Meh

Sorry, that naff header background was really getting on my tits. Mind, if I'd known it would be so hard to change it to something half decent...meh. Done now.

Why are you wasting your time reading this anyway? Oh, well, you're here now.

blah blah, James Cameron has found the coffin of Jesus, blah blah, Easter cancelled, blah blah, Christian Right up in arms, maybe they'll crucify Cameron. Here's the link.
http://www.theregister.co.uk/2007/02/26/cameron_grave/

Roll on Friday.

Merkan-English Dictionary #1

In an effort to foster a better relationship with one of our former colonies, herewith allow me to present an occasional series explaining the Proper vs. Merkan meaning of some common words.

UK: Slut

Ulrika-ka-ka Jonnssonn

US: Tramp

Paris Hilton

UK: Tramp

Compo off Last of the Summer Wine

US: Bum

Fed-ex off Britney Spears

UK: Bum

Miss Kylie Minogue

US: Fanny

J-Lo


UK: Fanny

Hugh Grant off Bridget Jones

US: Pussy

A Pussy Yesterday

Shaved Twat

So on Friday, colleague C turned up as bald as a coot.
"What's up, C? I didn't know you were a big Britney Spears fan."
"I'm not."
"Coming out in sympathy for the lovely Gail Porter then?"
"Nope."
"Do tell."
And this, it transpired, is How the Twat got his Baldy...

Picture, if you will, a trendy unisex hair salon. It's C's favourite, as all of the dolly-birds are fit. He takes a seat, gets comfy and his usual stylist picks up a #1 razor to start tidying the back of his neck. C says something noncommittal to make conversation while he's checking out the talent.

A deathly silence descends on the salon. Tumbleweeds blow across the room, pick up some hair clippings as they pass and leave as mysteriously as they arrived. "I beg your pardon?" asks stylist in a voice that could freeze the very atmosphere. On Venus.

C notices it's suddenly got a bit chilly, but the fluffy pink clouds on Planet Colin shield him from the brunt of the icy blast - for the moment. "I said you're fairly putting on the beef."

Zzzzzzzzzt!

"Oh, I'm so sorry! The razor seems to have slipped and shaved a strip right over the top of your head! Looks like I'll just have to do the rest of your head to match now."

And he was even dumb enough to share this tale with us.

The twat.

Me and my Big Mouth

Just came here from Little Red Boat, where Anna mentions that reading a book can affect the way you write or speak...

I've been reading Non-Working Monkey.

At 3am last Saturday morning I got a phone call from work, asking me to join a conference call...so...
"What's up?"
"We stopped a system to do some maintenance and now it won't start."
"What does the manual say?"
"'Use the restart command.'"
"So use the restart command."
"That's what we wanted to do, but {pointy-haired manager} insisted on opening up a conference call."
"What a twat!"
{clunk}
"Um, what was that clunk?"
"That would be {pointy-haired manager} dropping the phone."
"Oh...anyway, have you done it yet?"
"Yes."
"Did it work?"
"Yes."
"Can I go back to sleep now?"
"Yes."
"Nighty-night then."
"Nighty-night, Farty."

SETI Finally Finds Something

So what did they find? How to get free publicity - by sending out a headline-grabbing non-story as a press release.

http://science.slashdot.org/science/07/02/21/2326240.shtml

People have died for less. Grr! I swear there's no intelligent life down here.

Treasure Trove

This is a true story. Long ago and far away in a distant galaxy (ok, maybe not that distant), a trading ship was carrying its precious cargo of Chinese pottery and carnelian beads and that from the Orient to the ports of Europe. Whilst attempting to negotiate the Wild Coast of South Africa, it was caught up in a terrible storm and dashed against the cruel, jagged rocks. Only a few hardy souls - and their slaves - managed to escape and make their way to shore. After many exciting adventures involving treacherous natives, wild animals and the odd tropical disease, an even fewer number survived the journey overland to East London.

But that's not important right now. When we visited our family out that way a couple of years back, my son-in-law took us for a wee drive down 100 kilometers of dirt track to a secluded beach, then we clambered across the rocks, forded a river mouth at low tide and came at last to a group of women - some were natives dressed in bright colours, some tourists in khaki - picking their way amongst the flotsam and jetsam strewn along the shoreline. It transpired that after 400 years, the tides had finally released some of the sunken treasure from its watery resting place.

Even as I watched, one of the locals let out a whoop of delight and held aloft a biscuit-sized sliver of white with blue markings on it, before thrusting it into a fold in her headgear. With a little persuasion, she plucked it out and proffered for my inspection a beautifully-painted shard of Chinese pottery. "I'm having me some of that," I thought to myself and immediately started scanning the sand and gravel shushing around my bare feet, hunting for goodies while son-in-law went off with a screwdriver to secure some slightly-more-available oysters.

The sun beat down on our heads, a gentle wind blew across us and all the time the waves crashed, crashed, crashed onto the shore, dredging up forgotten hoards of, well, not very much to be honest. A German frau found a couple more bits of pottery, two or three women found some translucent beads, still clearly pre-drilled for threading onto necklaces, but with the tiny holes now clogged with sand. And Muggins? After three hours I had sore feet from the sharp stones, my shorts were soaked through and I had bugger-all to show for my troubles. I was still having a whale of a time but it was growing late and I had to get back before the river became impassable.

Now a dilemma. Should I brazenly continue with the public-consumption version I trotted out when I got back to the family, or should I come clean and tell the truth? Ah, what the heck. You're only figments of my imagination anyway...

One of the German frauleins took pity on me and just as a wave drained away, dropped one of her beads right in front of me. "Look!" she yelled, "There's one now! Grab it before it gets washed away again!"

Quick as a flash, I reached down and snatched it up. "Are you sure about this?"

"No problem, I'm here all week and I've got half-a-dozen already."

"You're very kind. Thank you."

And with that, I stuck the bead in my mouth for safe-keeping, picked up my shoes and with a wave of gratitude to my erstwhile companions, made my way back across the river and returned to civilisation.

When I told my son-in-law the official version, he congratulated me. "My sister's been coming back to that beach every summer for the past seventeen years. She says when she gets enough beads, she'll drill them out and make them into a necklace."

"What a lovely idea. How many has she collected?"

"Four."

My Happy Place #1