or something.
See, we wuz out (again!) last night, and it came to the usual End Of The Night Taxi converse.
- Pretties (allegedly) Taking An Interest in an oblivious Xym
- Pretties Xym was Taking An Interest In
- Pretties Xym WOULD be Taking An Interest In if they were there
- Obvious Campanologist taking an interest in Xym's bells (Well, Campanologist as in Camp, and more interested in Xym's balls rather than bells. Creepily, dreamingly ogling me up on the dance floor and following me everywhere like a lovestruck puppy. I could understand the Gay Iconage last night, as per yesterday's blog, but I was in me normal getup - what is it that makes Pretties flee and gayboys gather?).
- The name of Xym's autobiography (Xym: A Disabstraction Of The Easily Distra... Ooooh Pretty!) ; and
- Why do I associate Fifers with potatoes?
My Sis & Taxi drivers agreed. Fifers = Potatoes. Why? We can't remember!
Googleage!
Yeah. Not simple. Pipery flutey stuffs with the odd sprinking of Fifers Lane itself, and the occasional mention of muskets, drums, and a nudie soldier* refusing to cop off with some woman coz he has no clothes to put on (said woman having to do something with her chest, not getting a response and tarting him up in her very very best vest. or something. Cross dressing tranny soldiers indeed!)
Anyhoo, talk transgressed from transgender to Trinidadian fruitery (or wherever bananas come from. The Banana Republic probably. or Sainsburys.), and how they might be Fifers. With a little blue label. And how you peel that label off the banana before peeling the peel off the banana, and it being a pointless exercise, because no-one eats banana peel, so why peel the peelable label off the peel in the first place, when you could just peel the peel off the banana replete with sticker, and lob the lot in the bin!
Preferably with the banana.
Anyhoo, it turns out than in Essex, it is a popular passtime to peel a banana and plaster it on your face. Much like the facehugger in Ridley Scott's Alien franchise.
Perhaps that's all that Aliens is. An analogy for Essex. Ridley was on a trip to Essex, and saw these drunken rowdy folks comatose in gutters with facehugging banana skins raping their drooling mouths, and wondered if the plantain penetrators were insemminating the inebriated revellers by spunking seeds down their throat and into their belly.
See, people say H.R. Geiger-Counter's design is very phallic, and the head of the Alien is just a massive cock. With teeth. Phallus Dentata, if you will. Bollocks! It's just a dirty great big fuck-off banana!
Remember that TV show - Bananas In Pjamas? Two men in costume? I think not - they're real and are the result of some ungodly hyrid that burst out of an Essex belly thanks to a rapey banana peel on a drunken Saturday night out!
* Y'AAAARRGGH! FLASHBACKS TO LAST NIGHT'S END OF PROPER GANDERAGE, AND THE BUNCH OF SLOW-WITTED FOLK WITH THE GINGER CAPERING-IN-CIRCLES DWARF WHO, UPON THE CONCLUSION OF THE SONG "I GOT SOUL, BUT I'M, NOT A SOLDIER" REFUSED TO LEAVE THE VENUE, PREFERRING TO STAND IN FRONT OF THE DJ CHANTING "I GOT SOUL, BUT I'M, NOT A SOLDIER" AD INFINITUM. ANNOYINGLY SO. MORE ANNOYINGLY BECAUSE OF THE FUCKING ANNOYING PHRASE "I GOT SOUL, BUT I'M, NOT A SOLDIER". FUCK OFF! FUCK RIGHT OFF! LIKE THAT DUMB GINGER DWARF THICKO - IT'S NOT BIG AND IT'S NOT CLEVER. MIGHT A WELL SAY I GOT TOAST, BUT I'M NOT A TOASTER! I GOT FIRE, BUT I'M NOT A FIREPLACE. I GOT HEART, BUT I'M NOT A HEART RATE MONITOR. SOUL AND SOLDIER LYRICS MY BEST HAT! THAT SAID, ONE SUPPOSED ONE SHOULD FORGIVE THE "STRAWBERRY BLONDE" PERSON OF DIMINUTIVE STATURE, FOR AS THAT FAMOUS YOUTUBE ANGRY GINGER RANTER SAID: "GINGERS HAVE SOULS TOO!"
BUT HE'S OBVIOUSLY NOT A SOLDIER, BEING TOO SMALL TO MEET THE BURLY SOLDIERMAN TYPE. UNLESS THERE IS AN ELITE MILITIA OF MIDGET MUNCHKINS PUTTING THE WIND UP THE TERRORISTS BY PERFORMING WILLY WANKER AND HIS CHOCOLATE STARFISH OOMPA-LOOMPA SONGS BEFORE SLIPPING UP A JYHADDYWADDY DJBELLA AND BITING A BEHEADERS BELLEND OFF.
