Would you like to swing on a star?

Its a favourite tree.

A favourite tree on a favourite hill, miles from people or time and life. Its my retreat, I go there to be where nobody else is, to get away and get a rest.

I crested the hill, my hill, with a sense of homecoming and dawning peace, only for it to be shattered by the man casually leaning against my tree.

My gast was well and truly flabbered.

I cleared my throat in that purposeful yet annoyed way I manage to do so well and tried to clear my head as well. I felt like my legs had been ripped from beneath me, my peace torn and stolen.

The guy gave me a quick look, a short smile of acknowledgement and went back to looking at the view. My view.

Now, I'm not a farmer; I've no shotgun with which to gesture, no accent through which I can shout 'Gat orf muy Laaand!'

In any case, it wasn't my land. I'm pretty sure it wasn't his either.

There had to be some way of getting rid of him, I wanted this spot. I could just tell the sunset was going to be beautiful tonight, it was going to be majestic and choral in its visual poetry. I wanted to be here, alone, watching that, on my own.

Peace stealer!

I confess, I contemplated throwing rocks, but decided that was a step too far. Even just maiming this guy was too much, although only just.

I turned away, tried to settle into the view like he was doing, but even with him behind me I could feel him, his aura. Plus, it was cold on the ground and not as comfortable as it would have been up the tree. I had a special spot all picked out, I knew exactly where to sit depending on which direction I was looking, but no, tree-stealer-McGubbins had to steal it from me.

A little time passed and I was growing more and more uncomfortable. There was something about this spookily quiet man that set me on edge.

Finally I made up my mind, I wouldn't share my tree with him. Sunset be damned, I was going to go home! Yes, I was in a huff and I had every reason to be.

I stood up a little nosily and made to leave, in fact I was halfway through my second stride away when he said something that stopped me in my tracks.



Part 2 to follow, when I feel like it.

Value added

So let me begin by saying, 'I don't eat crisps'.

Well, now that that is out of the way we can concentrate on re-reading this sentence because that is in it 3 times.

Sometimes I get a hankering to be the best in the world at something, to be revered and reviled, to be lauded and looked to, just so I can say 'Yeah, look at me, I'm really rather better than average!' Well, whatever that thing is it surely isn't going to be whistling, which I can only do on the inward breath for some reason.

If I try to whistle whilst exhaling then I either cover the next 4.7 feet in slobber or make a high pitched sound which causes cringing for the next 407 feet.

Why my whistles affect so many peoples feet has not really been worked out yet, but I'm sure that one day another Richard Einstein or Albert Feynman will come along and work it all out.

(Did you see what I did there, did you? Did you really? I picked a quite obscure niche of knowledge and used comedy juxtaposition to bring it to the masses... well, you 3 anyway).

Well anyway, back off topic.

Recently I had the misfortune of being close to a copy of the daily mail. I'm not going to capitalise those words, it doesn't deserve it. In fact it uses far too many capitals in its productions. The headline was*

ARRGHHHHH! HOUSE OF LORDS FULL OF LYING THIEVING SCUM!!!!!!11ELEVEN

And, to add to the ignominy off seeing the daily wail, yesterday somebody assumed I was indie! Yes, it is true. I was chatting to my boss about the music we play here a la labyrinthe and he said that he'd bring in Gilbert and Sullivan's HMS Pinafore for us to listen to next time we're busy. Great I thought, I love a bit of G & S.

'This isn't just music, this is G & S music'

Shockingly a man sat at a table in the canteen turned to me and said (with a perfectly straight face)

'You'll love that, its very indie.'

I died a little inside. Its not that I dislike being called indie, although I know someone who does, its just that to be mentally relegated to one tiny tinny sphere of music by a musical myope who has no knowledge of me or even what he is actually saying, that was what did me in.

He must have looked at me and thought, 'Hmm, he's young and has hair, that means he's either a lesbian or indie.' Although I'm slightly glad he didn't go for the other, he's still very wrong.

To further increase my sourpuss attitude we then all went go-karting together. Now, I am a fan of karting and quite proficient. Especially on a circuit which I have visited before.

At the end of the night there were 17 men and two finals, the 'A' final, for the top place qualifiers and the 'B' final for the other men. I was the only man of our wokplace (intentional) to get into the 'A' final, the other 5 being in the 'B' final.

Still, not being one to brag I went out, had a good race and finished near the back. Job done, thought I, fun times done etc.

Oh no, we shall now never hear the end of how the previously mentioned wally of Wigan came 3rd in the B final and was the best driver there. Yawn. Well done for coming 3rd in a group of 2nd best people, I hope you're pleased with yourself.

Well, while climbing yesterday I pulled a muscle in my left biceps. Did you know there are two bicep muscles? I did.

It means I'm slightly grumpy and carrying a less than heroic wound on my left side, which is definitely not what you or I want.

If I'm going to be injured I want it to be something frankly massive, like diving to save a child from being run over, being hit by the car myself (I saved the child, thank you very much) and landing on a nest of Vipers which were copulating with jellyfish.

Or, charging into a bank where there was a hostage situation unfolding only to find that it wasn't actually a bank but a bar and it was a ho-stage situation! Whilst hastily backing out of said place I tripped over a argumentative armadillo that had been refused entry and was shot by one of the door men.

Now thats a story to tell your Grand kids.



*I am obliged to point out this was not the actual headline

Majoris Bummeris

Business has kept me from entertaining you, I sincerely most apologise.

The title refers to a careless happenstance on Thursday, just passed. As I bent to pick up some things, I stood up too quickly, too tightly and altogether too muscularly.

I ripped my trousers, right in the seat.

Now, there are few advantages to having a hole in your trousers, especially 2 hours into your working day. I think the fact that a fart gets slightly less trapped in your regions maybe the top one.

Luckily I was wearing my uber fetching thermal under-crackers (they're for isting, it can get mighty cold you know) and they kept my dignity from showing and my butt from freezing.

Then on the weekend my girlfriend and I went briefly topless at night, that was fun. The fact we were doing 60 mph at the time just made it extra delicious! (Answers on a postcard please).

We also saw my Grandparents who are decidedly cooler than you and more bearded. Well, my Grandfather is anyway. On the way back we stood upon a canal bridge and pondered, which is the inspiration for this ditty;

'As I stand
And look yonder.
Stars above
And ground under.

Thinking thoughts of things I've thunk,
Carve our names in a tree trunk.

Countryside
Is under-rated.
My intestines
Are nickel plated.

Thinking thoughts of things I've thunk,
Carve our names in a tree trunk.

Shooting star;
Make a wish.
Wish wish wish
Wish wish wish.

Thinking thoughts of things I've thunk,
Carve our names in a tree trunk.

Dance with me
Apothecary.
Side affects
Make me sleepy.

Thinking thoughts of things I've thunk,
Carve our names in a tree trunk.

Yet we journey on and a new week begins. (I've finished the poem now, you can carry on). The tedium alleviated only by moments of non-tedium which, hopefully, are more frequent than the tedious moments.

Aiding me in my quest for interest is Rachmaninov, the celebrated Russian Stand-up comedian. Only, most of his work seems to be music based. I'll admit, the jokes aren't great, but he's not bad at the keyboard. As organists say 'He's got a cracking set of pipes on him'.

Snigger.

So there we are, a recession free view from nincompoop Island, which is an entirely self contained facility... inside my head. No recession here, baby!

Until the next time, ye dogs!

For everything there is a weasel!

I'm currently working on another one of my award winning musical jokes, it goes a little something like this:

To the tune of 'Cocaine', Eric Clapton

She's alright
She's alright
She's alright,

Novocaine.

Then I'd just do some dribbling on the floor and some aaaaaah-ing.

Seriously, you read it here first.

The other thing I'm working on is a 4 part serial story to be syndicated on this very page. Its kind of like a who-dunnit without the 'dunnit' or, to put it another way, a murder mystery without the murder.

There will be at least one twist, and it maybe well be that I write one episode whilst I am suspended from a crane, who knows. You'll have to wait and see.

Its about the conversation I had with a man on top of a hill, so we'll see what you think.

Recently I'd been seeing less and less of Herbert, the eponymous hero of the Herbertians, a race of large necked geese from the darker regions of Scandinavia. Its all true, I swear.

I managed to track him down and see what he'd been doing with his time and I was very surprised at his answer.

'What have I been doing? Well let me fill you in. The other day, well, week now I come to think of it, I saw Wallace and Gromit's Grand Designs. Its where two plasticine figures redecorate someones house largely through the use of ingenious inventions and a liberal sprinkling of trap-doors.

A short time after I also watched 'The Presitge' which has a fair old use of trap-doors in it too. And I thought to myself, what if Nick Park is really Christopher Nolan and he's cottoned onto the fact that trap-doors are a portal to an alternate reality, one where I'm a pygmy woman, happily married with 13 kids.'

'Wow.' I responded. 'So you've found this alternate reality, the place where you're a happy pygmy wife and mother? Whats it like, tell me all.' I edged closer, eager to learn all of his secrets, when suddenly the ground dissapeared beneath me. As I fell I heard a giraffe's giggle for the first time and him say off handedly

'Nope, just been dying to try out our trap-door!'

Rascal!

Bacon bounce

Even as I describe it to you my mouth is watering in some kind of Pavlovian bliss, desperate to chow down on that bacon and egg butty that is winging its way to me even now.

The saliva wells up like thousands of tiny men had pushed barrels of it to the edge of my mouth's ramparts and then doused the unsuspecting taste buds with it.

The taste buds, trying to scale the heights of sensory overload castle, are knocked from their ladders and perches and tumble down only to be met by a veritable river of tomato sauce, 57 varieties ferociously attack the buds and wish to conquer them, who will win?

Swamped from beneath and with the down-pour not likely to desist, soon the taste buds send for reinforcements and they are quickly here in the shape of teeth and peristalsis.

Chomping relentlessly the teeth begin to force the attackers, the intruders, backwards, towards the merciless gullet with its infinite need to swallow.

There can be no escape for them there, not even using the taste buds as makeshift hand-holds, or even the rings of cartilage, they cannot be saved.

Down, down they plummet! Down into the stomach! Eventually they will make their way even further down until they are under the city, but those thoughts are not for lunch time.

'Erm, yeah, go on then, I'll have one.'



I make no assertions that this is in anyway factually, actually or biologically correct.

Eeny Moaney, Minor Moo.

THUNDER DOGS ARE GO!

It was requested of me (by the PVN of the title, no less - so I could not refuse) that I do a post on 'Thunderdogs'.

'We've had "Thunderbirds", "Thundercats" but no "Thunderdogs".' Hey, I thought to myself, there is an opportunity to overuse quotation marks if ever I saw one.

What follows is my basic premise for the pilot episode of the new smash hit series

THUNDERDOGS!

Saviours from planet Poodalia

'Captain, we are honoured by your presence.'

Captain Lickshimself woofed formally and greeted General Chasescats with the customary sniffing of the rump.

'It is my pleasure and my honour, General.' His deep, guttural voice was softened somewhat by the slightly damp nose.

'Indeed it is Captain and were these happier times I would lick you until you could take no more!' Captain Lickshimself cocked his head to one side and made a questioning sound. 'Erm, yes. Hmm.' The General cleared his throat. 'I have brought you here because these are grave times, and indeed even graver than we thought or maybe even think now! Who can tell?'

'General, this is bad.'

'Thank you Captain Obvious, I just said that. You mong(rel)!' General Chasescats was renowned for not suffering fools, but for quite often suffering from fleas. Swings and roundabouts really.

'We have had reports from one of our furthest outposts that they are in dire straits, sorry straights. Let me clarify, they are not Mark Knopfler, they are having a rough old time.'

'Thank you General, now whos the mong?!'

'Oh alright, this set-up is taking far too long! We need you to go now, they're running out of Pedigree Chum Dentastix and its doing the poor spaniels no good at all!'

'They're all spaniels?'

'No you fool, its just an expression!' General Chasescats turned from the room and flounced out, mindful to make it convincing because flouncing is hard when you have four legs.

'General, wait! Am I going alone? Where am I going?'

'Speak to Miss Inheat, she'll tell you all you need to know.' The General continued his flouncing.

Captain Lickshimself looked at the spaceshuttle he had been given for the trip. Miss Inheat had been very helpful giving him all the details and letting him know he'd be taking a bunch of crack troops on his mission to save Erf.

As the four-canine troupe blasted off in their enormous Crufts rocket 'You ain't nothing but a hound dog' wafted back and rested for a second above a small deposit they had left behind.

The intrepid crew shared an insipid journey across space, only stopping once or twice at an intergalactic truck stop. This caused a little bit of unrest amongst the group as they were far from home and hadn't eaten well in a while.

'When are we going to get there?'

'Whats the food like on Erf? This 'Postman's Leg' is of such poor quality its barely moving!'

'I can't wait to sink my teeth into a real hippo and not this processed rubbish!'

And so on...

Eventually they crash landed on planetoid Erf. It was in a little town called Piddlehinton in Dorset and they were very excited to have made it to that central hub of the universe.

They quickly set up camp and making a hide for their craft. Captain Lickshimself gave the orders quickly and efficiently.

'You there, Sergeant Andrexpuppy take that and put it over there, Private Chasescars, Corporal Peesontrees, you're on sentry duty. Lieutenant Wagsthedog and I shall strike out to see what we can find. We're on a fact finding mission about this planet, its inhabitants and their ways. We need to stop this economic dog-turn if its the last thing we do...'


TO BE CONTINUED(ish)

Next episode: 'Oi, get your pooch of my potatoes!'

Jokes that were not used in this post:

The correct usage of Bitch,
Economic dog-turd,
Anything to do with humping.

Mental, mental. Chicken Oriental.

I was going to do a much more in depth post about my Bi-annual Brain Audit, but I slightly ruined it by talking about before it was polished. Perhaps I will polish it and come back to you some time, or who knows, perhaps when my next one comes around I'll post about that.

But, I thought I would include their 'Final review' which is the title of the post.

What can I say, I'm quite pleased really. Mostly because I've gone down a bit from 'Coffee bean crazy'.

Instead I shall tell you about the recent resurgence in 'isting' I've been doing.

I am a motorcyclist, which means that I have a motorcycle upon which I ist. Its quite fun, or rather, it can be. Its almost as fun as watching the people on the E channel and trying to work out if they're real or just a computer simulation of excited American stereotypes.

'Ohh my gosh, I just love Angelina Jolie! I mean, I, like, love everything shes in, shes so talented. Did you know she won an Oscar? Shes going to name her next child that, oh my Gosh, she is just, like, so amazing!'

Quite.

So there I was isting my way home along one of the primary regional conveyance centres when I was almost killed, several million times. No, I am not exaggerating.

First there was a man in a car, then a woman in another car and then, horror of horrors, a man and a woman in another car! They have to be stopped, it can't go on like this anymore. Men and women in cars, whatever next!

I'll tell you what next (!), they'll be breaking the arbitrarily set speed limit, thats what! And theres me, trying to keep the limit when they speed up behind, desperate to overtake. Well I let them past and if I try to tuck in behind, its only to read their number plate so I can report them more accurately to the police, officer.

He didn't buy it, but I had something else which he bought from me. It was an autographed photo of Angelina Jolie, which is something you see everyday. Especially in my line of business.

'Oh really', he said 'whats your line of business?'

'Forging famous peoples signatures and putting them onto pictures of the correct famous people to sell to idiots down at the market, its a great way to make a quick profit. It goes towards paying all my speeding tickets.'

His smile slowly slipped lower and lower until I was forced to catch if for him.

'I think you dropped this.' I said pleasantly, handing back the poor mans smile. And thats when he cuffed me, your Honour.

Anyway, motorcycles have to go quite fast (I was out of court by this point, I'm telling you now, don't worry) they stay up due to the centrifugal force of the engine. Thats not to be confused with contrapuntal force which is what kept Bach up. Up at the top of the charts to be more precise.

I mean who can forget 'Now thats what I call Fugal 1737'?

Never mind the fact that it was almost entirely Bach from start to finish, he did a great job with it! In fact the only other composer on that record was a very young, pre-natal, Angelina Jolie. She was way ahead of her time.

Which is not the same as saying we wish she'd go away at the head of her time.

Well then, after all that excitement I had to have a sit down. Clearly what I didn't want was to be sidled up to by a philosophical giraffe.

Herbert, our philosophical giraffe, sidled up to me.

'How'd it go in court today?' He enquired, with quite the air of superiority in his voice.

'Fine, just fine thanks. I got 4 moths community service.'

'Don't you mean months?'

'No, I have to do my community service and also the duty for 4 moths who were caught spying on a lady whilst she was undressing. To be fair I think they were more interested in her light bulb, but the judge seem to have a different idea.'

'What do they want you to do then?' He was enjoying this, I could see it, even through his balaclava, which looked suspiciously like a sock.

'They've got me tickling all the orphans in town. Its like Dickens gone wrong!' I pouted, which I don't do very well. I looked like I'd got something stuck on my lips and was looking down my nose to see what it was.

'Oh well, at least you're not Angelina Jolie.' That made me smile and I cheered up no end.

'Ok,' I acquiesced 'what did you really come in to talk to me about?'

'Actually it concerns you're speeding, I was thinking about it, deeply.'

'Oh really, was it the fact that society has gone along with the randomly picked number of 70 miles per hour, that the government backs up it with the blatant propaganda that 'Speed Kills' - most astronauts seem to do pretty well. Was it that anyone who dares stray over this limit, limit of nothing really, is seen as an outcast, a pariah and yet most people do it regularly without thinking.'

'No.'

'Ahh, sorry about that, didn't mean to rant.'

'It wasn't exactly that, not in so many words. What I thought was this: Its not really my doing of the act, but your perception of me and the act I'm doing, relative to your own personal morals and ethics, that upsets.'

'Thats what I've been saying all along!'

'What?'

The poor fellow looked quite confused, I just had to let him have it.

'You need to update your act.'

He tutted and I laughed heartily, oh how I laughed!

Until next time readers and thanks to Wibble for the comment.

Not seeing is believing

Invisibility can be quite effective, especially, but not exclusively, in situations such as




































See what I mean?


A real post will be up later, you have been warned.

We're Sorry

I sometimes wonder if when a PC commits a fatal error someone at Microsoft gets killed.

Thats whats really happening when the next screen pops up telling you that the program quit 'Unexpectedly' and asks if you'd like to send a report to Microsoft so they can 'sort it out'. Microsoft is a gigantic corporation, they can get away with 'sorting out' the least good engineers.

I always click 'No' because, essentially, I'm a good person and I don't like killing someone just because they wrote bad computer code.

Having said that, some of the later Matrix films had that in it, agents were programs that killed out-dated programs, or something like that. I can't say I really remember the later Matrix films as I was too busy having my mind blown! All those incredible special effects, all the incredibly deep and helpful philosophy. I mean, most of the lies of the world were revealed to me through those last two films. Matrix: Regurgitated and Matrix: Re laminated. (sarcasm off)

Anyway, I'm not really in much of a position to talk about Microsoft Windows because I don't have a working copy of it at the moment. Much like 80% of people who bought a copy of Microsoft Windows.

I once - and this is absolutely true, you can read about it on the internet - exorcised a computer by 'casting out the Spirit of Windows, in Jesus name' and it crashed right there in front of me. Proof positive that God exists and wants to mess with my head sometimes.

The engineers crack me up the most though, they really do.

'Your computer has performed an illegal operation'
'This action could not be performed'

I think that Microsoft engineers only really know three actions anyway. Turning it on, turning it off and turning it off then on again quite quickly. But not too quickly, you have to wait 8 seconds, or is it 10, or 12? No, I remember now, you have to count down from 6 slowly, but not too slowly!

Imagine talking to a Microsoft guy at a party and lets just for a second get over the implausibility of that scenario.

'Hi, oh you work for Microsoft, great. Great. I just wanted to ask you a quick question about that actually; what actions can you perform? Can you do the actions to the Hokey-kokey?'

'Erm, no.'

'Oh, ok. Can you take action against terrorism?'

'No.'

'Ahh. Can you build an action man?'

'Yes, oh, I mean no. I've not ever done that.'

Right. Of course that never happened, neither I nor any Microsoft engineer ever has been to a party.

And thats mostly why I blog now, because if I tried to say this stuff to someone face to face they'd turn round and say

'I think what you need is a psychiatrist, or is it a psychologist? Or a psychiatric evaluation. Maybe we should just skip all those steps and get you a jacket with no holes at the ends of the sleeves.'

Of course we all know how to escape a strait-jacket. You just have to dislocate your shoulder and then you're away, practically sipping cocktails on a Panamanian beach.
But its not that simple. The only thing I've ever dislocated is myself from all sense of reality, which was, quite euphoric actually, so maybe not the best example.

I suppose I should change the subject and to do so I'll leave you with this Humdinger from Herbert:

'Which came first; the KFC Bargain Bucket, or the Scotch Egg?'

Blood is thicker than water...

But then so is brown sauce, so that really proves nothing. What I'm really trying to say is this; if you could, would you?'

I looked at him the way one regards something thats attached to the bottom of your shoe. You're pretty sure its poo, but you still have a small smidgen of hope that it isn't. I decided to humour the old man.

'Ah but could I?'
I hadn't thrown him quite yet. 'Yes you could, but would you?'
'Should I?' I challenged, argumentatively-ish. 'Do I really want to? Is it something I've longed for, hoped for, cried for and prayed for? Is it something I positively can't do with out? Is it...'
I couldn't finish my sentence because it seemed the guy at the other end of the drive-through microphone was no longer there. And there was quite a honking coming from the car behind. I decided to look over my shoulder to see why and saw that it was a car full of geese.

Just habit I reasoned, I guess they couldn't help themselves. That said I was surprised that a goose honking a car horn didn't cause some kind of imbalance in the fabric of time itself and tear us all asunder. That said, being torn asunder is looking less and less likely now that the Large Hanky Consumer didn't asunder us.

If you'd have said I was disappointed by that, you would have been wrong. But I guess you had a 50/50 chance so no hard feelings me old mucka!

Quickly, I must avoid turning cockney on you again, knowwhatImean?

Oh bottoms, looks like I'll have to resort to the only thing that truly stops me from turning cockney:

PIRATES!

Mostly because I ar(rrrrrrrrrrr)e one of course!
It was funny today, no really it was. Really. No, honestly it was funny. Well why don't you just wait and I'll tell you! I was working with our new printer when its screen illuminated and the reason it gave was this:

'Due to an alert, this screen be illuminated'.

Really, try reading that two or three times without the second half of it turning into a Pirate impression. Genuinely, that was the reason it gave, the precise grammar, everything. I was left reeling. Mostly from imagining how a guy with only one eye and a hook for a hand managed to program a printer. I even thought about making an Abu Hamsa joke, but decided that not enough of my target audience would remember him, so let it slide.

As I turned to walk away from the Printer I swear it tried to sidle up to me, take me by surprise. It had even turned broadside on, very strange...

I forgot all about it until later in the day when it beeped a peculiar beep and flashed up on its screen

'Due to an alert, BOARD HER ME HEARTIES!'

You've never seen true fear until you've seen me being chased around a medium sized locked room by a printer with a Pirate complex. The printer, not me, I am one, remember. I only narrowly escaped death when it had advanced so far that it pulled its own plug out of the wall. Phew!

Or so I thought. Actually I then looked and saw my boss holding the plug after having apparently wrenched it out of the wall. Then you would have seen the true meaning of fear. And sheepishness.

Its very hard trying to explain to your boss that the new printer he's just spent a lot of money on has a Pirate complex and is trying to kill you. Especially when he was trying to keep the weight off his wooden leg...

All aboard, ye landlubbers,
for a trip about the cape of 'Oh Crickey'
Upon the good ship 'Disastrous Voyage Mk III'.

This field filled in intentionally

I do wonder how often examiners read 'Apart from that bit, oh and this bit' on test papers where the pages are marked 'This page left intentionally blank'.
I mean come on, I don't need telling that 'this is a blank page', thats what I have eyes for!
When God created the Heavens and the Earth several million moments ago he didn't put little markings down everywhere did he?

'This crapaud intentionally green' on a toad?
'This country intentionally made neutral' on Switzerland?
Or how about 'This country intentionally made dull' on Holland?

Whats next for goodness sake? Will I have to stencil 'This nail left intentionally blank' when I don't fancy painting my toes? 'This head unintentionally left blank, but I can't do anything about it'? 'Facial expression intentionally left blank', thats one for all you parents with teenagers out there.

I'd like to see test papers where the page is marked 'This page intentionally filled in with invisible ink. For anything above a C+ you will need to answer the question.' I'd love to see all the methods that bored kids in exams would use to un-invisiblify the ink, and then all the other kids not copying them, because, of course, that is forbidden. Much like asking what is the best material to make Elves' hats from. Oh, ooops.
You'd have kids peeing on their test paper hoping that the chemical urea, which is contained in urine, would have a reaction with the invisible ink, but then they'd get seen by the 'invigilator' and all of the kids in the rest of the class, who would laugh at him and call him Pee-pants McTestyson of Weesville...

It wouldn't be nice, but it would be a load funnier, lets put it that way.

I was going to ask Herbert about this because he used to work for one of the exam boards, EASY-PEASY-Pass I think it was, but I couldn't because he's diurnal, which means he was in one of our two toilets playing with some dice. I do so hope he's not gambling, thats a quick way to loose a lot of wonga and you don't want that for your giraffe, not even at the worst of times.

I actually prompted him into the toilet by letting a tap run for a while with just the barest amount of water trickling out, then filling a jug and slowly pouring it into my cup. Then I decided I didn't want any water and slowly poured it down the drain. It was funny hearing him protest 'No don't do that, it just makes it worse!' 'Ahh, now I really need the toilet, you rotter!'
Its also funny how the same thing doesn't happen when I pour chocolate raisins into a bowl, but thats a different matter...

Whilst trying to remember the word 'diurnal' I've just come across the word crepuscular, which to me sounds like what the French would call a pancake who has been to the gym one too many times. An obvious joke, but still pleasing to my sleepy brain.

Its one of those words that you'll forget soon but it'll be 'just on the tip of my tongue' when you come to remember it. You know like, oh that one, erm, thingymabob-something or other, isn't it?

I'm going to start a new trend for when I can't remember something and this is what I'm going to say;

'Oh you know, like, oh that one, erm, wait for it, 'oh yeah, its just in the crook of my elbow.'

Its almost as if all the knowledge I possess is in some kind of submissive yet ultimately non-compliant headlock and I need to wrest the information from its grasp. Quite a potent metaphor, I think you'll agree, especially for this time of night, when I should be sleeping.

Sleep is an interesting thing, especially for some people. I know one fellow who feels very frustrated that he can't do anything in his sleep, so he's training his toes to type. Then he's going to put a laptop at the bottom of his bed so he can type his thoughts right up until he falls a sleep and he hopes he'll just carry straight on through his sleep. Fascinating. Of course I just made that guy up for a laugh and to see if I could, but sleep is still an interesting thing.

Oh yes, after I've written this I'm going to update my profile to include my occupation and location, just for all you eager beaver, weaver, cleaver, reader types. That'll be great won't it! Its on the left there somewhere in the 'about me' section.

Basically I'm proud of a few funny things I came up with and I'd like you to read them so I'm showing you where they are.

Good morning.

Breakfast

So there I sat, pondering the day to come with Herbert opposite me. Herbert is our resident Christmas Ninja Giraffe. He's quite a deep thinker Herbert and I think some of his musings may meander onto this page from time to time. Its good to have a recurring character you can cop out with.

'Hmm,' mumbled Herbert 'Sugar Puffs taste great and they're only 114 calories, thats gotta be a record.'

'Interesting,' I responded non-committaly 'but hardly record worthy. Now Weetabix, theres a snack worth singing about.' I paused for a moment, partly for dramatic affect and partly to collect my rhymes.

'Weetabix,
Not sure what you're made of, exactly.
Weetabix,
The breakfast choice of Michael Flately.
Weetabix,
Releasing energy throughout the day.
Weetabix,
Better than a poke in the eye.'

Herbert eyed me suspiciously from his suspicious eye - his left in case you're wondering - and said thoughtfully 'Oscar winning stuff, that.'
I puffed up my chest with pride until I realised he was being sarcastic, the melancholy moose-reject.

'Thanks for that' I sarcasted right back 'when I'm collecting royalties for the Weetabix ditty I won't be asking your opinion on my Frosties work, thats for sure!' In a little bit of a huff I left for work.

Why I do this I don't know, theres not really much to do at work and today we got a new all printing all dancing printer so it made my day even easier! Even easier I hear you cry in exasperation, how could something even be that easy!

Hey, I'd respond, its not easy making tea for all the people that come and do more work than me, I have to remember who takes sugar and who doesn't and everything!

Actually, as I was doing a little work I realised I was licking an empty envelope... just habit I guess. Its quite depressing when you realise that, not only do you lick envelopes for a living, but you also just randomly start licking when theres nothing better to do.*
Its like that time I started straightening the Uno cards at the regional championships just because I straighten things all day at work. I eventually got kicked out of the WWFUP (World Wide Federation of Uno Players, or the Wofup as we like to call it) because they thought I was cheating! How dare they, even though I was, I'm offended; do I really look like that kind of person? Eye patch excepted of course.

Outrageous things keep happening to me actually, just this morning I did more non work than usual, resulting in a calm and casual atmosphere in the office and general nice time had by all. Outrageous! Then when it came to the afternoon I didn't even have to hurry my Corned Beef Hash, I could just enjoy it and then get on with some of the more pressing elements of my non working timetable, like wondering why squirrels resemble furry lindt speciality chocolates...

So there we are, its just like Herbert said to me this morning as I sat and ate my breakfast 'If it freaks you out so much, why do you keep poking it?'

He's deep that giraffe.




*This may be slightly exaggerated...

Why does packing tape smell like wee?

I started thinking this after using packing tape at work and noticing it smelt a lot like wee. I wondered about this and set about trying to find the answer.

I started digging!

After I'd finished digging, my vegetable patch looked great, there was a new Liverpool to Leeds Canal and I'd finally finished my centre for the animals.

Fed up with digging I returned to the task at hand, only to find that UPS had delivered the mother of all distractions. Under her arm the Mother of All Distractions held some industrial bubble wrap. She gave me some and we had a little chat, after which I'd completely forgotten what I was doing. That always happens when I'm talking to her. Luckily for me, I'd got the industrial bubble wrap, stuff which is as big as your fist and twice as ugly!
It makes such a satisfying popping sound when you crush it, well, either that or it makes the kind of disappointing piffle sound that makes you think the invisible man has let off a weak fart whilst standing next to you. Hmmm, invisibility will have to be saved for another topic.

Once I had popped my bubble wrap and binned it I was almost back to the important topic of today when I remembered, much to my horror and dismay, that I couldn't click my heels to the left! This was an important task that had to be prioritised and seen to right away.
I quickly entered the adequately large warehouse portion of my workplace and began to practice. After discovering that I could still do it quite well to the right I set about training my body to go leftwards. Not easy when your entire left side is French.
Looking like some overly springy one man line dancing troupe I flailed to the left and to the right and then back again. During this process I quickly had the thought that Old Peoples Home's always smell like wee too, but that was quickly dismissed as I needed all of my puny man brain power to jump and click and land and step and jump and click and land and repeat...

With my heel clicking woes finally subsiding I sat down to do some work. 2 minutes later with all my work done I needed a break. Life is tough when you're the King of your own imaginary kingdom and all the peoples that live therein. I just came up with a law that outlawed all my invisible men from farting weakly, for a start.

After a stirring rendition of the first two verses of 'Dear Lord and Father of Mankind' I sat down to get on with the rest of my day. Realising that the rest of my day was done I wrote this. And I still haven't figured out why packing tape smells a lot like wee.

Let Them Eat Cake!

Good evening.  

I shall begin with recounting a historical tale from the pages of French folklore, one which has been forgotten, twisted, marginalised and entirely falsified!  It is indeed shocking stuff.

For many years, we in the realm out of what many call 'France', have been lead to believe that Marie Antoinette, God rest her Beret, was heard to utter the words of the title.  This utterance provided upon hearing the shortage of bread based materials in that sainted place.  This is an unequivocal untruth and I shall now reveal to us all, here in plain text, what was actually said.

First a little context - and it is greatly needed - Marie Antoinette was the husband of the French Queen Whoishe the fortieth.  She is a huge character in French history, not least because she was one of the few drawn in marker pen but also because of her invention - the combination breadmaker/beheader.  Unfortunately the Guillotine Formby grill didn't catch on much outside of France.

Second a little more context.  During this period times were hard and please, no period jokes...  They did indeed run out of bread, that much is true.  But what follows is the actual truth of what went on next.  

The French, being resourceful types, searched around to find a natural resource which was plentiful and self sustaining.  Now back in this time (the late 1800s, or at least a quarter to 7) there was one thing abounding in France, everywhere you looked you couldn't move for them, they were all over the place.  Up mountains, in rivers, basking on the side of Parisien pavements.  No, not existentialist thinkers, or romantic poets - that comes later.

Turtles.

Inside of France it is well known that the Turtle population was getting out of hand at that time.  And so began the great turtle cull of ten to 7.  Bearing in mind things were different then, Turtles were a darn sight quicker for one.  (The French love to say Darn!  If they could they'd say it all the time, but that would quickly eradicate their reputation of quietly not giving a chuff).

Scary-hairy Marie Antoinette saw this and uttered the immortal line 'Let them eat Turtles'.

 Turtles have never been the same since.  They have tricked the whole world into thinking they are slow and lazy when in fact they are just suffering from a mild case of depression because millions of their species were killed and eaten by the French.  You see, now it all makes perfect sense, doesn't it?

And at last the thing you've all been waiting for...

THE END