Journolixym...

No blog today, for I has had an idea!

Today's blog was to be on the newly discovered Gospel Of Barnabas which will probably end up in the Apocrypha, as it suggests Judas was crucified, not Jesus. And tomorrow's blog would be about Amityville, having just been subjected to the Lovebug Starski video (which had the Stauf Mansion in the video, not the Amityville house. Stauf's house is on a hill, Amityville isn't).

Anyhoo, people keep badgering me to do faux news articles and horrorscopes. I did a Daily Fail one recently as a test, and that worked OK. So I thought today's news about the 1500 gospel discovery would work well in that format.

So... blog split!

News type stuffs go on me website, normal bloggery on here. 

Right, now to create a new webpage... not sure when that'll be published. Might create a few articles first. We'll see...

[Edit 30.05] Feck it - did the Gospel last night/early this morn, & knocked up the Amityville one. News page published and can be found here

Solway First...

So, today is the 50th anniversary of the Solway Spacebloke!

Now, way back in The Sixties, tree hugging hippies were all the rage, and were often found high off their nut drawing down the moon all nudified on mountaintops.

And on 23rd May 1964, the smoking of certain substances and the strumming of sitars invoked ye muʃik of ye ʃphereʃ, opening up a gateway by invoking the transperambulation of pseudo-cosmic antimatter (precipitating a flexi-tagenital spatial interflux within the symbiotic parameters) and allowing interdimensional picnickers to photobomb human picnickers having a picnic!

And here we see the Visitor From Beyond, all hot and sweaty after translocating into a new realm.

And caught on camera scratching his bollocks.

What an embarassing moment - you travel all the way to an alternate dimension, and your wang sits uncomfortably within your spacesuit, and as soon as you adjust your hose to a more relieving position, someone takes a photo of you!

On the other hand, of course, it could be some interplanetary pædophile. Cruising the celestial highway for the youth of the species like a grooming galaxian Gary Glitter alighting on the nearest habitable humanoid planet and getting their jollies by pleasuring themselves behind underage indigenous lifeforms, their excitement heightened by the risk of photographic fathers capturing their onanistic orgasm on camera.

And what recompense does the child get for being forced into having to cockblock cock from camera?

An ice-cream!

Well, a naff bunch of flowers masquerading as an ice-cream! That look says it all, really. "Yeah, thanks for that dad. Dumped in a field with some craptastic flowers in the heat instead of a Funny Feet lolly whilst a perverted pædo from Pluto pleasures his penis and jizzes all over the back of my head. Can we go home now. Please?"

Of course, the Greybeards of today will poo-pah the teleporting terror from Titan, and claim that there are no invisible spacepervs clad in spacesuits lurking being underage kids picknicking in the park.

"Of course, your average person will see a black muslim immigrant trying to invade our towns and cities with their halal invisibility cloaks that only white British cameras can see. However, after subjecting the image to rigorous scientific testing, taking into account apertures, focal distance, 1960s cameras and film, it is quite clear that the pop-up terrorist is clearly her mother standing up, and facing away from the camera. You can see details that match her dress and hair. Due to the exposure and soft blur, her hair appears to look like a visor, and the light blue dress washed out to near white. We believe the first shot, with no 'spaceman' was taken with the mother sat behind at a short distance. In the second shot, she stood, and because the father was focused on the child, he didn't notice her in the background...

...in essence, what we have here, is basically a parental picknicker picking the knickers out of Uranus her anus hungry arse after being sat on the grass."

Bollocks! What about the Men In Black? Men in Black? Mysteriously materializing Men in Black burkhas bukkake bombing bambinos with their halal ejaculate out on a picnic more like! 

Solway Firth! Only pronounced like that coz the bloke who named it had a lithp. It's actually Solway First - standing up for Solways fight against the rising tide of Muslim Ray Guns.

When will Britain First, The BNP and UKIP put a stop to these foreigners from outer space? Coming over here in their spaceships and gang-raping underage abductees whist claiming asylum because of mistreatment on Mars and claiming a second colony whilst they get free treatment on NHS for their syphillic hentai raping tentacles and getting over £50k Neptunian Nuggets A DAY in benefits because they can't work because they're on disability because they're allergic to the common cold, whilst raking in hundreds of Venusion dollars by illegally working three jobs taking up several BRITISH jobs with their multiple multitasking tentacles and we can't celebrate Christmas now in case it offends the Saturnalians and you're not allowed to deport them back to Jupiter just in case it breaches their 'Human' rights. This country is a JOKE, and I can't wait until I retire so I can leave and move to a sensible place like Altair IV #Proud2BHuman

Right, that's it - I'm off to complain to The Daily Fail - at least THEY take this problem SERIOUSLY!

And I bet that this so-called Solway Firth Spaceman Sniper shot Diana, and this was a practice run to see if he could jump through points in time before dealing the death blow and making a clean getaway to Unga Bunga land, or wherever these teleporting terrorists train these days. 

Of course - I jest. The girl in the photo is clearly sporting a "fascinator" in the shape of the top, six-packed torso of Buzz All-In. Or Louis Armstrong. Or the other bloke. One of them was doing something with her moon before they buggered off back to the lunar surface 4 years later, because it was The Sixties and things were different then. You were allowed to jingle-jangle your jewellery. 

or something.

TORIES FLOUNDERING AS MEAT HAS NO PLAICE IN COD'S WILL...

TORIES FLOUNDERING AS MEAT HAS NO PLAICE IN COD'S WILL!

ATHIEST FURY AS MEAT IS SET TO BE BANNED

DAVID Cameron has found himself EMBROILED in yet another food furoré last night, The Fail can exclusively reveal.

Following his recent announcement that he wished Britain to be 'more confident about our status as a Christian country', concerns have been raised that this could lead to a pigs-in-a-blanket BAN on meat in Britain thanks to CHRISTIAN lobbying groups.

UNFOUNDED reports claim that the Prime Minister is set to BAN all meat for consumption on Fridays, and if the pilot exercise is successful, the ban may be extended to EVERY day of the week.

EVIL Christians are no stranger to courting CONTROVERSY. Indeed, since their INSIDIOUS creep into English culture, most of our heritage and culture has been wiped out. The Government have kowtowed far too often under EU Political Correctness laws to APPEASE those of FOREIGN faith.

"Used to be, come May Day, we'd have a May Day procession," said a UKUNT spokesperson, "and the children would dance around a Maypole entwining the ribbons in a proper English fertility rite. Now, we can't have a proper English celebration in case it offends some Christians or Operation Yewtree. Now they want to take our meat! We should close our borders, but if they come here, they should abide by our laws and customs."

Our WEAK government has shown NO backbone in the face of religious ZEALOTRY on our shores. Already, Saturnalia and Yule have been phased out, and "Christ Mass" put in its place. Eostré has also been OVERSHADOWED by Easter, and many see this latest DEMAND from the Christian Church as being the LAST straw in the Christianitification of England.

EXPERTS investigating the theological basis of the new law point to the arcane ecclesiastical practice of not eating meat on a Friday. Professor Lucy Fayre of the Society For Biblical Scholars stated: "According to my RE teacher when I was in a CofE school, the Bible states that it is forbidden to eat meat on a Friday, and we were only allowed to eat Fish & Chips. This stems from the miracle of the loaves and fishes, where Jesus spent 40 days and nights fasting for Lent, then turned 5 loaves & 2 fishies into fish finger sandwiches for 5,000 people."

TRADITIONALLY, fish is often served on a Friday, but the omission of meat is often unobserved. Although there is no passage in the Bible specifically DEMANDING Christians eat fish on a Friday, many feel it is implicitly implied as a RELIGIOUS tenet, and BOYCOTT any venue serving meat, and thus keeping the DEFICIT increasing as businesses lose custom.

Fed up of the fictional PANDERING to CHRISTIANS, athiests took to the forums to demand this law be REVERSED. One poster summed up the new policy as "why do they hav 2 tek away or meet its DESCUSTING if christiens wont to ban beef and bacon they can f**k off bak 2 jerusalum and et all teh fish they wont this is england an im prowd to be british"

However, when challenged as to why they were not proud enough to be able to master the ability to write, spell, punctuate, gramatically construct (or even speak) English properly, they replied "im not rayshalist but this is engerlund not nazi germany we have free speach an if u dont like it u can fuk off you am a twart"

"It's ridiculous." A spokesbloke for the National Union Of Cider Refreshed Morris Dancers bewailed "Our jobs are on the line. First we were banned from our Fool having a pig bladder on a stick in case it offended someone, then we were banned from burning bobbies in anthropomorphic wicker simulacra. Now we're being banned from scoffing a cornish pasty after a hard days bashing each others stout sticks. When will these Christians stop persecuting us and eroding British tradition and heritage?"

But it's not just real ale bell-ridden flouncers OUTRAGED at David Cameron's Fish Friday policy. Mother of 8 Vikki told our reporter "Like, mah kidz, right, it's, like, their Friday Night Treat, yeah. We always go for a McDonalds, and the likkle uns well love their Big Macs innit. How do I tell ickle Beyoncé here she can't have her maccy D's and has to make do with a fillet o'fish? It's political correctness gone made! I'm voting UKUNT at the next election I am"

As the Christianitification of the UK continues, even the Great British Fry Up is at risk. Greasy spoons up and down the country are down in arms¹, as the THREAT arises.

"What about my customers?" said Mr Pigg of the Belly Buster Breakkie Café in Luton, "Every day, burly bikers and tough truckers come in for the full English. They demand the Best Of British - cheap sausages, battery hen eggs, proper English bacon from Denmark, dodgy mushrooms foraged from the abandoned overgrown car lot out back. There'll be rioting in the streets is they can only have a manky kipper risotto for breakfast. Not to mention the black meat market. Bootlegged beef under the counter, and you can bet some EU beaurocrats will be lining their own pockets, spot-checking cafés and punishing providers of meat products. Friday Fish Fines - you couldn't make it up!"

And it appears that the INFILTRATION of this law is being implemented even now. Vegan shops have already embraced this Jyhad, and WITHDRAWN all meat products from their stores. Vadgetarians, on the other hand, have been practicing Fish Friday for a long time².

In an even more EXTREME move, Polish shops have been opened in areas where there is a mass influx of Polish people, resulting in them selling only Polish products to people who desire them. Christian rights groups have expressed extreme moral OUTRAGE, citing the UKUNT mantra of "coming over here and not selling British products to British people - it's offensive. I'm not racist, but they're in Britain, and should sell British products. If they want to sell Polish crap, fuck off back to Poland and flog your crap to the Polish people over there. Not here."

But David Cameron appears UNCONCERNED about the plight of the everyday Briton, and is UNABLE to stand up against the threat of Christianity and it's demands. Once more, our EMASCULATED and powerless PM accedes to Brussel's every whim and allows mental folk who believe in Slartibartfarst to run roughshod over the ordinary British man in their MAD bid to seize power. 

Boris Johnson has thrown his support behind the Prime Minister. Ever a champion of Britain, the eccentric loon professed his love for Fish and Chips, adding that the battered repast was an iconic image of England, and saw no reason why all other white (and red) meat should be OUTLAWED with all possible haste, and Fish & Chips be the sole legal staple. 

David Cameron was unable to be reached for comment. 

¹ SO THE GREASE DOESN'T RUN UP THEIR SLEEVES

² THE DAILY FAIL IS NOT BEING CHRISTIANITYPHOBIC, HOMOPHOBIC OR RACIST -  BUT FILTHY VADGETARIANS ARE DEGENERATES (DEGENERES?) WHO CONSPIRED WITH MUSLIMS TO MURDER OUR QUEEN OF TARTS DIANA SO WE COULD OPEN OUR BORDERS TO MASS IMMIGRATION TO ALLOW MURDERERS FROM OVERSEAS TO CLAIM ASYLUM SO THEY CAN RAPE OUR CHILDREN WITHOUT FEAR OF BEING DEPORTED. AND THAT'S TRUE THAT IS, BECAUSE WE MISREPRESENTED IT FROM SOMETHING WE HEARD OFF SOMEONE WHO'S MATE SAW IT ON A WEBSITE THAT WAS DISCUSSING AN ARTICLE.

The kids of the Irn Bru nation...

So, in an effort to get Apple Maps working more popular than Google Maps, the spectre of Steve Jobs has been integrating some supernatural spirit photography into the app.

For those of a cryptozoological bent, they've spent hours scouring satellite imagery of Lake Champlain for evidence of Ogopogo, the Congo for Umbongo Mokele Mbembe, And Urquhart Castle for the Loch Ness Camel.

And lo, Nessie hunters discovered Nessie caught on Apple's Satellite cameras! Lookit!

Hold up, that's no pleasureyourselfisaurus! That looks like a great big fuck off trilobite!

"No, Xym, that's clearly a boat, with a bow wave at the front, and rippling out waves as it passes through the water!"

Yeah, right. Show me the boat then! That's one big bug! A trilobite shaped...

...whoa! I was ogling up that there Æryn Sun, I mean, watching Farscape the other night (as PickTV are showing it from the beginning), and that shape looks suspiciously like Moya...

And in Episode 2, there was a Peacekeeper beacon hidden aboard, so they had to dive into a swamp to muffle the signal...

Life imitating art? Has a sentient craft crashed into Loch Ness? Is Rygel stuffing his face full of battered mars bars and deep fried haggis? 

Mind you, you wouldn't recognize Zhaan, as all Scotchwomen are blue with the cold. And D'Argo is just like every other fighty scotchman on a night out. Just a shame Æryn & Chiana aren't typical northern slagbags of the Shaz & Tray variety :(.

Anyhoo, fictitional ship from a Sci-Fi series, or a 1950s gigantisized by radiation reptile hell bent on world domination? You decide!

(I has - forget Godzilla! I want to see Trilobite 3D - the destruction of the Scottish Highlands by a thousand foot arthropod. Oooh, and Fish Out Of Marillion can be the plucky hero of the hour! Who wouldn't want to see that! All set to the soundtrack to Script For A Jester's Tear... with a thrilling re-enactment of their classic track Grendel played out to the titanic fight between Fish and Shellfish!)

Gotta love this Birmingham Mail article on someone finding a copy of this game during a house clearance:

Love the overreaction at such a discovery - how a simple board game becomes an embodiment of creepy evil!

I should become a journo - I can turn that boardgame into a creepfest...

Just one look at the box gives the viewer the willies - his left hand creepily caressing the microphone as if wishing it was a young boy's cock, whilst his other hand is "air fingering" the bunghole (or fanny) of a teenage groupie in his dressing room. Clouds of white jizzum erupt from his unseen manhood, threatening to flood the band on the front page, and his unsuspecting prey play on oblivious in the bottom corner. Unaware a huge salacious Savile is looming over them with a horrific paedophillic leer, his hair slick with sweat from excessive masturbation over Teenypops, as a cameraman records the orgy for some sick website...

Can I has a job with the Bare Minge Ham Mail, please...

At midnight, on the 12th of August...

..., I mean, 6th of April, a huge mass of luminous gas erupted from Mars and sped towards Earth.

So quoth Liam Burton in Jeff Wayne's Musical Version Of H.G. Well's Novel Of Pearson's Gazette's Serialization of H.G. Well's Tale "The War Of The Worlds: The Nude Generation" UllaDubUlla Special Anniversary Extended Deluxe Collectors Edition (live on stage) Remix.

or something.

Remember t'other week, when I was debating making a mocking video of tin-foil hatted wearing loons spotting sports cars on Mars via the Curiosity Killed The Cat Rover?

Well, now they've found evidence of the space monsters attack fleet launch!

Here's a photo from the navcam:

Alien campfire as tentacled terrors in tents terrorize abducted Hillbillies? The fire from the thrust of a launched tripod filled cylinder? Martians raising their arses out of Clanger holes and farting to keep the stench out of their subterrainean warrens, but one witty space monster has lighted his mates flatulent emission? The ghosts of Martians wandering the empty wastes of their long-dead planet? The projectile snot from the sneezing Face On Mars in Cydonia?

Who knows?

NASA knows!

And they're only releasing the image in Black & White, rather than the usual colour images, so they've tampered with it to obfuscate evidence of alien civillization!

...hold on...

...let me zoom in on that white flare...

Gahh - call out Bernard Quatermass before the tripedal insectoids return for The Great Hunt, and kill off all the fucktards...

...NOOOO! TOO LATE!!!!

De plane, boss, de plane...

Flight MH370 this, Flight MH370 that, everywhere bloody Flight MH370.

Where's it gone?

Blown up by the pilots? Landed on a desert Isle? A troupe of thesbian tourists hijacking the plane to recreate the TV series Lost? Shot down by Malaysian snipers with rocket launchers?

Yet no-one suggests abduction by Space Monsters in the Malaysian Triangle, sucking up planes in waterspout tempests before sucking them down into their USOs¹ where the passengers are forced to wear fishbowls on their bonce and commanded to construct cyclopean cities as slave labour for their evil interstellar overlords.

Well no way am I ever flying again! I have no desire to be captured by Dagonistic cultists and have to get all prune fingered putting up IKEA shelving just because some priests praying to a pantheon of piscine idols want to do some spring cleaning about the temples!

¹UNIDENTIFIED(underwater?) SUBMERGED OBJECTS

Walk like a complete pratt...

Slow news day in the Evening Nudes today.

Wes Hoolahan disrespected Norwich City fans with bizarre lack of celebration when he scored against Aston Villa

Now, y'all know how much I loathe the kickyball, but this takes the biscuit.

Which is handy, coz on this Adrenalize & Eating Plan malarky, I've already lost 7lb, so could do without the biccies anyway,

Anyhoo - as I understand kickyball, you swing a leg, kick a ball, it goes forward, and if lucky you score a goal. Job done.

So how is it "disrespectful" to not act like a twat after scoring a goal?

"Huzzah! I've kicked a ball into a huge fuck off size net, obfuscated slightly by a tiny human. Right, now to save my energy and do it all again..."

What's wrong with that? Disrespectful, apparently.

It seems putting a wee small ball into a ginormous hole much, much bigger that the foot-propelled sphere isn't enough. Oh no.

They want you to act like a right gobshite. Poncing about with a shirt over their face while dancing like a retarded gormster.

Acting like a total arse, just because you knocked a tiny object into a cavernous space.

Kickyballers and kickerballer fans. Never have, and never will, understand the appeal. Especially stories like this. 

"Disrespect" for a "bizzare lack of celebration" indeed!

It's like them fucktards on Britain's Allegedly Got Talent who get told they're through to the next round who can't simply say "Thank you" and walk away proudly, but have to scream and screech, fall to the floor, leap about like rabid kangaroos, and generally act like feral primates on speed.

If I have a job interview, and they say "Congratulations, you're hired", I wouldn't scream like a Baine Sidhé, pick up the interviewer, twirl them about, then do a celebratory jig around the room. If I did, I'd expect to be summarily fired!

Alan Sugar doesn't have to put up with this on The Apprentice. One tried after winning a task by screaming "Yes" whilst doing the universal symbol for fisting. Alan Sugar told him right off for being a cockpiece.

Bizzare lack of celebration! The mind doth boggle!

It's too semeny for crows...

It's just for me & mah dawg (I won't be your dog!). We all adore-a, a dog whorer. 

or Dora The Sexplorer. or something.

Fit as a butcher's dog? Well, if you think a butcher's dog is, like, well fit innit, gawd knows what you think about yer girlfriend's puppies!

As one young man in Louth ejaculated in disbelieving exclaim: "Well, bugger me old brown dog..."

...before putting it into action.

What amazes me about this story is the line:

"Mitigating, Gordon Holt said the starting point for this offence was a community order"

What sort of Justice Of That There Peace issues a community order to commence canine copulation? And how is that mitigating circumstances for raping your girlfriends pet?

I've heard of some couples allowing Dogging to 'spice up their relationship', but humping a hound is a tad extreme. Even for a Channel 4 Exposé.

Or You've Been Framed, getting £250 for his mobile movie of mounting a mastiff. or something.

Next on Jeremy Kyle... Did My Uncouth Louth Youth Sexually Satisfy Staffies In Skegness? She's desperate to find out if her boyfriend has cheated with her man's best friend. It's a life changing decision for her, and it's make-or-break time with those all impotent lie detector results coming right up after the break.

"Admit it. You had sex with her dog, didn't you. You know what I think? I think you need to man up and grow a pair. Wake up and smell the coffee, my friend. Stop cheating on her with the dog, give up the drink & drugs (cans o' piss) and get a job! Coz I'll tell you this, when this goes out, no-one will touch you with a barge-pole. You're a dirty little bestiality obsessed liar, and she's better off without you. Of course she'll be a better Dad than you - she doesn't have sex with dogs you dirty pervert!"

Stu, did you know, Stu, that a chihuahua's chuff is literally... as tight as a chihuahua's chuff...

Born from an egg in a costume shop...

"A zoo in Japan has held an emergency drill to prepare for a disaster scenario in which animals manage to break free from enclosures."

Now, these Eastern Promises of a zoological nature preserve are oft on the... inaccurate side, to say the least!

Take then Chinafolk - they et all their aminals, and had to dress up dogs to pretend they were endangered aminals in an enclosed environment.

Such as this bear and lion:

So, now let's have a look at the believable baboon runs riot in... When Aminals Escape!

Now, I'm no David Attenborough, but I was a Fire Steward for Aviva, and in a Disaster Recover Situations, you train with real events. They set fires you had to put out. They had drills where you herded dumbass humans to safety.

Now, the image above strongly hints that all the Japanese training may come to naught, as I suspect they may not be interacting with legitimate primates who, following a cold tits style escape have gone all Congo. Beating your head with paddles and eating yer face off.

Unless, of course, the sauntering simian they train with is one Aware-Of-Vacuity. The now legendary Great Simian Sage, Equal Of Heaven!

Ooooh, perhaps this Zoo is Wu Hsing Shan, made up from the five fingers of Buddha and locked up by Ānanda with a stamp & ink kit from the craft shop! This drill is merely the Bodhisattva Kuan-Yin preparing to release Monkey for his Journey To The West.

In the enclosures alongside the convincing chimp, you'll find a man with a strap-on snout, a tonsured turtle with a necklace of skulls, and a horse with some fairy wings & scale armour.

Now all prepared for a toeless fall over beaver-like mammal on acid. A trippy Tarka (the 'otter).

or something.

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

Damn, them Swiss greybeards are at it again!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, bugger me backwards!

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

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

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

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

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

Right up! Putting a ring on it.

Or "fisting", to put it politely.

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

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

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

Or something.

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

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

XO

I vill 'weight' for you...

Get to ze chopper! 

You've seen that Undercover Boss program, where High Profile execs go to work among their scummy staff in ludicrous disguises to "see how the business really works" by working alongside gormsters who are too thick to realise they're being filmed for Secret Millionairre because their offspring are dying (or almost died) because they themselves have cancer for working to support their dear little white haired old mother who is crippled with Arthur Eye Tits.

or something.

Anyhoo, some famous bodybuilder muscleyman decided to do something similar. Don a disguise, pretend to be the manager of a gym, and wander about handing out advice.

But who is this mystery man? Armed only with the Nintendo 'tashe of one Mario Mario and a cap, this "Gym Owner" went about all unrecognisable like...

Who the fuck could it be? Jesse 'The Body With An Arsehole In His Chin' Ventura? Dolphin Lungerungerungeren? John Clawed Van Dame? Sylvester Stallion? Perhaps if he speaks to these fitness freaks...

"By Crom! Let's put some meat on your muscle - it you heave, we can build it! Keep it up - I'll be back to check on your progress. Bench pressing is not French kissing. You need a sauna? Don't sweat it! I need your clothes, your boots and your motorcycle.. now put on this gym kit."

Like many gullible Americans, even with that distinctive voice, I just can't place this Mr Universe. Damn, that's a good disguise! I find myself utterly taken in by his convincing act. Just like I believed in Twins, Kindergarten Cop, and Junior.

OMG! It's Bruised Willies, isn't it!!!

Fuck you, Shima...

So, that Fukushima blowed up, filling the Japanese seas with radioactive monster mutation essence, so it was only a matter of time before Gojira arose once more!

And slowly, but surely, unspeakable things are emerging from the deep to expire on the Fukushima shores.

First, we got Fukuppy,  some kind of mutant Pokémon adopted as a mascot.

Then, recently, a great big fuck-off Whorefish washed up. Nothing new about that - Whorefish are fucking massive anyway, and believed by many to be the origin of the sea serpent "myth". But these are GIANT oarfishies! 

And just a month ago, a kraken washed up. 160lb of giant chthonic colossal killer cephalopod, all suckery tentacles snatching up Japanese sunbathers and gobbling them up with it's terrible gnashing beak.

And today, the Fukushima folk are trying to convince us it's all a hoax, and their genetic behemoths that would trample us all under-tentacle are just made up scaremongering.

As if! The power plant leaked nuclear abnormality accelerant into the oceans, and we're all going to be overrun by supersized psychotic sushi!

Did they never learn from the Tagruato incident? Mining for milfshake sludge, they awoke a monstrosity that swam over to New York, ripped the bonce off the Statue Of Liberty, and then buggered up Central Park.

And unless they stop this cover-up and tell us the truth, we'll be woefully underprepared when a killer clam and pissed off puffer fish of ginormous size invade Castle Mall Gardens and rip the bonce off the Lion Statue outside City Hall!

OXO, OXO, OXO ooh wa ah...

Got me cooking some gravy right now!

Wow! Xym's a celebrititty!

It would appear that everyone's favourite pop tart, Beyoncé Knowles (star of DIY SOS and National Lottery Who Dares Wins) had written a song for The Xym!

A love song at that!

It's called XO, which as y'all know is the initials of... why, no-one else in the whole world apart from your very own Xymon Owain!

I've been invited to dinner by Kelis, but no top celeb has ever written a song for ME before!

Apparently, she's got into trub about it. Seems she's sampled the Challenge Anneka disaster in honour of one of my teen crushes. I thought it was Treasure Hunt where she ripped her pants open and the chopper handler had to cellotape her arse on camera, but what do I know!

Nothing, it seems, for XO is also txtspk for Kisshug, so OXOXOXOXO is hug, snog, hug, snog, hug, snog, hug, snog, hug.

And there was me thinking it meant "I wants lots of gravy". Love gravy that is. Off that Smegma Bellendcheese.

No, not Smegma Bellendcheese, Lynda Bellendham of course!

[EDIT] Crikey, the filth on telly these days! Never mind Lynda Bellendham's hugkisshug lurve gravy, fanny battered vaginisms have crept into the New Year family movie. Stuart Little is on whilst I get ready, and the cat has just asked Stuart to "read my furry pink lips"!

The last person who famously "read the furry pink lips of her pussy" was deafblind political activist Helen Keller, and that's how she discovered mass debating. 

possibly. or not. as the case may (or may not) be. probably. or something. perhaps.

Flattery don't charge these batteries, civilian...

Watching Wreck-It Ralph on Blu-Ray...

Jiminny Jaminny! Look at that high definition. That face... it's AMAZING! 

Now THAT'S one most dynamite gal! Oh, she gives me the honeyglow something awful!

Although I think someone needs to have a word with them there Yew Tree peoples. 

Now, Ralph isn't exactly young, and he has a Jim'll Sex It medal around his neck.

He hangs around with Vanellope, who is 9yrs old

And what does Ralph say as he's falling from the grip of Wash from Firefly as he jingle-jangles his jewellery with one fist?

"I'm bad, and that's good. I will never be good, and that's not bad. There's no one I'd rather be than me."

Furry muff. He knows he's a bad guy, but as he's being tossed off by the Nicelanders, he sees his 9yr old winking at him, and he states, quite clearly: 

"Because if that little kid likes me, how bad can I be?"

I'm pretty sure Jimmy Savile said something similar in the back of his campervan...

...aka The Fungeon...

...probably. or something...

Call the curtain, de-raise the roof...

Spirits are last night!

Well, Eriks of a phantasmagorical "ooh Betty" persuasion, anyway.

And not even Michael Crawfish, for that matter, but a gargantuan lumbering Brühilde of maurauding Walküre fame.

For everyone knows the old adage: The show's not over till the fat bird dances upstairs, loosening the plaster of Ἀπόλλων on the ceiling below and despositing debris on the barnets of the hoi polloi.

or something.

See, them there Health & Safety Gone Mad officials had a right old paddy over Andrew Lloyd Grossman clobbering theatregoers on the bonce with chandeliers, yet some tosh about an inquisitive canine (who performs his investigative interests once the sun goes down) gets away with showering the Shaftesbury set in poncey plaster of Paris because the artex on the ceiling has been shook loose by Bella Emberg & The Roly Polys rehearsing in the attic with Lesbian Dawson.

Dawson's creek - river of lubricated labia, more like!

They really should incorporate this into Phantom:

LA FANTOME:           ♪ Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime ... 
                               Lead me, save me from my solitude ... 
                               Say you want me with you, here beside you ... 
                               Anywhere you go let me go too - 
                               Christine, that's all I ask of ... ♪
DOBBY THE HOUSE ELF LA FANTOME UNBOLTS THE CHANDELIER AND DROPS IT THE ROOF ON ♥BELLATRIX♥ & HERMIONE THE AUDIENCE
LA GROSSE DAME:      What is it? What has happened? Ubaldo! 
MONSIEUR ANDRÉ:      Oh, my God ... my God ... 
MONSIEUR FIRMIN:      We're ruined, André - ruined! 
MONSIEUR POSTGATE: Once upon a time, not so long ago, there was a little girl and her name 
                                        was Emily. And she had a shop.
                              There it is!
                              It was rather an unusual shop because it didn't sell anything. You see, 
                              everything in that shop window was a thing that somebody had once lost 
                              and Emily had found, and brought home to Bagpuss. Emily's cat, Bagpuss. The 
                              most important, the most beautiful, The most magical saggy old cloth cat in the 
                              whole wide world.
                              Well now, one day Emily found a thing, and she brought it back to the shop
                              and put it down in front of Bagpuss who was in the shop window fast asleep 
                              as usual. But then Emily said some magic words:

                                                       Bagpuss, dear Bagpuss

                                                       Old fat furry cat-puss

                                                       Wake up and look at this thing that I bring

                                                       Wake up, be bright

                                                       Be golden and light

                                                       Bagpuss, Oh hear what I sing

                              And Bagpuss was wide awake. And when Bagpuss wakes up all his friends 
                              wake up too. The mice on the mouse-organ woke up and stretched. Madeleine 
                              the rag doll, Gabriel the toad, And last of all, Professor Yaffle, who was a very 
                              distinguished old woodpecker. He climbed down off his bookend and went to 
                              see what it was that Emily had brought
LA FANTOME:             I think I've gone a done a whoopsie. Oooh Betty!
BETTY:                     Stop sticking pins under me eyes!

Free Nelson Mandela

So, Nelson Mandela has died.

And the first thing that popped into my head was the song "Free, Nelson Mandela" by The Special AKA.

Well, not exactly.

The tune was the same, but the first thing that actually popped in my head was "R.I.P-eeee, Nelson Mandela".

I'm such a bad person.

What are you going to do with those skies, Lord...

Coulrophobia!

Not fear of Agent Coulson out of Marvel's Agents Of S.H.I.E.L.D, but fear of the most henious thing ever to walk the Earth.

Clowns!

And now we have proof that even God has Coulrophobia!

And not just any old clowns - oh no. He has a particular wrath reserved for Rodeo Clowns!

Darn Tootin'! 

At an event called Rednecks With Paychecks (as opposed to Rednecks With Moonshine, presumably), poor old Casey Wagner was Buckarooing about when a storm of St Jude proportions approached. So, naturally, he took shelter in the safest location.

Under a tree.

And God, scared shitless by a screaming smile of a clown, smote him with his lance of lightning. Zzzzzap! And the child-scarer was brought to his knees.

Recovering, the custard flan flinging fool arose, only to be smote once more by further electrical discharges from God's electrical ejaculate. Zzzzzzzap, and again the bucking bronco with the red nose is driven to his knees!

Now, most people would think having God lobbing lightning bolts down upon thee would be somewhat of a warning to get off the Path Of Evil. Not so this clown.

"I give everything to God, So I owe everything to him, he's the one that kept me alive. I can tell you one thing, I'm going to start going to church more."

Kept you alive? You're going to go to Church more? The divine fucker tried to flambé you alive! The Omnipotent One tried his best to wipe the curséd clowns off the Earth as part of his ineffable plan, and you want to exhalt his worship more?

Twice God drove him to his knees - perhaps God wanted him in a kind of "...while you're down there..." position. Mayhap that's why he's off to Church more - to blow off a pædo priest, hang up his oversized shoes and give up Clowning Around and become a Religious Rent Boy for the Reverends and strumming His Eminence's banjo string.

But no - he's managed to twist God's death blow into a "lucky escape blesséd by God"... overlooking the fact that there's be no lucky escape if he hadn't already been targeted by God for an electrocutioning!

And I'm sorry... it's a clown blog... so I just have to repost this video again. Still the funniest thing ever for me!