This blog was too boring and normal, it was almost a real diary entry.
As such it has been removed by the author who apologises. Comedy will shortly resume normal service and soon the third piece of 'two men on a hill' will be submitted for your aproval, not that the author seeks it, he merely uses some of the accepted phraseology of English, sometimes.
amo,
Long gone Silver.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
Rip van Tinkle stole my Winkle.
If I were to ask you a question, could you do me the immense personal favour of keeping it to yourself?
Like, I mean, not tell anyone about it, or that I asked you, or even mention it again?
That got your attention didn't it!
I've got a lot of questions, in fact I'd go as far as to say that questioning is one of the things I do most, and its perhaps one of the most useful. But then again, its not that useful. Often times I'll come away from a conversation with more questions than I had when I started, which is nice, but mostly they are inane like; why was that midget on a horse? Where had they managed to get an original copy of Charlie Sheen from?
Some people have gone as far as to say that it is questions that define us, but I think that really is dictionaries that define us and questions, not so much.
You see, most questions need answers and most people are now geared to answer them. But what happens when you ask a question that you don't want answering? What if you just fancied a chat? What if, is a question.
So, just to bring us, back off track, why are some people left handed?
Why are other not?
Why are knots over?
Which county is notts, under?
If over is as under does, do knots not knot on my cot of countless counties?
Because, you see, a question is nowhere near as important as who asks it, which is why questions are easier to think of, than characters in a novel, or even, novels which have novel characters.
I once did,
what they said I shouldn't.
Wouldn't, couldn't, didn't stop me.
Climbed down low
and stroked the grass.
Now, I'm old
My hips are solid
pallid, turgid, it all stops me.
Fall on over
and kiss my shoes.
There is, it seems, an inexplicable reasoning behind my posts, as if I actually do know what I am doing. Ok, so maybe all the bits don't connect in a fashion that you recognise, but separately, all the bits make individual sense, and the combination of bits makes a whole, much like the combination of bits inside a ******* ******* ** ********* (example deleted due to copyright - Ed.)
Oi, Ed, get off my blog you freaking infringement goon! Just because you protect the good readers of Bloggos-landios with your over eager asterisk finger, doesn't mean I want you to trespass on my private property!
Actually, Mr Silver, anything you post on a blog like this one, is then technically and legally owned by the blog company, which in this case is google. So there.
WHTATATATA!
HOW?!
WHY?!
SPEELLING ERROIR!!
Like, I mean, not tell anyone about it, or that I asked you, or even mention it again?
That got your attention didn't it!
I've got a lot of questions, in fact I'd go as far as to say that questioning is one of the things I do most, and its perhaps one of the most useful. But then again, its not that useful. Often times I'll come away from a conversation with more questions than I had when I started, which is nice, but mostly they are inane like; why was that midget on a horse? Where had they managed to get an original copy of Charlie Sheen from?
Some people have gone as far as to say that it is questions that define us, but I think that really is dictionaries that define us and questions, not so much.
You see, most questions need answers and most people are now geared to answer them. But what happens when you ask a question that you don't want answering? What if you just fancied a chat? What if, is a question.
So, just to bring us, back off track, why are some people left handed?
Why are other not?
Why are knots over?
Which county is notts, under?
If over is as under does, do knots not knot on my cot of countless counties?
Because, you see, a question is nowhere near as important as who asks it, which is why questions are easier to think of, than characters in a novel, or even, novels which have novel characters.
I once did,
what they said I shouldn't.
Wouldn't, couldn't, didn't stop me.
Climbed down low
and stroked the grass.
Now, I'm old
My hips are solid
pallid, turgid, it all stops me.
Fall on over
and kiss my shoes.
There is, it seems, an inexplicable reasoning behind my posts, as if I actually do know what I am doing. Ok, so maybe all the bits don't connect in a fashion that you recognise, but separately, all the bits make individual sense, and the combination of bits makes a whole, much like the combination of bits inside a ******* ******* ** ********* (example deleted due to copyright - Ed.)
Oi, Ed, get off my blog you freaking infringement goon! Just because you protect the good readers of Bloggos-landios with your over eager asterisk finger, doesn't mean I want you to trespass on my private property!
Actually, Mr Silver, anything you post on a blog like this one, is then technically and legally owned by the blog company, which in this case is google. So there.
WHTATATATA!
HOW?!
WHY?!
SPEELLING ERROIR!!
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
I'm garnished with time
Hello all of you and welcome back.
I've certainly been doing a lot of things since last we spoke, or rather I typed and you read. We shall speak little of those things, most of them are boring and/or related to you through the ether.
You may have noticed, though, through the blogosphere of A.N.other, that I have bought a new car. It goes brum, and vroom and zoom zoom apparently, and that should tell you something. Certainly it has some characteristics of a car, whilst retaining some of the characteristics of a mobile hairdryer.
I'm a fan.
Also, I've been working on some wordifying of the magnitude of which I have not worked on before, I even wrote some stuff. Its nice when you give yourself permission to have ideas, and I have to be the one giving permission, as I'm not getting any encouragement for ideas in the workplace.
I sometimes feel for the Wibster when we're hanging out as she has to put up with all the ideas I have all coming out at once. I come home and we hang out and all of a sudden my brain seems to think 'ah ha' now would be the time to switch back on.
Its almost like being entirely mental.
The Labyrinth has of late become rather more busy than usual, which has led to me being entirely more busy, which has annoyed me immensely. Its not so much the working as the business, I do so despise the feeling of hurried harried humdrum. Its like being sellotaped to the back of a Saturn 5 rocket, its nice to be doing something, but soon enough you can smell burning.
Ah well, time for bed.
I've certainly been doing a lot of things since last we spoke, or rather I typed and you read. We shall speak little of those things, most of them are boring and/or related to you through the ether.
You may have noticed, though, through the blogosphere of A.N.other, that I have bought a new car. It goes brum, and vroom and zoom zoom apparently, and that should tell you something. Certainly it has some characteristics of a car, whilst retaining some of the characteristics of a mobile hairdryer.
I'm a fan.
Also, I've been working on some wordifying of the magnitude of which I have not worked on before, I even wrote some stuff. Its nice when you give yourself permission to have ideas, and I have to be the one giving permission, as I'm not getting any encouragement for ideas in the workplace.
I sometimes feel for the Wibster when we're hanging out as she has to put up with all the ideas I have all coming out at once. I come home and we hang out and all of a sudden my brain seems to think 'ah ha' now would be the time to switch back on.
Its almost like being entirely mental.
The Labyrinth has of late become rather more busy than usual, which has led to me being entirely more busy, which has annoyed me immensely. Its not so much the working as the business, I do so despise the feeling of hurried harried humdrum. Its like being sellotaped to the back of a Saturn 5 rocket, its nice to be doing something, but soon enough you can smell burning.
Ah well, time for bed.
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