Goodballoon's paunch

18.00 - 18.30 - I'm sorry, this is my penis
Comedy panel show featuring Paul Merton, Willie Rushton, Brian Conley and Sandi Toksvig

18.30 - 19.30 - Paul Morley on silence
Paul Morley presents this exploration on peace and quiet and why it isn't quite as important as punk.

19.30 - 21.00 Stephen King's 'Cakes'
A presentation of Stephen King's most recent and, perhaps, most terrifying work. An evil baker creates an evil batch of cake-mix and unleashes it upon the English village of Titchmouse. Stars Peter Bowles and Alison Steadman.

21.00 - 21.00 Let's be 'avin' you
Punt and Dennis ensure they get paid this week by riffing on how various landlords may ask you to leave a public house.

21.00 - 22.00 Tired, tired, tired - Guest edited by the ghost of Fred Dibnah
The late night discussion show this week features Charles Dance, Delbert Wilkins and Jack Osbourne looking at the work of French arthouse maestro Jacques Biro.

22.00 - 23.00 Lady dance
This week: Jermaine Defoe

23.00 - 23.30 Quiet hate
Jon Gaunt whispers a stream of invective into a microphone whilst trying not to disturb a nearby puppy. This week the subject is 'Public money spent on immigrants'.

23.30 - Midnight Rock me to sleep, you crazy bitch!
Suzi Quatro lulls listeners to sleep with a select batch of rock songs carefully selected to ensure immediate sleep. Or death.

Midnight - 00.05 Trucking news
All the black-ice and glory-hole news from the A Roads and motorways of the UK.

00.05 Shut down

Who's back? He!

Now I know what some of you are thinking: why did I end up at this page? I was looking for a picture of a tube being inserted into a plastic penis. Well that tube and that latex appendage can be seen in the profile picture so suck it up you strange, medico-filthseeker.

Others may be wondering where I have been, and why I had bothered to start writing on this unmissed shit-bath again. There has been no public outcry since I stopped, no wailing and gnashing of teeth, no phonecall from Bono urging me to write something... ANYTHING!... for the sake of Africa. No... this is yet another instance of the self-indulgent, unwanted tripe that clogs the internet and makes finding any useful information nigh-on impossible. Lip-synching Taiwanese kids, 15 year-olds stripping on their webcams, lisping homosexuals talking about the latest splattery turds to fall out of Britney Spears... this blog is no better or worse than any of these, or at least it hasn't been until now.

From this moment on I shall try to make this a useful, informative and healthy depository of facts and opinion. I shall do what I can to nudge you, dear reader, along the road to being a better, more productive human being and in so doing, improve myself. Here is a list of facts to being our intelliventure:

- Jamie Oliver owns the word "herbage". He is also attempting to buy the words "zest", "olive", "clam" and "Jew".

- The Pentagon invented High Definition television as a way to cull some of the less attractive actors in Hollywood. They aim to make expectations of physical beauty even higher which will result in society becoming better looking. They also want 'Desperate Housewives' off of the air.

- Battery chicken farming involves very few batteries. Three or four at the most.

- The Beatles never really existed as a band. Their hits were written by a committee comprising Ray Davies, Spike Milligan, Harold Macmillan, Peter Cook, Eric Burdon, Rolf Harris and some senior civil servants. John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison and Ringo Starr were all inventions of 'Punch magazine' and were played by actors, some of which still make personal appearances today.

- Birthday cards are the size they are so you can better fit HMV vouchers in them.

- The Irish are not naturally as aggressive as they appear.

- Pleats were named after James Pleat, a Scottish pervert who was annoyed at constantly being thwarted in his attempts to see up "young ladies" skirts. After inventing the pleat he and his partner, Stephen Nonce, were jailed.

- The night does not, despite the song, belong to lovers. It belongs to rapists; please be careful.


So, I hope that this first step to a smarter world has been, at least, partially successful. Who knows how these facts may inspire some youngster to learn more, read more, become more... we can but dream.

If I had to hazard a guess I'd have said that James was a man. He had all the bits that men have, the feet and inches, the stones and ounces. His head was big and handsome, like a chiselled TV that had been showing an old episode of Blue Peter with Simon Groom and his dog, Doggy. He had first bounded into my life when, open-hearted and bottomed, I had been looking for love. Love wasn't on the cards, but it's remains soon would be.

James wasn't my usual type; for a start he was a man. I had always been able to admire the finer points of a masculine frame; the broad sweep of the shoulders, the strong arms coated with a fine dusting of dark hair, the delicate labia... but I had never loved a man. A man had never swept me off of my feet, never made me want to dance (Forsyth aside), never broken my heart; James was to change all of that. As soon as I saw him, I wanted to be close to him; close to the warm hum of his testes, the dank lesson of his neck, the ripe mantlepiece of his wrists. He had broken me. Ow!

It took me months to summon the courage to speak to James. How could I, a mere cat, make him mine. It was an impossible task... I would have to use every trick in the book. The Paul Daniels Magic Book. First up: the disappearing chinaman.

I would need to find a chinaman.

Au revoir Marcel Marceau. Thanks for the memories.


Any famous last words?

So here are some videos. Two are of Jon Stewart and one is a reaction to Jon Stewart. The first is Jon Stewart's first Daily Show after September the 11th. It is a moving, honest and candid record of the reaction to the event and it's aftermath.



Now this is deeply unpleasant. This is a right-wing nut-job called Jon Gibson who, whilst commenting on a columnist who feels America NEEDS another September the 11th, decides to take the piss out of Jon Stewart and, probably, those that died in the attacks.



Pretty good stuff, eh? What a stand-up fella. There's patriotism for you; it wishes death on it's own countrymen.

So anyway, Jon Stewart goes on, keeps doing his stuff. A couple of nights ago he interviewed Dick Cheney's biographer. Here he refers to Jon Gibson and hands a neo-con apologist his own arse.




Now, I know what it's like... some dick puts some videos on his website instead of writing something of note, but to be fair Jon Stewart is clearly a man of genuine intelligence, humour (with a u) and moral character. What he says should be noted and, if you don't like it, go fuck yourself and your sanctimonious, self-righteous, shit-doggery. Watch 'em, don't watch 'em. As if I give a fuck. It's only the internet, it aint important. Not like the press.

Thanks.

UPDATED BY ME!!!

It looks like the first one has been pulled. Probably cos they were getting so many hits from this mega site. Or not.

I was securing the mounting bracket for the wing when he approached. Tall, good-looking but with a geeky hint of the teenager about him, his swagger doing a bad job to hide twenty-two years of little town oppression.
"Hey Jasper, how're you doing?" I wasn't quick to answer. I wasn't quick to anything. Being handsome and collosal meant I could be slow and that and it dodn't matter. And that.
"Howdy Daniel. What's going on?" I replied. I had recently taken to saying "howdy". It was the late nineteen-fifties and saying "howdy" had just replaced the hula-hoop as the height of fashionable fun.
"Oh Jasper. You're saying howdy now. Jeez, I just can't get into the habit." Daniel blushed as he spoke. I liked it when he blushed he looked like he was a bit sunburnt. That, in turn, reminded me of bacon and I sure did like a big slab of bacon. Oh yes.
"It's easy to do, Daniel. All you got to do is think before you speak." I said, sagely.
"How do you mean?" He said, anti-sagely.
"Well, when you approached me what were you thinking?" I hadn't meant this as an angle for compliments, I usually didn't have to angle being so darn cute. "Darn" was another word I was using these days.
"I was thinking how good you looked securing that mounting bracket. I thought how lucky the plane was to have you working its... er..." he blushed again.
"Nuts, Daniel?" I stared at him thoughtfully.
"Er... yeah." His eyes met mine. We drank one another in. Slowly we moved closer and closer, like two planets unable to defy gravity or the laws of physics.
"Goodballoon!" It was the airfield foreman, Simpson. Daniel and I jumped away from one another. "Have you finished securing that mounting bracket for that wing yet? mr Holly needs to be in the air in ten minutes."
"Yes sir." I spat back.
I returned to my work, by my concentration was on something else. The rest, as they say, is tragic musical history.

Jon Stewart's last line is absolutely brilliant.



Someone give that man his own show.