Aw bless! Directors are so good at keeping the morale up their employees!
Right up!
Todays ludicrous announcement by the town leader of the religious shamanistic airbourne avain, is that in order to keep the staff fit & healthy, All of the social clubs/fitness centres have been closed.
Now, you're re-reading that and thinking that I've ballsed up me blog! But no, the official announcement to staff states it twice. They have closed our fitness centres in order to make us more fit & healthy.
Presumably, there is some twisted logic behind this marvellous insight. Perhaps by restricting access to sport and activity, they aim to get us lard based lifeforms all svelte and trim by offering only a limited selection of outrageously priced sandwhiches of dubious content, so we are forced to {gulp} walk {gasp} to Shamansburys to get something proper to eat!
Sod that - we'll drive over there!
The tennis club are up in arms! Especially when serving. Although now they can only serve themselves gruel masquerading as Sprout and Weevil soup with croutons of solid, stale bread.
I've never been to a gym (quell surprise), for it sounds a bit too much like exercise for my taste. But then, a gym isn't for exercise. It's an excuse to lech at the honed honeys in their leoturds, or gash frothment at rippling six-packs. Skimpy banana hammocks on the weights, and bouncing boobies on treadmills and the like.
And it smells of farty arses, sweaty pits, athletes feet and fake tan lotion. And of the stench of The Sex in the sauna from the nobbing we all know goes on in there. And on the swedish massage tables.
And the less said about what they do with them ear candles the better!
Ear Candling! What a marvellous idea! Got earwax? Bung a lit candle in yer ear! Now, the gubbible will pay wads of wonga (20 quid, for both ears!) for this, clearly missing the fact that candles melt, and they'll end up with an ear'ole bunged up with melted candlewax.
On the plus side, you can prize it out and have a perfect mould of your eardrum, which you can paint flesh color, and hide it in the garden. Then, when people come round to visit, you can say that you saw a strange light in the sky, and point out the strange 'pod' that's been growing, and convince 'em that you're being replaced by pod people from your anus.
Wonder if I could get away with my latest homeopathetic remedy. A candelabra - or, more precisely, a candle (or bra). It's where you come round mine and whip yer blouse off. You lie on yer back, and I bung a candle on each nip and light it. Then it melts down, and the wax smears all over your heaving busoms. Once the candle is extinguised and the wax cools, you're left with a perfect mould of your bazookas. This treatment, um... ah, yes, removes impurities, boots firmness, and decreases the risk of nork cancer.
Any takers, ladies...
Thursday, 31 January 2008
Wednesday, 30 January 2008
The old man is snoring...
I don't care wot the weatherman sez
When the weatherman sez it's rainin'
You'll never hear me complainin'
I see the sun shining...
Me, on the other hand, will moan massively, for my spikey bonce will get demolished under a hood or hat, and instead ends up plastered to me noggin for I possess naught in the way of umberella, Ella, Ella (Eh? Eh?).
And if it's gusty out, old gutsy gets blown about and ends up with some lucicrous cranial adornment worthy of some turner prize that the moulding wax has decided to sculpt of its own accord.
Then again, I don't care wot the weatherman sez, for I'm far more interested in the weathergirl with the big pressure front moving in from the west.
And how come weather[people] can say 2 different things. According to BBC East Anglia's set for snow - but we get no snow over on ITV! Are the MET office telling porkies to BBC or ITV? BBC? Stuffy old fart - tell him it's gonna snow. Over on ITV, let's tell the hottie with the hooters it's fun in the sun.
And just what experience do you need to be a weather presenter? Apart from pointing at a green screen, clicking a button and reading an autocue, it's not exactly challenging. And you get paid wodges of cash for getting the weather wrong!
I could do that! But then, I'm not some rampant trollop bursting out of her blouse like some vast labourers cleft as he reaches over for his tool.
I can tell you though, that it's a bit chilly out.
And it ain't raining.
Which is a shame, coz I could be dancing in the street without a care in the world about ruining my brand new topmost topiary.
Or...
dancing in Chicago.
Down in New Orleans.
In New York City!
All I need is music.
Sweet music.
Mmmmm...sweeties...
Tuesday, 29 January 2008
Waaaaaaaah...
I just spent half an hour typing up me latest mystical ponderings upon the fanny fart of fate as regards the laxity of plummer promptness and televisual recordment...
...when windows suddenly decides to inform me that Microsoft Internet Explorer has encountered an error, and promptly closed down losing all my wit and wisdom I lined up for your perusal and entertainment.
Shan't bother now!
Perhaps I ought to invest in a Mac.
Preferably a caramac.
But not a pacamac.
Mmmm...creamy treat...
...when windows suddenly decides to inform me that Microsoft Internet Explorer has encountered an error, and promptly closed down losing all my wit and wisdom I lined up for your perusal and entertainment.
Shan't bother now!
Perhaps I ought to invest in a Mac.
Preferably a caramac.
But not a pacamac.
Mmmm...creamy treat...
Monday, 28 January 2008
Excuse me Father Karras, but do you smell gas, or is it me...
Don't you just HATE it when you wait in ALL DAY for the plumber to turn up and he doesn't.
Grrrr.
I'm too miffed to blog!
Honestly, if the morning job overran, or he's sick, would it cripple him. to ring up and say "I can't make today, when are you free?".
I'm going to have to ring his mum in the morning and give her a piece of my mind!
On the plus side though, I discovered that in Thailand your breath keeps ghosts at bay, and your farts kill phantoms.
Betcha dint know that, didja!
Flatulent exorcism in the nether regions - what will they think of next!
Grrrr.
I'm too miffed to blog!
Honestly, if the morning job overran, or he's sick, would it cripple him. to ring up and say "I can't make today, when are you free?".
I'm going to have to ring his mum in the morning and give her a piece of my mind!
On the plus side though, I discovered that in Thailand your breath keeps ghosts at bay, and your farts kill phantoms.
Betcha dint know that, didja!
Flatulent exorcism in the nether regions - what will they think of next!
Sunday, 27 January 2008
Transdimensional jurassic spearmint rhinos...
I'm having the old boiler serviced tomorrow (oo-er!), so I thought I's do a bit of tidying up.
How some a simple exercise turn into such a mammoth task?
You start off with a failry organised room, and hours later you have a stack of books, magazines and DVDs about a mile high wondering where they came from - and if there were there before you started tidying, how come there's no space to put them anywhere?
I mean, they must have been somewhere, coz I piled then up as I was tidying - but there's no space to put them back to. It's a bit like defrosting the freezer - you take all the contents out of the half empty freezer.
Then you desfrost it.
Now you come to put the frozen stuff back - but there's no longer enough room for it all!
I think I must be plagued by them 'anomalies' wot are in Primeval, but instead of lobbing beasties through, there's some dimensional shambler tossing fish fingers and Stephen King novels through!
And if I got anomalies now, can I get some trollop to prance out the house in her pants if I buy a lizard and glue some fairy wings on it?
Shudda known, shudda cared
...see, this is what comes of waiting for a movie to start at The Hollywood - bloody Girls O'Lard greatest tits on incessant repeat. I'll stand by you, and as there doesn't seem to be anyone around, jump for my love, Jumping on me tutu coz you can't mistake my biology as the beat goes round and around, feeding my fantasy (give me some chips for tea, and I'm fine).. .
Gaaaaaaaah!
How some a simple exercise turn into such a mammoth task?
You start off with a failry organised room, and hours later you have a stack of books, magazines and DVDs about a mile high wondering where they came from - and if there were there before you started tidying, how come there's no space to put them anywhere?
I mean, they must have been somewhere, coz I piled then up as I was tidying - but there's no space to put them back to. It's a bit like defrosting the freezer - you take all the contents out of the half empty freezer.
Then you desfrost it.
Now you come to put the frozen stuff back - but there's no longer enough room for it all!
I think I must be plagued by them 'anomalies' wot are in Primeval, but instead of lobbing beasties through, there's some dimensional shambler tossing fish fingers and Stephen King novels through!
And if I got anomalies now, can I get some trollop to prance out the house in her pants if I buy a lizard and glue some fairy wings on it?
Shudda known, shudda cared
Shudda ponced around the kitchen in me underwear
Acting like a Lady
You should have made me...
...see, this is what comes of waiting for a movie to start at The Hollywood - bloody Girls O'Lard greatest tits on incessant repeat. I'll stand by you, and as there doesn't seem to be anyone around, jump for my love, Jumping on me tutu coz you can't mistake my biology as the beat goes round and around, feeding my fantasy (give me some chips for tea, and I'm fine).. .
Gaaaaaaaah!
Ooooh, look at the pretties...
The Walrus and the Carpenter
were walking hand in hand
"If only, " said the Carpenter
"the Law would understand.."
I fear Jacques has once again made me appear to be a right tit! For we were all singing along to various musical interludes, and having the voice (not to mention the body) of some vast bull walrus, I think I may have embarassed meself.
Oh well.
And all credit to Mrs Miggins, for a couple of the pretties liked the cranial adornment, and stroking me velvet! Ah, if only there were some single pretties.
With a fetish for Jabba the Hutt bellowing like some foghorn on the wonk.
It was an ace night - haven't had so much fun in ages!
My face aches.
Saturday, 26 January 2008
Long snake death moan, in yer bed...
Grrrrr!
It's PC gone mad, I tell ya!
How come all these telly shows can't call Hercules Hercules anymore?
Zeus - no probs
Hera - Fine
Perseus - Yeah
Andromeda - No changes
Apollo - OK, so they changed to Apollo Creed in Rocky coz a pollo is italian for a chicken in Pizza Express - and he was no chicken, for he wanted a rematch against the Italian Stallion (when it should have been a proper greek one, like Peggy Sue's). And he said they weren't going to be no rematch - lying buch of fuckwits they are, these Olympian tosspieces!
Anywho - why do 'they' insist on calling Hercules Heracles now? AND it's pronounced Hera Cleese, like his Hercules mom's left Zeus shacked up with Basil Fawlty! And what about The Legendary Adventures Of Hercules - all them series with Kevin Sorbet (or was it Zorba the greek?) - they'll have to re-edit all the titles as The Legendary Adventures of Heracles (nee Hercules)!.
He's always been Hercules, pronounced Hair Queue Lease. Heracles should be pronounced Hera Culls. I could understand it if people were getting Hercules confused with Hercules (Poirot), but they don't! Perhaps it's racism against ole President Meaty Arm, or whoever runs Franceland now.
"Mez amee, you cannot call ze greek strongman Hair Queue Lease. Mon dieu, it should be Hair Queue'll. Zey must change it to Hairy Kills, zut alors et sacre bleurgh. etc."
Heracles my arse!
(not literally)
It's PC gone mad, I tell ya!
How come all these telly shows can't call Hercules Hercules anymore?
Zeus - no probs
Hera - Fine
Perseus - Yeah
Andromeda - No changes
Apollo - OK, so they changed to Apollo Creed in Rocky coz a pollo is italian for a chicken in Pizza Express - and he was no chicken, for he wanted a rematch against the Italian Stallion (when it should have been a proper greek one, like Peggy Sue's). And he said they weren't going to be no rematch - lying buch of fuckwits they are, these Olympian tosspieces!
Anywho - why do 'they' insist on calling Hercules Heracles now? AND it's pronounced Hera Cleese, like his Hercules mom's left Zeus shacked up with Basil Fawlty! And what about The Legendary Adventures Of Hercules - all them series with Kevin Sorbet (or was it Zorba the greek?) - they'll have to re-edit all the titles as The Legendary Adventures of Heracles (nee Hercules)!.
He's always been Hercules, pronounced Hair Queue Lease. Heracles should be pronounced Hera Culls. I could understand it if people were getting Hercules confused with Hercules (Poirot), but they don't! Perhaps it's racism against ole President Meaty Arm, or whoever runs Franceland now.
"Mez amee, you cannot call ze greek strongman Hair Queue Lease. Mon dieu, it should be Hair Queue'll. Zey must change it to Hairy Kills, zut alors et sacre bleurgh. etc."
Heracles my arse!
(not literally)
If I had a hammer...
...I wouldn't bang it in the morning, for I'd be charging about looking for the bugger, as the shoplifting stamp sprite would have hidden it up in some ludicrous place I'd never think to look for it in.
You know what it's like - having found the hammer, you then need the screwdriver, which was RIGHT THERE a minute ago, and you can't find it under the stairs cos the thieving gobshite has nabbed the torch an' all.
And you find the torch behind the sofa! So searchy, searchy, bangs head on shelving, bookcases, walls and ceiling, And you find the screwdriver in the plantpot by the sink.
Of course, all the detachable heads are now nowhere near the shaft (oo-er missus!), so Bash! Crash! Wallop! Huzzah! The heads are under a pile old boots and candelabras (thank god it weren't a chupacabra)! So, you get on with the task!
Shit in a basket. Now you need a bloody Allen Key! Upturn! Delve! Strewn Cushion! Aha! In a mug at the back of a cupboard is an Allen Key!
Which is too small for the hexagonal pain in the arse fitting.
Plunder! High! Low! Cast aside! AHA! Behind the bookcase is the right size Allen Key! And there's another one in the cutlery drawer! And so...
...bugger. Now we need a pair of pliers! Hah - fooled the gnome, for they're in the toolbox, for they were there earlier! What the... gone! Gah!
Shuffle! Peruse! Flop on sofa and gaze randomly at a point in the room in the hope that fate might just alight the eyes upon pliers. No such luck. More shuffle about - aha! Lurking in the old junk mail is the pliers!
Almost there... oh fukkit. now we need a sodding ratchett with the right size head. Now I know I ain't got one of them. What - now I need a bungee to batten down the boot of the car? Will an adaptor plug for a synthesizer do?
And you're half way through and it's time for bed, and there's parts of dismantled apparatus everywhere and you're tired and knackered* and you've missed the movie you wanted to watch.
And tonight, as I type this, I glance down - on the floor by the pewter chair is the pliers... teeth open and angled towards me tootsies. Like it has crept away from the dismemberment of the bed and skuling along the carpet like silvery beastie intent on savaging it's poor user to death.
Wait a minute...
Silvery plier type thingy... moving from room to room on it's own... no moving parts - just chompy teeth...
Yikes - I'm being stalked by that Terminator 2 liquid metal bloke disguised as a handymans tool!!
Fnarr Fnarr!
* AND YOU CAN'T FECKING SPELL COZ A BLOODY FOX WAS MAKING A RACKET CHASING CATS ABOUT THE FRONT GARDEN AT 2 IN THE MORNING RASING AN UNHOLY DIN TO WAKE THE DEAD.
WELL, IT WOKED ME UP!
You know what it's like - having found the hammer, you then need the screwdriver, which was RIGHT THERE a minute ago, and you can't find it under the stairs cos the thieving gobshite has nabbed the torch an' all.
And you find the torch behind the sofa! So searchy, searchy, bangs head on shelving, bookcases, walls and ceiling, And you find the screwdriver in the plantpot by the sink.
Of course, all the detachable heads are now nowhere near the shaft (oo-er missus!), so Bash! Crash! Wallop! Huzzah! The heads are under a pile old boots and candelabras (thank god it weren't a chupacabra)! So, you get on with the task!
Shit in a basket. Now you need a bloody Allen Key! Upturn! Delve! Strewn Cushion! Aha! In a mug at the back of a cupboard is an Allen Key!
Which is too small for the hexagonal pain in the arse fitting.
Plunder! High! Low! Cast aside! AHA! Behind the bookcase is the right size Allen Key! And there's another one in the cutlery drawer! And so...
...bugger. Now we need a pair of pliers! Hah - fooled the gnome, for they're in the toolbox, for they were there earlier! What the... gone! Gah!
Shuffle! Peruse! Flop on sofa and gaze randomly at a point in the room in the hope that fate might just alight the eyes upon pliers. No such luck. More shuffle about - aha! Lurking in the old junk mail is the pliers!
Almost there... oh fukkit. now we need a sodding ratchett with the right size head. Now I know I ain't got one of them. What - now I need a bungee to batten down the boot of the car? Will an adaptor plug for a synthesizer do?
And you're half way through and it's time for bed, and there's parts of dismantled apparatus everywhere and you're tired and knackered* and you've missed the movie you wanted to watch.
And tonight, as I type this, I glance down - on the floor by the pewter chair is the pliers... teeth open and angled towards me tootsies. Like it has crept away from the dismemberment of the bed and skuling along the carpet like silvery beastie intent on savaging it's poor user to death.
Wait a minute...
Silvery plier type thingy... moving from room to room on it's own... no moving parts - just chompy teeth...
Yikes - I'm being stalked by that Terminator 2 liquid metal bloke disguised as a handymans tool!!
Fnarr Fnarr!
* AND YOU CAN'T FECKING SPELL COZ A BLOODY FOX WAS MAKING A RACKET CHASING CATS ABOUT THE FRONT GARDEN AT 2 IN THE MORNING RASING AN UNHOLY DIN TO WAKE THE DEAD.
WELL, IT WOKED ME UP!
Thursday, 24 January 2008
Marlene on the wall...
What's that coming over the hill. is it a lion?
I dunno though - the camera's moving so fast I can't see what it is!
I blame that Cherie movie mesself.
I'm not sure what to make of Cloverfield - but I won't say anything for those following the viral marketing. It's not bad - but probaby better on The Big Screen - or one of them Super Hi-Definition Blu-Cantrell malarkies with superclear pause functions!
And ultra zoom!
It's one of them films you'll need to see a couple of times, so you know where to look - coz that handheld method is a right pain in the arse!
Shame the movie suffers from The Tripods complaint!
I dunno though - the camera's moving so fast I can't see what it is!
I blame that Cherie movie mesself.
I'm not sure what to make of Cloverfield - but I won't say anything for those following the viral marketing. It's not bad - but probaby better on The Big Screen - or one of them Super Hi-Definition Blu-Cantrell malarkies with superclear pause functions!
And ultra zoom!
It's one of them films you'll need to see a couple of times, so you know where to look - coz that handheld method is a right pain in the arse!
Shame the movie suffers from The Tripods complaint!
Wednesday, 23 January 2008
Fat arsed wenches? They be ridin’ today...
Velocipedes!
Despite what you may think, this isn't a cross between Raptors and caterpillary typed with millions of legs, it's a form of wheeled conveyance, very popular amonsgt the 'keep fit' set.
Popularly known as bicycles due to the duplication of wheels, it is also known as a pedal cycle, due to having pedals to propel yourself forwards. All fine and dandy. Then some gormster comes along and calls them summat else.
Pushbikes!
Help me out here - what the blinkin' flip is a pushbike? Sounds to me like placing your hands upon the spine of some chav trollop and shoving her forwards! But you don't push a bicycle...
Now, there are certain types who will say that when you're crossing a road at the light, you dismount and push your bike. do you arse! You wheel it along beside you - you don't get behind and push it!
The nearest things to a pushbike is a scooter, where you push along with one foot. But all that is is a glorified skateboard with a stick on it! About the only wheeled conveyance you can push is a [insert supermarket brand] trolly or a perambulator!
Pushbike indeed!
Push you off yer bike if you carry on like that!
Despite what you may think, this isn't a cross between Raptors and caterpillary typed with millions of legs, it's a form of wheeled conveyance, very popular amonsgt the 'keep fit' set.
Popularly known as bicycles due to the duplication of wheels, it is also known as a pedal cycle, due to having pedals to propel yourself forwards. All fine and dandy. Then some gormster comes along and calls them summat else.
Pushbikes!
Help me out here - what the blinkin' flip is a pushbike? Sounds to me like placing your hands upon the spine of some chav trollop and shoving her forwards! But you don't push a bicycle...
Now, there are certain types who will say that when you're crossing a road at the light, you dismount and push your bike. do you arse! You wheel it along beside you - you don't get behind and push it!
The nearest things to a pushbike is a scooter, where you push along with one foot. But all that is is a glorified skateboard with a stick on it! About the only wheeled conveyance you can push is a [insert supermarket brand] trolly or a perambulator!
Pushbike indeed!
Push you off yer bike if you carry on like that!
Tuesday, 22 January 2008
Who do we thank? Sprouts mexicaine...
Well, at least I found a TV website so I could get Cattle Prod Trick Or Treatage on me iPod (albeit with naff webstutter). Oh well.
I have nothing to blog about today, for I'm sooooo busy doing the work of 19 people all day long, I've had nothing cross my mind to ponder on. Not even a gander at the Beebs have your say (unlike certain solitudal doggerels posting about getting Blakes 7, Blackadder, Think of a Number and The Tripods brought back!).
Paul Darrow (Avon) famously withdrew from the Blakes 7 remake coz Firefly was the new Blakes 7 (although Serenity is no Liberator - The Excalibur on the other hand [Crusade]- that's how Liberator should be!!). Bring BOTH back I say! I could write a re-imagining of B7 dead easy - and it'd be better than that 'reworking' they did recently on Sci-Fi audio!
As for Tripods - it's never to late to finish series 3 - in the book, they plotted in the mountains for years before re-infiltrating the City of Gold & Lead and bobbing on over in their nimble dirigibles. So just make it 20 years later - although Beanpole (who insists he's not dead, despite all the reports) might be a porker and not so much of a 'allo 'allo accented Kate Moss figure. Without the baps. But there you go!
It worked for Halloween. Until they did that Pig Botherer trapped in the Myers House pile of tosh! And other thing - why do people insist on calling it Halloween Aitch Two Oh? It's H20. H for Halloween, 20 for 20 years later. H-Twenty.
H2O my best hat!
Now, if they'd done Michael Myers The Mariner, Shipmate Slaughterer, then it could have been H2O to bring in the watery linkage. A bit like how Jason X relates to.... well, buggery sod all really, coz the X was 10 for Friday the 13th Part Ten. But do people call it Jason Ten - no! They call it Jason Ex coz they don't know their roman numerals, nor that it's the 10th Friday the 13th movie!
Wait a minute - wasn't one of the Friday the 13ths set on a cruise ship (part 8/9? Jason Takes Muppets Up Their Mahattan Highways? Freddy Does Jason XXX?).
Should've called that one Jason H2O. No imagination these movie bods!
Anyhoo, as I was saying, I've had scant time to ponder universal mysteries due to vast workloads, so there's no blog today.
I may have to cut back due to lack of toot to talk!
[EDIT] and the constant stream of typos I find after ever blog, forcing me to edit, and re-edit, and re-edit...
I have nothing to blog about today, for I'm sooooo busy doing the work of 19 people all day long, I've had nothing cross my mind to ponder on. Not even a gander at the Beebs have your say (unlike certain solitudal doggerels posting about getting Blakes 7, Blackadder, Think of a Number and The Tripods brought back!).
Paul Darrow (Avon) famously withdrew from the Blakes 7 remake coz Firefly was the new Blakes 7 (although Serenity is no Liberator - The Excalibur on the other hand [Crusade]- that's how Liberator should be!!). Bring BOTH back I say! I could write a re-imagining of B7 dead easy - and it'd be better than that 'reworking' they did recently on Sci-Fi audio!
As for Tripods - it's never to late to finish series 3 - in the book, they plotted in the mountains for years before re-infiltrating the City of Gold & Lead and bobbing on over in their nimble dirigibles. So just make it 20 years later - although Beanpole (who insists he's not dead, despite all the reports) might be a porker and not so much of a 'allo 'allo accented Kate Moss figure. Without the baps. But there you go!
It worked for Halloween. Until they did that Pig Botherer trapped in the Myers House pile of tosh! And other thing - why do people insist on calling it Halloween Aitch Two Oh? It's H20. H for Halloween, 20 for 20 years later. H-Twenty.
H2O my best hat!
Now, if they'd done Michael Myers The Mariner, Shipmate Slaughterer, then it could have been H2O to bring in the watery linkage. A bit like how Jason X relates to.... well, buggery sod all really, coz the X was 10 for Friday the 13th Part Ten. But do people call it Jason Ten - no! They call it Jason Ex coz they don't know their roman numerals, nor that it's the 10th Friday the 13th movie!
Wait a minute - wasn't one of the Friday the 13ths set on a cruise ship (part 8/9? Jason Takes Muppets Up Their Mahattan Highways? Freddy Does Jason XXX?).
Should've called that one Jason H2O. No imagination these movie bods!
Anyhoo, as I was saying, I've had scant time to ponder universal mysteries due to vast workloads, so there's no blog today.
I may have to cut back due to lack of toot to talk!
[EDIT] and the constant stream of typos I find after ever blog, forcing me to edit, and re-edit, and re-edit...
Monday, 21 January 2008
This is Phil OAPley talkin’...
Poringland.
'twas Paul's birthday, so we all went for a meal down t'pub, and a certain one was recommended.
Now, Poringland is certainly not the hub of the universe. In truth, it's a backwater gormsters paradise! Gets to the pub... and it's shut. On a Monday. At lunchtime.
So we treks down to The Railway Line. The haunt of old gimmers celebrating their milleniumth birthday.
Dozy serving wench spends about an hour pouring out a glass of cordial for the skeletal zombies shuffling in their carpet slippers, before slowly taking the drinks to the old folk.
And 10 mins later she remembers to tell us they ain't open on Mondays. It's only open for old gits party.
Presumably it wasn't cordial, it was liquidized roast lunch for the toothless octogenarians.
So, third time lucky, it's off down The Royal Oak. Proudly boasting of being the Norfolk C.A.M.R.A*'s pub of the year 2007...
...presumably because they don't do food to interfere with your supping or staining your pullover and soupcatcher! But hey - there's a chippy next door... that's shut on Mondays. As one helpful backwater moonshine filled yokel advised 'If ye's come when the chippy were open, you could have had fish 'n' chips.'
Clever lot these Poringlanders!
So having no grub, you're stuck with beer. Or coffee.
Now, I am perplexed as regards coffee. For a while now, these poncey types have been into the canteen asking for a 'skinny latte'. And there's an offer now on for 2 loyalty stamps if you have 'Skinny Milk'.
Correct me if I'm wrong - but Shirley there are only 4 types of milk:
Lardy Arse Full Fat Past Your Eyes Milk
Semi-Skimmed Milk
Skimmed Milk
Fresh From The Jugs Milk.
What the Hell is skinny milk? Milk left out overnight to form a thick skin on the top, so you can lift it out like wot Harry Dean Stanton does with the Alien shedment before he gets et? Milk that's been left out a bit too long so that's it gone off colour, and starts to look like skin?
Surely it can't be skimmed milk because it makes you skinny? For one thing, it don't. And for another, why not call it skimmed milk - it's faster to say and 1 syllable less.
So I'm confused - and I don't want to sound like a right tit asking some sexpot tavern wench what skinny milk is!
Skinny milk indeed!
* AND DON'T GET ME STARTED ON C.A.M.R.A. - SURELY IT'S CAM.R.A. OR CAM.F.R.A. OR PLAIN OLD CAMRA. C.A.M.R.A. IMPLIES THAT THE C, A AND M STAND FOR DIFFERENT WORDS. AND THEY DON'T. GOBSHITES!
'twas Paul's birthday, so we all went for a meal down t'pub, and a certain one was recommended.
Now, Poringland is certainly not the hub of the universe. In truth, it's a backwater gormsters paradise! Gets to the pub... and it's shut. On a Monday. At lunchtime.
So we treks down to The Railway Line. The haunt of old gimmers celebrating their milleniumth birthday.
Dozy serving wench spends about an hour pouring out a glass of cordial for the skeletal zombies shuffling in their carpet slippers, before slowly taking the drinks to the old folk.
And 10 mins later she remembers to tell us they ain't open on Mondays. It's only open for old gits party.
Presumably it wasn't cordial, it was liquidized roast lunch for the toothless octogenarians.
So, third time lucky, it's off down The Royal Oak. Proudly boasting of being the Norfolk C.A.M.R.A*'s pub of the year 2007...
...presumably because they don't do food to interfere with your supping or staining your pullover and soupcatcher! But hey - there's a chippy next door... that's shut on Mondays. As one helpful backwater moonshine filled yokel advised 'If ye's come when the chippy were open, you could have had fish 'n' chips.'
Clever lot these Poringlanders!
So having no grub, you're stuck with beer. Or coffee.
Now, I am perplexed as regards coffee. For a while now, these poncey types have been into the canteen asking for a 'skinny latte'. And there's an offer now on for 2 loyalty stamps if you have 'Skinny Milk'.
Correct me if I'm wrong - but Shirley there are only 4 types of milk:
Lardy Arse Full Fat Past Your Eyes Milk
Semi-Skimmed Milk
Skimmed Milk
Fresh From The Jugs Milk.
What the Hell is skinny milk? Milk left out overnight to form a thick skin on the top, so you can lift it out like wot Harry Dean Stanton does with the Alien shedment before he gets et? Milk that's been left out a bit too long so that's it gone off colour, and starts to look like skin?
Surely it can't be skimmed milk because it makes you skinny? For one thing, it don't. And for another, why not call it skimmed milk - it's faster to say and 1 syllable less.
So I'm confused - and I don't want to sound like a right tit asking some sexpot tavern wench what skinny milk is!
Skinny milk indeed!
* AND DON'T GET ME STARTED ON C.A.M.R.A. - SURELY IT'S CAM.R.A. OR CAM.F.R.A. OR PLAIN OLD CAMRA. C.A.M.R.A. IMPLIES THAT THE C, A AND M STAND FOR DIFFERENT WORDS. AND THEY DON'T. GOBSHITES!
Sunday, 20 January 2008
Attend the tale...
I arrange to see Sweeney next Sat with a friend.
I also arrange to Sweeney on Friday with another a friend.
Another friend wanted to see it tonight, but I had to turn them down as I've 2 other showings and it would cost £16 to see it down Riverside in the gallery.
Then another friend wanted to see it, and as it was only £3.99 I thought 'sod it' and went.
And it was beautiful! Glad to get to see it twice more!
All in all - a damn good interpretation. OK, so certain key songs were removed, and some lyric changes - but hot damn! It also irons out some of the irritations from the stage show, and flows much better.
I'm so happy!
(I could eat you up I really could)
Another for the DVD collection!
I also arrange to Sweeney on Friday with another a friend.
Another friend wanted to see it tonight, but I had to turn them down as I've 2 other showings and it would cost £16 to see it down Riverside in the gallery.
Then another friend wanted to see it, and as it was only £3.99 I thought 'sod it' and went.
And it was beautiful! Glad to get to see it twice more!
All in all - a damn good interpretation. OK, so certain key songs were removed, and some lyric changes - but hot damn! It also irons out some of the irritations from the stage show, and flows much better.
I'm so happy!
(I could eat you up I really could)
Another for the DVD collection!
Saturday, 19 January 2008
The Tundra is no respecter of fashion...
Now, I understand peer pressure, and the demands on young trollops to look like hot harlots, but it appears fashion comes at a price.
And it appears to be £1.99 from Primark!
I alway was under the impression that clothes were to express your individuality, or to feel comfortable about yerself. So I am oft confused by these voluptuous vixens trying to be 'individual' whilst looking identical to all their mates.
But with these ludicrous outfits, some appear to designed to be worn at home. In yer bedroom. Whilst motionless. Take today, there were two instances of fashionistas making themselves look like retarded plebs*.
There's often a bunch of flirtation harridans loudly screeching at the 'well fit blokes wot are dead lush like' in these short airy skirts (the harridans, that is, not the blokes). Now, in order to wear such an item, there appears to be a posture to be maintained, in case a slight draught raises your skirts and flashes your arse all over the place.
In order to wear this fashion, you see these gaggles of girls, arms locked rigidly down their sides, ending in a clenched fist, gripping spare folds of skirt, and shufflling along coz you can't walk properly. Now, it can't be comfortable having to walk around like that all day, and you have to avoid anywhere with stairs. Still, I guess this is a minor inconvenience. Which leads me on to incident 2.
Hipsters and high waisted lacey pants/thongs!
Now, the point of hipsters is that they sit on your hips. But, being right on the hip have a tend to start to slowly drop further and further down. So, in order to wear hipsters, these tarty trollops have to walk around in practically a half-nelson, clutching on the back of their jeans to keep them up! And when they sit down in the coffee shop, it's a constant shuffle of tugging up the jeans followed by pulling the base of their top down ad infinitum.
Who'd've though Labourers Cleft would become a fashion statement!
And don't get me started on wraparound skirts, and them hideous crones that can't be arsed with safety pins, and walk round the city doubled over (or bent to one side), clutching onto the gap in case it blows open.
All aboard the Primark!
* THIS WOULD BE SO MUCH BETTER AS A VIDEO BLOG, SO I COULD DEMONSTRATE HOW DAFT THE WALKING AND POSITIONS ARE. BUT I CAN'T BE BOTHERED TO CHARGE UP ME CAMCORDER, NOR SUBJECT YOU TO MY VAST TONNAGE AND HORRENDOUS VISAGE FILLING UP YER SCREENS.
And it appears to be £1.99 from Primark!
I alway was under the impression that clothes were to express your individuality, or to feel comfortable about yerself. So I am oft confused by these voluptuous vixens trying to be 'individual' whilst looking identical to all their mates.
But with these ludicrous outfits, some appear to designed to be worn at home. In yer bedroom. Whilst motionless. Take today, there were two instances of fashionistas making themselves look like retarded plebs*.
There's often a bunch of flirtation harridans loudly screeching at the 'well fit blokes wot are dead lush like' in these short airy skirts (the harridans, that is, not the blokes). Now, in order to wear such an item, there appears to be a posture to be maintained, in case a slight draught raises your skirts and flashes your arse all over the place.
In order to wear this fashion, you see these gaggles of girls, arms locked rigidly down their sides, ending in a clenched fist, gripping spare folds of skirt, and shufflling along coz you can't walk properly. Now, it can't be comfortable having to walk around like that all day, and you have to avoid anywhere with stairs. Still, I guess this is a minor inconvenience. Which leads me on to incident 2.
Hipsters and high waisted lacey pants/thongs!
Now, the point of hipsters is that they sit on your hips. But, being right on the hip have a tend to start to slowly drop further and further down. So, in order to wear hipsters, these tarty trollops have to walk around in practically a half-nelson, clutching on the back of their jeans to keep them up! And when they sit down in the coffee shop, it's a constant shuffle of tugging up the jeans followed by pulling the base of their top down ad infinitum.
Who'd've though Labourers Cleft would become a fashion statement!
And don't get me started on wraparound skirts, and them hideous crones that can't be arsed with safety pins, and walk round the city doubled over (or bent to one side), clutching onto the gap in case it blows open.
All aboard the Primark!
* THIS WOULD BE SO MUCH BETTER AS A VIDEO BLOG, SO I COULD DEMONSTRATE HOW DAFT THE WALKING AND POSITIONS ARE. BUT I CAN'T BE BOTHERED TO CHARGE UP ME CAMCORDER, NOR SUBJECT YOU TO MY VAST TONNAGE AND HORRENDOUS VISAGE FILLING UP YER SCREENS.
Friday, 18 January 2008
But it’s Noel Family Christmas Accidents...
Thanks to the visitation of chums, I missed Hannah Spearmint in her pants on Saturday.
Also, all unbeknownst to me, Touchcloth started t'other night.
Normally, when I've seen this tosh, it's then on BBC3/ITV2 etc ad infinitum. But, when I miss an episode - is it repeated again?
Is it jizzumy flip as like!
So, I thought I'd be all smug (surely you mean Smeg Xym?) and download it to me iPod and watch 'em at work!
Hah! Do they allow downloading? Do they buggery sod as like!
Grrrrrr!
Why can't they just replace one of the repeats of Most Shocking Police Camera Chases Caught On Video Patrol USA for a change? Bad Boys (bad boyz) wotcha gonna do? Wotcha gonna do when dey come for you?
Miss an episode off the tellybox and ne'er see it before episode 2, missing all the previous loose-end tie ups and series set up. That's wotcha gonna do! Then hit with a 'pit' maneuveure, a stinger and followed on heat sensitive chopper cameras.
And how come, on these police thermal imagery, they's all look like shiny light blue shadowy figures, like Scooby Doo villains or space monsters? Why can't the cops have ones like in Predator, that show the heat in various shades of yellows, greens and blues?
And for that matter, where's the fun sitting in a chopper going "yeah, behind a tree, 40 paces to your left, look in that hedge, he's right in front of you..."? Get them in them thermo-seeking helmets, and drop them near the vehicular felon. Get his voice sampled, and creep about, playing back "Turn around... Over here..." in his own voice.
In fact, how cool would it be to be lurking in the shrubbery, when a triplicity of red laser beams hit your chest! Then again, there's always the drawback of the crim besting the cop, and said constable having to active his self destruct wristwatch.
Make great telly though!
Also, all unbeknownst to me, Touchcloth started t'other night.
Normally, when I've seen this tosh, it's then on BBC3/ITV2 etc ad infinitum. But, when I miss an episode - is it repeated again?
Is it jizzumy flip as like!
So, I thought I'd be all smug (surely you mean Smeg Xym?) and download it to me iPod and watch 'em at work!
Hah! Do they allow downloading? Do they buggery sod as like!
Grrrrrr!
Why can't they just replace one of the repeats of Most Shocking Police Camera Chases Caught On Video Patrol USA for a change? Bad Boys (bad boyz) wotcha gonna do? Wotcha gonna do when dey come for you?
Miss an episode off the tellybox and ne'er see it before episode 2, missing all the previous loose-end tie ups and series set up. That's wotcha gonna do! Then hit with a 'pit' maneuveure, a stinger and followed on heat sensitive chopper cameras.
And how come, on these police thermal imagery, they's all look like shiny light blue shadowy figures, like Scooby Doo villains or space monsters? Why can't the cops have ones like in Predator, that show the heat in various shades of yellows, greens and blues?
And for that matter, where's the fun sitting in a chopper going "yeah, behind a tree, 40 paces to your left, look in that hedge, he's right in front of you..."? Get them in them thermo-seeking helmets, and drop them near the vehicular felon. Get his voice sampled, and creep about, playing back "Turn around... Over here..." in his own voice.
In fact, how cool would it be to be lurking in the shrubbery, when a triplicity of red laser beams hit your chest! Then again, there's always the drawback of the crim besting the cop, and said constable having to active his self destruct wristwatch.
Make great telly though!
Thursday, 17 January 2008
An everyday tale of life below stares...
Yay!
I got technology...
...and isn't it great. Minimum THREE HOUR charge to get it up and running. And in order to use it, you have to register it. And in order to register it, you have to sign up to Apple Stores and give 'em your bank details, even though you're probably never gonna buy owt off 'em!
Surely technology is supposed to make everything simpler. Instead you spend a million years downloading, ripping and tearing yer hair out! Ever wondered why a lot of IT guys are a tad baldy? It's coz they works with technology!
Now, there is one of them adages that waffle on about how, with all this modern technology at our fingertips, does it take the same amount of time to clean the house as it did when Sherlock Holmes was about?
This is a rather flawed notion, for today, even with all the modern gizmos, you have to get up off yer arse and do it yerself. Back then, it was all done by teams of servant girls - it just appeared to be done quicker coz of the many hands at work. Which always left the Masters hands free to roam about the personage of them scantily dressed maids.
Hmmm...my house could do with a bit of a clean...
Any volunteers ladies...?
I got technology...
...and isn't it great. Minimum THREE HOUR charge to get it up and running. And in order to use it, you have to register it. And in order to register it, you have to sign up to Apple Stores and give 'em your bank details, even though you're probably never gonna buy owt off 'em!
Surely technology is supposed to make everything simpler. Instead you spend a million years downloading, ripping and tearing yer hair out! Ever wondered why a lot of IT guys are a tad baldy? It's coz they works with technology!
Now, there is one of them adages that waffle on about how, with all this modern technology at our fingertips, does it take the same amount of time to clean the house as it did when Sherlock Holmes was about?
This is a rather flawed notion, for today, even with all the modern gizmos, you have to get up off yer arse and do it yerself. Back then, it was all done by teams of servant girls - it just appeared to be done quicker coz of the many hands at work. Which always left the Masters hands free to roam about the personage of them scantily dressed maids.
Hmmm...my house could do with a bit of a clean...
Any volunteers ladies...?
Wednesday, 16 January 2008
And now we meet in an abandoned studio...
There are those that say people with pets start to look similar to each other.
They also say that people in long term relationships start to look similar to each other.
To this, I add another morphing prerequisite. People who watch certain films start to look like the characters. There seem to be far too many people starting to look like Shrek to me! Lumbering around the corner, and frightening the bejeezus out of you.
It seemed to work somewhat on me as well - I wanted to look like Bowie in Labyrinth, with the mega hair, and after endless watchings it sort of worked. Unfortunately, I appear to have morphed into Hoggle rather than the Gobblin' King.
Still, could have been worse - I could've ended up with Jen's bazookas!
Tomorrow, I should finally get me video iPod wot I won! Now, me being a kid with a new toy wants to rip me DVDs so I can bung Boosh, or Penny's WOTW on it. But Noooooooo - DVDs are gorram copy-protected so you can't rip 'em to an iPod. So you have to buy it again off've Apple!
'tis a licence to print money!
I was gonna get some music vids - but these days they've got like a million years of toss before they start.
Take that Watchoo W8in' Fer by Gwennie. 7.5 minutes it is, with the first 4 of her sat about blathering on about looking for new ideas! And how come the vids are dead small on your PC, but when you convert them to iPod format, they triple in size!
Technology, eh!
They also say that people in long term relationships start to look similar to each other.
To this, I add another morphing prerequisite. People who watch certain films start to look like the characters. There seem to be far too many people starting to look like Shrek to me! Lumbering around the corner, and frightening the bejeezus out of you.
It seemed to work somewhat on me as well - I wanted to look like Bowie in Labyrinth, with the mega hair, and after endless watchings it sort of worked. Unfortunately, I appear to have morphed into Hoggle rather than the Gobblin' King.
Still, could have been worse - I could've ended up with Jen's bazookas!
Tomorrow, I should finally get me video iPod wot I won! Now, me being a kid with a new toy wants to rip me DVDs so I can bung Boosh, or Penny's WOTW on it. But Noooooooo - DVDs are gorram copy-protected so you can't rip 'em to an iPod. So you have to buy it again off've Apple!
'tis a licence to print money!
I was gonna get some music vids - but these days they've got like a million years of toss before they start.
Take that Watchoo W8in' Fer by Gwennie. 7.5 minutes it is, with the first 4 of her sat about blathering on about looking for new ideas! And how come the vids are dead small on your PC, but when you convert them to iPod format, they triple in size!
Technology, eh!
Tuesday, 15 January 2008
They must be cast out...
I sat through a pile of old toss last night by M Night Shirley-Harman called Signs.
Now, I'm no planner of world domination invasion plans, but it seems a bit daft to invade a planet that's primarily made up of water, if you dissolve if someone so much as gobs on you.
And if you're going to invade, and abduct millions of people, surely you don't want to advertise your presence by carving charts directing you to a rallying point in the corn!
Let alone poncing about over Nevada skies!
Now, if I was an extra-testicle beastie, I'd move in on Earth dead quiet like and in secret. If I fancied a snack, I'd suck up humans via a tractor beam, eaving no evidence. And I'd zap the earth from above before landing, to ensure no resistance.
I'd draw the line at nobbing hillbillies though!
That's what I can't fathom about these abductees. They're always in some remote area when they get pinched, and then subjected to anal probes or forced to shag venusian trollops like some interstellar brothel.
"Hey Pa, I wuz tekken up into a bright light, an' this thin alien with big eyes made me hump a martian".
"Damn, Cletus, that wuz yer sister with a torch, and that ain't no martian, that be a piggy"
I reckon Ford Prefect got it right. These galactic gormsters are just posh kids having a larf. Although why they abduct some grizzled, gap toothed, dungaree wearing, bare-footed, straw chewing yokel for sexual experimentation beats me! Perhaps there's some galaxian attraction to that type of subject.
Maybe up on Saturn there's an alien equivalent to Nuts/Zoo magazines. This week: Where on Earth?! Top 10 remote places to abduct a human! Moob special - trailer trash bares all! My wild night of passion with Billy-Bob Junior - now I'm having his alien baby!
Wait a minute... what's that hovering outside me window...
Yaaarrrgghh... they got meeeeeeeee.....
Now, I'm no planner of world domination invasion plans, but it seems a bit daft to invade a planet that's primarily made up of water, if you dissolve if someone so much as gobs on you.
And if you're going to invade, and abduct millions of people, surely you don't want to advertise your presence by carving charts directing you to a rallying point in the corn!
Let alone poncing about over Nevada skies!
Now, if I was an extra-testicle beastie, I'd move in on Earth dead quiet like and in secret. If I fancied a snack, I'd suck up humans via a tractor beam, eaving no evidence. And I'd zap the earth from above before landing, to ensure no resistance.
I'd draw the line at nobbing hillbillies though!
That's what I can't fathom about these abductees. They're always in some remote area when they get pinched, and then subjected to anal probes or forced to shag venusian trollops like some interstellar brothel.
"Hey Pa, I wuz tekken up into a bright light, an' this thin alien with big eyes made me hump a martian".
"Damn, Cletus, that wuz yer sister with a torch, and that ain't no martian, that be a piggy"
I reckon Ford Prefect got it right. These galactic gormsters are just posh kids having a larf. Although why they abduct some grizzled, gap toothed, dungaree wearing, bare-footed, straw chewing yokel for sexual experimentation beats me! Perhaps there's some galaxian attraction to that type of subject.
Maybe up on Saturn there's an alien equivalent to Nuts/Zoo magazines. This week: Where on Earth?! Top 10 remote places to abduct a human! Moob special - trailer trash bares all! My wild night of passion with Billy-Bob Junior - now I'm having his alien baby!
Wait a minute... what's that hovering outside me window...
Yaaarrrgghh... they got meeeeeeeee.....
Monday, 14 January 2008
A kid’ll eat ivy too...
I'm all for this organic stuff, but getting children to eat clambering invasive shrubbery?
How come Mayors eat oats just because female deer do? And if oats is good enough for the Mayor, how come little lambs have to make do with Ivy?
Mind you, I wouldn't mind eating Ivy, if it were that Uma Thurman in Batman Umpteen! Although if her ladygarden is sprouting vines of beanstalkian proportions, I'd book her in for a bit of a Ruby first.
How come gooseberries are the province of geese? Berries should be for everyone. Unless you scrump 'em, and then you end up Eastenders and Heartbeat. But don't tread on them, otherwise you'll end up with Lucien Sanchez, or Dixon Bainbridge.
And how come Heinz Baked Beanz are 'the musical fruit'? Surely they are musical veg?
Beans, Beans, the musical Veg!
or something...
How come Mayors eat oats just because female deer do? And if oats is good enough for the Mayor, how come little lambs have to make do with Ivy?
Mind you, I wouldn't mind eating Ivy, if it were that Uma Thurman in Batman Umpteen! Although if her ladygarden is sprouting vines of beanstalkian proportions, I'd book her in for a bit of a Ruby first.
How come gooseberries are the province of geese? Berries should be for everyone. Unless you scrump 'em, and then you end up Eastenders and Heartbeat. But don't tread on them, otherwise you'll end up with Lucien Sanchez, or Dixon Bainbridge.
And how come Heinz Baked Beanz are 'the musical fruit'? Surely they are musical veg?
Beans, Beans, the musical Veg!
Have a few and fart like Reg
The more you eat, the better you feel
And end up like that Ian Beale.
or something...
Sunday, 13 January 2008
I want to ’ride’ my bicycle...
Sometimes I am at a loss to understand how some things can actually happen.
Back in 1993, there was this bloke who got jailed for having sex with pavements. Now, this should bring a strange image into your head, as you try and figure out how someone can bonk pedestrianised areas.
Apparently, it consists of finding large enough cracks or apertures - failing that, lying on the slabs and rubbing against them.
However, last October, some bloke in Scotland got 3 months for shagging a bike in a hostel. He was caught by a couple of female cleaners, clad only in a T-shirt, holding the bike and rogering it.
Here I'm at a loss!
How on Earth can you be holding a bike and giving it one at the same time - and where?. I can only think he's using the spokes of the wheel, but surely that'd tear his cock to ribbons! And how do you get around your pubes being entangles in the chain and sprocket* - not to mention the pedals getting in the way!
I've had friends who play rugby, and I've heard about what they all get up to post match (not to mention during!). One dreads to think what them Tour De France lot get up to.
And France is reknown for being all romantic and shit.
Mon Dieu! Look at the size of his Chopper! Les BMX bum bandit is taking it up the seat! Let all get mounting the Mountain Bike!
Hey, that's a nice bike...
Nice forks...
So nice in Nice...
* A SPROCKET BEING A FORM OF COGWHEEL. NOT THE NOW LEGENDARY DOG THAT HANGS AROUNG WITH MISTER MCKAY EATING PORRIDGE.
Back in 1993, there was this bloke who got jailed for having sex with pavements. Now, this should bring a strange image into your head, as you try and figure out how someone can bonk pedestrianised areas.
Apparently, it consists of finding large enough cracks or apertures - failing that, lying on the slabs and rubbing against them.
However, last October, some bloke in Scotland got 3 months for shagging a bike in a hostel. He was caught by a couple of female cleaners, clad only in a T-shirt, holding the bike and rogering it.
Here I'm at a loss!
How on Earth can you be holding a bike and giving it one at the same time - and where?. I can only think he's using the spokes of the wheel, but surely that'd tear his cock to ribbons! And how do you get around your pubes being entangles in the chain and sprocket* - not to mention the pedals getting in the way!
I've had friends who play rugby, and I've heard about what they all get up to post match (not to mention during!). One dreads to think what them Tour De France lot get up to.
And France is reknown for being all romantic and shit.
Mon Dieu! Look at the size of his Chopper! Les BMX bum bandit is taking it up the seat! Let all get mounting the Mountain Bike!
Hey, that's a nice bike...
Nice forks...
So nice in Nice...
* A SPROCKET BEING A FORM OF COGWHEEL. NOT THE NOW LEGENDARY DOG THAT HANGS AROUNG WITH MISTER MCKAY EATING PORRIDGE.
Saturday, 12 January 2008
Chocolate Chip Charlie...
I hadn't seen my bestest chums since before Xmas, so I went to see them tonight. Not sure they'll want to be my friends anymore though, after subjecting them to the Killer Yoghurt movie (not a patch on killer tomatoes. Not even a cabbage patch - more a garbage pail).
THE STUFF - ENOUGH IS NEVER ENOUGH!
However, one that'd finished, and we'd watched an episode of Starsky & Hutch, there came a program called Virgin School!
Now, being single, We watched the first 15 mins to see where I'm going wrong on the bird pulling front*.
It started out promising - apparently, you have to have a confident strut, like John Travolta in the opening titles of Saturday Night Fever. After that, it seems more like a case of 'get yerself to Amsterdam and nob some decrepit old nanna'.
I can't be arsed to trek to Amsterdam, so I think on Saturday I shall begin trying to bag meself a bird. I'll leave The Yeti at home (which is a bugger, coz I brushed it up all spick and span this arvo!), and doll up in some confident looking clobber.
Then I shall strut a-la Travolta up & down Gentlemen's Walk, maybe throwing in a couple of double pointers a-la Peter Porker in Spiderpig-3. You know where he starts dancing about, and doing them pistol firing moves at hot tottie.
Maybe I'll even touch a few on the shoulder, and draw my finger back at speed saying "pssssss - you're HOT baby! Smokin'!" then doing a spin before firing the double gun salute at 'em then sauntering up the street.
I can join the ranks of Marigold & Puppet Man as one of them loveable eccentrics of Norwich!
Hey, Baby, check you out!
* BEING FAT, UGLY, TOO NERVOUS TO SPEAK TO THE LADIES, AND HAVING NOWT TO DISCUSS WITH BIRDS FOR A START. EVEN I COULD TELL YOU THAT!!
THE STUFF - ENOUGH IS NEVER ENOUGH!
However, one that'd finished, and we'd watched an episode of Starsky & Hutch, there came a program called Virgin School!
Now, being single, We watched the first 15 mins to see where I'm going wrong on the bird pulling front*.
It started out promising - apparently, you have to have a confident strut, like John Travolta in the opening titles of Saturday Night Fever. After that, it seems more like a case of 'get yerself to Amsterdam and nob some decrepit old nanna'.
I can't be arsed to trek to Amsterdam, so I think on Saturday I shall begin trying to bag meself a bird. I'll leave The Yeti at home (which is a bugger, coz I brushed it up all spick and span this arvo!), and doll up in some confident looking clobber.
Then I shall strut a-la Travolta up & down Gentlemen's Walk, maybe throwing in a couple of double pointers a-la Peter Porker in Spiderpig-3. You know where he starts dancing about, and doing them pistol firing moves at hot tottie.
Maybe I'll even touch a few on the shoulder, and draw my finger back at speed saying "pssssss - you're HOT baby! Smokin'!" then doing a spin before firing the double gun salute at 'em then sauntering up the street.
I can join the ranks of Marigold & Puppet Man as one of them loveable eccentrics of Norwich!
Hey, Baby, check you out!
* BEING FAT, UGLY, TOO NERVOUS TO SPEAK TO THE LADIES, AND HAVING NOWT TO DISCUSS WITH BIRDS FOR A START. EVEN I COULD TELL YOU THAT!!
Friday, 11 January 2008
Thinking about all the little animal penises...
Before I took meself off down the boozer for Vix b'day, I got to see half of a documentary on Sasquatches.
Apparently, there's thousands of 'em, rampaging about the North American forests, but because the forest is so dense, they're rarely seen.
That's no excuse for not finding large footed Arthur Apods.
I've watched Police ! Camera! Action! All they need to do is fly a chopper over the woodland and use the night vision cam. If carjackers show up like neon x-files type space beasties, surely a forestry yeti would stick out like a sore thumb!
Or a sore stubbed big toe!
I don't reckon it's apeoids at all. I reckon when Phineas T Barnum passed through Wisconsin, the Bearded Lady nobbed some local yokel, and the shaggy offsping was left in the wild, like Pappa Jupe. Only it got raised by wild deer. Bigfeet are simply the offsping of the Freak Show's dirty little secret.
Honestly, who'd name their chile Phineas? Sounds a bit like Funny Arse to me! There was Phineas Fogg, who changed his name to Willy and pretended to be a bear to go round the world in 80 days.
Wait a minute... that's no abdominal snowman - it's Willy Fogg, the furry traveller, as he races through the Amazonian piney ridges to get to the next leg of his journey.
And at the end of that leg is one huge foot! A Big Foot...
I really must sit down and rewatch The Legend Of Boggy Creek...
Apparently, there's thousands of 'em, rampaging about the North American forests, but because the forest is so dense, they're rarely seen.
That's no excuse for not finding large footed Arthur Apods.
I've watched Police ! Camera! Action! All they need to do is fly a chopper over the woodland and use the night vision cam. If carjackers show up like neon x-files type space beasties, surely a forestry yeti would stick out like a sore thumb!
Or a sore stubbed big toe!
I don't reckon it's apeoids at all. I reckon when Phineas T Barnum passed through Wisconsin, the Bearded Lady nobbed some local yokel, and the shaggy offsping was left in the wild, like Pappa Jupe. Only it got raised by wild deer. Bigfeet are simply the offsping of the Freak Show's dirty little secret.
Honestly, who'd name their chile Phineas? Sounds a bit like Funny Arse to me! There was Phineas Fogg, who changed his name to Willy and pretended to be a bear to go round the world in 80 days.
Wait a minute... that's no abdominal snowman - it's Willy Fogg, the furry traveller, as he races through the Amazonian piney ridges to get to the next leg of his journey.
And at the end of that leg is one huge foot! A Big Foot...
I really must sit down and rewatch The Legend Of Boggy Creek...
And he was...naive...
Bloody Play.com!
You order an item, decide you don't want it can cancel it.
You check your outstanding items - not there.
Release day - get 2 copies and billed for both.
Grrrrr. Time to use the Returns policy.
Feck Feck Feck Feck Feckitty Feck.
You order an item, decide you don't want it can cancel it.
You check your outstanding items - not there.
Release day - get 2 copies and billed for both.
Grrrrr. Time to use the Returns policy.
Feck Feck Feck Feck Feckitty Feck.
Thursday, 10 January 2008
Stinky winkie, Dip-shit, Lard-arse, Poo...
I was getting me Morning Starbucks, when some gelatinous oaf lumbered over and asked the serving wench for three rounds of brown toast with Marmite.
Now, if people want to laden their singed slices of loaf with creosote, that's up to them, but a round of toast?!?!
I tend to grab any cheap old loaf/bloomer off the shelf, and they are all basically the same shape. Brick shaped (apart from Bloomers, which are shaped like huge pants). Take out one of the slices, or slice yerself a piece of the doughy block - is it round? No - it's rectangular!
Well, not exactly, it's toast shaped - which is virtually rectangular, apart from the wavery top. And that Hovis? Square, coz that's already trimmed up into equal parallel sides. Still, I suppose asking for a rectangle of toast sounds a bit too much like asking for a rectum full of toast, which isn't half as enjoyable as the tasty treat, but still infinitely more preferable to the taste of marmshite).
There are only 2 round breads I know of. Firstly, Milk Roll, which strangely isn't even a roll of milk. It's just round bread.
And the second - Tubby Toast! Now, there is a saying that "Man can not live off bread alone". Maybe not, but even the beetles know that apart from toast...
All you need is custard
dripping from a dead dogs eye.
At least it's not a dead dogs egg, eh readers!
Now for a feast (I'm Sniffin' With Yoo Hoo), eh readers...
Two virtually rectangles pieces of toast with eggies on top please!
Now, if people want to laden their singed slices of loaf with creosote, that's up to them, but a round of toast?!?!
I tend to grab any cheap old loaf/bloomer off the shelf, and they are all basically the same shape. Brick shaped (apart from Bloomers, which are shaped like huge pants). Take out one of the slices, or slice yerself a piece of the doughy block - is it round? No - it's rectangular!
Well, not exactly, it's toast shaped - which is virtually rectangular, apart from the wavery top. And that Hovis? Square, coz that's already trimmed up into equal parallel sides. Still, I suppose asking for a rectangle of toast sounds a bit too much like asking for a rectum full of toast, which isn't half as enjoyable as the tasty treat, but still infinitely more preferable to the taste of marmshite).
There are only 2 round breads I know of. Firstly, Milk Roll, which strangely isn't even a roll of milk. It's just round bread.
And the second - Tubby Toast! Now, there is a saying that "Man can not live off bread alone". Maybe not, but even the beetles know that apart from toast...
All you need is custard
dripping from a dead dogs eye.
At least it's not a dead dogs egg, eh readers!
Now for a feast (I'm Sniffin' With Yoo Hoo), eh readers...
Two virtually rectangles pieces of toast with eggies on top please!
Wednesday, 9 January 2008
Revolutionary biscuits of Italy...
...rise up out of your box
you have nothing to lose but your wafers
yum yum yum yum yum.
Everyone in the land, turn your ploughshares into swords and swarm like a behemoth on the tide and storm the Bastille of ITV.
You can't sack Reg from The Bill! Reg IS The Bill!! Why, The Bill without Reg is like Dead Fly biscuits without the raisins!
Now, when I was a nipper, it was custard cream, bourbon, rich tea, pink wafers, digestive, and the Hob Nob. Now, you can't move for biscuits!
Or cookies, for them wot like to pretend theys Americans.
Soft bake, chewy, light and crumbly, with/without choccie covers, and a host of wacky ingredients. Blueberry chip, ginger and gazpachio, ham and pineapple!
Grrrr - there are strange people about, and they live in cafe's, coming up with daft combos that become popular. Like Ham/Gammon and Pineapple - on pizza, or with chips. BUT... ham and pineapple don't mix.
am is a main course, pineapple is dessert.
You don't serve up lasagne and custard do you!
Or Bangers and Pomegranite.
I'm all for trying new stuff - but not when it doesn't go. Take Sweet and Sour - someone just bunged their afters in with a main course! Come round mine - I'll lob a trifle in the corned beef hash!
I'll stick with my Peake Frean Trotsky Assortment, wank you very much!
Tuesday, 8 January 2008
I eat cannibals. It’s incredible...
Environmental disaster!
Turns out them enviro-friendly green light bulbs ar not so tree huggingly ace after all - t'would appear that they're made out of Mercury!
How on earth they rendered him down into the new electrickery lightsource from plunging off a cliff thanks to Beast the dog, I'll never know!
Perhaps some folk are getting confused, and are applying barometers and thermometers instead of this wanky tubical nonsense. And just why do people say 'thermometer' instead of thermo-meter? It's a thermo meter - an appliance to measure heat! Said the usual way, it sounds more like Their Mom Eater, which is probably best left to them there hillbilly types!
An' suchlike!
Turns out them enviro-friendly green light bulbs ar not so tree huggingly ace after all - t'would appear that they're made out of Mercury!
How on earth they rendered him down into the new electrickery lightsource from plunging off a cliff thanks to Beast the dog, I'll never know!
Perhaps some folk are getting confused, and are applying barometers and thermometers instead of this wanky tubical nonsense. And just why do people say 'thermometer' instead of thermo-meter? It's a thermo meter - an appliance to measure heat! Said the usual way, it sounds more like Their Mom Eater, which is probably best left to them there hillbilly types!
An' suchlike!
Monday, 7 January 2008
Give me what you got...
They say 'You never know what you have until it's gone'.
Well, that's a pile of rancid arse, coz one of my DVDs is gone. And I know damn well I had it.
Then there's them as says "Ah, but it's You'll never know how much you miss it when it's gone!"
Which makes me wonder about STDs - do people really miss Herpes once it's cleared up?
Which reminds me - there's (yet another!) ad on the viewbox about how you can't tell who's got an STD so you have to wear a lovesheath. Bollocks - them STD carriers are dead easy to spot!
If they've got Chlamydia, it's emblazoned on their blazer! And not just any old blazer - it's one of them 'punting on the Cam' type blazers. And as for Gonnoreah - well, if you miss it on her necklace, when you get down to her jeans it's on the belt! And is THAT wasn't clear enough - it's writ large on the pants!
And how come STDs are so difficult to spell? Why can't it be something easy like Nob-rash or Scalyminge. I dunno - there's all these new fangled terms flying about. It's so embarassing to be working in IT these days, for IT is modern parlance for a ladies Itchy Tw.. well, you get the picture!
Then there's them wot suffer from IBS, or Itchy Bum Syndrome. Apparently though, that's too chavvy, so classy birds call it Irritable Bowel Syndrome - I mean, honestly! How can a bowel be irritable? Do these ladies have Mildrewesque emissions bursting forth from their Colon?
Bowel: "I don't belieeeeeeve it! Rake your crack with your long nails! Why can't you use Triple Velvet or a puppy?"
Mood: Irritated
Gaaaah - ant based pewters in yer bot! Ant's in yer pants (sigh many a lonely lady during a Saturday Night Takeaway).
Well, that's a pile of rancid arse, coz one of my DVDs is gone. And I know damn well I had it.
Then there's them as says "Ah, but it's You'll never know how much you miss it when it's gone!"
Which makes me wonder about STDs - do people really miss Herpes once it's cleared up?
Which reminds me - there's (yet another!) ad on the viewbox about how you can't tell who's got an STD so you have to wear a lovesheath. Bollocks - them STD carriers are dead easy to spot!
If they've got Chlamydia, it's emblazoned on their blazer! And not just any old blazer - it's one of them 'punting on the Cam' type blazers. And as for Gonnoreah - well, if you miss it on her necklace, when you get down to her jeans it's on the belt! And is THAT wasn't clear enough - it's writ large on the pants!
And how come STDs are so difficult to spell? Why can't it be something easy like Nob-rash or Scalyminge. I dunno - there's all these new fangled terms flying about. It's so embarassing to be working in IT these days, for IT is modern parlance for a ladies Itchy Tw.. well, you get the picture!
Then there's them wot suffer from IBS, or Itchy Bum Syndrome. Apparently though, that's too chavvy, so classy birds call it Irritable Bowel Syndrome - I mean, honestly! How can a bowel be irritable? Do these ladies have Mildrewesque emissions bursting forth from their Colon?
Bowel: "I don't belieeeeeeve it! Rake your crack with your long nails! Why can't you use Triple Velvet or a puppy?"
Mood: Irritated
Gaaaah - ant based pewters in yer bot! Ant's in yer pants (sigh many a lonely lady during a Saturday Night Takeaway).
Sunday, 6 January 2008
My little grey cells...
I finally watched Murder on the Orient Express coz there was buggery sod all else on.
Now, people claim that Poirot is a really good detective - not as far as I can see!
There's all these people on a train, and one of them gets perished. After some convoluted plodding, it turns out that by some strange coincidence, literally everyone (even the staff) was linked to the victim, and they all had a go at duffing him up.
Piorot, the sleuth that he is, discovers that every single person had a hand in it - literally, all the passengers and crew took it in turn to nobble him. And what does the great detective do?
He lets them all off!
Just coz they felt they needed 'justice', they get away with murder! hah - I'd love to see a Japanese/Korean remake! You'd have the murdered girl with loooong black hair & white dress, creaking about. Then after Mr Evil gets expired, he starts appearing in strobe as the carriage lights flicker on and off, and all the protagonists die & disappear in bizzare fashions.
Pulled into a cabin bed, transported to a lakeside from within a bath and drownded, pulled up into the ceiling.
You know the kind of thing.
And at the end, old Haiku Poirot can get cursed or something!
I'd buy that for a dollar!
Now, people claim that Poirot is a really good detective - not as far as I can see!
There's all these people on a train, and one of them gets perished. After some convoluted plodding, it turns out that by some strange coincidence, literally everyone (even the staff) was linked to the victim, and they all had a go at duffing him up.
Piorot, the sleuth that he is, discovers that every single person had a hand in it - literally, all the passengers and crew took it in turn to nobble him. And what does the great detective do?
He lets them all off!
Just coz they felt they needed 'justice', they get away with murder! hah - I'd love to see a Japanese/Korean remake! You'd have the murdered girl with loooong black hair & white dress, creaking about. Then after Mr Evil gets expired, he starts appearing in strobe as the carriage lights flicker on and off, and all the protagonists die & disappear in bizzare fashions.
Pulled into a cabin bed, transported to a lakeside from within a bath and drownded, pulled up into the ceiling.
You know the kind of thing.
And at the end, old Haiku Poirot can get cursed or something!
I'd buy that for a dollar!
Saturday, 5 January 2008
Hate to say I told you so...
Made my night that has! Unintentional comedy in serious film is always good - especially when the film is so dire it's great!
Personally, a movie about killer ants really should have giant ants in it - and I wasn't disappointed! Millions of tiny ants linking together to create a giant ant! Brilliant! Not only that, they made a computer out of ants, powered by ants, and a visual display composed of... ants in formation! Cool! And when they swarm, they can merge together to send out tentacles of ants, like the Cthonian children of Shudde-M'ell.
Or that watery thing in The Abyss! With extra feelers and tonguey bits.
And to cap it all, it was all organised by a space monster that legged it at the last minute! Giants ants, Space monsters, Babbage differants engines, and swarms of ants with tentacles raising into the air to snatch people and eat 'em all up!
It don't get much better than this folks!
Ah, but it does, coz the ants had become SELF AWARE!!! In a skynet type scenario, we had cross species communication! That's right - the ants were demanding that the Island be left to them, (via the use of pictograms on their pewter) and taking a young girl hostage! So, Our Heroes are released to put the proposal to the guvnor, whose response is...
"We are not going to negotiate with ants."
Fantastic! And all on the basis that the Island is his, and wants to nuke 'em. Never mind that he simply accepts that the plague of flesh eating ants are now intelligent beasties hell bent on island domination, and probably the world to follow. Shame the ants didn't know how to form the phrase MWAH HA HA HA in evil laugh terms.
However, I'm at a loss to why it was called The Hive. Swarms - check, and name checked. Nest(s) - check and name checked. Hives - not a mention. Although the bloke with an ant in his ear nibbling on his earwax and driving him loonytoons ended up with what could be hives on his face before the giant ants pincers closed in and he blew up.
Hives are for bees. Now, I must be getting on a bit, for I keep hearing this tune, and I must be mishearing the lyrics. All join in now:
Oh, what a glorious thing to be
Pollen from cauliflowers? Surely not! But I listen, and listen, and it's deffo cauli's. And if it isn't. I can think of no other flour that sounds vaguely similar. So, I expect a raft of comments advising me how thick I am, and what the correct lyric is. Personally, I prefer not to know, as I like the comedy element of honey glazed florettes gracing the music hall community.
Now I know how Jean D'Arc felt...
...a bit fuzzy!
Personally, a movie about killer ants really should have giant ants in it - and I wasn't disappointed! Millions of tiny ants linking together to create a giant ant! Brilliant! Not only that, they made a computer out of ants, powered by ants, and a visual display composed of... ants in formation! Cool! And when they swarm, they can merge together to send out tentacles of ants, like the Cthonian children of Shudde-M'ell.
Or that watery thing in The Abyss! With extra feelers and tonguey bits.
And to cap it all, it was all organised by a space monster that legged it at the last minute! Giants ants, Space monsters, Babbage differants engines, and swarms of ants with tentacles raising into the air to snatch people and eat 'em all up!
It don't get much better than this folks!
Ah, but it does, coz the ants had become SELF AWARE!!! In a skynet type scenario, we had cross species communication! That's right - the ants were demanding that the Island be left to them, (via the use of pictograms on their pewter) and taking a young girl hostage! So, Our Heroes are released to put the proposal to the guvnor, whose response is...
"We are not going to negotiate with ants."
Fantastic! And all on the basis that the Island is his, and wants to nuke 'em. Never mind that he simply accepts that the plague of flesh eating ants are now intelligent beasties hell bent on island domination, and probably the world to follow. Shame the ants didn't know how to form the phrase MWAH HA HA HA in evil laugh terms.
However, I'm at a loss to why it was called The Hive. Swarms - check, and name checked. Nest(s) - check and name checked. Hives - not a mention. Although the bloke with an ant in his ear nibbling on his earwax and driving him loonytoons ended up with what could be hives on his face before the giant ants pincers closed in and he blew up.
Hives are for bees. Now, I must be getting on a bit, for I keep hearing this tune, and I must be mishearing the lyrics. All join in now:
Oh, what a glorious thing to be
A healthy, grown up, bzzzzy bzzzy bee
Whiling away the passing hours
Picking up the pollen from the cauliflowers
Pollen from cauliflowers? Surely not! But I listen, and listen, and it's deffo cauli's. And if it isn't. I can think of no other flour that sounds vaguely similar. So, I expect a raft of comments advising me how thick I am, and what the correct lyric is. Personally, I prefer not to know, as I like the comedy element of honey glazed florettes gracing the music hall community.
Now I know how Jean D'Arc felt...
...a bit fuzzy!
Don’t just watch the ads...
I have partaken of my Saturday night takeaway, and to make up for the lack of Anton Dec on the telly, there's a filum on Sky3 at 9pm featuring one half of the popular presenting duo.
The Hive! Now, I thought that was all about that Milla Jovovich in a skimpy outfit being tongued by zombified monstrosities. But no - according to What's On TV mag: "A jungle is overrun by deadly flesh eating Ants".
Aha! Now we know why them celebs want to get out of there!
Certainly explains Paul Burrell's outlandish faces during his Trial - Poor soul has his arm in a tree filled with piglets, all the time being "flesh eaten" by Ant.
Those Geordie jokers!
The Hive! Now, I thought that was all about that Milla Jovovich in a skimpy outfit being tongued by zombified monstrosities. But no - according to What's On TV mag: "A jungle is overrun by deadly flesh eating Ants".
Aha! Now we know why them celebs want to get out of there!
Certainly explains Paul Burrell's outlandish faces during his Trial - Poor soul has his arm in a tree filled with piglets, all the time being "flesh eaten" by Ant.
Those Geordie jokers!
Friday, 4 January 2008
It’s a glittering prize...
In addition to the Norwich dome to keep the weather out, I want to add a new addition (for every day and night!).
As I wouldn't be able take me clothes off and go dancing in the rain, I could remove my garments at 3:30 and frolic around Thorpe End, for tis as dark as a dark thing in the darkness.
And on the way home, I nearly plunged into a hedge, due to the full beam brilliance of White Van Tosspiece's dazzling headlights.
Now Initially, I wanted a transparent dome, so we could see the hordes of alien attack forces approaching without getting cold. And therein lies the problem of a winter - it gets too dark!
So, I would like a non-transparent dome over Norwich, with the canopy festooned with fairy lights, to masquarade as stars. We could then define equal hours of 'day' and 'night' - and keep it light enough so that nefarious types can go about their burglarizing profession, and I won't drive into a hedge!
A huge yellow bulb for the sun (with a load of UV lights so the plants can grow), and a big while halogen lamp for the moon!
Sod that - we'll employ Noel Fielding covered in shaving foam, to entertain us through the 'night'.
Now, there are those who say that darkness is only the abcess of light. hah! Well, light is only there because of the absence of dark! And the Sun is afraid of the day! Watch how as night creeps in, the sun flees in terror!
Notice you'll never see the Sun at night, but sometimes the moon will lurk about for a bit during the day, putting the wind up old sol!
As I wouldn't be able take me clothes off and go dancing in the rain, I could remove my garments at 3:30 and frolic around Thorpe End, for tis as dark as a dark thing in the darkness.
And on the way home, I nearly plunged into a hedge, due to the full beam brilliance of White Van Tosspiece's dazzling headlights.
Now Initially, I wanted a transparent dome, so we could see the hordes of alien attack forces approaching without getting cold. And therein lies the problem of a winter - it gets too dark!
So, I would like a non-transparent dome over Norwich, with the canopy festooned with fairy lights, to masquarade as stars. We could then define equal hours of 'day' and 'night' - and keep it light enough so that nefarious types can go about their burglarizing profession, and I won't drive into a hedge!
A huge yellow bulb for the sun (with a load of UV lights so the plants can grow), and a big while halogen lamp for the moon!
Sod that - we'll employ Noel Fielding covered in shaving foam, to entertain us through the 'night'.
Now, there are those who say that darkness is only the abcess of light. hah! Well, light is only there because of the absence of dark! And the Sun is afraid of the day! Watch how as night creeps in, the sun flees in terror!
Notice you'll never see the Sun at night, but sometimes the moon will lurk about for a bit during the day, putting the wind up old sol!
Thursday, 3 January 2008
Call me Totty...
I'm with Wallace and Gromit on this one.
Anti-Pesto!!
Now, pasta's all well and good, but I'm not a firm fan of Pesto. In fact, I think Anti-Pesto is a damn good idea, for it tastes of naught but purest green. Strange how some foods just taste like color!
But I draw the line at the Italians Anti-Pasti. I know they all claim to be all bronzed Adoni (apart from Mafiosi Don's who tend to be rather plump in the films I see). What's wrong with a big fat Supreme Cornish as a starter? Anti-Pasties indeed!!
And the combo of Anti-Pesto and Anti-Pasty neatly leads me up to todays conundrum that vexed our team. For on the menu across the barren wastelands was served up Cheese and Onion Pie with Bakey Beans.
Now, vexation has arisen over what exactly is a cheese and onion pie. There were the proposers that it is a pastry case a-filled with cheese and onion pieces, baked up and served in delicious slices. Then there were those who advocated the cheese, onion and spud all mushed up together and bunged under the grill.
Now, I was fairly impartial here, as I have sampled both, but the debate rages:
What exactly qualifies as a 'pie'?
For the creamed up afficionados, they argue against a pastry crust, citing the Fish Pie as a prime example. On the other hand, there are those who insist a Pie should be a Pie, complete with velvety pastry glazed and crimped - not unlike a Mowbray Porker, or a Fray Bentos in a tin.
Now, Harry Hill would insist that the only way to resolve the definition of a pie would be to fight, which a soggy pile of mash is unable to do. On the other hand, pastry can have yer eye out if yer not careful!
Suffice to say the Cafe just shoved a bit of cheese and a sliver of onion into some mash and bunged it under the grill.
Which reminds me - I promised to tell you all about Chronographical Cheeses, and forgot all about it! Unfortunately, it's been a while, and I've forgotten much of the scientific basis for a La Roule Rolex and an Emmental Timex.
Perhaps next time, eh lad!
Anti-Pesto!!
Now, pasta's all well and good, but I'm not a firm fan of Pesto. In fact, I think Anti-Pesto is a damn good idea, for it tastes of naught but purest green. Strange how some foods just taste like color!
But I draw the line at the Italians Anti-Pasti. I know they all claim to be all bronzed Adoni (apart from Mafiosi Don's who tend to be rather plump in the films I see). What's wrong with a big fat Supreme Cornish as a starter? Anti-Pasties indeed!!
And the combo of Anti-Pesto and Anti-Pasty neatly leads me up to todays conundrum that vexed our team. For on the menu across the barren wastelands was served up Cheese and Onion Pie with Bakey Beans.
Now, vexation has arisen over what exactly is a cheese and onion pie. There were the proposers that it is a pastry case a-filled with cheese and onion pieces, baked up and served in delicious slices. Then there were those who advocated the cheese, onion and spud all mushed up together and bunged under the grill.
Now, I was fairly impartial here, as I have sampled both, but the debate rages:
What exactly qualifies as a 'pie'?
For the creamed up afficionados, they argue against a pastry crust, citing the Fish Pie as a prime example. On the other hand, there are those who insist a Pie should be a Pie, complete with velvety pastry glazed and crimped - not unlike a Mowbray Porker, or a Fray Bentos in a tin.
Now, Harry Hill would insist that the only way to resolve the definition of a pie would be to fight, which a soggy pile of mash is unable to do. On the other hand, pastry can have yer eye out if yer not careful!
Suffice to say the Cafe just shoved a bit of cheese and a sliver of onion into some mash and bunged it under the grill.
Which reminds me - I promised to tell you all about Chronographical Cheeses, and forgot all about it! Unfortunately, it's been a while, and I've forgotten much of the scientific basis for a La Roule Rolex and an Emmental Timex.
Perhaps next time, eh lad!
Wednesday, 2 January 2008
Some selfish negative vibe merchant...
Outrageous!
Back to work today and the gorram canteen is shut for the week!
No grub or hot drinkage! Instead it's the murky fluid masquarading itself as a beverage in the vening machine, and lunch was some Sweet Chilli crisps and a Dairy Milk.
And a can of fizzy.
Ok, so I could trek across the desolate wasteland past Willow, The Mound and Horizon to the main cafe, but it's too far and too cold. And I'm a lazy fat arse gormster.
Still, at least the light dusting of God's dandruff has yet to arrive.
Snow indeed! That harbinger of icy golems abducting children and taking them to the frozen tundra in their PJs just to get a scarf. OK, so the brat topped it off with a dressing gown, but a dressing down is what was needed.
Good job he didn't go down in a dress!
I've heard tell of fellatial pleasure being enhanced by a gobful of ice cubes, but being blown off by a rapper ain't my cup o' Ice T.
Check it. I's da Snowpimp. Wanna meet my Snow-Hoes? How about a frozen phallus icicle dildo? Cheap at half da price.
Ooooh Sarah, you're so cheap!!!
Back to work today and the gorram canteen is shut for the week!
No grub or hot drinkage! Instead it's the murky fluid masquarading itself as a beverage in the vening machine, and lunch was some Sweet Chilli crisps and a Dairy Milk.
And a can of fizzy.
Ok, so I could trek across the desolate wasteland past Willow, The Mound and Horizon to the main cafe, but it's too far and too cold. And I'm a lazy fat arse gormster.
Still, at least the light dusting of God's dandruff has yet to arrive.
Snow indeed! That harbinger of icy golems abducting children and taking them to the frozen tundra in their PJs just to get a scarf. OK, so the brat topped it off with a dressing gown, but a dressing down is what was needed.
Good job he didn't go down in a dress!
I've heard tell of fellatial pleasure being enhanced by a gobful of ice cubes, but being blown off by a rapper ain't my cup o' Ice T.
Check it. I's da Snowpimp. Wanna meet my Snow-Hoes? How about a frozen phallus icicle dildo? Cheap at half da price.
Ooooh Sarah, you're so cheap!!!
Tuesday, 1 January 2008
Doctor, Doctor...
Blimey, it's no wonder the NHS is in such a state!
There's all these people awaiting hospical beds, and got cancers and wotnot, but all you have to do to see a surgeon is to forego hair conditioner!
If your hair ends up a bit dry, you not only get a wheelchair, but a dedicated doctor to moisturise your barnet!
And to help, there's more nurses than you can shake a stick at!
And for the ladies, there's special pink operating theatres masquerading as Salons!
And they complain that too much dosh is lost through red tape!
Yikes - me hairs a mess! Dial 999 and get me an ambliance very quickly!!!
There's all these people awaiting hospical beds, and got cancers and wotnot, but all you have to do to see a surgeon is to forego hair conditioner!
If your hair ends up a bit dry, you not only get a wheelchair, but a dedicated doctor to moisturise your barnet!
And to help, there's more nurses than you can shake a stick at!
And for the ladies, there's special pink operating theatres masquerading as Salons!
And they complain that too much dosh is lost through red tape!
Yikes - me hairs a mess! Dial 999 and get me an ambliance very quickly!!!
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