The Phantom Menace...

I think I'm being stalked by them Other Worldly types, wot appear as dark shadows ready to make thievery with your soul.

And now they got transport!

Driving along in my automobile (sans the parallel newborn), you notice a dark car behind. Long, straight road, nowhere to go, glance in mirror...

AND THEY AIN'T THERE!!

Doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo (That's the Twilight Zone, in cas you were wondering!).

Same with peoples. Sometime you glance behind for some reason, and see some blurry figure a-striding down the road. Looks back a second later...

NO ONE THERE!

Not to mention the ectoplasmic cats, rats, and arachs! Sit on the sofa, watchy watchy watchy telly, and out the corner of yer eye you see a dark shape scuttle across the floor. You swiftly gaze at it  - it stops...

AND THERE'S NOWT THERE!!

No, I'm not one for conspiracy theories*, but I'm half tempted to think that there may be some korean type Sadako types lurking in the crevices, ready to half inch my lifeforce and whatnots.

Still, if she's after me whatnots, I reckon I'll have to have one of them there invocations!

* OOOOH - THERE WAS SOMETHING ON THE NUDES TODAY! THEY RECKON THAT ONE OF THEM VIKING TYPE SPACESHIPS WOT LANDED ON MARS TOOK A PHOTO OF SOME SPACE MONSTER STROLLING ABOUT. AND JUST LIKE THE FACE IN CYDONIA, THEY'RE TRYING TO PRETEND IT'S A ROCK!

Time & tide wait for Norman...

I keep seeing adverts for a movie called Jumpers.

Being fat and foolish, I could not understand why anyone would want to see a filum about pullovers, polo necks and tank tops.

Not to mention knitted cardies!

So, imagine my suprise when it appears that it's not one of them Don Ameche/Jessica from Tandy Electricals gubbins (such as How To Make An American Quilt), but a cheap rip off of the Necroscope novels.

And instead of using the Möbius Continuum to fight the monstrous Wamphyri, it's poncey ass espionage type bobbins.

One the one hand: Instantaneous travel anywhere in the universe - culminating in space/time paradoxes, parallel dimensions, the greatest ever Vampires ever invented (not to mention the creatures they construct), E.S.P.ionage, Global political intrigue, masssive Blood Wars, and the survival of mankind.

Or some fop instantaneously travelling across the Earth whilst being chased by Samuel L. Jackson.

And they say Cinema isn't being dumbed down for "the YouTube generation."

How come there's all these great ideas out there, but them someone has to re-write their own version, take out all the good, thought provoking bits, and make it as simple as possible for thick people?

I seem to have fallen into a malaise of moaning misery recently!

Just don't get me started on Pants before Dress woman.

Ta da.

Grrrrrrrr!

I really need to pick meself up out of these doldrums.

Though why I'm in a cylindrical container with skin streched over the top that's owned by Barbie, I'll never know!

Baby! Baby! Baby!
You are my voodoo child
My voodoo child!

Aye, and you're that bird outta Neighbours...

If you wanna be the best...

...don't wanna shit yer kecks

Whoa-ho-ho

Defecation's what ya need

If you wanna be a record beaker

Yeahhhhh......

They say it's pleasure you can't measure.

Well, someone certainly thought so! In La Toilette l'Office there is almost always a scattering of bog roll about the floor, due to the inexplicable dispensers that only allow teeny scraps of paper to be torn from the base of the unit.

And amidst this lavatorial tickertape parade, there lies an empty Mars Bar wrapper!

Now, who goes to the bog to eat a chocolate bar? To lay a chocolate log, perhaps. Maybe the cuplrit was so desparate for choccie, but their bowels were blocked by brekkie. Drop a bite sized plop, take a bite of Mars to replace it. Another dollop of poo, free room for another chomp.

And so forth.

Makes you wonder - with the poor quality arsewipe, wot if his finger had gone through? How can he be sure he's licking his fingers free of chocolate, and not 'chocolate'? And if he goes in with a Fry's Turkish Delight, and it gets smeared all over his grubby digits, will he think he has a bleedy bum and seek medical attention?

"Doctor, I think me arse is bleeding!"
"Nah, that's just a Turkish Delight"
"That's what the fakir said before rodgering my bum in the baths"

Oh, how we laughed!

There is no more Mr Quick...

Mr Quick?

Mr Hands?

Mr Book?

Blimey, Riff Raff & chums have shed their leathery knickers for a Herr Flick outfit as some preposterous reality manipulating Mr Men!

Of course, Magenta's been turfed out coz you can't have Helga the Little Miss fecking up the tuning when your imprinting people with fake memories.

Good job Frank ain't about, as he'd be implanting fake mammaries!

And to think, we could be on a discworld like city, all unaware that only yesterday I was a playboy millionaire with chicks a-plenty.

I hope I don't fall asleep dead on 12!

Have I seen daylight ever...?

Dunno about about that, but I have seen Daylight - and that's got watery terror all over the shop!

So, no good for Strangers then.

But at least it keeps Kiefer safe, and his gammy leg. Alien invasion? Jump in a jaccuzi!

Honestly, when will these space monsters with aversion to aqua learn not to invade aqua based planets. AND not to have handy big vats of water that can conveniently bring about their downfall lying about all over the place.

Connect Four would have been better...

I don’t care very much for chocolate...

Grrrr!

WHY do people insist on claiming they're gonna give 110%?

You can't give more than 100%! 100% is the maximum amout of effort you can possible give!

If you think you're giving 110%, then clearly when you thought you were giving 100% you were only giving 91%. And if you were only giving 91% before, then you need to pull your socks up.

Or at least remove them, coz they're probably causing you to lose 9% through drag.

And if you're in drag, you might as well shave yer shins, coz you don't want to attempt gymnastics with hairy legs as well as spider legs!

Ah shaved ma beard fer you, Devil Woman...

I'm distraught.

One's trimmer would not trim, and so a bit of dismantling took place. Once reassembled, it was fully functional. AND there were no small screws left over!

So I promptly used it.

Unfortunately, I forgot to replace the trim guage, and it resulted in a virtual removal of all mouth bordering follicle enhancements.

I now look like a right tub o'lard who's had a sprinkling of iron filing thrust onto his chin.

Oh waily waily. I cannot go out, as I can't look at meself in the missor and seeing a great fat fool scowling back at me. Without the soupcatcher, I'm just not me!

And it's too cold out there.

And I spent too much time in the city, so I've no time to get ready and go out.

And I spent too much time boozing, so I'm too drunk to go out.

And then I ended up watching The Host Primeval.

But I did see Cloverfield in all it's detail - and there's a lot more monster than can be seen on a 2.5" screen!

AND on the Big Screen you can make out all the clues in the overtaped bits (esp. the Coney Island clip).

!evila lltis s'tI

Wake me up, before you fuck off...

...don't leave me hangin' on, like a bad cough

There's nowt worse than coming home at 4:30 and discovering that thanks to Ms Baldy Porters strained flatulence, your clambering foliage support has gone all awry.

It's no fun having to be out in the icy winds, trimming your top heavy bush, and then having to get your tool right into it and start banging away at your wood.

And fixing the trellis ain't fun either! (boom boom!)

It's cold outside, but it's warm in bed. And parents of underage strumpets are up in arms, for Woolies have introduced a bed aimed at their little scrubbers. And what name have woolies come up with for the pre-pubescent little madams?

The Lolita Midsleeper Combi.

Now, I've heard of this Lolita. A Lolita is some 12 year old girl being nobbed by Jeremy while he does his ironing. Woolies have now hastily withdrawn this model, under the pretext that they were totally unaware of the connotations associated with the word Lolita.

Exactly how you can be unaware of said connotations, yet manage to link a term for underage sexually promiscuous trollops with the selling of beds aimed at underage kids (who, it is claimed, are probably engaging in teenage pregancy practice these days), is beyond me!

I'm thinking of going on Dragons Den. I have this idea for "Proverb Pants!". Aimed at young ladies, they'd have a fetching thought embroidered upon them, such as "The bird in your hand needs two up her bush".

Completely free of any sexual connotations whatsoever!