It would appear to be Carnivàle time down the Krusty Krabb!
Turns out a certain Eugene H. Krabb is an pseudonym for Victor Kruger!
Seems like Brother Justin got a bit carried away lopping off immortals bonces, and ended up with The Prize...
...the secret formula of the Krabby Patty!
Good job he didn't get caught perfoming cranium severance utilising utilities such as spatulas, otherwise he'd have to duff himself up in Shawshank, and have to sort out Bull Queens such as Sheldon Planton!
There can be only one!
One more dollar! Whoo-hee!!!
Wednesday, 7 May 2008
Tuesday, 6 May 2008
Pre-emptive gnome pilferage...
The little blighter has gotten ahead of me now!
You know how it is - you have your particular perfumery and specific scents, be it Body Shop's Lychee and Mango Arse Scrape Mask, or Boots Forest Glade Pitstench remover.
But, there comes a time when you traverse into The City, and find that all stocks of your favourite fragrancing foams and gels are mysteriously absent!
All I wanted was a bottle of A*Men hair & body gel - but nooooo, that fecking kleptomaniac kobold has dashed into the shops and rid the shelves of it!
Stacks of deodorant, body tonic, shower foam and squity bottles of Parfum abound, but not a hide or hair of shampoo! Looks like I'll have to hide my hair.
Or use a real poo, and not just a sham one...
There are those squalid types that profess that if you don't wash your hair, it starts to cleanse itself. Strangely, those who tend to advocate this method of follicle cleanliness tend to have rather greasy hair, who often claim that they "still need to give it a couple more weeks".
Also, the same devotees seem to deeply believe that the same process applies to skin, and take a severe aversion to soap, in the believe that in "a few weeks" the body will start to excrete fluid to cleans itself.
Said fluid apparently being sweat and piss!
And when you're scrolling through the Manga section (looking for the Dark Crystal manga wot STILL isn't out yet), you don't want to be assailed by the fug of the sweaty glands leather clad EMOs sat on the floor drooling over dog eared copies of Battle Royale and Battle Vixens.
Bloody skankarse gits (umpteenth gig SAC, etc)
You know how it is - you have your particular perfumery and specific scents, be it Body Shop's Lychee and Mango Arse Scrape Mask, or Boots Forest Glade Pitstench remover.
But, there comes a time when you traverse into The City, and find that all stocks of your favourite fragrancing foams and gels are mysteriously absent!
All I wanted was a bottle of A*Men hair & body gel - but nooooo, that fecking kleptomaniac kobold has dashed into the shops and rid the shelves of it!
Stacks of deodorant, body tonic, shower foam and squity bottles of Parfum abound, but not a hide or hair of shampoo! Looks like I'll have to hide my hair.
Or use a real poo, and not just a sham one...
There are those squalid types that profess that if you don't wash your hair, it starts to cleanse itself. Strangely, those who tend to advocate this method of follicle cleanliness tend to have rather greasy hair, who often claim that they "still need to give it a couple more weeks".
Also, the same devotees seem to deeply believe that the same process applies to skin, and take a severe aversion to soap, in the believe that in "a few weeks" the body will start to excrete fluid to cleans itself.
Said fluid apparently being sweat and piss!
And when you're scrolling through the Manga section (looking for the Dark Crystal manga wot STILL isn't out yet), you don't want to be assailed by the fug of the sweaty glands leather clad EMOs sat on the floor drooling over dog eared copies of Battle Royale and Battle Vixens.
Bloody skankarse gits (umpteenth gig SAC, etc)
Monday, 5 May 2008
Dere’s a rat in me kit... yikes! There’s a dog in me belly...
Seems like the Swedish trend for hobbis in handbags has already crossed the pond, for I saw it in action last night!
I was down The Black Whore's, and in the beer garden was some bloke, proving rather popular with the ladies. All because he had a weeny Jack Russell in his jacket.
It certainly worked as a bit of a bird puller!
Oft have I been told to get a dog, as it's a good way to meet hot tottie out walking their dogs, so I toyed with the idea of sidling up to some babes and asking if they'd like to stroke the Daschund in my pants. However, it was pointed out that this would earn a slap in the face, rather than a slap of the ole sausage dog.
I wonder if I ponced about town with an animatric Alien hanging out me shirt, I might pull a few of them alternative EMO chicks that line the walkway up to The Castle...
I'm not having a puppy in my jacket - how am I suppose to pull some cracking crumpet when I reek of dogs eggs.
Chihuahua!!
I was down The Black Whore's, and in the beer garden was some bloke, proving rather popular with the ladies. All because he had a weeny Jack Russell in his jacket.
It certainly worked as a bit of a bird puller!
Oft have I been told to get a dog, as it's a good way to meet hot tottie out walking their dogs, so I toyed with the idea of sidling up to some babes and asking if they'd like to stroke the Daschund in my pants. However, it was pointed out that this would earn a slap in the face, rather than a slap of the ole sausage dog.
I wonder if I ponced about town with an animatric Alien hanging out me shirt, I might pull a few of them alternative EMO chicks that line the walkway up to The Castle...
I'm not having a puppy in my jacket - how am I suppose to pull some cracking crumpet when I reek of dogs eggs.
Chihuahua!!
Sunday, 4 May 2008
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood...
Murderous monstrosities haven't got a clue about stalking their prey.
Take your Lions and Tigers, when seeking a kill, they stalk through the grass, as quiet as quiet can be until they're ready to pounce.
Not so supernatural entities or killer chimeras!
Why do they insist on burbling and groaning all the bloody time? I just watched Darkness Falls, where (by strange coincidence) when darkness falls, out comes the toothfairy to slaughter her victims. But does she creep up in silence - no, it's all shrieks and gurgling to draw attention to it!
Now, if I was one of these ethereal entities hell bent on doing in nubile young teenage lasses, I'd be dead
Silent until I snatched them into the sky, not going "Ehhhshhhkkkrraahh" as I approach!
It's like the police - why do they drive to burglaries with sirens a-blazing? How you supposed to catch the little tea leafs if you advertise your presence? If some burglar is in mid-burgle, and hears a siren approaching, he's bound to have it away on his toes before the Filth arrive, leaving the coppers scratching their helments in puzzlement: "He's long gone Sarge", etc.
Hold on, I can hear something...
ssseeerkaaaahhhhkkreeeaaak
Excuse me whilst I go an investig.... AAAARRRGGH!
Take your Lions and Tigers, when seeking a kill, they stalk through the grass, as quiet as quiet can be until they're ready to pounce.
Not so supernatural entities or killer chimeras!
Why do they insist on burbling and groaning all the bloody time? I just watched Darkness Falls, where (by strange coincidence) when darkness falls, out comes the toothfairy to slaughter her victims. But does she creep up in silence - no, it's all shrieks and gurgling to draw attention to it!
Now, if I was one of these ethereal entities hell bent on doing in nubile young teenage lasses, I'd be dead
Silent until I snatched them into the sky, not going "Ehhhshhhkkkrraahh" as I approach!
It's like the police - why do they drive to burglaries with sirens a-blazing? How you supposed to catch the little tea leafs if you advertise your presence? If some burglar is in mid-burgle, and hears a siren approaching, he's bound to have it away on his toes before the Filth arrive, leaving the coppers scratching their helments in puzzlement: "He's long gone Sarge", etc.
Hold on, I can hear something...
ssseeerkaaaahhhhkkreeeaaak
Excuse me whilst I go an investig.... AAAARRRGGH!
Saturday, 3 May 2008
It’s not big, and it’s not clever...
..which is totally incorrect, because in Sweden, there's a epidemic of those who aren't big, but ARE clever!
It would appear that there is one of them there Crimewaves going about, where persons of diminutive stature are esconsed within baggage. When said baggage is left lying about, say in the Luggage Compartment of a plane, when the coast is clear, out pops the thieving oompa-loompa to ransack the place and nick all the stuff!
And when the normal sized bloke trots off with his bag, no-one would think to search it to see if a dwarf was hiding in there with his loot.
The perfect crime!
No wonder Paris Hilton didn't Want to go to jail that time! Someone might have found a hobbit in her handbag while she was away! People keep saying she carries a miniature pup about - it's not! It's a short statured kleptomaniac in costume, ready to pop out and pinch posessions when she takes her bag to various fancy functions.
I never believed it was a dog anyways - who'd run the risk of it shitting all over her bag and pissing on her purse, especially with the designer one's she has.
All this time I've been going on about the stamp thieving gnome in my domicile, when it's been the influx of my many (imaginary) guests and (even more inaginary) friends, sneaking in shortarses in carrier bags to nick me stuff, like putting Dunston Checks In into practise!
Still, at least now I have an excuse to perform security checks and 'pat-down' lovely ladies to ensure they don't have a dwarf about their person, like Kuato in Total Recall.
Oooh, Strip searches! Get yer kit off ladies before entering my domain...
Spread 'em MotherFu...
It would appear that there is one of them there Crimewaves going about, where persons of diminutive stature are esconsed within baggage. When said baggage is left lying about, say in the Luggage Compartment of a plane, when the coast is clear, out pops the thieving oompa-loompa to ransack the place and nick all the stuff!
And when the normal sized bloke trots off with his bag, no-one would think to search it to see if a dwarf was hiding in there with his loot.
The perfect crime!
No wonder Paris Hilton didn't Want to go to jail that time! Someone might have found a hobbit in her handbag while she was away! People keep saying she carries a miniature pup about - it's not! It's a short statured kleptomaniac in costume, ready to pop out and pinch posessions when she takes her bag to various fancy functions.
I never believed it was a dog anyways - who'd run the risk of it shitting all over her bag and pissing on her purse, especially with the designer one's she has.
All this time I've been going on about the stamp thieving gnome in my domicile, when it's been the influx of my many (imaginary) guests and (even more inaginary) friends, sneaking in shortarses in carrier bags to nick me stuff, like putting Dunston Checks In into practise!
Still, at least now I have an excuse to perform security checks and 'pat-down' lovely ladies to ensure they don't have a dwarf about their person, like Kuato in Total Recall.
Oooh, Strip searches! Get yer kit off ladies before entering my domain...
Spread 'em MotherFu...
Friday, 2 May 2008
And just a nagging doubt remains...
Here comes the gimmer man
(Ooo-weee-ooo-oooh)
Sez he's a people Fan
Here come's the gimmer man
(Ahhhhh-aaaaaaaah!)
Ever felt you're being stalked by docile doddering decrepits? Well, I certainly have!
For it seems no matter what time I leave the city via omnibusial transportation, there they are. I can pick any random time to his the bus stop, but to no avail - they're ALWAYS there! Mr & Mrs ancient, shoving to the front of the queue and bewailing the manners of the young.
In fact, these coffin dodgers are so unobtrusive, they make the perfect assassin, for who would expect some zimmered up gimmer to suddenly stand back, and cunningly slide bits of their zimmerframe into position to reveal a handy shotgun!
Jeez - not to mention those in them Mobility Scooters, transforming like some Pastits Optimal-Prime into some tank like beastie just to put an end to me!
Y'know - I think it may have been them wot tried to shoot me in Hades, descending into the basement using Spencer's Stannah Stairlift to take Pot Shots at me in inebriated dancing mode.
Well, I let them get off the bus before me bus now - I'm not having them jab me up the bum from behind with their brolly to pierce my posterior with poisoned pellets of plutonium, or brain me bonce with a brace of baked beans in tins.
Septogenarian skullduggery be afoot!
Thursday, 1 May 2008
Plop goes the weasel...
Todays nasal assault around Broadland signalled the presence, once again, of Dogturd Poo in the Turdis. However, this time, his arrival heralded the Minions of Evil.
Now, occasionally the office bogs are closed as some Missus Mop runs a duster over the dumpstation, but today our floors fecal repository was closed, and being serviced by Rentokill!
I though Rentokill was some pest control agency, so clearly one of The Dogturds arachnid arch-enemies is dwelling within the porcelain throneroom. Perhaps a collection of 'cock'roaches - evil Ken Barlow clones taking over the toilets by todger terrorism.
Or maybe Mr Grey is delivering a deposit of Shit Weasles to bite yer ass, before placing a crap circle in the middle of your cranian forrestry as you try and do a Derren Brown memory dump.
Sack Rentokill, I say. Get Rentaghost in there - It's May Day after all! We should have Mr Claypole Jestering about, and young ladies dancing around Maypoles...
...sounds like an excuse for all these Pagan types to get off down Devils Advocate..
..or to go down Devils Advocate and get off...
Although pagans don't exactly have Devils, it's more like The Green Man's Advocate, which sounds more like a pub. Actually, saying that, it's more likely to be Pan's Advocate, which means loads of pagan panpipery combined with Pan's People gyrating in some mass MayPole dance.
Although Pans People are probably getting on a bit from their TOTP days, so they probably can't be arsed shaving their legs no more, so from a distance they'll look like shaggy goat legged fauns, gambolling about to The Pussyflap Trolls, as they Draw Down Diana The Moon in their bare scuddies in a small grove on Mousehole Heath.
Now, occasionally the office bogs are closed as some Missus Mop runs a duster over the dumpstation, but today our floors fecal repository was closed, and being serviced by Rentokill!
I though Rentokill was some pest control agency, so clearly one of The Dogturds arachnid arch-enemies is dwelling within the porcelain throneroom. Perhaps a collection of 'cock'roaches - evil Ken Barlow clones taking over the toilets by todger terrorism.
Or maybe Mr Grey is delivering a deposit of Shit Weasles to bite yer ass, before placing a crap circle in the middle of your cranian forrestry as you try and do a Derren Brown memory dump.
Sack Rentokill, I say. Get Rentaghost in there - It's May Day after all! We should have Mr Claypole Jestering about, and young ladies dancing around Maypoles...
...sounds like an excuse for all these Pagan types to get off down Devils Advocate..
..or to go down Devils Advocate and get off...
Although pagans don't exactly have Devils, it's more like The Green Man's Advocate, which sounds more like a pub. Actually, saying that, it's more likely to be Pan's Advocate, which means loads of pagan panpipery combined with Pan's People gyrating in some mass MayPole dance.
Although Pans People are probably getting on a bit from their TOTP days, so they probably can't be arsed shaving their legs no more, so from a distance they'll look like shaggy goat legged fauns, gambolling about to The Pussyflap Trolls, as they Draw Down Diana The Moon in their bare scuddies in a small grove on Mousehole Heath.
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