Walkin' on the beaches, blowin' up the bitches...

Damn, them Swiss greybeards are at it again!

Not content with finally finding long-lost-at-sea Higg's Bo'sun, they've been tinkering about with them there black holes again.

Once more, they've been up at the CERN Abba's giant, and firing Benny and Björn's knackers at each other in the hope of reigniting their career. And a black hole.

A black hole to suck down Volkwagen Lupos, leaving naught but a 15ft Event Whore Eyes on a gravity well leading down into Infernis and a nudie Dr a Grant off of Jurassic Park.

So the police sensibly cordon it off and provide safety advice!

Like what safety advice can you possibly give? Please do not ignore the cordon, leap over the barrier and throw yourself down into ye bottomless black abyss you dumb fucks?

Safety advice my arse! "Ooooh look, a cordoned off 15ft hole in the road! Why, I simply must vault that barricade and plunge into oblivion as no-one has provided any sensible advice as what to do when facing a blocked off descent into doom!"

Now, them Australians, they give proper sensible safety advice. Such as don't play truant:

Ah, I remember bunking off (well, popping off to the nearby village in the free period before lunch to see who could eat a litre of ice-cream the fastest - me, obvs!). However, I don't recall the way to the ice-cream shop being seeded with landmines whilst we feasted on creamy goodness.

Then again, I don't recall my schoolmates being as hot and horny as these bronzed beauties. Apart from Helena Seddon, who wasn't horny but oh so very hot in 6th form. 

I remember a few students getting told off for urban surfing, and a car of friends got wiped out on a truancy drive, but I never encountered land mines on the school trip to Lyme Regis. Or was it Bognor Regis 

Well, no way am I camping out at a beach party on Waxham Waxhoff beach now! Oh, how I wished I'd listened to media diva spermbank Lady Die when she snuck out on secret pre-arranged media photoshoots on the evils of landmines in soup kitchens. or something,

But no, I ignored her pleas, and now it's National Sickie Day. I pity those who have a job, skiving off to Loo'stahhft and Great Y'ha-nthlei to get blown off in the sand dunes.

And then get blown up as they wander the sandy shore of explosivity.

ft Sean Paul, Missy Elliot, Jay-Z, Puff the Magic Diddy...

Well, bugger me backwards!

T'other day I moaned about being offered an IT Professional course on basically how to switch on a laptop and use MS Word.

Today, I hear about a new course - nay, a degree!

So, in a change of career direction, I may take up this course.

And what is this course of practicality? Why - a course in pop tart Beyoncé Knowles!

Who needs web design skillz, accountancy skillz, or even social interactivity skillz? Clearly what I'm missing is a degree in being Crazy In Love with all them Single Ladies who put their hands up.

Right up! Putting a ring on it.

Or "fisting", to put it politely.

Obviously, to get a job, I need B.A.Baracus Honor Blackman in Destiny's Spawn and her altar ego Sasha Barren-Cohen Fierce and the politics of Lady Gaga ramming a sandwich in Beyoncé's plastic sex-doll face while they blather on about broken mirrors and motherfucker reflections on the Telephone.

All academics need instruction in a Bootylicious Nasty Girl if they want that promotion. A deep understanding of Déjà-Vu about one night stands with a Naughty Girl and ending up with a Baby Boy for DNA on Jeremy Kyle.

I reckon some damn fool had just made this up! Some Beautiful Liar, albeit one whose pelvic extremities do not dispel untruths.

Or something.

But being unfamiliar with any of Beyoncé's work, I'm at a mass-disadvantage in the job market, having no knowledge of a singular title of her musical compositions.

So I'll just have to sign on. Using my initals only.

XO

It's all lies, they're not even square...

Right,

This came up on Farcebook today.

Now, instantly I could see 40-odd squares, yet some clueless gormsters were putting waaay less than 36, which is the bloody minimum number of squares (like 1 waffle has 4 square holes, in the shape of a square, on a square waffle = 6 squares. 6 waffles = 6x6 = 36. What the fuck do they teach in schools these days?)

Anyhoo, Pedantic, insufferable, smug gits will try and act all clever like, and point out that the answer is Zero, as there are no actual squares due to deformation of potato, and therefore with no true straight lines nor 90° angles, there are no squares.

Such people need a punch in the tits for being general gobshites of smug dumbass retardery.

In the spirit of mathematical, geometrical analysis, let us presume that these waffles represent true squares. Mentally realign, and let's deduce the number of squares within.

A brief analysis in Starbucks gave me a total of 55 squares, but now I'm home, a quick stylus overlay on the iPad, and I gets at least 111. And that's without rectangles - not even rectangles in the "there are 4 sides so a rectangle is, essentially, a square" as justified by cretinous thickos.

111, Xym? How the buggery fuck do you work that out?

Yay for screen capture, for here I show you a build up of 111 squares. Apologies for lack of neatness - if I had time, I'd create a neat version in photoshop, with a nice little animatic flashing up each square.

But I gotta tart meself up for The WhatACunt tonight, so ner!

The Access Of Evil...

A friend of mine got their diploma today, so a big congratulations and well done to them. I'd giver her the ole 2 thumbs up.. but that would be a quite inappropriate action to perform just for passing wind an examination. 

Unless it's a gynæcology examination, and then it would have been part of the actual examination. probably (and not in relation to coffee stains, right?).

However... I say got their diploma... they put a picture up of them holdings it up, all proud like.

But the more I looked at it, the more puzzled I got. In order to protect the innocent, the names has been removeded, rotated from being held at the jaunty angle of 4.35°, cropped to the titlature of the Diplomatical document, and grubby thumbs photoshopped out. To whit;

Now, I'm no grammar Nazi, as you can tell by one's constant inventorial use of language (removeded, indeed!), but that's no moon Diploma.

It clearly says "Access to Higher Education Diploma". Not "Dis be da Diploma In Sumt'in or other, yehmon". In other words, this is a document you present at the college, which gives to access to go in and pick up your H.E.D.

Ah! This explains that Robin Williams ballad:

"Singin' in the classes

Music for your masses

Give no H.E.D.

No backstage passes

Have a proper giggle

I'll be quite polite

But watch us rock the mic

Watch us wreck the mic

Watch us wreck the mic

Psych!"

It seems to me, the Health Practioner has won an award. They are then given this permission slip. This grants them access to their Higher Education Diploma in Science. Presumably, Dr Midwitch now needs to make use of that access, pick up their H.E.D., and give it to bouncers in Nightclubs to get backstage passes for Fearless Vampire Killers.

All that hard work studying Sciencey stuff just to get backstage to try and cop off with a boyband. 

Mind you, if I had that same qualification, I would giving H.E.D. to get backstage on Discovery's Mythbusters show and cop off with that Kari Byron.

Although Kari would be more Head Elevated Diplodocus than Higher Education Diploma, if you know what I mean (and I'm sure that you do. or probably not).

or something.