corrupted hands

Is there a churchman who on God relies;
Whose life, his faith and doctrine justifies?
Not one blown up with vain prelatic pride,
Who, for reproof of sins, does man deride;
Whose envious heart makes preaching a pretence,
With his obstreperous, saucy eloquence,
To chide at kings, and rail at men of sense;
None of that sensual tribe whose talents lie
In avarice, pride, sloth, and gluttony;
Who hunt good livings, but abhor good lives;
Whose lust exalted to that height arrives
They act adultery with their own wives,
And ere a score of years completed be,
Can from the lofty pulpit proudly see
Half a large parish their own progeny;
Nor doting bishop who would be adored
For domineering at the council board,
A greater fop in business at fourscore,
Fonder of serious toys, affected more,
Than the gay, glittering fool at twenty proves
With all his noise, his tawdry clothes, and loves;

But a meek, humble man of honest sense,
Who, preaching peace, does practice continence;
Whose pious life's a proof he does believe
Mysterious truths, which no man can conceive.
If upon earth there dwell such God-like men,
I'll here recant my paradox to them,
Adore those shrines of virtue, homage pay,
And, with the rabble world, their laws obey.

If such there are, yet grant me this at least:
Man differs more from man, than man from beast.

Guess who and what date. I don't care anymore. Clue: naval hero.

Totally stolen from here

Brown Trouser Time

2010-07-15T23:48:00.014+01:00

Now that Mr Brown has withdrawn from Public Office

--- as a Chancellor and Prime Minister the like of which our Nation has rarely if ever witnessed before ---

he is able to offer to an Ordinary Person like the Reader the stout and stainproof Brown Trouser.

Hefty canvas reinforcements and drawstrings about the knees.

(get something into the copy about how your children and granchildren will be able to wear the same pair'o'troons as hand-me-downs)

As fine an Heritage, from one of the best Chancellors and Prime Ministers that our Nation has ever had, that our Nation has ever had - the most robust and finest that our Nation has ever had Brown Trouser.

Big Oil Leak Continues

2010-06-28T02:33:00.008+01:00

I haven't posted now for twenty-two days.

Blogging is beginning to resemble Marriage.

Very well. I will put in a serious efforts.

Some of my efforts will have to be concealed from the general public, but gentlemen of certain interests will be able to see everything. I have no shame, and nor do they.

England 1 Germany 4

2010-06-28T02:21:00.009+01:00

Phew. I hope you gentlemen of certain interests are satisfied. I know I am. They don't call me "Mister Eighteen Times a Night" for nothing.

Who's the Daddy? Genghis Khan is for most of the human race, apparently, but then I don't necessarily stick to the conventional in-and-out.

Divorce has its attractions, including the chance to bounce around in bed with interesting women. And to be interested by them, which was not allowed before.

Folk Song

2010-06-06T00:17:00.010+01:00

Oh I wish I were back in Hove again
And a roley, a roley, a roley
With me Times Literary Supplement, me dog and me hen
Sing a roley, a roley, a roley
Where the women were generous and the men were not tight
And I'd sleep in the day and I'd stay up all night
And an' that were my ruin I'd do it all twice
Singing roley, a roley, a roley.

сельдь

2010-05-13T02:38:00.004+01:00

Found in a can of Atlantic Herring.

In Russia herring fillets you.

Oh Dear

2010-05-13T02:11:00.000+01:00

Oh dear oh dear oh dear.

сеятель

2010-05-12T23:35:00.012+01:00

Find "The Sower" (clicky piccie to magnificcy) and a whole 'nother cornucopia of pictures from Russia past and present at the very excellent Engli sh Russia.

Enjoy.

But not too much. I was three hours late for work yesterday morning because I sat up all night looking round the site and overslept as a result.

Not that it mattered much because I am working for the NHS as a filing clerk, so nobody noticed.

[Later]
Oh dear, it is 00:35 and I am going to make another cup of strong coffee and get all distracted again...[Later still] Oh dear oh dear.

Slow News Day

2010-05-10T00:12:00.003+01:00

Sigh.

Wonder what's in the waste paper basket.

rustle rustle rustle

Aha.

Same as last time I looked.

My bus journey to work in Tolworth takes me past a shop with a big and jolly "Kiddies' Corner" sign, bright bouncy writing and pictures of teddy bears and dolls and so on, in the yard. The shop is a funeral parlour and the yard holds the stock of gravestones.

Mais où sont les neiges d'antan?

2010-04-23T05:07:00.003+01:00

O'Hara?
Lilit?

When Life Hands You Lemons...

2010-04-23T04:08:00.003+01:00

...remember that LEMONS is an anagram for MELONS and SOLEMN.

And N MOLES, a posited number of moles, don't ask me how many.

Why

2010-04-16T00:25:00.001+01:00

Search me.

What Does a Real Man Smell Of

2010-03-03T04:08:00.014Z

A goat in rut.

Plus..!

- or, just a goat;
- salts of aluminium and naphthenic and palmitic acids but mostly gasoline;
- honey, are you sure this vodka comes from a state-approved distillery;
- the car in the showroom;
- stale semen;
- Pall Mall unfiltered;
- that too;
- more goats;
- cheap aftershave (optional).

Political Debate

2010-03-03T01:43:00.022Z

Citizens: Public sector budgets have already been cut by 12%.

All of them.

We know that.

Politicians: Which is why we are appealing to the people you can fool all of the time.

Radio

2010-03-03T00:59:00.006Z

Shock Jock: And what about that footballer having sexual intercourse.

Callers: It wasn't with his wife. Or his.

Shock Jock: Who does? Just stirring things up here heh.

Callers: It's like... you're scrambling eggs with a wooden spoon. If I had of said - here is a scrambled egg -

Shock Jock: If you should have said that...

Callers: Then okay I scrambled these eggs with my penis. I put my hands up.

Shock Jock: Okay it is eight-oh-two and it's the next big topic - is Global Warning?

Precepts: an Epistemoligical Approach

2010-03-03T00:30:00.007Z

Blogonius: Neither a follower nor a leader be.

Readers: There's another big one sunk.

Inside a Modern Brain

2010-02-20T06:13:00.016Z

Next week: what Artists are like, and why Woman's Hour* cannot cope with concepts like "where r is the radiance of the whole measure of the boundary factor" because they are girls. Offer strictly limited to one Hour per Woman.

* or Kirsty off Desert Island Discs**.

** Melvyn Bragg on the other hand fells an entire cultural or scientific corpus once a week every week with the aplomb of an executioner proving his skill on an ox.

Golfer Has a Fuck or Two

2010-02-20T02:32:00.015Z

I've never apologised. Then again nobody has ever asked me to.

Am I winning yet?

Sexual Intercourse - Don't Worry, Be Happy

2010-02-20T00:35:00.023Z

Readers: What am I to do.

Counsellor: Actually it is you who owe us. It is you who are bankrupt, not us. Think about it.

Counsellor: We can come an arrangement, if you are prepared to be humble and honest.

Pohaps if you thought about it you would end up sensible.

The History of the World in 100 Objects - Part 101

2010-02-18T01:07:00.008Z

Part One hundres and One

This gas-powered Custard Cream mixer can also

Readers: Is there any way of surrendering.

The History of the World in 100 Objects - Part 1

2010-02-15T00:35:00.004Z

Part One

At 4.28 billion years old, these rocks are

Readers: Is there a fast-forward button?

The History of the World in 100 Objects - Part 0

2010-02-13T00:52:00.009Z

Part Nought

Blogista: You want to see a picture of an object?

Readers: Maybe next time.

Blogista: I could get one from a museum for you.

Readers: This zippity-zip'll do for now. Looking forward to Part 1.

Blogista: Yay.

Your Government at Work

2010-02-10T23:28:00.005Z

Oh the Grand Old Duke of York
He had ten thousand men
He marched them up to the top of the hill
And he had them all again.

Th'Greeks are really up the pole.

Thank goodness for those "Gershwin Savings" that will totally save our tushies.

You see anyone raising a clarinet to their snout, you don't even stop to ask them, is this some kind uv of porgie'n'bess or stuff.

Kick it dahn is froat.

Inside a Modern Chilcot Inquiry

2010-01-31T03:17:00.050Z

"
Yugoder byudiful chiyn
You'v got biudifuul skin
You got uv biudiful faice
U got' tase
Y got biudiful iighes
Yu got byudifuUUUul thighes
"

As for me ---

should you put me to the point --- --- ---

d'you know what?
but d'you know what --- --- --- ?

I could not find it in my heart to fuck either of them.

Murderer: But, I have some... shall we say, "thighes" for you... in these bin bags.

Blogista: They're --- fresh? Not just re-warmed?

Murderer: Wouldn't know how to spell "cellophane".

Blogista: I'll take a hundredweight, but please don't tell anyone.

Kenneth Branagh and I

2010-01-12T00:18:00.019Z

I am pleased to note (toujours la politesse) that Kenneth Braghaghas (TV's Wallander) has salt'n'pepper hair (not quite grey yet), bags under his eyes, no tie, hasn't shaved, scarcely ironed shirt, rumply navy-blue suit, can't walk on water and a there's a bit of a tummy if you look closely, and is devastatingly sexy. Falls asleep on the sofa all the time.

AAND - he is two years younger than I am :-)

I'm a bit like that m'self. Only older - and better preserved.

Admittedly, he is not a talentless alcoholic - and he probably doesn't have wrinkles on his bags. He won't be eating Polish sausage and baked beans tonite but some posh sort of dinner, probably with salad too. Also his suit must have cost more, you can tell because it isn't a shapeless sack'o'serge, and the shoulders are sharp. He may not be temping right at this moment, y'know doing all filing and stuff, all those invoices in the cardboard boxes in the big cupboard, actually it is more of a room than an actual cupboard. There aren't any cups or boards in it so I'm not sure why anybody calls it a cupboard :-}

But otherwise I - and he's acting as well. Bastard.

Good Cheer!

2009-12-26T16:07:00.015Z

Wishing a Merry Boxing Day to all our readers!

And a Happy and Prosperous New Sputnik Fall! May the sky not fall on your head!

No scaffolding poles, grand pianos, ice-blocks from passing aircraft, the aforesaid aircraft themselves, batteries or any other sub-thermospheric item or items whatsoever either singularly or severally is or are included in this offer.

Sputnik 1 fell to Earth on January 4th, so anything could happen in the next 8 days. Sorry about that.

Anal Intercourse Reconsidered

2009-12-21T00:37:00.013Z

I have kicked about this planet for over half a century - I am approaching my 52nd year - and I cannot honestly say that I see any much point in anal intercourse*.

Other insights to follow when, and - or if - I have any.

*[edit] I should have added - "any more". I was in my green days an aficionado.

Goodwill to All Men

2009-12-21T00:03:00.006Z

This year I am not in a " festive" mood.

Quite the opposite in fact.

War

2009-12-15T01:16:00.004Z

This is totally warry.

Strange

2009-12-05T00:58:00.012Z

Snob.

I

...but that's enough about me.

Selling a russian-language artsy-voguesy hypheny-hypheny phoo phoo magazine in a box for £4.50 out of W H Smiths at Charing Cross Station is blackholeuarly way more fuck off than poor Jeremy Clarkson's pitiful doing puddles on your carpet. Using Cyrillic script as a marketing tool is... BUY THINGS YOU DON'T UNNERSTAN'

Which is hem hem th'zeitgeist innit no.

Yes I bought one but I know how to deal with substances. Also emanations - free tip here, if you are approached by an ectoplasm just hit it with your walking stick and watch it unfurl or snap back into the groin of the emanator. I have much wisdom but I can't afford to give everything away for free I am a poor man too, and if you won't pay for advice you won't act on it.

Whatever

2009-11-13T01:32:00.005Z

Heat in the flat -
Stink of white spirit
We will hide at the station
Where nobody asks.

Pornography

2009-11-10T04:20:00.002Z

It may not work.

November

2009-11-10T03:58:00.004Z

I would have put a £10 on my card for the gas so I can warm myself. Also you need £10 on another card for the electricity to set fire to the gas.

They get you both ways.

Readers: Pity you drank it before you even got to the shop.

Self: Now I am cold.
wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww

wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww

sorry, just scraping some poo off my "w" key.

Readers: How sure are you that sea-going pterodactyls were coloured the same way as gulls?

Self: One of them fuckers ate my gas card.

Us 51-Year-Old Alcoholics...

2009-10-18T01:22:00.007+01:00

... do not give a shit about screamy white people who can't sing to save their ass and if Mr. S. Cowell wants to make money promoting them as screamy white people who could not and indeed do no (axtualllly that is rthe whole point S Cowell)
t sing to save their ass and everybody writhing in the lesbian snake-pit that is Radio 4 wants to promote them as girls who could or can or might sing to save their little tushies from the flames

I raise a glass to every body who has sailed around th'world all alone in tehrir yachy and who mhas then turned up on Desert island |Discs.

Pity about those screaming whiteys tho.

National Rail Enquiries - be there or be square.

National Rail Enquiries

2009-10-15T03:23:00.006+01:00

There was I trying to look up a link on YouTube to a "Happy Song" but instead I clicked on the wrong thing on my bookmarks and got National Rail Enquiries instead.

Fire away, don't mind me.

Glad to have brought you this.

Oh No

2009-10-15T02:25:00.011+01:00

The karaoke machine appears to have come from a far superior alien planet whose inhabitants are ahead of ours*** technichologhicallhy. We can only ask you to remain calm and listen alertly and yet humbly to their communications.

Listeners: Can't we go back to the sort of homely collation of 'facts' that Radio 4 is so good at presenting?

United Nations Emergency Talking Shop: Having a writerly lesbian present every single radio clip you've got about the moon landing stuff plus anything that has ever had the word 'moon' in it...

Listeners: Yes but now we've got a serial about radishes throughout human history presented by a person of a darker but not necessarily worse persuasion at 11:30 on Wednesdays with an omnibus edition at 10:00 on Sundays and then there's the Archers and Falloon might have or be about to fuck somebody or eat them and on television Sir Richard Atenbo is got some pics of one animal eating enothe and fucking it which is Nature and they eat each other specially the penquins and th'bears and radishes were a form of currency in Early Hirsute Turkey but by the Medieval Ages the radish became a "salmagundy" which is the sort of salad grown in Anglia...

Aliens: That's really badass seals eating th'penquins.

***Listeners: Isn't an "ours" a sort of bear, they eat salmon you know. And they're hairy.

Wretch

2009-10-10T03:16:00.018+01:00

After dinner, drinkies and an evening of passion with your lovely Jamaican girlfriend do you:

a) wait until she falls asleep, drink a bottle of Famous Grouse in the kitchen with the lights out; wish that the local offie was open all night so you could buy another bottle of Famous Grouse; greet the dawn with bogus enthusiasm when she awakes,

or

b) not a).

If you answered mostly a) you may well be a Wretch.

What the Fuck?

2009-10-10T02:14:00.002+01:00

Readers: What the fuck.

Hostess Trolley: Move along now please. Nothing to see here etc move along now.

Readers: I wouldn't be surprised if you were to reveal your Infallible World Domination Plan in the post after this one.

Blogfeld: Less of the Infallible, please. It might not work.

Readers:

BlogJamesBlog: Either way you won't feel a thing.

You Wanted to Vote for Something?

2009-10-07T00:53:00.004+01:00

Enjoy your "voting experience".

"Journey", obviously I meant "journey".

Anyone can have an "experience".

Recessional

2009-10-03T00:07:00.006+01:00

Perhaps we could have a word in my office.

Doors closed. Y'unnerstan'

Those Bloody Tenants

2009-10-02T03:50:00.002+01:00

Hola!?!

All is well with the world! Don't worry! Be happy!

Ceux qui ont avancé que tout est bien ont dit une sottise; il fallait dire que tout est au mieux.

Fat Bastard Makes $$$ Off Of Capitalism

2009-10-02T03:37:00.006+01:00

You would cry tooo

if it happened to youooo

Gardeners' Question Time

2009-09-28T04:00:00.004+01:00

Just a few questions for you gardeners.

Tenants

2009-09-25T03:48:00.014+01:00

Mr. Potato Head (to the Potatoe Head Family): Sssssh will you shut the fuck up. I keep telling you, there's nothing to lose by trying. Here we go.

Am I not your Brother?

If you prick me, do I not bleed?

Blogista: No. And when stabbed you just leak potato juice.

Mr. Pototo Hod: So we can be on your blog then?

Blogista: You can have the second floor all to yourself and family, as long as you take your shoesies off and don't wear your hats indoors. Tenants are expected to shave regularly. We do not entertain guests of a less-than-latte persuasion.

Mr. Poteoteo Horde: So we will be reduced to being potatoes with big false plastic pink ears. Alors. You undertake not to bake us with cheese'n'benz or tuna mayoniosse?

Blogista: Your children are wearing yellow slag bands. In my book, that means I can eat them with a little chopped chive and a plain French dressing. Nom nom nom.

When you die thin k Accessories like man-dibles

2009-09-25T02:04:00.006+01:00

Blogista: When I die I want to go suited and booted.
Death: This isn't a job application. You can wear what you like.
Blogista: Well shucks, anyhow I never really quite believed in in the Austin Reed navy-blue double-breasted. Good as it was.
Death: You should learn to play the jass cornet. Just joking. Try chess.
Blogista: You play chess?
Death: No.
Blogista: Many people find relief in Gararararedeners' Question Time. In Radio 4 generally...
Death:
Blogista: There's that Mr Humphreys and Sue and Sooty. And Sweep. WELSH PEOPLE and others of an ethnic origin. Their name is Legion, because they are many!
Death: ~

Gentleman Rankers

2009-09-24T02:51:00.013+01:00

To the legion of the lost ones, to the cohort of the damned,
To my brethren in their sorrow overseas,
Sings a gentleman of England cleanly bred, machinely crammed,
And a trooper of the Empress, if you please.
Yea, a trooper of the forces who has run his own six horses,
And faith he went the pace and went it blind,
And the world was more than kin while he held the ready tin,
But to-day the Sergeant's something less than kind.

We're poor little lambs who've lost our way,
Baa! Baa! Baa!
We're little black sheep who've gone astray,
Baa--aa--aa!
Gentlemen-rankers out on the spree,
Damned from here to Eternity,
God ha' mercy on such as we,
Baa! Yah! Bah!

Oh, it's sweet to sweat through stables, sweet to empty kitchen slops,
And it's sweet to hear the tales the troopers tell,
To dance with blowzy housemaids at the regimental hops
And thrash the cad who says you waltz too well.
Yes, it makes you cock-a-hoop to be "Rider" to your troop,
And branded with a blasted worsted spur,
When you envy, O how keenly, one poor Tommy being cleanly
Who blacks your boots and sometimes calls you "Sir".

If the home we never write to, and the oaths we never keep,
And all we know most distant and most dear,
Across the snoring barrack-room return to break our sleep,
Can you blame us if we soak ourselves in beer?
When the drunken comrade mutters and the great guard-lantern gutters
And the horror of our fall is written plain,
Every secret, self-revealing on the aching white-washed ceiling,
Do you wonder that we drug ourselves from pain?

We have done with Hope and Honour, we are lost to Love and Truth,
We are dropping down the ladder rung by rung,
And the measure of our torment is the measure of our youth.
God help us, for we knew the worst too young!
Our shame is clean repentance for the crime that brought the sentence,
Our pride it is to know no spur of pride,
And the Curse of Reuben holds us till an alien turf enfolds us
And we die, and none can tell Them where we died.

We're poor little lambs who've lost our way,
Baa! Baa! Baa!
We're little black sheep who've gone astray,
Baa--aa--aa!
Gentlemen-rankers out on the spree,
Damned from here to Eternity,
God ha' mercy on such as we,
Baa! Yah! Bah!

Blogista (sings): "We have done with Hope and Honour, we are lost to Love and Truth".

Roadsters: You haven't got laid recently then.

Blogshaw: I am not an Egg.

Rickrollers:

Blus 280 from Mitcham 'Fair Green' to Sutton-'Times Square': Point is, I write all this shit. Except for the bits I cut'n'paste, obviously. Either way I can't lose.

Organ Donatgion

2009-09-18T03:58:00.009+01:00

Saint Thérèse of Lisieux died of tuberculosis in 1897, age 24.

Her 'relics' have just completed a tour from London to Southampton.

Readers: Quoi?

I quote from the Telegraph...

St Thérèse's body was divided into three after her death, and the relics on display here comprise portions of her thigh and foot bones. The remainder are in France.

Just need a Saint and a saw, and you're in business.

Tramp Stamp

2009-09-16T02:44:00.020+01:00

For me, this does'nt work as a tramp stamp.

Well, wha'td work for you you ask..?

1	And they came over unto the other side of the sea, into the country of the Gad'arenes.
2	And when he was come out of the ship, immediately there met him out of the tombs a man with an unclean spirit,
3	who had his dwelling among the tombs; and no man could bind him, no, not with chains:
4	because that he had been often bound with fetters and chains, and the chains had been plucked asunder by him, and the fetters broken in pieces: neither could any man tame him.
5	And always, night and day, he was in the mountains, and in the tombs, crying, and cutting himself with stones.
6	But when he saw Jesus afar off, he ran and worshipped him,
7	and cried with a loud voice, and said, What have I to do with thee, Jesus, thou Son of the most high God? I adjure thee by God, that thou torment me not.
8	For he said unto him, Come out of the man, thou unclean spirit.
9	And he asked him, What is thy name? And he answered, saying, My name is Legion: for we are many.
10	And he besought him much that he would not send them away out of the country.
11	Now there was there nigh unto the mountains a great herd of swine feeding.
12	And all the devils besought him, saying, Send us into the swine, that we may enter into them.
13	And forthwith Jesus gave them leave. And the unclean spirits went out, and entered into the swine; and the herd ran violently down a steep place into the sea, (they were about two thousand,) and were choked in the sea. Least you've got something to read.

2009-09-05T05:25:00.006+01:00

I have to tell you now that no such undertaking has been received, and that consequently this country is at war with Grararargharargharrrrh

Seventy years on and at last those of us who were conceived at the exact moment that Britain declared war upon Germany have had our own parade, through Mitcham town centre.

What Me?

2009-08-28T01:20:00.010+01:00

Dear Diary: Spent most of today feeling ill and incapacitated by a hangover as ever.

Jammed a stapler with the wrong size of staple. Removed staple with key pinched from colleague's desk. 1/2 hr. There is nothing that can go wrong in an office that cannot be solved by things you can find in the office, which somehow amounts to a futile and circular argument*.

Went 'home' to the local Weatherspoons for the usual gallon of medicinal Wifebeater.

Went home v. hungry and nothing in the larder but a small pot of honey, which ate.

Tomorrow another day working on my Project, "X---- Primary Care Trust: Mental Health Strategy for 2015".

Well, it is now 0130 and I am not sure I am feeling any better.

* except in the US postal service where a colleague might "go postal" at any moment. But they have cool stuff like guns.

True Love

2009-08-26T00:27:00.011+01:00

Tap tap tap-tap-tap-tap-tap

Everybody loves my baby and everybody loves my baby except me.

She don't want my penis (honest) on this island Greek
No-one loves the penis, she's my genius, I'm a cheek.

Buttock. Pause for excitiing trumpet break.

You can see how well the Temperance 7 are expressing why not to holiday in Greece. One up to the jass legends.

I have never been nearer to th'Aegean than the Isle of Wight (aficionados will remember the Ventnor paddig pool as it was in the early 1960s) but this is a just-in-case I ever go to Greece.

Readrers: Don't you mean, "paddling pool"? Did you have a cold or something?

Blogista: No, last time I was on the Isle of Wight I got the shits. But I could still communicate.

re
adaers: I bet.

Blogista: "Hey I'm still in here". And I was only six.

Buzzzy Bankerzzzz Bonusezzzzzzz

2009-08-06T01:01:00.022+01:00

So what did you expect?

Sweating: put a few gold coins in a bag and rattle them around a bit until some dust has got rattled off. Collect the dust.

Clipping: shave the unwanted edges off inaccurately-minted gold coins, just to even up the coins. Keep the shavings.

She was poor but she was honest
Though she came of humble stock
And an honest heart was beating
Underneath her tattered frock
Oh you poor takspayers, oh oh oh.

Phwoooar. And all for the price of a small ('otel) port wine. And the 'otel room, obviously.

What, you wouldn't????

What is she a'doing of?

A Small Step For A Man

2009-07-20T23:36:00.016+01:00

I must be about the only person on the planet who did not witness Mr. Neil Armstrong take his (and Our! and OUR! Our?????) first step onto the moon.

I was only 11 and cannot remember precisely why I refused to watch the Great Event, and instead went up to my bedroom. Certainly I was too young (by a year or so) for Masturbation: it cannot have been a More Pressing Priority. And I did not have an Airfix Kit to finish. Yet.

As I remember it was because the whole circus was presented on a grainy b&w AuntyBBC TV set by the gruesome James Burke*, a kind of pre-Celebrity celebrity.

Readers: Just get with the flow, Johnson. Push that broom.

* and Patrick Moore and Cliff Michelmore... Jesus H. Christ no wonder I bridled. But J. Burke was the frontman for the Landing, I am certain.

Image

2009-07-11T16:35:00.010+01:00

I chose her for her Daniel Boone eyes
Tense, but sharp at something beyond the dust.
Her wide strong mouth turned down
Too strong for bitterness.

Her blond children standing
One at each shoulder, hiding
Their faces in their hands
Like angels weeping on a marble statue.
Contrast of straight and curly hair.

Her frayed blouse,
Her check shirt,
I made an emblem of the time and people

An American woman
Dispossessed, and travelling westward.

Strange Saturday

2009-07-11T14:48:00.011+01:00

The Blogfinder General

2009-07-09T13:00:00.003+01:00

Finds - two beautifully designed blogs at

Crónicas da Peste
O Bar do Ossian

from which I have pinched this picture (a diorama of the Seige of Leningrad).

Hi!

2009-07-09T12:52:00.003+01:00

Hi!

Final Frontier

2009-07-09T12:30:00.008+01:00

Robert Osband, Computerist, and the Asbo Twink Collective.

This post would not have been possible without Buckets of Glitter.

Tip of th'tiplo.

Hymn

2009-07-09T11:53:00.003+01:00

Let the lower lights be burning
Send a gleam across the wave...

Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.

Stevie Smith 1957

Profound Speculations

2009-07-06T12:43:00.002+01:00

There are quite a few pubs around England called "The Man in the Moon" and I always thought this was just a... well, as good enough a name for a pub as any.

I have found in Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable:

Man in the moon. The nameless person at one time employed in elections to negotiate bribes. Thus the rumour was set flying among the electors that “the Man in the Moon had arrived.”

So I have passed a placid Monday morning speculating that this might be the origin of the pub name.

Well, there aren't any jobs to apply for that I can find, so I might as well have done this as gone back to bed.

English How She Is Spoke

2009-07-05T07:12:00.007+01:00

Millions of pikey Britons with a can of Wifebeater clutched in one paw and a few quid they begged off passers-by "to get the bus fare home to his/her daughter because his/her baby-father/mother gone and got him/her self locked out of the flat" were gutted yesterday that Mr. A. Murray, a tennis player, only got to the semi-finals at Wimbledon this year.

Teacher: Tell me, Alegria, what do you think is meant by pikey in this context?

Alegria: It har they mean world class sportsmen are all gone into Final themselve, so one only Briton har let the whole side down.

Alliteration

2009-07-05T05:59:00.010+01:00

Wickedred judges it so, and so it must be. Time for some heavy-duty alliteratin' -

SIÞEN þe sege and þe assaut watz sesed at Troye,

Þe borȝ brittened and brent to brondeȝ and askez,

Þe tulk þat þe trammes of tresoun þer wroȝt

Watz tried for his tricherie, þe trewest on erthe:

Hit watz Ennias þe athel, and his highe kynde,

Þat siþen depreced prouinces, and patrounes bicome

Welneȝe of al þe wele in þe west iles.

Fro riche Romulus to Rome ricchis hym swyþe,

With gret bobbaunce þat burȝe he biges vpon fyrst,

And neuenes hit his aune nome, as hit now hat;

Tirius to Tuskan and teldes bigynnes,

Langaberde in Lumbardie lyftes vp homes,

And fer ouer þe French flod Felix Brutus

On mony bonkkes ful brode Bretayn he settez

wyth wynne,

Where werre and wrake and wonder

Bi syþez hatz wont þerinne,

And oft boþe blysse and blunder

Ful skete hatz skyfted synne.

Ande quen þis Bretayn watz bigged bi þis burn rych,

Bolde bredden þerinne, baret þat lofden,

In mony turned tyme tene þat wroȝten.

Mo ferlyes on þis folde han fallen here oft

Þen in any oþer þat I wot, syn þat ilk tyme.

Bot of alle þat here bult, of Bretaygne kynges,

Ay watz Arthur þe hendest, as I haf herde telle.

"Gawain and the Green Knight", anonymous, late C14th.
(Warning: NSFW if you have no script blocker to stop the website making an unexpected "medieval"-style tootly-tootling)

Joy for Sunday Morning

2009-07-05T04:20:00.009+01:00

Sing along; just follow the bouncing ball.

If you are getting a "progresión al ratos" instead it is time to lay off the mezcal and drink a vitamin-rich cold beer.

The Day the Music Died

2009-06-27T01:05:00.005+01:00

Here is William Ewart Gladstone speaking into a phonograph, 1888.

And here is Ezra Pound reciting the Usura canto

When did that music die? I have heard recordings of EP reciting his poetry which sound like arias. Recorded in St Elizabeth's in the 1950s and maybe the students making the recordings thought him mad. Now we must all learn to speak in monotone and not wave our hands around except as Health'n'Safety guidelines allow.

In meiner Heimat

where the dead walked

and the living were made of cardboard.

Don't Be Afraid of the Bailiffs

2009-06-25T02:30:00.004+01:00

Bailiff #1: Mister Ivan O. Barnett?

Self: No, and here is the evidence.

Bailiff #2: Miss...

Self: Decide for youself. I can get my tits out if you like.

They are awfully polite, these bailiffs. It will be another eight months or so before they have any reason to persue me.

Whatever

2009-06-25T01:54:00.006+01:00

Official: And why exactly have you come here, Sir.

Sir Tristram: To wielderfight my penisolate war.

Official: I am not convinced that these are good grounds for an...

Blogista: What else is Cornwall about? Do you intend to build a nation on drinking stale bitter and singing "Goodnight Irene" late into the night? For God's sake, man.

Official: Even so, he has come here to be penisolate.

Blogista: So that is mostly penis, plus disconsolate. With a dash of peninsular, sole, late and other trimmings.

Sir Tristram: I have come here to wielderfight my penisolate war.

Official: I am sorry, Sir, you will have to return to Brittany on the next ferry.

Mitcham

2009-06-20T02:08:00.013+01:00

здесь был я.

I was here.

мы пебблдашировали?
нам пебблдашировалоcь?

"Well then, we are both pebbledashed"... I have asked for the correct translation on the very excellent WordReference forum and expect an answer from a hopeless Russian-speaking stoner soon.

Нас отпебблдешили.

O God

2009-06-16T18:03:00.002+01:00

Where is my taxpayer-funded gun and bottle of whisky?

How come only Prime Ministers get this kind of deal from the soi-disant "public" services?

Sigh. Back to th'old gin'n'paracetomol trick then.

Labels for this post kindly suggested by blogger.com: "e.g. scooters, holidays, autumn".

That works.

Sigh Again

2009-06-13T12:02:00.002+01:00

Thank you British Telecom for arseing up the order so that I won't actually have broadband until Saturday 20th June.

That's a mere 28 days to get services transferred from one address to another.

Sigh

2009-06-04T11:21:00.002+01:00

Thank you BT for leaving me without internet access between 23 May and 12 June.

Just, thx.

Why, it only took a few days to get gas and electricity supplies up and running, and only a couple dozen phone calls.

Immaculate Kitchen Surfaces

2009-05-23T01:10:00.009+01:00

Moving from one place somewhere to another somewhere else, eh?

The only way to do this, in my experience, is to get as drunk as possible provided you can still carry bin bags from Point A (flat) to Point B (bins).

Don't worry about the swarms of insects impeding your path: they are either an hallucination, or a problem which the next occupant will have to live with.

Take some time to reflect upon the monstrous amounts of garbage that have accumulated during your occupancy.

Throw away the cards from family and friends you got when you were fifty - you were only fifty once!

Ignore the foreign language students who are having a party next door and who are younger and happier then you are.

'Part from that, remember to turn up where you are supposed to be tomorrow morning. You only have to "drag th'bag" once. For a while.

Normal Service

2009-05-22T22:16:00.002+01:00

Thanks to the incompetence of my telephoon supplier I will be without an internet connection for the next three weeks.

Norman service will be resumed as late as possible, if ever.

Blue Lotion

2009-05-21T05:33:00.003+01:00

Hi Everyone,

I am given a spray bottle with blue liquid in it to use for cleaning purposes. If the table top is dirty I spray the blue liquid on it and then wipe it off. Now I am out of the blue liquid, how do you I request for more? Do I say (1) I need more "blue liquid"?; (2) I need more spray blue liquid?; (3) I need more blue liquid cleaner? I pick choice number 3, what do you think? Thanks in advance.

In th'Stone Age (Early)

2009-05-19T07:18:00.005+01:00

Æ®iç: I am a sausage.

ÐåãðøÞ: Wha?

Æ®iç: I walk upon one leg in the morning, upon one leg in the afternoon and upon one leg in the evening. What am I.

ÐåãðøÞ: A sausage?

Æ®iç:

ÐåãðøÞ: Great concept, but this "riddle" thing of yours needs a bit of tiddlying up.

Legend of the Wholly Drinker

2009-05-16T05:06:00.018+01:00

Lose the "W"
And one of the "L"s
For "Drinker" read "Fool"
And my fourth is in

Readers: Your fourth?

Blottista: I never really understood how this parlour game works, which is maybe the point of parlour games.

Readers: Simple! - and we don't mean you of course.
Try this one ---

My first is in Constantinople but not in Reykjavik;
My second is loading my pistol with ball;
My third is better theen but not third;
And my whole is a doughnut without a synthetic custard or jam filling.
What am I?

Mine Host: Is the jam filling synthetic too?

Readers: Tee hee hee. He can't even get the punctuation right.

Blister: Hokay, my turn...

My first is in feeble but not in demented,
My second's surrendered but hasn't relented,
My third is my hat but it's not in my hut
And my all would be all if it only were not.
What am I?

Very Funny

2009-05-15T04:13:00.008+01:00

Mr Suicide the bathplug. Perhaps not the exact model some semi-sentient Minister of State or other claimed for on th'Expensives, but it is a bathplug all the same. And what of it?

Take the worst totally outrageously expensively-claimey OUTRAGEOUS amount of money claimed on expenses by an MP for something hatefully bourgeouis like a patio heater, a fitted kitchen (with just to add to the fear and loathing POLISHED ITALIAN GRANITE WORKING SURFACES)... I want you to keep thinking of that number, k?

Now move the decimal point one place to the right.

At this moment 99.9recurring% of my potential readers (not my 1/2 doz. actual readers, who are supremely intelligent, I mean the British population at large) are fucked. Either they don't know what I am talking about or they have no idea how much 10x a number they didn't comprehend in the first place, actually is.

Or how it compares to the broad and placid river of EU peculation, or to the costo-benefito of building a lorra lorra luvly windmills (don't even try to mention th'megawatty stuff here) or to anything else at all. Or whether it matters or how things should be done or...

Give me your dopes, your dupes
Your huddled morons yearning to be heard,
The wretched refuse of your teeming fools...

If only the Ruritanians had accidentally carved that on a statue in 1886, or five years ago for that matter...

60000000th cretin: Hey, last person to leave Britain turn out the lights hur hur.
Readers: Yeah yeah a great and original jest, have fun in Ruritania, won't you.
Devil's Kitchen, Guido etc: Look, I fucking said that joke before you did you bastards.

What will this mindless petulance about MPs' expenses actually achieve or change, that matters a lot?

0

Now, concentrate on the decimal point...

Ask the Hedgehog

2009-05-12T04:29:00.029+01:00

Edze Og Edze Og
Eh M Edze Og
What is an easily available and reasonably effective oven cleaner?

Hedgehog: You could do worse than a can of Mr. Muscle.

Edze Og Edze Og
Eh M Edze Og
Would combining Domestos, Harpic and Cilit Bang one bottle each totally get fuzz off of the bath? And limescale out of the lavatory pan? That's six bottles.

Hedgehog: You may only ask one question at a time on these forums. But I point out that this is a dangerous thing to do because of the chlorinous gases that would be created by such a combination of cleaning agents. Keep a window open.

Edze Og Edze Og
Eh M Edze Og
Would it be a good plan to remove all my moveables before dusting, and then hoover? But then how do I get my hoover out (red Kenwood bagless 1600w).

Hedgehog: That is a fine bagless vacuum cleaner for the nøøb or "aspiring semi-pro", may I say. Yes, once your moveable property has been removed, you can dust all relevant surfaces and then dispose of the duster. And then hoover all surfaces onto which the dust has fallen. That achieved, it only remains to have at hand a suitcase which is larger than your hoover, so that you can fit your hoover into the suitcase. Remember that the snorkelly attachments are bigger than you think. Alternatively you can simply abandon the suitcase and travel by rail or aeroplane with your hoover in hand, but be careful about the sentimental bondings which may occur, including upskirts.

Edze Og Edze Og
Eh M Edze Og
What is the Russian for "vacuum cleaner"?

Hedgehog: пылесос, literally "suckdust". One might extrapolate from this the entirely bogus verb пылесосировать. It is clearly an "аппарат для очистки от пыли помещений, одежды, мебели и т.п. посредством всасывания ее струей воздуха". And yet one might as well say гувер or xувер: guver or khuver. What you will.

Edze Og Edze Og
Eh M Edze Og
Do cleaning products have a part in the olden-times Lays, Ballads, Eddas, Folk Myths, Legends, Songs and Tales of Yore..? I'm talking «comparative» here.

Hedgehog: I am only a hedgehog. I cannot and will not answer this question about cleaning products and /or or mechanisms.

Losers

2009-05-11T05:00:00.017+01:00

1) Trouser it.

2) Remember you have a clientèle.

3a) Squander it on your clientèle, who will trouser it.
3b) Squander it. You can't ever have enough clients.

4) There is no such thing as getting caught.

Duhhh.

My Real Name

2009-05-10T02:23:00.008+01:00

My real name is Oliphant Oliphant Oliphant.

Any jokes about the missionary recently come back from Africa having had his membrum virile magically transformed to the the size and flexibility of an elephant's trunk and having to explain at a Christian Ladies' tea party that it isn't so much that it's stealing all the buns but where it's putting them etc are unwelcome.

Much as I loathe Prof. Fraud and all his works... gotta admit that all male humour from age 5 to about 50 or so seems to be about unfeasibly (and a tip of th'tiplo hat to Viz magazine for one of the few useable 'buzz'words to have come out of the last two centuries or so*) unfeasibly large and/or prehensile penises.

* as a special birthday tribute to Viz magazine, one for their regular "Up The Arse" journalistic photo-feature.

I'm Dead Behind These Eyes

2009-05-09T02:53:00.006+01:00

You always felt everything very deeply...

Treasury Adds 10000000000000000000 or more to the Money

2009-05-08T05:36:00.013+01:00

In a surprise move yesterday, a consultant at the Her Majesty's Treasury was instructed to put his finger on the "zero" button of his computer and to hold it there until further notice.

Somebody told me to do this and then he ran way and hid in the cupboard, said the consultant today.

I'm not really a consultant anyway, just a temp, if you want to know why I'm doing this ask the man in the cupboard.

Not a Duck

2009-05-08T04:22:00.007+01:00

Readers: Is this one of your interminable "ceci n'est pas une pipe"-type japes?

Blogista: I can assure you that it is not.

Readers: Given that you are not very good at "ceci n'est pas une pipe" japes anyway.

Blogista: Whattya mean, "not very good"?

Readers: K so you press th' button on th'duck and it does something. Bet yours doesn't work.

Blogista: There are two buttons on the duck.

Readers: The same is true of both.

Blogista: I don't know what point you are trying to make, but you have really upset the duck. I don't care what you do to me, but leave the duck alone. Have a heart.

Readers: K the duck gets to live.

The Atheist Militant...

2009-05-08T01:23:00.025+01:00

...alone on a vast and empty battlefield, wielding his razor and shouting "Well then come and get me you bastards."

Prof Sir Spit Or Swallow Dawkins did once upon a televisionary programme try to tear a second arsehole into the entirely harmless Mr Russell Grant Purveiour of Horoscopoes.

Mr Grant might have said "Fuck off you're just another DNA replicator" but he didn't. Or a simple and decorous "Fuck off " would have sufficed.

Do any of my readers feel that the phrase "to tear sb another (or it may be "a second") arsehole" is neither translatable into French nor surgically feasible*? Answers only from notyetstruckoff proctologists and/or native French-speakers, please.

* rulez: no plastic tubes valves bypasses bags or other honky-tonk allowed: it has to be a functioning second arsehole w/structural considerations considered. Responses in Tibetan, Swahili &c will not be considered.

Readers (suspicious): Lot of considering going on here.

Panelista (or pohaps Boardista but certainly not some lone and therefore suspect Blogista): Yes indeedy. For what can exist in this world except that it has been considered by a Panel or Board on your behalf or in exceptional circumstances by a Committee of Enquiry?

Readers: What Panel (or Board) would that be, then?

Blogista: Why the Panel (or Board ) of ,or perhaps for, Arseholes.

Readers: I'd go for "for", otherwise it will only sound ridiculous.

Blogista:

Readers: Did you say Enquiry?

Teach Yourself Yourself

2009-05-06T04:58:00.001+01:00