Happy New Year...

Now, I'm having another arsewit moment.

It's New Years Eve, and being a sad fat old miserable git sunk in depression, I'm pondering the meaning of New Years Eve.

Unlike Xmas, which abounds with merry jungles, such as Slade, Cliff Richard and Aled Jones*, New Year has but one.

Auld Lang Syne.

Like everyone else, I know but one verse of this pile of toot, and that is the first one:

Should old aquaintance be forgot

and never brought to mind

We'll drink a cup of milky tea

For sake of Auld Lang Syne

Hmmmm - an old aquaintance is an old friend, and to never bring to mind is to not think about them. So basically, verse 1 tells us that New Year is a time to dump all your old friends and never remember them ever again!

Hardly an auspicious start to the new year!

Talking of seasonal songs, as I was in the midst of that pile of old arse about the 13 days of Xmas, I didn't get to moan about the BBCs edit of Fairytale of New York. There was a big squit about blanking out Slut and Faggot as they were deemed offensive - but what about the rest of the song? Let's see...

Fairytale of New York 

 OK, if you can't say faggot, how can you refer to a fairy in the title!

It was Christmas Eve babe

Babe is a pig. This could be offensive to fat birds

In the drunk tank

could offend alchoholics

An old man said to me,

Ageist for a start,

won't see another one

offensive to blind people

And then he sang a song

The Rare Old Mountain Dew

brings to mind droplets of water on an ancient hags bazookas, which is mentally visually offensive!

I turned my face away

I'm not suprised after imagining her withered old dugs dripping with fluid!

And dreamed about you

that's morphean stalking, that is!

Got on a lucky one

Came in eighteen to one

Could offend the anti-gambling lobby

I've got a feeling

This year's for me and you

So happy Christmas

I love you baby

I can see a better time

When all our dreams come true

They've got cars big as bars

They've got rivers of gold

rivers of gold? Sounds suspiciously like golden showers to me, which again could be found offensive

But the wind goes right through you

farting? Now that can well offend some people

It's no place for the old

Again, offesive in a ageist fashion! No old gits allowed in New York!

When you first took my hand

On a cold Christmas Eve

You promised me

Broadway was waiting for me

You were handsome

could offend ungly blokes

You were pretty

could offend mingers

Queen of New York City

if we can't say faggot,  surely Queen surely must be offensive!

When the band finished playing

They howled out for more

Sinatra was swinging,

surely some people might find partner swapping offensive - it's tantamount to dogging!

All the drunks they were singing

We kissed on a corner

Then danced through the night

The boys of the NYPD choir

Oh, so no girls then. Sexist! Let them through the glass ceiling (so I can sit below and gozz right up their short airy skirts!)

Were singing "Galway Bay"

And the bells were ringing out

For Christmas day

You're a bum

could cause offense. I don't want buttocks in my Xmas music

You're a punk

a lot of people are offended by punks

You're an old slut on junk

could offend old hookers and addicts

Lying there almost dead on a drip in that bed

offfensive to anyone who has someone in hospical.

You scumbag, you maggot

could offensd some fishermans bait on Jailbait reef!

You cheap lousy faggot

could offend bundles of sticks from Pundland that don't burn very well, or cheapass meatballs in gravy

Happy Christmas your arse

butocks again! What is it with Kirsty McColl and her arse?

I pray God it's our last

God? That could offend non believers!

I could have been someone

Well so could anyone

You took my dreams from me

When I first found you

I kept them with me babe

I put them with my own

Can't make it all alone

I've built my dreams around you

*REMEMBER I MOANED ABOUT WALKING IN THE AIR, WHEN THEY ACTUALLY DON'T? WELL, I SAW THE VIDEO ON TOP 100 XMAS HITS, AND ALL HE DOES IS WALK ABOUT HILLOCKS - NO WALKING IN THE AIR AT ALL!

Belong...

There's a telly ad for beer at the moment which really annoys me.

There's this spaceship wot approaches some new planetary life force. So, the crew all trek out on the gantry to gain mystical secrets and knowledge.

And one's wearing trainers.

Now, trainers aren't exactly the most vacuum sealed of footwear, so all the atmos in his spacesuit will be sucked out from around his ankles, and through the laceholes of his ludicrous choice of foot cover.

So, in all probablility, this tosser is dying from lack of oxygen (although I could go for quite a while without hearing Sweet or Jean Michelle Jarre before I popped me clogs - or trainers, in this instance). Anyhoo, the big superior life form denies them entry to the planet as it 'doesn't make the rules'.

The asphyxiating tosspiece then reckons that he thought they looked quite smart! Hello! I may be no fashionista, but those trainers with that spacesuit? No way on Earth!

And they're not on Earth, so it don't matter!

Anyways, the crew then decide (because one of them won't get in wearing trainers) to spend an eternity looking for other marvels by trying somewhere else!  Why couldn't they just tell him to pop in the airlock and put some proper boots on?

Gobshites!

You spin me right round baby right round...

I have mentioned this previously, but how come whenever I wants to buy something that there is loads of stock of, the staff remove it on the day I wanna buy it?

Take today - I had me Xmas voucher for Waterstones. Now, for weeks and weeks I've been considering purchasing Alice In Sunderland. Didn't buy it in London coz I didn't have me voucher. And is there a single copy anywhere?

Like arse there is!

So, I thought I'd replace me Travel Scrabble with a proper one (as I'm not one of the 4 whore's men of the Apo Calypso). There was a dead ace deluxified one, with QUADRUPLE word score... but can I find it anywhere?

Can I buggery sod as like!

Same goes for the fancy wooden scrabble. And the lazy susan turntabley thing.

Lazy Susan indeed. I bet she got a bit pissed off when her mates invented it! Imagine, your best mate invents something to rotate a plate, and not only names it after you, but lets the world know you can't be arsed to turn a plate yourself!

I don't know why anyone bothered inventing one - they could have just used a record player. Or a DJ set with twin decks for 2 dishes! And if they wanted to be even lazier, then set it to 78rpm, and watch the food fly off the turntable and onto the feasters plates!

Mind you, you'd need some sort of funnel system to direct the food onto the plates, rather than a 360° splatterfest.

I'll have a play with that concept tonight - I'll invent the Lazy Ass Xymon, that not only rotates on a turntable, but also fling food from turntable to plate!

I'm gonna be rich!

The DFS sale starts today, and yesterday, and the day before that...

Blimey, you risk your life even reading the telly guide these days!

I turned over a page, and was set upon by some central staples, that had a go at the base of me finger. Yeouch! It's come to something when even the telly guide wants to slit yer wrists at Xmas!

Let's hope I survive reading the Spongebob Squarepants magazine and trading card collection!

Now, I'm no expert, but I on my journey into the City today, I had a bit of a waltz through them 'sales'. Maybe it's because I'm not a girly bird with no fashion sense, but could I find any bargains? Could I buggery sod as like!

UP TO 70% OFF scream the banners... but only on the stuff that's had 80% off for months that no-one wants anyways. Anything I wanted - hah! Reductions of 0% abound - or the items in question has mysteriously disappeared into the ether!

I have cash and vouchers, and narry a bargain to purchase.

Still, the January Sales start next week!

The hero of Canton - The man they call Austen Powers...

It would appear that Jurassic Pork is officially now an Xmas movie. And wot makes it worse, it that it's on THREE times! It were on yesturday, Jurassic Pork 1 & 2 are on tonight, and tomorrow Jurassic Pork 1, 2 AND 3 are on! Why not show 'em all at once, or a J.P. a night?

Still, could be worse, could be that Sarah Jurassical Porker trying to flog her Lovely perfume. Again.

Still, at least Dunston Checks In was on, so that made everyone's Xmas! Everyone loves a cheeky orangutang. Or even the tang of oranges. But not an orange tan, like that fat bird wot auditioned to be Oliver Neutron Bomb in Greece. Actually, forget Greece - they're now auditioning for the musical of Laurence Olivier, but you can only be Nancy or Dodger. (Mmmmm....Jammie Dodgers!).

Now, there was a big hoo-hah over the latest version of Oliver, coz it had a black nancy in it. Call me a fat fool, but in Dickensian England, there were no black people, coz the Empire was flogging them off in the Slave Trade. And being a nancy was illegal. Perhaps the BBC should have made them disabled. And a person of short stature. Tiny Tim, the black nancy boy with a manky leg. In a wheelchair. And Fagin getting done for not having disabled access to his lair.

I think I may submit The Picture Of Dorian Gray to BBC Talent to be remade. Set in 18-something-or-other, it will star Dorian, a Rastafarian gansta. And instead of a portait, it's a JPEG on his Babbage laptop.

OR, I might put forward Pride and Prejudice. Again, an 18th century period piece with a leading lady that the yoof of today can relate to:
"Mr Darcy! Your britches... cor, you ain't arf got a packet!. Nya ha ha ha. Give us a fag and  a can a stella and you do me up the bum an' shit."
"Milady, I fear the summer sun has instilled a rash lustfulness upon your person. Do you not feel this unbecoming of a lady of your station"
"Shaaat ahp and get yer cock aht!"
"But, perhance, what if his Lordship should pass, For surely as not, I could become embroiled in such a scandal as never before seen."
"Me mate'll blow him off, coz she's a right old slag, innit"
"Then allow me to place myself within your person, and become one in a blissful sea of ecstacy"
"Ecstacy? Now yer talkin' mate. I got some, like, pills an' shit. Got any viagra?"
"No, but I do have this token black fellow to patronise the viewers. Why, I have ever heard that they sport the largest of cocks to satisfy even the most rampant of ladies upon the lawn"
"Ooooh Mr Darcy! My bf always wanted me to 'ave a threesome. Wait til my bezzie hears about this!"

And so on...

And finally...

On the 13th day of Xmas

The Postman brought to me

My 'true love' in a pear tree

ParcelForce were soooo pissed off lugging 12 days worth of ludicrous items around Norwich, and I was pissed off with getting them, that they decided to have a lynching.

Thankfully, the Postie had more sense than the ex-True Love, and only lynched 1 instead of 13.

So, to celebrate, I'm having the ParcelForce crew over for a special Xmas lunch tomorrow. We're having Calling Bird Paté with boiled Goose Eggs Benedict followed by Roast Swan with all the trimmings.

Later, as we relax in the lounge, soothing music will be provided on Bagpipes and drums with 9 ladies lapdancing. Afterwards, the maids are being pimped out for 'a-milking' of the guests.

At the end of the evening, we will ceremoniously release all the remaining wildlife into Fiddlewood Forest, and instead of presents, the guest may take a scotsman, a drummer, a maid or a lady home.

I have no idea what happened to the Lords - must've leapt over the garden wall. As long as they don't come back, I'm happy!

THANK CHRIST THAT'S NOW OVER WITH! I APOLOGIZE FOR SUBJECTING EVERYONE THROUGH 13 DAYS OF SHEER TEDIUM.

I'LL START ON MY PROPER BLOG AGAIN TOMORROW. OR EVEN LATER TONIGHT!

On the twelfth day...

For fucks sake!

I drank waaaay too much last night, and the last thing I needed was the arrival of 12 drummers drumming on their drums.

The living room has been trashed. There's feathers and eggs all trampled into the carpet, not to mention certain bodily fluids as the human element of my daily 'presents' engaged in an all night orgy of sex and alchohol in Yuletide celebration.

And as for the Piper with the maid's cows....

You're a fucking Psycho, so stay away from me in future.

Me.

HOORAY! ONLY ONE MORE BLOG ON THIS TO GO, THANK GOD! IT WAS GONNA BE SOOOOO FUNNY, AND I GOT SOOOO PISSED OFF WITH IT. NEVER AGAIN!

On the eleventh day...

As if I didn't have enough, 11 fecking scotsmen have arrived.

Don't you remember when I moved out to Broadland - one of the pleasures was never having to hear them Bagpipes outside Marks. And now I have 11 of the bastards, piping on their pipes incessantly.

Most of the Lords appear to be gay, and they're already asking the pipers to pipe on their pink oboes. The ladies are obsesssed with what's worn (or not) under the kilt, and the peasant maids are moaning at me for not having any haystacks to frolic in. As for the scotsmen, some of them are giving them geese the eye.

It's turning into one huge bisexual swingfest in the drawing room.

And with 21 blokes and 17 women, I don't even get a look in (it was a crap magazine anyway. for birds). Wealthy lords, and well hung beefy scotsmen gone commando in kilts - none of the maids/ladies want a short, fat, foul visaged troll. And it's my house! I should get a seeing to from them maids at least!

Just stop now. No 12 of anything tomorrow, or there will be consequences.

Me.

On the tenth day...

Right, that's it.

I'm ringing up my solicitor on Monday to get a restraining order.

10 Lords, leaping about the place. I suspect they'll be leaping on the maids in a minute.

Forget no room at the inn - there's no fucking room in my house now.

Merry Xmas? In the words of the late great McColl:

Merry Xmas your arse, I pray god it's our last.

Me

On the ninth day...

Do I look like Peter Stringfellow?

Nine ladies turn up on me doorstep, dancing about like they were auditioning for that Strictly Come or something (Yeah, I'll have 'em "strictly come" later).

I'm now a man alone in a house with 17 women - which would be heaven, but with the PMT, the catfights, the bitching, the screeching, combined with the racket from the avian farmyard in the garden, I'm in Hell.

Tell you what - get me 10 poles tomorrow - (metal ones, not like them maids you sent me yesterday). Ladies dancing? They'll be dirty ho's lap dancing by Xmas. At least I can get the ParcelForce guys round, and give 'em a treat for being put out by your ludcrous present transportation.

Me.

On the eighth day...

Are you fucking mental or what?

Just been woken by ParcelForce delivering 8 maids - complete with cows. Is this some Polish immigration workscheme or something? Tell you what - it won't be them cows they're milking when I get back tonight.

You trying to set me up with a brothel as well as a menagerie? Who on earth sends their partner a bunch of peasant women for Xmas? Jesus. ParcelForce reckon this one's hilarious - maybe I should offer Postie and hour or two with some of the maids as recompense for their trouble.

This one takes the biscuit (and the milk, sugar, tea... in fact - how am I supposed to feed this lot?).

Just dawned on me, the incremental increase in gifts until Xmas day. I dread to think what I get 9 of tomorrow.

Me.

On the seventh day...

What is your problem?

Swans? What the fuck am I supposed to do with seven bloody swans?

And to top it all, they came with some ludicrous pond that they could swim in. Where the hell am I supposed to put a bloody pond, let along a heap of huge swans?

ParcelForce are well pissed off, the neighbours are pissed off (geese are bloody loud) and now I have 7 more honking birds.

I think it's time we put a stop to this, don't you.

Me.

On the sixth day... (it’s all kicking off Prue...)

Well I talked that one up, didn't I.

What's delivered today? Geese. Six of 'em. All female, constantly laying eggs. It was bad enough with the other umpteen birds, but what am I supposed to do with six geese laying eggs, and getting shell and yolk trampled into the carpet.

Not best pleased. Wish I hadn't mentioned geese and golden eggs yesterday.

Me.
x

On the fifth day...

Hi Gorgeous,

Sorry I was a bit grouchy yesterday - birds aren't really my thing.

Thanks for the change in gift though! Five Gold Rings! I'm gonna look like a pimp a something (ah, is that why you're sending me all these birds!!!).

To be honest, I was half expecting five gold wings, after the past few days - or even 5 geese laying golden eggs! Ah well, at least it wasn't five gold things - that would never do!

Lots of love,
Me
xxxxxxx

On the fourth day...

Hiya,

  Just took delivery of the 4 calling birds. ParcelForce not impressed, as the crate broke and they had to spend ages trying to catch them. And they'd shat all over the post.

  So your name's mud down the depot!

  I'm not being ungrateful, and I appreciate the presents, but you've sent me 6 birds already and I'm running out of space. And now I know why they're called calling birds - they just don't shut up!

  I love you and all, but I think it's time for the obstentatious display of affection to cease! 10 birds is more than enought for one man!

  Anyhoo, I'll see you tomorrow (got to get down the Giant Pet Store and some more seed and a larger cage - and reorganise the living room to find space for it).

  Love,
Me
xxx

On the third day...

Hi Hun,

  Just got back from the ParcelForce depot - boy, am I a lucky Xmas elf! Not every bloke has his girfriend sending him three french birds for Xmas (fnarr fanarr!)

  Fresh eggs for Xmas brekkie then! Or les oeufs, as they say in frenchland. Could be worse, could be Les Dennis [shudder].

  Not sure where I'm gonna put them at the moment, as I haven't got a chicken run, and it's a bit cold to be out building one! I've put them in the spare room with some water & seed for now.

  It's like the Goode Life round here!

  See ya later alligator!

  Lots of love, 
  Me
  xxxxx

On the second day...

Hiya Babes,

  Just to say thanks got the turtle doves - such a romantic gesture. My mates think's it's bit gay, but who cares! They're a reminder of you when you've gone home.

  I'm going to call them Leonardo and Raphael - they're gonna be NINJA turtle doves! Only joking! They're named after us (awwwwww, how sweet!).

  I picked up some of them scented candles yesterday, so I'll pop over later with some wine, and I'll cook you a big romantic dinner - maybe even snuggle up on the sofa and watch your Ghost DVD if you want!

Love ya oodles of noodles!
Me
 x   x
xxx xxx
 xxxxx
  xxx
   x

On the first day...

Hiya Honeybunny,

  Just a quick note to say how much I love you, and that you really are my one true love.

  Now, please don't get mad, but my Xmas surprise isn't a surprise any more, and I thought I'd better let you know. 

  ParcelForce woke me up at 20 past 8 this morning, with a delivery for me. I signed for it, thinking it was your present that I'd ordered (Yes, I have a large one for you! Fnarr fnarr!), but unfortunately it was your present for me.

  I don't know if the delivery service messed up on the delivery dates, or if you ordered using my PC and forgot to change the delivery address, but I now have my pressie 12 days early. Because of what it was, they hadn't wrapped it - just affixed your note to the tub, so there was no way I could not spoil the surprise.

  A partidge in a pear tree! That is soooo cool! I like a nice pear (whey-hey!), and I'm calling the bird Alan (Ha ha!). I bet no-one else gets something as different as that!

  I'll plant the tree this Arvo - do you fancy coming over later, coz we could plant it together. As the tree grows, so will our love, and as the tree bears fruit, so shall we (ooooh, how romantic am I, apart from the bearing fruit bit, coz we don't want that now do we... we can get fruity later though!).

  Gotta dash - I'm off into the City to find an additional pressie for you, as you've spent waaaaaay to much on me already!

  Txt me later, and let me know about this arvo.

  Love ya lots and lots of chimney pots!
Me
 x   x
xxx xxx
 xxxxx
  xxx
   x

More reasons, more reasons, more reasons...

That there news did some repotage today, and it appears that a whole battalion of soldiering types is lobbed out of the forces every year coz they're all high on Certain Substances!

No wonder us poor civvies can' get over our headaches - there's no medicinal tablets available coz the Para's eat 'em all!

Para's eat 'em all... Paracetemol...
No?
Well, please yerself then!

It's a laugh a minute on my blog.

Or, more likely, a minute laugh, although what my newt has to do with it, I'll never know. Scrabbling about through air ducts and screeching like it were that Dakota Fannyingabout. Timmeeeeee. Ripleeeeee. EeeeeeEEEeeEEeeeEE! Grrrrrr - smack that brat! Wallop, wallop, wallop. On the head.

Anyhoo, there's also a 'growing trend' for people to use homeopathic remedies, which is modern speak for old wives tales and bitches brews. Wiping your bum with a dockleaf, instead of Anusol for piles, for example.

Now, what these hippy types seem to forget that when these olde worlde homepaths were the norm, live expectancy was about 27, so we can probably expect Kurt Cobain, Jimi Hendrix, and Jim Morissey to be big fans. They may have been more at the hallucinatory end of the pharmaceutical flora, but an apple a day make you sick of the sight of apples after a week.

Talking of Morrisons - there's that bloody annying Xmas ad at the moment. "I want my tarts hot, steaming, and with a dash of my cream inside" and suchlike. But what REALLY gets my goat is that haggard old trout that demands "Turkey, wrapped in bacon". Now, she may be some inconsequential celeb I've never seen or heard of before, but if she reckons that's a turkey wrapped in bacon, she needs her ancient old catarats rebooting!

Look at what the Morrison chef's present as the feast in question. A huge bird (not the heifer holding it) with TWO measly very thin strips of bacon draped on top. To me, that's not wrapped in bacon, that's just plonking a bit on top to try and look all poncey!

Tell you wot missus, I'll get you Wii for Xmas, and wrap it by placing 2 soiled squares of arsewipe on top. You'll never guess wot it is under all that wrapping! In return, you could wrap me up that Sarah from the Curry's ad, in a couple o' bits of string and 2 thimbles.

Roly-Mo and Rockit!

Oh, will the joyous comedy never cease?!?!?!

(did it ever start...?)

Who goes there..

Brrrrrrr! It ain't half cold out there! You can tell Winter is on it's way!

And then it's Xmas, where we'll be subjected to the obligatory animatory escapade that is The Snowman.

"But everyone LOVES that christmas classic" I hear you cry! But I have an issue with it.

And that issue is with that miner of the Not Poodle, Aled Jones, warbling that pile of Arse 'Wanking in the air". OK, I know it's not actually sung by the welsh castrati*, but some ugly choirboy whose visage whas so deformed he was excluded from TOTP for looking like the love child of John Merrick and Quasimodo.

The issue I have is with the main lyric, which by serendipity just happens to be the title.

"We're walking in the air..."

Now, you watch that pastelly plonker as the song goes through. Are they walking in the air? Are they buggery sod as like! They fly, glide, swoop and dive, but at no point in the film do they stroll through the sky like there was a road made from cloud.

I mean, how difficult would it be to sing "We're flying in the air..."? It's the same number of syllables, and fits with the flow and the visuals. Walking doesn't even fit! You sit there shouting at the the screen "You're not walking, you gobshite! You're flying!".

And it's so contradictory - "We're walking in the air, we're floating in the midnight blue" - Hold on! Are you walking or floating? There's a big different between lurching across the atmos, and levitating like the daily labia.

Perhaps it's some form of lucid dreaming of the astral projection of snowmen, and it's a metaphor. Maybe that scarf wot the Gobblin' King gave him was laced with some form of shamanistic trance inducing powder, so when he had a sniff of it, he had a major trip off've it!

Dance like the wolf!

Swift like the deer!

Soar like a snowman!

All praise Gitche Manitou!

A-hai-a-hai-ia-ho

Make it snow!

Oh pissflaps, it's pissing it down. Oh well, rain is only melted snow.

Anyhoo, I dunno wot the sprout was crying about when the Snowman melted into a pool of water. Ole Snowey could've come back like that bloke in X-Men. Or the T-1000! Shame T3 didn't feature the next model, the T-1001, made up from dry foam, muderously cleansing the carpets and removing the bloodstains from it's rampaging bloodbath.

Hey, that's a nice sleigh...

* AND HIS OTHER FAMOUS CASTRATI SONG
"WIN SPECIAL TICKETS TO THE X-FAC-TOR
INSIDE SPECIAL PACKS OF POOOOOT NOODLLLLLLLLLLLLE"

And now it’s half past three...

Last Xmas, I dint give anyone me heart, BUT I did partake of quizment, and got a right old gobful on one of my questions. I simply asked "Which came first? The chicken or the egg?".

Now, there is a definitive answer to this alleged conundrum, and it's dead simple when you think about it.

The answer is, of course, The Egg.

Now, popular culture will then try and confound you with tales along the lines of "well, there had to be a chicken to lay the egg, but there had to be an egg for there to be a chicken in the first place".

Hiffle and piffle and old plum pud, say I!

After watching that Jurassic Pork, it became clear that there were eggs way back then in 1993, however - was Jeff Goldblum pecked by the peckers of cocks, or gnawed upon by hens? No (apart from that pre-wedding party that got out of hand)! Out of them eggs came a variety of monstrous beasties hell bent on savaging bit-part extras to death.

But no chickens, you'll notice.

Take a trip round a museum - what do you see? Velociraptors, brick like legosaurus's, pain in the bum Feckinsaurus, and Marc Bolan's band. Any collossal chickens maurauding through the triassic foliage?

I think not!

So, as chickens evolved from teenysaurus's, we can safely say that the egg came before the chicken, coz there were no chickens in prehistoric times. What eventually became chickens through æons of evolution were not chickens, but roostersaurus's, or something. Ergo, eggies first, cheekychick later.

Poor old Neanderthal, missing out on the Kingsize Family Fuckit. Actually, sod that - they probably nipped down the KFP (Kentucky fried pterodactyl) and argued if it should be a KFT, and if they were being served poorer quality pteranadons passed off as pterodactyls. Be a rather short argument though, mainly consisting of each party shouting "Ug" at each other and walloping them over the bonce with a jawbone and dragging their opponents wives off by the hair.

Which can be quite difficult if she's Brazilian, or so I'm led to believe...

Will Sheppard washed his socks at night..

It's political correctness gone mad! It appears you're not allowed to say the 'N' word anymore...

Nativity!

Now, there are these mentally challenged bods (or Christians, as they prefer to be known), who are kicking up a right old stink that Christianity is getting eroded. Ha! Serves 'em right for eroding Paganism!

Anyways, these loons are upset because only 23% of the whole of Britain (BASED ON A SAMPLE OF 1200 PEOPLE) don't know where Jesus was born, and they want to keep The Nativity a strong tradition.

Unfortunately, this is where it all falls down flat. Most Christians don't know where (or even when) he were born! Jesus was born in Naranene, (later became Nazareth, and went on tour with their rock guitars) somewhere between the end of March and Mid June. And Mary was never a virgin in the bible. In fact, Bethlehem didn't even exist at that time, and Herod was long dead. And Jesus is actually pronounced Hey Zeus... etc...

Also, Jesus was foreign from the Middle East - so how come these Nativities always have it in some English snowstorm? Surely the whole cast should be in djebellas, with Mary in one of them Ninja suits, moaning about how hot it is, and how the goats smell...

And Joseph were a carpenter, so how come he ain't lobbed his hand off when carving some ornate wooden dildo for Mary and had it replaced by a hook. Surely he should be espousing terroristic threats and calling for Jihad on them three wise men for not getting Jesus a PS3, an iPhone and a furby.

Three wise men my arse! Gold, Frankenstein and Grrrrrrr - Probably Mary's three best chavvy mates fresh back from shoplifting, bearing thieved gifts of a packet of Rothmans, A six-pack of Happy Shopper Pisshead Brew, and some Lizzy Duke earrings they've happy slapped down the Inn.

No room at the Inn - they didn't even have inns in the Middle East! They had aged, toothless, long-bearded foul smelling fakirs on hookah pipey wotsits, sat outside shops selling tat, guzzling apple tea with sheeps eyeballs on cocktails sticks.

Meanwhile, Joseph's out the back, flogging the 'gifts' on Al-Jezeera eBay, cursing western consumerism whilst downloading Bhupinder Bangs Bethlehem whilst God's busy giving Mary one up the wrong'un.

And what's with them swaddling bands? Tie the baby up so it can't move - not very nice to torture the saviour of mankind! Poor old Jesus - trussed up like Frodo by that there Shelob. Only there's no Samwise Gamgee to cut him loose - just his cousin John*, and he's far too busy baptising people, gorging on honeyed locusts and making the mistake of asking Salami to give him head.

It were awfully crowded in that stable - donkeys, goats, wise men, the immediate family, angels... And weren't there a load of Sheep herders there as well**, who just happened to show up for a quick peek at the Magdalene's Muff on the pretence of 'watching the Lord enter the world'. yeah, right! More like them Shepherds heard about her nobbing God behing Josephs' back and thought they might be in with a chance.

Coz it's were a pain in the arse having sandals instead of wellies.

Especially for their fluffy charges...

* AT LEAST, I THINK IT WAS JOHN LE BAPTISTE. ALTHOUGH COULD'VE BEEN JOE LE TAXI DRIVEUR.

** WOULDN'T THE NATIVITY BE DEAD ACE IF, INSTEAD OF A LOAD OF SHEPHERDS, A LOAD OF OLD NERFHERDERS TURNED UP!
HEY - WHO'SE SCRUFFY LOOKIN'?

Watch out, watch out, there’s a Humphrey about...

Madame Fate is sticking her big fat oar in again!

Now, I quite fancy some Honey Encrusted flakes with nuts, and I would like to top the lot with a product popularly know as milk.

So how come all the shops in the Zooniverse are either shut, inaccessible or out of milk?

I seem to recall that in the 70s, there were some Humptyesque beings with straws in their bonce that went round nicking milk. Then the ads suddenly disappeared. Now I know why - the Humpries are back!

Either that, or them Cravendale cows are ram-raiding the local garage and forcing people to lure me away from locations where milk might be present.

Then again, being a subbeuteo subutio Subbeauteo football player, a pirate or a plastique cow can't be that much fun. After playing musical statues and traversing the country in a trolley, there's hours of entertainment to be had by obfuscating creamy bovine produce to deter me from joining the rest of the country in going crunchy nuts.

I'll just have to toast me flakes under the grill and butter them individually. After all, butter is just milk that's been left to go off a bit. And cheese is just butter gone hard, and then flogged off when it's mouldy!

Blue Stilton! It's covered in bluey green mould and tastes like bluey green mould - but people like it! But these self same people won't eat mouldy bread - why not? It tastes just like stilton.

And Parmesan cheese tastes like sick.

D'oh! I forgets! You've now got to call it Palmi shaaan cheese - just so you sound posh like Nigella Lawson or that nudie chef wot sez Pukka a lot. Or that Ramsey, bunging his sea shells onto various artifacts out by Black lake.

Are YOU playing your Love Games with me?

Sunday shining...

all work and no play makes xym very tired all work and no play makes xym very tired all work and no play makes xym very tired all work and no play makes xym very tired all work and no play makes xym very tired all work and no play makes xym very tired all work and no play makes xym very tired all work and no play makes xym very tired all work and no play makes xym very tired all work and no play makes xym very tired all work and no play makes xym very tired all work and no play makes xym very tired all work and no play makes xym very tired all work and no play makes xym very tired all work and no play makes xym very tired all work and no play makes xym very tired all work and no play makes xym very tired all work and no play makes xym very tired all work and no play makes xym very tired all work and no play makes xym very tired all work and no play makes xym very tired all work and no play makes xym very tired all work and no play makes xym very tired all work and no play makes xym very tired all work and no play makes xym very tired all work and no play makes xym very tired all work and no play makes xym very tired all work and no play makes xym very tired all work and no play makes xym very tired all work and no play makes xym very tired all work and no play makes xym very tired all work and no play makes xym very tired all work and no play makes xym very tired all work and no play makes xym very tired

I'd've redrum'd meself if I'd had to work much longer, and coz I were in from 7.30 till 3.45 the shops were shut when I got back, so I get no milk. Mebbe I'll knock on the wall, see if 'er next door can slip me some milk through the wardrobe via the jugs in her slip after knocking her up.

Or something.

I'm off to bed for early sleeps.

Things that go bonk in the night...

I bet you've all had this!

It's a dark and stormy night. You have a warming beverage of choice and sat by the fire, perhaps reading a book or watching a movie. Mayhap you're tucked up in bed, trying to drift into dreamland...

...and you hear a noise, and you're sure there's someone else in the house! Is it a prowler, a burglarizer, a dunken lodger falling about after returning from a night of clubbing, or an escaped elephant making it's way up the stairs with the assistance of Michael Stipe?

Well, if you feel brave enough, you often investigate and find it's nothing!

Ah, but after todays kayak stylee revelations, perhaps you only think it isn't nothing! In fact, the previous owner of your home may have been in adulterous liaison with the harridan next door, and built a secret doorway twixt the two houses. That sound you hear is your neighbour, pressing all the secret buttons in the correct order to allow the false partition to slide aside, then popping through your wardobe to hide from their friends and family.

And to nick your stamps!

You see, all this time I thought there was some Goblin going through my stuff and hiding or nicking it, and in all probability it's the woman next door, sneaking into me house and swapping my fresh milk for her out-of-date one.

So check out your wardrobes, cos you never know what your previous owners built into the house, or what they got up to with the neighbours.

I wonder if her next door'll let me have a go at her secret passage (fnarr fnarr)...

Freddie’s dead...

So, they gets the Odeon down Rover's hide all specially decked out so they can show 3D movies, and have people thrusting long objects 'through' the screen at the audience.

Hooray, think I! NBX  in 3D has come to the UK from 1st Dec! And what, pray, cinema chain is showing it? Whoopee! The Odeon! And after specially decking out Norwich to enable 3D presentation...

...it's only showing in Manchester.

Bar stewards!

And I just bet these 3D movies don't come out as 3D DVDs. Friday the 13th part 3D, Amityville IIID, Jaws 3D - DVDs abound, but are they in 3D?

Are they buggery sod as like!

I'll just bet there's buggering soddery porny 3D DVDs though. An altogether different Jason waggling his weapon at you. Jason XXX with Jean Clawed Vin Diesel.

Or something.

Though I giggle and I chortle, bear in mind I’m not immortal...

Well, of all the cheek!

Clearly the aroma of Dogturd Poo and the TURDIS are in my imagination, and the evil reek comes from me!

There I was, lying in The Chair, and the Scrivello sez I need to see a hygienist! Wots wrong with me hygiene? Am I such a loathsome, foul smelling, filthy hobo that's only concept of a shower is being rained on? How dare he accuse me of wallowing in dirt, like some skanky ho with the perfumery of a tarts handbag filled to brimming with the contents of her soiled knicker drawer!

Oh, It's me wonky teeth he got a problem with! And he's such a lazy arse, he can't do as good job as The Hygienist (or rake in as much dosh).

it's all coz me front bottom teeth (Fnarr Fnarr! Sounds painful missus!) tilt backwards, I've got a plaque on the baque, and he said I have a touch of the Gingivitus.  Now, poor ole Jess got that, and he ended up with only 2 tooths, but if I lose all mine, at least I'll get wodges of cash!

So now I have to suck on Corsodyl. Cor, sod it! more like! I can hardly wait to swill me gob out with that stuff. Mmmmm minty fresh!

And I still have to see a hygienist.

If you wanna clean your teeth

Baby there's a price to pay (TWENTY QUIDS!)

A hygienist with a bottle

I got to "rub her" "the right way"

If you know what I mean (and I'm sure that you do)! So, if there's any ladies out there that wanna let me practice at rubbing them the right way...

Mwah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!

Washing machine, pinstripe dream...

Ooooh, now that was good!

Mushy pea fritters are the tops!!

And The Human League were excellent! There was almost a few punch ups, and I got Sue's set list, which ran as follows

-- Part One: The Dare Album --
Things that dreams are made of
    Open your heart
        The sound of the crowd
            Darkness
                Do or die
                    Get Carter
                        I am the law
                            Seconds
                                Love Action
                                    Don't you want me
-- Part 2: Miscellaneous hits --
Hard times
    The Lebanon
            All I ever wanted
                Human
                    Heart like a wheel
                        Tell me when
                            (keep feeling) Fascination
                                Mirror Man
-- Encore --
Being boiled
    Together in electric dreams

So now I'm home, It's half past midnight, so off to watch Heroes. And one of the Bladerunners before tomorrow mornings Dentistry...

I didn’t get where I am today...

Quickblog coz I got to get tarted up for The Human League and mushy pea fritters, and set the video for the last episode of Heroes.

EDIT: And the b@$t@rd tape ran out when the Volume 2 caption came up. Grrrrrrrrrr.

Mmmm...cadbury... anyhow - short & sweet today!

Hurrah! I gots me Bladerunner!

Anti-hurrah. Royal Mail have bonked it about a bit in the sorting orifice, so I get a dent in the tin casing.

EDIT: On close inspection, multiple dentage is the order of the day.

Grrrrrr! With added GROWL.

I see on the Tagliatelly that some bloke has done a Reggie Perrin! I think he misread the Nobb classic, as you're s'posed to leaved your clothes on the beach, not your kayak!

Kayak indeed! It's a bloody canoe! I mean...

...oh for fecks sake! Bloody Norton's cut in again, I'll have to cut this short, and I'm running out of time! Oh well, I'll post some proper tat tomorrow.

Mushy pea fritters...here I come!

They put basil in the ratatouille...

AAAARRRGGH!

I was in mid-blog when Norton Antivirus decided to reboot my PC after downloading updates, so I lost yet another classic pile of arse!

Talking of arse, I got home from the quiz last night, and against all advice, I sat through The Descent. The Descent? De scent of shite, more like!

Not unlike leaving Reed House tonight. Remember I got that photo of Dr Poo by his TURDIS? Well, tonight he arrived in concentrated form. No longer Doctor Poo - this was Dogturd Poo....

...in a special episode where all 10 Dogturds meet up in a time rift mix up with much hilarity with their different personalities and which one gets to shag the current hitchhiking Harlot*. Or 'companion' as they're referred to (and those who've seen Firefly/Serenity will know what a Companion is!). In fact, that Rose Tyler made a profession out of it in that Secret Diary spin-off**.

So, never get in a phone box with David Tennant, coz you'll just end up leaving your calling card in it!

And talking of foxy companions, what the feck has happened to Basil Brush? I caught a bit of it t'other morning, and he was shouting "Bing! Bing!". No way, thought I, sureley it's "Boom! Boom!".

Well, it turns out that Dirty Gertie from No.30 was dirrrty in the downright filthy slut sense, and was nobbing Basil for years, so now he's got all these fox offspring all about the place. In a stroke of pure twatness, 'Bingo' shouts "Bing! Bing!" at anything that's remotely funny. Or unfunny, as modern brits ripping-off US comedy tends to be.

Bing bing indeed! Grrrrrrrrrr.

* AND IT'S ALWAYS TOM BAKER, COZ THAT DOGTURD HAS A LONG SCARF OF ANDREX TO CLEAN UP WITH LATER.

** THERE'S ANOTHER DOGTURD POO SPIN OFF AS WELL - TOUCHCLOTH.

Git sum nuts suckah! (But doan git on no plane)...

Lady luck may favour me on the job front, but she's not helping me out on them quiz's!

LAST in the pop quiz, and third from last in General Knowledge.

We didn't even win biscuits. Although I ended up with pistachio'd moustachios!

Or is a piss 'tash io one of them oral based golden showers on Aged Ronalds farm on a Venusion moon?

Oh well, at least I got some nuts, so I won't have Mr T driving a tank at me!

At least you’ve got your ’elf...

It's that time of year when you can't escape the strains of Band Aid: "Do they Know It's Christmas?". How come Band Aid get all the glory? What about Lucozade? OK, so having to be poor and live on the second floor isn't as much of a hardship as starving in Etheopia Ethiopia Eefeeopee-uhr foreign places, but come on! Poor old Johnny's mum must feel right left out (it was Susan Vegas, wasn't it...)

Talking of Xmas, I see from the Tagliatelly that them cops are doing another Xmas Drink-Driving clampdown.

Clampdown my arse! If they were clamping down on it so much, then a certain jolly fat bloke in a red suit would be behind bars with his pilots licence revoked! Well, think about it - he goes round, and in each house the kiddies leave him a mints pie and a glass of sherry!

Now, that's one hell of a lot of sherry to be drinking when your making deliveries and behind the reigns of a fleet of reindeers! 20 houses down the road, and he's probably ripping open the pressies looking for the inflateable guitar, standing on the rooftops like U2 and playing Air Guitar, thinking he's Santana Clause!

And talking of a pilots licence - I know he probably doesn't have to pay road tax, but surely that sleigh is somewhat on the unroadworthy side of permissible vehicles? It's an accident waiting to happen! It's just an open topped carriage with a load of toys in the back! If a X-BOX 360 falls of the back and brains some kiddie who's hoping to get a glimpse of Santa, there'd be uproar! And if he's allowed to have what's basically a flying car, then I wants one! No more roundabouts, just flying through the air. And you'd be at eye level with bedroom windows, so you'd get more than your fair share of eye candy getting ready for work!

Trouble is, you'd get a load of eye sprouts as well!

Anyhoo, Is it just me, or is there something creepy about Father Chistmas? You tend to tell the kiddies not to talk to strangers, but these negligent parents are determined to force their kids into his suspiciously darkened grotto in The Mall and make them sit on his lap. Now, I'm not saying Santa's a paedophile, but you wouldn't encourage your little ones to climb into the lap of a fat tramp and demand that he give them something.

And do you really want your kids encouraging fat fellas to get drunk and creep into their bedroom at night to become Saint Knickerless and empty their sack?

Sounds a bit on the dodgy side to me!

I love you, yes I do, and I hope that you love-a me too...

...I ♥ U, yes I do, gonna spend all my money on ewes... nah! Stuff that! I'll spend all my money on ME!

I saw an ad on t'telly this arvo saying that 'I ♥ Huckabees' was on tonight, and the announcer called it 'I Heart Huckabees'. Now, I've noticed this amongst the young 'uns. I ♥ U, etc. Normally, these kids reckon it means ' I Luv You', which is a pile of rose tinted arse, cos it's a Heart. And Heart is an anagram of Hater, which when said in an eyetalian accent is Hate-a. AND Heart sounds very similar to Hate, so I reckon when people scrawl I ♥ U they're actually saying they HATE you, albeit in a phonetic and italian anagramatical fashion!

And ♥ also means arse, as it is a picture of a woman bent right over with her arse in the air. Or just an arse upsidey down.

Now, my sorry tale of woe went from bad to worse since Dame Fortuna decided she had it in for me, but I think Lady Luck has stepped in and decided to give Dame Forutna a damn good kicking right up the arse. In very tall, very pointy, stilettoes.

As it's Saturday, I was in yon City, and decided to partake of luncheon. Scoffing me Haddock & Chips outside The Guildhall, I see some friends o'mine... who didn't even stop and say hello! Missed me entirely they did!

Later on, I decided to have a look at that 'Xmas Fayre' up by The Forum. Yeah, not exactly an Xmas Fayre is it - it's the sodding French Market rebranded for Xmas! Although, one of them Germans snuck in, flogging Bratwurst and Mulled Wine, so that makes it a continental market. Or Xmas Fayre, if you prefer. But not an Eczema Faye - nowt but piles of E45 cream and Camomille tea.

Mulled wine - you certainly were a bit mulled after drinking that! Blimey - a couple of sips o' that and you're as pissed as a Lord! AND you're not allowed to leave the stall while you drink it, coz they ain't got a booze licence. And with a hot, steaming vat of hot alchohol in me mitts, once again I see those chums o'mine... who one again bounce past and ne'er give me a second glance!

For the best mulled wine, I'm sorry, but you have to trek all the way to sodding Camden Market at Xmas. That's just the best! Oooh, I can't wait for my Xmas Londinium trip...

Anyhoo, that's when Lady Luck took over. I got accosted by one of them haggard old trouts wot do them surveys near Debenhams. Now, normally, these ladies lead you up the stairs, bung you in front of a laptop for 20 mins, and you get free coffee and a pen. Not this time - I was promised a whole FIVE POUNDS just to answer a few Q's about landlines! Brill!

So, give a false name, address & phone no (coz I don't want to be perstered by surveys at home), do a little survey, and make a fiver out of it!

Which promptly got spent on sweeties.

So, my lucks on the up! Hopefully I'll gets to keep me job on Monday after the ReOrg, and it'll be wanton harlots leading me up the stairs instead of aged crones - and it won't be landline's they'll want to survey...

If you know what I mean (and I'm sure that you do)!

Fire in the sky, Ernie floats by...

I had a fantastic blog thought up as I drove into work. A very clevery one as well.

But I was driving, so couldn't write it down. And can I remember what it was? Can I buggery sod as like!

So you don't get one!

Isn't that always the way though -well, in reverse! Normally, people will have a discussion, than 10 minutes afterwards, they suddenly come up with a million and one comeback, all hilariously funny. Me - I some up with some bizzarre old toot, and forget it as soon as I plonk meself in front of the pewter!

And I'm damn sure that William Gates has bunged in some auto-suggestion or hypnotic effect into them Windows Apps. I pop on to MySpace for a few mins - before I know it, hours have passed. Have I done much, seen much, NO! It's like one of them Travis Walton time loss moments! Or Betty & her very large pile of purple dinos.

Could've been worse, I s'pect. Betty could have been chased by a pile of green wolly hatted lumkins, whilst her dress 'fell off' as her hubby repeatedly slaps one of them Grey's on it's baldy bonce.

And people wonder why Area 51 is not publicly recognised by the American Government! I'd deny it too if all that were going on in my Hangar!

Hangars! When I came to Norwich, I often got confused looks from some people. None more so when I spoke of hookhangers. People get genuinely confused! Apparently, despite the fact that there are a hangar with a hook on it, people dahn sahf call it a coathanger. Although they never use them for coats - only shirts, trews and dresses. Coats go on a coatrack, or a hatstand.

Hatstand! Who uses a hatstand for hats! It's a glorified coatrack! I've yet to see a hatstand with a hat on it. Coats, yes. Umberellas - yes. Ne'er a hat though.

Just don't ask about putting clothes on t'maiden!

To shave-a da face...

There's been some actual proper singing clips from Sweeney Todd released! Wonder how well Johnny Depp, Helena Bonham-Carter and Sacha Baron Cohen can sing? Check out this link:

Sweeney Todd Clips

If that's too slow, they've been YouTubed (much poorer quality):

Todd meets Lovett (non-singing clip)

My Friends (singing clip)

Anthony meets Turpin (Alan Rickman - non singing clip)

The Contest (singing clip Sacha Baron Cohen)

Lovett finds out about Pirelli (non singing clip)

Epiphany (Singing clip)

A Little Priest (singing clip)

Not while I'm around (singing clip)

A beadle (Timothy Spall) arrives (non singing clip)

And over on the Sweeney Todd movie homepage, there's new content. If you enter the site, click on AUDIO and you can listen to some of the songs (without the intercut dialogue). They have:

A Little Priest - Complete song (Helena & Johnny)

By The Sea - Clip (Helena)

Epiphany - Clip (Johnny)

Green Finch & Linnet Bird* - Clip

Johanna 1 - Clip

The Barber and His Wife** - Complete song (Johnny)

Pirelli's Miracle Elixir - Clip (Johnny & Helena)

Pretty Women - Clip (Johnny & Alan Rickman)

Worst Pies In London - Full Song (Helena)

Sweeney Todd Website

*PROBABLY THE BEST VERSION OF THIS SONG EVER!

** MISTAKENLY LISTED AS 'NO PLACE LIKE LONDON'. I SAY COMPLETE SONG, AS IT STARTS AFTER THE 'HOLE IN THE WORLD' SECTION FROM 'NO PLACE LIKE LONDON'

Don’t fall, Alec...

I've decided Blogs will continue, as they take my mind off things. Serious stuff first, and then on to the usual 'comedy' banter. Skip the first bit, as it's just me feeling sorry for meself in tears.

[serious]
I tried watching telly last night, but I kept smelling Gingy, as if his little furry phantom was scampering around.. Today, I got through work OK as I kept myself REALLY busy, but it was oh so hard coming home. It's fishie night, and he's not going to be crawling up my leg shouting at me to hurry up. Boy, driving in floods of tears ain't easy. Anyway, I packed away all his things tonight, and that was VERY hard. I even thought I heard him shuffling in his litter tray, even though it's not there anymore. So, I'm going to do stuff, like me blog, so as I can concentrate on something else, instead of the emptyness.
[/serious]

Right, so onto the usual gubbins - won't be up to the usual standards of toot, as my hearts not really in it at the moment, but it's a distraction before The Might Boosh comes on later.

Ok, so I leaves off work, and checks my dampened eyes in the lift mirror. Shock! Horror!

Well, apart from the Shock! Horror! of a vast tub o'lard leering back at me, I noticed a glinty sheen of colour within my ocular orbits. So I leant forward for a closer look.

Now, my eyes are Hazel (or Brown), so imagine my surprise when glaring back at me were two bright green glass marbles! I've NEVER had green eyes before! They were that wet from tears, they had a twinke to them - I'm sure if some young harlot had been in the lift she'd have wasted no time in sipping her coke at me!

I have noticed this before - my eyes do often change colour, and It makes me wonder if anyone else's eyes change, or if I'm some kind of chameleon, or one of the lizardy reptiles out of V (sans vendetta). Cor, maybe I'm one of them Illuminati types that David Ike keeps blahing on about! Yay! Give me wodges of cash and power please!!

Or perhaps I've just got freaky eyes!

The Lion Sleeps Tonight...

No blog today. I came home to find Jester collapsed in a heap. Despite a mad rush to the vets, he passed away at about 5 o'clock. He's now sleeping in the garden.

I'm somewhat distressed, so there may not be a blog for while.

Rest in peace, Jester.

She ’studied sculpture’ at St,Martin’s college...

I'm perplexed!

Apparently, there's this debating society in Cambridge, and there's loads of people up in arms coz they're debating stuff!

Now, call me an unrestrained arsewit if you will, but surely the whole point of debating stuff is so you debate it? If you're not allowed to debate things, wots the point of a debating society. If you don't have a polar opposing view, it's more of "Yeah, I agree" society, which wouldn't last five minutes.

What I find even more perplexing is Students. Ok, so students always think they know everything, and the crux of their argument was this: We don't like the BNPs views, so we shouldn't debate or argue against them. In fact, the speakers should not be allowed to speak!

That's how Hitler started out, by not allowing any one to voice their opinion other than the 'accepted' one.Before we know it, these little Hitlers will have removed any debate from their society, and with no-one able to challenge them, they'll be imposing their own laws on us! Compulsory visits to the tuck shop, enforced rag week, getting chavs off benefit and set them up as fags to keep the toast & crumpets warm (and get people out of climate changing cars by providing lots of bike parking spaces). And setting up gas chambers in the chemistry lab, coz they can't get hold of Rohypnol, and creating perfect students though use of a bunsen burner, litmus paper, petrie dishes and huge electicity gizmos with the "We belong dead" leavers.

Still, as long as they fairly share out the booze and sex that these Students are famed for, I'm all for it! Centres of Academic Excellence indeed - Diamond White and Rogering with a weeks worth of 'cramming' at the end of the term is the order of the day (so I've heard).

And knowing students, I expect there's more than one type of 'cramming' going on, if you know what I mean (and I'm sure that you do!). Especially them Med. Students.

Wish I'd gone to Uni...

Tell me about your big but...

Why is it, when you're thinking it's about time to go home, the phone rings.

An hour and half later you're still there!

And what's the result of that call - you've spent ages going over and re-iterating what should have taken 10 mins max! Honestly, some people will just flog a dead horse!

Especially them Miss Whiplash types wot are into necrophilious bestiality...

Anyways, I'm home now, and can drink me Sarsarparilla! I tried to get a can of Dr Pepper, but Mr Lardyarse decided to block the machine!

Why is it, some people have no manners. The water machine is to the right of the can machine. So, wot I do is stand in front of the water machine, bung a cup underneath, and press the button. Simple as!

No so for some!

Someone, let's call him Fat Git, decided to get some water, as I approached the can machine for me fizzy. Easy peasy, one would think! But nooooo, Ole Lardy Arse decided to stand at right angles to the water machine and double over! So, his fat arse is blocking my access to the coin slot and selection panel whilst he's keeping an eye level watch on the water levels in his cup! And he didn't move until his drink was done...and it was a sloooow filling machine!

Now, why he's proffering his buttocks to those desirous of a simple can of fizzy, I don't know! Perhaps he thought it was one of them Swipe card malarky's, and was offering his cleft for his own 'chip and pin' amusements. Who knows. Still, it could've been worse - I dread to think of the chocolate he would be supplying if given cash!

And I still ain't got Fergie's buns dropping thru the roof into me lap!