Thursday, March 29, 2007
Not a good day for Mr C.
David Cameron is not having a very good time today. Not only must he take down the windmill from his roof just a few days after putting it up, but he's also been reprimanded for misusing his parliamentary office for fund-raising.
What a prick.
What a prick.
£1,000,000...
...will go to the person who can tell me what the fuck Hunter Davies is talking about in The Guardian today. Does it make sense to you, 'cos I cannot work out what his point is.
Friday, March 23, 2007
Progress
I am pleased to say that one of the great questions of life has been answered by a Japanese television programme. The best researchers, producers and scientists in all of Land of the Rising Sun scratched their heads, hummed and hawwed and finally got video evidence that a chimpanzee cannot bully a bulldog into doing sit-ups.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
This is quite amusing
I saw this at The Urban Woo today:
THE TEN LONDON TRANSPORT COMMANDMENTS
1) Thou shalt walk whenever possible, but always from Charing Cross to Embankment.
2) Thou shalt have thine Oyster Card in thine hand when thou reachest the ticket barriers, and not stand there, rummaging through thine bag for five minutes, like a tool.
3) Thou shalt not consume fragrant foodstuffs or alcohol, unless thou art a vagrant.
4) Thou shalt attend to personal hygiene. In particular, if thou hast been wassailing heartily the night before, thou shalt take special care to brush thine teeth in the morning.
5) Thou shalt talk quietly, or not at all, on thine mobile phone when on the bus – nobody else wants to hear who Emma did last night or how much Liam spent on his sodding shoes. Furthermore, thou shalt endeavour to stop those who wish to share their choice of music on loudspeaker, even though thou risketh being stabbed till thou art dead.
6) Thou shalt not whistle.
7) Thou shalt not press the “open” button on tube doors as this is the mark of the tourist.
8) Thou shalt not duck, dive or bomb. And though shalt most certainly not heavy pet.
9) If thou art not sure how to get off an escalator, or where to stand, thou shalt not get on it.
10) Thou shalt not wear darke glasses underground. Ye nobs.
Of course I have a driver and a car, but I'm sure this means something to someone.
THE TEN LONDON TRANSPORT COMMANDMENTS
1) Thou shalt walk whenever possible, but always from Charing Cross to Embankment.
2) Thou shalt have thine Oyster Card in thine hand when thou reachest the ticket barriers, and not stand there, rummaging through thine bag for five minutes, like a tool.
3) Thou shalt not consume fragrant foodstuffs or alcohol, unless thou art a vagrant.
4) Thou shalt attend to personal hygiene. In particular, if thou hast been wassailing heartily the night before, thou shalt take special care to brush thine teeth in the morning.
5) Thou shalt talk quietly, or not at all, on thine mobile phone when on the bus – nobody else wants to hear who Emma did last night or how much Liam spent on his sodding shoes. Furthermore, thou shalt endeavour to stop those who wish to share their choice of music on loudspeaker, even though thou risketh being stabbed till thou art dead.
6) Thou shalt not whistle.
7) Thou shalt not press the “open” button on tube doors as this is the mark of the tourist.
8) Thou shalt not duck, dive or bomb. And though shalt most certainly not heavy pet.
9) If thou art not sure how to get off an escalator, or where to stand, thou shalt not get on it.
10) Thou shalt not wear darke glasses underground. Ye nobs.
Of course I have a driver and a car, but I'm sure this means something to someone.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Complex God
Not too long ago I was propositioned by one of the World's leading film stars (I can't say who) into joining his mysterious and controversial religion. He told me of the influence his group had, the effects it could have on my life and the amount of easy poontang that was available at their High Church over in Hollywood. I was on a plane immediately.
The church was a large and smart office building stuffed full of bright young men and women with relaxed smiles, healthy physiques and belief in spaceships; I knew this was the place for me. I was inducted into the religion with a series of tests that checked just how liable to scream I was when burnt. By their measurements I was 84% too likely to scream and as such I was put on the bronze pony-track system which would move me toward the ultimate goal of total silencity.
Over the next eight years I spent nearly £600,000 ($12,000,000) on the programme and slowly but sure moved from my weak and pathetic screaming to almost total stoicism in the face of fire. Finally I managed a full chip pan of oil over my chest with barely a whimper and it was time for me to be given the secret.
I was led to a dowdy, temporary classroom in the rear yard area of the High Church, and was given a small child-size plastic seat. I sat and waited for what seemed like an age until Mr Doyle, the number two at the Church, entered with a manilla folder under his arm. He placed the folder on the small table in front of me and told me to "Look now for you shall never see this again." He left and I opened the folder to be confronted with what could only be described as a picture of Hell itself. Any law you can think of was being broken, each virtue we believe to be true was being cast aside. Innocence was being wrenched from children, the elderly were sullied and mocked by wild animals, the dress-code was defecation! And there at the centre of it all was the man that had led me into all of this; the Hollywood star.
Who was it? I cannot say, but I would urge anyone who does find out to keep it to themselves. These people are not to be trifled with and one wrong move could mean certain death.
The church was a large and smart office building stuffed full of bright young men and women with relaxed smiles, healthy physiques and belief in spaceships; I knew this was the place for me. I was inducted into the religion with a series of tests that checked just how liable to scream I was when burnt. By their measurements I was 84% too likely to scream and as such I was put on the bronze pony-track system which would move me toward the ultimate goal of total silencity.
Over the next eight years I spent nearly £600,000 ($12,000,000) on the programme and slowly but sure moved from my weak and pathetic screaming to almost total stoicism in the face of fire. Finally I managed a full chip pan of oil over my chest with barely a whimper and it was time for me to be given the secret.
I was led to a dowdy, temporary classroom in the rear yard area of the High Church, and was given a small child-size plastic seat. I sat and waited for what seemed like an age until Mr Doyle, the number two at the Church, entered with a manilla folder under his arm. He placed the folder on the small table in front of me and told me to "Look now for you shall never see this again." He left and I opened the folder to be confronted with what could only be described as a picture of Hell itself. Any law you can think of was being broken, each virtue we believe to be true was being cast aside. Innocence was being wrenched from children, the elderly were sullied and mocked by wild animals, the dress-code was defecation! And there at the centre of it all was the man that had led me into all of this; the Hollywood star.
Who was it? I cannot say, but I would urge anyone who does find out to keep it to themselves. These people are not to be trifled with and one wrong move could mean certain death.
Labels: lizard, pervert, Tom Cruise
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Longhurstian candidate
If you see this man, don't allow him to buy your licenced premises from you!
I like it when he comes back through the door
Context:
Over-rated and pretentious director David O. (for orally-fixated pederast) Russell is having a tough day with actor Lily Tomlin on the set of his crapola film 'I heart Huckerbees' (or is it 'Huckabees'?). She claims she is being deluged with information by the man that was knocked on his arse by George Clooney during the shooting of 'Three Kings'. Have a look whilst it's still available:
Over-rated and pretentious director David O. (for orally-fixated pederast) Russell is having a tough day with actor Lily Tomlin on the set of his crapola film 'I heart Huckerbees' (or is it 'Huckabees'?). She claims she is being deluged with information by the man that was knocked on his arse by George Clooney during the shooting of 'Three Kings'. Have a look whilst it's still available:
Labels: Maniac, shit film, swearapalooza
Four glorious years
Congratulations Georgie and Tony. Thanks for the cash. See you in Iran.
Saturday, March 17, 2007
Oh God! A stabbing robot!
Hey there you crazy crackers (and blacks and yellows) just a word about a new friend to us here at the paunch called The Stabbing Robot. I would link to him from inside this post but Safari is a piece of shit and won't let me do it so you'll have to make do with the link over on the left.
Drop by and leave a comment (preferably something offensive) and do it quick 'cos he'll lose interest soon and ignore it.
Drop by and leave a comment (preferably something offensive) and do it quick 'cos he'll lose interest soon and ignore it.
Friday, March 16, 2007
No hard feelings
In fact, no feelings at all in my left leg. Anyway, the lads and lassies that have been doing the Comic Relief blog book have finished it all just in time and it should be available for purchase sometime today. If you take a long hard look at the list of 100 blogs that are included you shall see I'm not included... hold on! What? Are they nuts? Jesus wept, what is the world coming to when some dirty cow talking about wanking beats out a dirty old man talking about w... Oh, fair enough. Here's a link to all the things and that.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Oh! It was one guy.
See, I remember when Blair and Bush needed support for the war we kept being told that Al Qaeda was a compartmentalised organisation made up of independent cells that could strike at any time without instruction or support from a central core.
Apparently that was bollocks. Apparently one fella did EVERYTHING! It was Groucho here that done it:
Well thankfully the USA has got the bastard so we're all safe. Hurrah!
Apparently that was bollocks. Apparently one fella did EVERYTHING! It was Groucho here that done it:
Well thankfully the USA has got the bastard so we're all safe. Hurrah!
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
A simple life
It is not a well known fact but there was a period of time when I gave up the rat-race and opted, instead, for a simpler and, I hoped, less stressful existence. In 1984 with Thatcher at the height of her considerable powers, I felt that I had achieved quite enough and headed for the sticks.
I found myself in Suffolk with a farmhouse, a farmhand and pharmacy's supply of uppers and downers - I was absolutely positive I was going to enjoy this time even if it killed me. Alas it killed me.
It was one Thursday afternoon and we had just finished slaughtering a pig. Michael had kicked the pig for twenty minutes but this had had almost no impact on it. I threw part of a fence at the pig and then a car jack from a 1978 Ford Cortina - again, nothing. Eventually we drove the whole Cortina at the pig and that did the job. In celebration we popped what we believed were MDMA pills and treated each other to a lapdance.
My lapdance from Michael was pleasant enough and when it was my turn to dance for him I tried my best to make it as sexy as possible; easier said than done when you are in your late sixties. Anyway, something blew in my heart and I hit the floor at roughly the same speed the Cortina had hit the pig. Wheezing and snuffling I begged Michael for help but by now he was too far gone to be of any assistance. What to do?
I looked over at the pig... he was snorting his last breaths. A bad writer might have made more of the symmetry of our positions. I crawled toward the pig and grasped his head pulling my ancient, spasming frame to him. I pushed my mouth to his and took the animals final few breaths as it's legs kicked against my chest starting my heart once more.
I have never had a chance to thank that pig before but I'd like to thank him now. Thank you pig. You were delicious.
I found myself in Suffolk with a farmhouse, a farmhand and pharmacy's supply of uppers and downers - I was absolutely positive I was going to enjoy this time even if it killed me. Alas it killed me.
It was one Thursday afternoon and we had just finished slaughtering a pig. Michael had kicked the pig for twenty minutes but this had had almost no impact on it. I threw part of a fence at the pig and then a car jack from a 1978 Ford Cortina - again, nothing. Eventually we drove the whole Cortina at the pig and that did the job. In celebration we popped what we believed were MDMA pills and treated each other to a lapdance.
My lapdance from Michael was pleasant enough and when it was my turn to dance for him I tried my best to make it as sexy as possible; easier said than done when you are in your late sixties. Anyway, something blew in my heart and I hit the floor at roughly the same speed the Cortina had hit the pig. Wheezing and snuffling I begged Michael for help but by now he was too far gone to be of any assistance. What to do?
I looked over at the pig... he was snorting his last breaths. A bad writer might have made more of the symmetry of our positions. I crawled toward the pig and grasped his head pulling my ancient, spasming frame to him. I pushed my mouth to his and took the animals final few breaths as it's legs kicked against my chest starting my heart once more.
I have never had a chance to thank that pig before but I'd like to thank him now. Thank you pig. You were delicious.
Saturday, March 10, 2007
Comic relief thang
Here's a thing for people with these things that might do some good, but I'm not sure how. Anyway, go and have a look here and inundate the lad with stuff and save the kiddies... or something.
Friday, March 09, 2007
Office politics
I once knew a chap that was forced to work in an office that he was not in charge of. I know for many of you this will be an idea as alien as nineteen simultaneously existing dimensions, metaphysical portile trivialisation or a Snow Patrol tune that didn't make you want to open a vein from tail to top and empty it's contents all over a newborn lamb, but this does happen to some people. This fella gave me a list of truths and half-truths about working in an office which I feel I should share (what with him being unable to due to disability):
- If a male member of staff has a day off sick the first person to mention "man-flu" on his return is the stupidest person in the office.
- If there are four people in your line of sight, three of them will make you feel physically sick. Number four you will merely wish death upon.
- Lunchtime is never quite the Malibu beach party you'd expect.
- Sick days are far more convincing in twos than ones. Three may be a bridge too far.
- It really doesn't matter what you do in terms of quality of work so long as you talk about it as loud as possible. If you are able to talk over someone you will almost certainly get credit for your work and their work.
- People who sing along to the radio are absolute unbridled twats.
As I say I have no idea what any of this is about, but it may be of interest to someone.
- If a male member of staff has a day off sick the first person to mention "man-flu" on his return is the stupidest person in the office.
- If there are four people in your line of sight, three of them will make you feel physically sick. Number four you will merely wish death upon.
- Lunchtime is never quite the Malibu beach party you'd expect.
- Sick days are far more convincing in twos than ones. Three may be a bridge too far.
- It really doesn't matter what you do in terms of quality of work so long as you talk about it as loud as possible. If you are able to talk over someone you will almost certainly get credit for your work and their work.
- People who sing along to the radio are absolute unbridled twats.
As I say I have no idea what any of this is about, but it may be of interest to someone.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Natural Police
Just a word about the last post; that was a scene from HBO's majestic 'The Wire'. The fella saying "Sheeeeeit" is Senator Clay Davis, a man who makes Karl Rove seem like a moral giant when it comes to the volatile mix of cash and politics, and the video was a loving tribute to his sometime catchphrase of "Sheeeeeit" from a smart-arse with an editing package - My hat is off to you, Sir.
Below is an actual scene from 'The Wire' and I would urge you to spend the next three and three-quarter minutes taking a look, but first a little context:
These two are Jimmy McNulty and his partner in the Baltimore Police Department homicide division, William 'Bunk' Moreland. They approach the scene of a cold murder case; six months have passed since the investigation was fudged by detectives too interested in overtime to care. Armed with only a few pictures of the crime scene they piece the events of one night half a year ago, back together:
Fuck me.
Below is an actual scene from 'The Wire' and I would urge you to spend the next three and three-quarter minutes taking a look, but first a little context:
These two are Jimmy McNulty and his partner in the Baltimore Police Department homicide division, William 'Bunk' Moreland. They approach the scene of a cold murder case; six months have passed since the investigation was fudged by detectives too interested in overtime to care. Armed with only a few pictures of the crime scene they piece the events of one night half a year ago, back together:
Fuck me.
Four series down, one to go
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
SH-ITV
So poor old ITV have suspended all their premium-rate telephone dewberries for the present, eh? Let it not be said that they aren't honest and upright and quick to respond in a crisis... or painted into a corner and pre-empting an Ofcom report that will lead to management firings and potentially criminal investigations. One of the two.
Over at No.10 we have no such moral courage with Tom Kelly, the gentleman that referred to Dr. David Kelly as a "Walter Mitty" character, being fingered as the source for the email leak to the BBC in order to scupper the cash for honours investigation. The Guardian is reporting a separate legal document in which Ruth Turner suggests that Michael Levy may have suggested certain evidence disappear, change shape or get a face lift.
I have come across the following email which, I think you shall find, blows the lid on everything. Cast your minds back to February 2005 when Mr. Blair was to appear on Richard and Judy's show on Channel 4. Here is an email from two days preceding his appearance:
"Richard & Judy,
Just a final email to firm up a few things for TB's appearance on Thurs. Obviously we trust you both implicitly but there are one or two areas which we would rather the convers. did not linger for long if poss. These are:
Iraq
His heart
Cherie
Gordon
Hutton
David Kelly
Henry Kelly
Suicide attempts of any type
Education
Railtrack
Robin Cook
Milburn
Football
Government
If these could be avoided that would be marvellous. Also, re: his appearance on 'You say, we pay' - he's happy to do it but this time we want at least 50% of the take. We shall supply the caller so as to ensure no nasty surprises.
That's the lot. See you Thurs.
Tom"
Explosive stuff, what? I couldn't believe when I was sent it by Michael Grade and Tony Blair, but there you are.
Over at No.10 we have no such moral courage with Tom Kelly, the gentleman that referred to Dr. David Kelly as a "Walter Mitty" character, being fingered as the source for the email leak to the BBC in order to scupper the cash for honours investigation. The Guardian is reporting a separate legal document in which Ruth Turner suggests that Michael Levy may have suggested certain evidence disappear, change shape or get a face lift.
I have come across the following email which, I think you shall find, blows the lid on everything. Cast your minds back to February 2005 when Mr. Blair was to appear on Richard and Judy's show on Channel 4. Here is an email from two days preceding his appearance:
"Richard & Judy,
Just a final email to firm up a few things for TB's appearance on Thurs. Obviously we trust you both implicitly but there are one or two areas which we would rather the convers. did not linger for long if poss. These are:
Iraq
His heart
Cherie
Gordon
Hutton
David Kelly
Henry Kelly
Suicide attempts of any type
Education
Railtrack
Robin Cook
Milburn
Football
Government
If these could be avoided that would be marvellous. Also, re: his appearance on 'You say, we pay' - he's happy to do it but this time we want at least 50% of the take. We shall supply the caller so as to ensure no nasty surprises.
That's the lot. See you Thurs.
Tom"
Explosive stuff, what? I couldn't believe when I was sent it by Michael Grade and Tony Blair, but there you are.
Friday, March 02, 2007
Cap up my ass
When you're a hard-hitting drug slinger in the projects of Baltimore sometimes you need to drop a nigger. That's the rules of the street I'm afraid. I didn't want to do it; I still don't.
The same rules apply when it comes to baked goods. I once had to fuck up Asher and Kipling with a pick-axe handle 'cos they stepped on my territory (all Morrisons stores North West of Glastonbury to the Welsh border). Unfortunately the pick-axe handle was made of fondant and caused a little less damage than I might have wanted. They did look funny though. Ha-ha!
As the years went on in our cake war all sides took hits. I lost a shipment of flour to Mary Berry, Mary Berry lost 1000 gallons of icing (Mr. Icing to our American friends) to Jacobs. Oh the humanity.
Over the last few years there has been an uneasy truce observed bewtween all parties. I stepped out of the sweets racket and moved my cash into another altogether more difficult arena - soft drinks. If you hear of a missing Dr. Pepper this weekend, don't say a fucking word.
The same rules apply when it comes to baked goods. I once had to fuck up Asher and Kipling with a pick-axe handle 'cos they stepped on my territory (all Morrisons stores North West of Glastonbury to the Welsh border). Unfortunately the pick-axe handle was made of fondant and caused a little less damage than I might have wanted. They did look funny though. Ha-ha!
As the years went on in our cake war all sides took hits. I lost a shipment of flour to Mary Berry, Mary Berry lost 1000 gallons of icing (Mr. Icing to our American friends) to Jacobs. Oh the humanity.
Over the last few years there has been an uneasy truce observed bewtween all parties. I stepped out of the sweets racket and moved my cash into another altogether more difficult arena - soft drinks. If you hear of a missing Dr. Pepper this weekend, don't say a fucking word.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Early Day Motions
David Amess has tabled an Early Day Motion that says this:
"That this House congratulates Dame Helen Mirren, a former resident of Leigh-on-Sea in Southend and former pupil of St Bernard's High School, on her achievement of winning Best Actress at the 79th Academy Awards for her portrayal of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II in `The Queen'; acknowledges her contribution to British acting; and wishes her every success for the future."
EDM's cost around £290 each for printing and publishing. That figure does not include the time MP's are sitting around signing them. So far this EDM has 28 signiatures. I hope Mr Amess gets at least a blowy for it.
"That this House congratulates Dame Helen Mirren, a former resident of Leigh-on-Sea in Southend and former pupil of St Bernard's High School, on her achievement of winning Best Actress at the 79th Academy Awards for her portrayal of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II in `The Queen'; acknowledges her contribution to British acting; and wishes her every success for the future."
EDM's cost around £290 each for printing and publishing. That figure does not include the time MP's are sitting around signing them. So far this EDM has 28 signiatures. I hope Mr Amess gets at least a blowy for it.
Sprung is Spring
Isn't March lovely? So much nicer than February. Anyone born in March is probably a sexy genius or a misguided romantic with a steel streak of courage in their guts. Anyway, so far March has been a sunny joy of bubbles, flowers and frolicing ponies.
When will this torment end?
Why must the sun shine? Why must it's gentle rays expose the fissures and cracks on my skin, the liver spots and undereye bags (Ha! Bags would be fine; these sad-sacks would put Donatella Versace's luggage allowance to shame). I have three remaining wirey hairs which are far too brittle to comb-over so now nestle against my enormous ear-lobe. My false teeth are older than most adults I know and I fear that my knees may never bend straight again.
At least I still have music.
The Feeling. The Killers. The View. The Kooks. All of the 'The' bands are doing such innovative and exciting things with sounds that it feels like the sixties all over again... or at least one year of the seventies.
I am so glad I have the means to pay for semenal extraction. I couldn't get laid with Helen Keller.
When will this torment end?
Why must the sun shine? Why must it's gentle rays expose the fissures and cracks on my skin, the liver spots and undereye bags (Ha! Bags would be fine; these sad-sacks would put Donatella Versace's luggage allowance to shame). I have three remaining wirey hairs which are far too brittle to comb-over so now nestle against my enormous ear-lobe. My false teeth are older than most adults I know and I fear that my knees may never bend straight again.
At least I still have music.
The Feeling. The Killers. The View. The Kooks. All of the 'The' bands are doing such innovative and exciting things with sounds that it feels like the sixties all over again... or at least one year of the seventies.
I am so glad I have the means to pay for semenal extraction. I couldn't get laid with Helen Keller.
