Where Did I Begin?

Here's one for you: what got you started blogging?

For me, it began thusly...

*Ooooh, wavy lines and that. Again.*

I'd certainly heard of blogging - there was a long article about it in New Scientist, describing how it was a liberating experience, and how the Chinese government was suppressing the downtrodden masses even on t'internet by monitoring their every keypress. Grr!

But so what? I'd also read about cold fusion, quantum chromodynamics, string theory and buttered cat antigravity devices. I'd never seriously thought about investigating any of these further...well, maybe that last one.

Time passed.

I thought about an old friend, and wondered what he was up to, if he was still alive. <clickety on the brand new interweb-enabled moby> Oh! That's interesting, he's set up a community radio station and done loads of brill stuff. And here's a mention of him on one of them blog things. Hey, this bloke Peter is quite interesting in his own right. And Peter became my baby blue habit, right from the first time.

Peter had an infestation problem, first with wasps, then with mice. The former was sorted with a visit from pest control, the latter with a rescued cat whom he christened zoe. Zoe even had her own blog for a while. I discovered comments, then figured out how to post one. My first one was really dumb, and no, I can't remember what it said.

And finally I figgered out how to click through - still on the moby - to other commenters' blogs.

O.M.G.

I found Andre, and Anna, and Anxious - no, not because I was going through his links alphabetically, the next one was Zoe (not the cat, the one whose boyfriend is a twat).

This was running up a small fortune in phone bills, and it would, of course, be unthinkable to steal electrons from my employer *cough* so I was delighted when Mrs Farty bought me a pooter as an early birthday prezzie. (I'd had an aging Amiga before that, but it couldn't keep up, poor thing.) I stalked Non-Working Monkey for a while, reading all her posts from day 1. She is a star.

But eventually, I became tired of reading what other people had to say; I wanted to make a statement of my own. And people were getting fed up of me posting stupid comments in their boxes (not that I've ever stopped doing that).

So I did the <clicky> thing and got me a blog. I was going to go for "Better Out Than In", but some cockmonkey had already taken that. And apparently then chose not to use it. Grr! So I came oot in Scotch garb. Learned myself interweb from this really useful site and pimped my blog. And announced my presence to the world via Zoe (still not the cat), on the same day that she had her one millionth visitor.

I've posted things in here that I wouldn't dare tell my nearest and dearest, but mostly it's just random nonsense. I've made lots of imaginary friends - everyone on my blogroll, except Peter, is there because they left a comment somewhere - and I've read some really disturbing stories. It beats the pants off anything I've seen on the telly.

Oh, the old friend? I bumped into him last year. Yep, still alive. His radio station is still broadcasting too, but it's so local that I can't receive it on this side of the city. Sigh.

If you've not dozed off yet, why not write a post about what got you blogging? Leave a comment below and I might even stalk visit you.

Merkan-English Dictionary #7

An ongoing attempt to educate them darned Merkans about proper English and that.

• Jello/Jelly - Jell-O^TM is a light and fruity gelatin dessert made from powdered gelatin. Jelly, by contrast, is a nitroglycerine-based explosive used in the mining industry. Anyone who gets these two items confused, fully deserves what happens to their kitchen.


• Brazilian - Despite what Dubya may think, a Brazilian is in fact a native of the South American country, Brazil. Or possibly some kind of wax, but I wouldn't know about that. Ew!


• Radge Wee Midden - When Christina Aguilera hosted the MTV Europe Music Video Awards in Embra in 2003, she confided to about a milliard viewers that a local lad had called her a "radge wee midden", and she chose to take this as a compliment. Bless her cotton knickers.
  "Radge" is more commonly used as a noun than an adjective, but essentially means an outrageous or crazy person.
  "Wee" is a Nintendo^TM games console Scotch word meaning small.
  A "midden" is, er, a place where one disposes of unwanted household refuse.
  So Christina told the world that she is a mental little heap of crap.


• Ming/Minger - Sewmouse tells me that she has decided to "ming up her blog". What an ancient Chinese dynasty has got to do with keeping an online diary beats the hell out of me...
  A minger, OTOH, is an unpleasant or unattractive person. Like Jade Goody or Shilpa Shetty. Take your pick.


• Facial - A deep-cleansing treatment of the face neck and shoulders, obviously. And not in any way related to unsavoury activities such as this one described by Tired Dad.


• Paris Hilton - On this side of the Pond, probly best described as an overpriced fabrication from that foreign country where nobody speaks English, a tacky imitation of Basildon Travelodge, associated with low-quality tv porn, entered by thousands of men, hangs out with Nicole Ritchie - Snap!

In Space, No-one Can Spill Your Drink

Space, says Douglas Adams, is big. And dangerous. Full of aliens with blaster guns and huge, gaping, slavering maws, if you believe half of the tosh being churned out at the pictures. This is why it's so terribly important to ensure we're sending the right stuff to explore it.

When you're training to be an astronaut, they prepare you for space travel by hurling you around and around in a huge centrifuge to simulate the high G-forces of liftoff. Or so they say.

Then there's that gizmo what Leonardo da Vinci invented (click to enlarge, ladies) to spin you this way and that, allegedly to see how your body reacts to the disorientation of not knowing which way is 'up'.

And finally there's the so-called Vomit Comet. The clue is in the name. This wonderful piece of low technology allows potential astronauts to actually experience zero gravity, even if only for a few seconds at a time. Stephen Hawking swears by it.

What this means in practice is that, once they're spaceborne, our brave ambassadors to the cosmos should be completely inured against losing the contents of their stomachs after getting totally blootered on Buckie¹.

By this point, you may be wondering why a human space traveller would need to be off his (or indeed her) tits in the first place?

Why, to be ready to make first contact with an alien race, of course!



¹ Intoxicated after imbibing a popular brand of tonic wine.

Big Blogger 2007

Cat from Scotchland has made it into the final of Big Blogger. Yayyy!

But she needs your help to win. As she says:

A plea.

I have made it to the final three in Big Blogger. I am rather proud of myself. And perhaps more than a little bit of a saddo. On Monday night, the winner will be crowned. Then it will all be over and I'll shut up about it. So, I'm counting on you to get over there and vote for me. Every single day. On every PC to you pass.

And if you really love me, it would be splendid if you'd encourage your readers to vote for me too.

Please.

You know what to do.

But in case you don't, Click Here, then vote for Cat to win.

btw, on that other BB, when I heard that Charley and Tracey were up for eviction, I naturally thought Charley was the bloke and Tracey was the bird, not the other way round.

Do You Really Want To Hurt Me?

So I finally pluck up the courage bite the bullet can't stand the toothache for a moment longer and pay a long-overdue visit to the dentist. The usual geezer must have either retired or gone private, because in his place is a beautiful young Polish girl called Tanya or something.

Any road up, Vanya has a good root around amongst my bicuspids and that before telling me to "reense", then asking, "You vant me to pull eet for you?"

I almost choke on my mouthwash. "Pardon?"

"Your premolar, eet ees rotten. Do you vant me to pull eet now or vait for eet to fall out by eetself?"

"Er, is there nothing you can do to save eet? It, I mean. Save it. Please?"

"Vell..." Her flashing blue eyes glaze over momentarily, as if her mind has been transported to another world. "I suppose ve could try a root canal treatment. Do you vant to go private or NHS?"

"What's the difference?"

"About seeks months."

I sigh, close my eyes, lie back and think of Scotchland. Irina checks off my remaining teeth, muttering under her breath and giggling. "Amalgam, Uncle Vlad; MOD, Aunt Margaritte; composite, Cousin Monica; scale and Polish, seester Gabriella; meessing, pity; root feelling, feerst class upgrades..." Finally, she glances up and those ice-blue eyes pierce my very soul. "I vant to see you again."

Cool. "Transformers is on tonight at the Odeon. Shall we call it a date?"

"I don't theenk my husband vould approve." She produces a syringe the size of a pepperpot.

"Now open vide, thees may hurt a beet."

If You Can't Beat 'Em

"You will adapt."

As that Borg off Star Trek said.

Is this a bunny or a duckling?

Gone Phishin'

I've had an Important Message from my bank. Apparently Online Access To My Account Has Been Suspended and I need to update my personal records to regain access. How remiss of them to lose my account details in the first place, but how kind of them to use my blogger id to get in touch with me.¹

MrFarty@BlueYonder.co.uk

Dear Lloyds Tsb Customer, 2007 Update

Due to concerns, for the safety and integrity of the lloyds tsb account we have issued this warning message.

It has come to our attention that your Lloyds tsb account information needs to be updated as part of our continuing commitment to protect your account in this year 2007 and to reduce the instance of fraud on our website. If you could please take 5-10 minutes out of your online experience and update your personal records you will not run into any future problems with the online service.

Once you have updated your account records your lloydstsb account service will not be interrupted and will continue as normal.

To update your lloyds tsb records click on the following link:
http://www.scamsrus.com/justhandusyouraccountdetails/ayeright/htm

Thank You.



Call me suspicious, but:

• It's not Lloyds TsB, it's Lloyds TSB

I work for a major financial institution, you notice little things like that.

• I don't hold an account in the name of Mr Farty


• Come to think of it, I don't hold an account with Lloyds TSB


• The link claims to point to http://www.lloydstsb.com/ but by clicking on file/properties/details/message source, I see that it actually points at samsungseriez dot com


• I wasn't born yesterday

Nice try.

¹ Must stop copying BOSSY's style, it's giving me a headache.

Drugs Are Bad, M'kay?

Feck me, I decided to waffle about the guvmint's drugs policy today and found this snippet stuffed down the back of the virtual couch, dated Feb 16th.

"So David Cameron used to do drugs. And that's going to damage his political career how? He's up against Tony Poodle Blair and Ming The Merciless."

Now it's hep to jump on the drugs bandwagon, they're all at it.



Well, nearly all.

But answer me this: if all these politicians admit that they took cannabis when it was still listed as Class B, does that mean they are now prepared to spend up to five years behind bars for their heinous crimes? After all, there's no such thing as a Statute of Limitations in the UK.

Still, it's never done them any harm, innit?

Dude (looks like a lady)

I worry about LMF's boyfriend. Don't know why, exactly...



...he might be one of them, but he's definitely one of us.

And on a lighter note...^*

Transformers the Movie Film opens in the UK next weekend. For an in-depth analysis, click here.

Go on, you know you want to.

Dude (looks like a lady) - Aerosmith

^*Q. How shallow can this blog get?
A. Very.

Henley-Under-Thames

According to BBC News, Gordon Brown says there are important lessons to be learned from the flooding going on in the UK.

Today's lesson: Don't buy property on a flood plain. The clue is in the name.

Sunday's lesson: Protestantism in the Vatican unlikely, says Pontiff.

Monday's lesson: Where bears go to defecate.

Breaking News: So Gandalf dies. Who would have thought it?

Something Terrible Has Happened

This is one of my great-nieces. Isn't she a little angel? When she climbs up on my knee, puts her arms around my neck and declares, "I love you, Uncle Farty", it's the most wonderful feeling on earth. If anything bad were ever to happen to her, I would be devastated.

It hasn't.

But.

Pour yourself a stiff drink, then read this.

Mama They Hurt Me Here.

I feel helpless.

Crap

Hurrah, I've had more than 5,000 imaginary visitors!

And just passed 100 posts and all.

Sturgeon's Law states that ninety percent of everything is crud, so there ought to be at least ten items buried in the archives over there ===>
that are maybe worth reading.

Personally, I think ten is exaggerating. Maybe one: The Visit.

Talking of crud, I've just realised who that is on Big Brother 8.

Click To Enlarge

Inorganic Food

I've got food on the brain this week. And every week. Anyways, this thought bubbled up into my conciousness: What the feck is inorganic food?

To a chemist, an organic compound is, well, anything involved in biological processes. Or in English, anything living or dead. But not minerals, because they've never been alive. And not zombies, because they're undead.

If a zombie eats your brains, does that make your brains become inorganic? Discuss.

So if all living and dead things are, by definition, organic, then surely any food we eat must be organic. Because I don't know about you, perhaps you're an alien life-form...

...but doesn't that mean all the stuff we've been eating up until now is inorganic?

Bauxite and cubic zirconia give me terrible indigestion.

Foreign Food

Travel, as they say, broadens the mind. And foreign food broadens the waist. But how foreign is foreign?

On our first family holiday, we went to Majorca (pronounced ma-JOR-ca). We found a lovely place on the beach, imaginatively named Mel's Beach Bar, that served a canny fish & chips¹. Very Spanish, I think you'll agree.

As an aside, three years later I took Little Miss Farty on a skiing holiday to Andorra, high in the Pyrenees (between the continents of Asia and Iberia). As we sat down for our first Andorran meal, the waitress came over to take our order (curry). I recognised her Surrey accent and looked up. "Haven't I seen you before somewhere? Like Majorca?"

"Yes, I'm Mel. I own Mel's Beach Bar. You had fish & chips." She could also take a drinks order for a party of twenty - correctly - without writing it down.

If you ever visit Andorra, don't order the chicken curry. Unless you want chicken stew. It's a very tasty stew, but it's soooo not curry.

In Glasgow, you can order the popular local dish, the Chicken Tikka Masala. I kid you not.

There's a great Italian takeaway in Embra called L'Alba D'Oro - try their Pizza Maria Rosa. I had thought that pizza originated in Merka, since that's where tomatoes² come from, but t'internet says otherwise and who am I to argue?

Hamburgers, OTOH, are as Merkan as mom and apple-pie, right? As long as you count Hamburg, Germany as being in Merka. It would certainly explain why hamburgers generally are made from bits of dead cow, not pig.

I had my first taste of Japanese food in North Carolina, USA. No, not dead whale, as it happens, but a very nice selection of dips and that. (Not including fish; the only fish I really like is anchovy. On pizza.) It was also the first time I saw a chef set fire to a meal and get applause instead of a good thrashing.

Which brings us to that most Scotch of all foods - Haggis. It's surprisingly hard to find a restaurant in Embra that serves this delicacy, possibly because of the creature's³ increasing rarity. But there are one or two establishments that still employ seasonal haggis hunters, and a pretty penny they fetch too.

One such place is the Stac Polly in Dublin Street, which today served a haggis starter, a main course of beef stew and a delicious cranach dessert with raspberries. My dining companion had the fish; he then remarked that he wasn't used to having a sauce on his fish, as it tended to make the batter stick to the newspaper. Quality, man!

Anyone who says Haggis is originally an Algerian dish is talking a load of tripe.

¹ UK Chips = US French Freedom Fries.

² Tomato factoid - Merkans used to think tomatoes were poisonous, being related to Deadly Nightshade.

³ A haggis is a small four-legged Scottish Highland creature, which has the limbs on one side shorter than the other side. This means that it is well adapted to run around the hills at a steady altitude, without either ascending or descending. However a haggis can easily be caught by running around the hill in the opposite direction.

Gothamated!

Sounds like something from a Batman film. A really baaaaad Batman film.

In fact, a certain Welshman, who claims to be Spanish, living in Belgium, my head hurts already, has tagged me. For those who can't be arsed reading the original tag, here it is in full.

I nominate the following, for the Thinking Goth Award, which will expire in about 2 days or when I get bored shitless of the concept.

GOTHIC RULES
- Nominate 5 sites that only make sense after several drinks or spliffs
- Do NOT send me links to them, I don't care
- Feel free to nominate yourself as many times as you want
- If you nominate yourself less than zero, you are shit at maths
- You have explain why you ended up there, or even read it
- There will be no voting or any of that meaningless crap
- You have to explain why you are Gothimating the site

GOTHIMATIONS

My Thinking Spot - because she makes me cry with her honesty and I cannot pollute her comments with my inane bullshit

Boob Pencil - anyone collecting pencils under her tits must have something really interesting to do.... or not [and she's a real author and that, so she knows how to write proper]

Mr Farty - anyone that delights in the ignition of their own emissions is always handy in a dark tunnel [who he?]

This Old Broad - anyone that old who still wants to be a groupie must be SO good in bed

Princess Diaries - anyone that cute who is not getting sex on a regular basis must be, well, missing something

See HERE for more details

So. I love rules, me. Especially the tinkling sound they make as they shatter into a gazillion pieces. Think I shall nominate five sites, but they will be ones that I consider fartworthy.

And I've done a badge and all.

First up is Chaucer's Bitch, not least for this post, but also because she is a good egg. CB is a keen rower, and it broke my heart when she did her back in. Working back to full health one step at a time, with the help of The Pirate. Oh and she's a Pastafarian wench. Feck alone knows how I found her, but she is one of the few bloggers who can write long, long posts that don't make me get bored and - hey, wake up at the back there! And there's nooky.

Second has to be Done A Poo. Someone done a poo in my comments box and that was it. I'm hooked. Not as good as farting, but hey ho.

Next we have BOSSY. Not too strong on the farting, but definitely full of shit. At least according to some reviewer who couldn't write a decent blog post if their life depended on it.

In penultimate position (second last) comes Mr Brom of The Windsor Castle Hot Air Balloon Festival, purely because of this little gem.

And finally, way over in Australia Kentucky, is the delectable, dimpled, downright gorgeous, feck who am I kidding, she's as funny as a fart in a nunnery, Apos! I think I found her in a review by Hot Coffee Girl. Gone a bit quiet since she finally made it Stateside, but worth dipping into her archives for a sniff while you wait for a new emission.

Toot toot!

Mr Farty Gets A Bit Upset

To: GE Money

Dear Sir/Madam,
We have recently received a statement from your company, dated July 9th, alleging that we had not made the minimum payment as requested on the previous statement. We found this odd, since the statement dated June 9th showed a “new balance” of £15, which was payed in full on June 13th via the telephone banking system which I have used on many occasions for this very purpose. This was confirmed by our own bank statement, which showed “call ref. no. xxxx Dorothy Perkins xx” matching the above date and amount.

When I phoned to query this, I was first led through a long series of menu options, then told I would be put through to an “associate“, then abruptly cut off. I called back and spoke, at around 3:30pm, to a human being who, after verifying with my wife that she is the account holder, told me that he did not have access to the account details. This begs the question of why your Sunday hours of business are given as 9am to 6pm if you can only check an account on Monday to Friday.

I told him that the account details were not really important, as we wished to close the account in any case. He then added insult to injury by claiming, and I quote, that “you cannot close your account”. I have never heard anything so ridiculous in my life. Of course we can close the account. Consider it closed as of now.

We will not be making any payments whatsoever. No “£15 Brought Forward”, as that was payed in June. No “£12 Late Payment Charge”, as there was no late payment. And certainly no “71p Interest”.

If you continue to demand money which we do not owe you, we shall set the Office of Fair Trading on you before you can say “Consumer Credit Act 2006”. We take our credit rating seriously and do not wish to have it besmirched by your company’s failure to keep track of incoming payments.

I enclose photocopies of the relevant documents for your perusal and expect a written apology at your earliest convenience.

Yours Sincerely,
Mr & Mrs Farty

Mr Angry and I are not related. But he is my role model.

And The Winner Is...

Having thought long and hard over some very witty entries (i.e. all of them) whilst scoffing some apple crumble (life isn't all about Banoffee Pie), I the judges have come to a decision.

The results of the Caption Competition, in reverse order, are as follows:


In third place, receiving an honorable mention for "And this little beauty was owned by a little old lady who only used it to drive back and forth across the Cannon Firing Tournament grounds.", is Mr Diesel of Merka.

In second place, winning a crisp new five-pound coupon redeemable for choclit and that for "Oneupmanship at the bowling club had gone just a little too far this time...", my goodness, it's Mr. X of Down South!!

Drum roll...

And the winner of two five-pound Thornton's vouchers for her entry "Susan didn't know quite what to expect when she ticked the box marked Thunderball on her lottery ticket..." is our very own Ms Cat of The Cathouse!! Yayyy!!


Can the winner and runner-up please indicate a suitable box number or similar snail-mail receptacle for their prizes via email to MrFarty@BlueYonder.co.uk - thank you and goodnight!


What? Oh, FFS! Very well...

In third place, receiving an honorable mention for "And this little beauty was owned by a little old lady who only used it to drive back and forth across the Cannon Firing Tournament grounds.", is Mr Diesel of Merka.

In second place, winning a crisp new five-pound coupon redeemable for choclit and that for "Oneupmanship at the bowling club had gone just a little too far this time...", my goodness, it's Mr. X of Down South!!

Drum roll...

And the winner of two five-pound Thornton's vouchers for her entry "Susan didn't know quite what to expect when she ticked the box marked Thunderball on her lottery ticket..." is our very own Ms Cat of The Cathouse!! Yayyy!!

The Lines Are Closed...

The votes will be counted and verified on Sunday. Or Monday. Tuesday at the latest.

I must say that I'm very impressed with both the quantity and quality of the entries in the Caption Competition. I may have to call in an independent adjudicator on account of I might be biased/too lazy to think of a prize for a foreigner.

And I'd forgotten that some ex-pats live in Brussels. What does it say about Belgian chocolate that Brussels bloggers are vying for Thornton's vouchers?

Good news - I resisted the urge to pop into said shop today. Instead, I stood outside and counted bits of paper. Three. At a fiver a pop. Meaning I've got fifteen pounds worth of vouchers, not just ten, so there will be a prize for the runner-up. Hurrah!

Talk amongst yourselves while I decide...decisions, decisions...

How To Be Popular On t'Internet

Farty's five-step foolproof guide to getting gazillions of good, um, feedback.

1. Publish a post with the word "competition" in the title.
Bloggers are fiercely competitive and will climb over each other to become the winner.

2. Put a funny picture in your post.
Everyone likes a good laugh.

3. Mention some sort of prize.
Mmmm choclit.

4. Er...


5. That's it.

Smiple really.

Merkan-English Dictionary - Football Special

David Beckham began life as a Los Angeles Galaxy player today.

So naturally the first question people are going to ask is, "Who the feck are LA Galaxy?"

Apparently they are a Merkan football team - not to be confused with a Merkan Football team.

Football, for the uninitiated, is a game played all over the world. It mostly involves kicking a ball with the foot - hence the name - although much entertainment can be derived from either kicking the players on the opposing team or better still, pretending to have been kicked by them and rolling around on the pitch. The spherical ball can only be touched with the hands by the goalkeeper (net-minder) or anyone called Maradona.

In the UK, the national team is Engerland. Scotch supporters will support any international team that is playing against Engerland, with the sole exception of France, when we hope both teams will lose. Merkans call football "soccer". Feck knows why.

There is a peculiar thing called the Offside Rule, but it's probly too complicated for Merkans to understand.

Rugby, by comparison, is a contact sport, played with oval balls by real men and real women. Not usually at the same time - that's a different contact sport altogether. I once went out with a Merkan lady rugby player - she knew her balls alright.

Merkan Football isn't football at all. It's played with a rugby ball, but the players dress up for the part in padded suits and motorbike helmets in case they get a nasty bump. Wusses. Merkan Football is played all over the world in the USA.

David Beckham is famous for being married to a twig.

Dougal

I once knew a girl called Dougal. No, really. That wasn't her real name, obviously, but it's what she got called. She reckoned it was because of her long, uncontrollable, frizzy hair - like the dog in the Magic Roundabout. People can be so cruel...


One year The Discworld came to Embra. Again. I'd seen a production of Wyrd Sisters that made me Laff My Arse Off, as they say on t'internet, so when I heard that Guards! Guards! was to be staged with Paul Darrow (Avon off Blake's Seven) as Captain Vimes, I was sold. Mrs Farty wasn't interested in "that sci-fi stuff", so I asked around and Dougal said she'd quite like to go.


The first act has gone well, with several in-jokes for people who have read the books but also a good storyline for first-timers. Vimes, I have to say, was pure dead brilliant. Then comes the interval and off we go to the bar to discuss our thoughts on the play so far.


Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Dougal fidgeting uncomfortably with her drink. I glance down and notice, for the first time, that the fingers on her right hand are, er, missing. She just has little stumps where they ought to be. Still, she seems to be coping ok, so I figure she must be used to it and carry on chatting. Then the bell rings for the second act and in we go...


Cut to two or three weeks later. I bump into Dougal again and she tells me she's hooked up with a bloke she's met off t'internet. From her description he seems to be quite a nice chap, despite being French. She's going over to visit him in person, as you do. And it's only now, when she's waving her hands about in excitement, that I notice her finger stubs again. Hang on - that's her left hand. Double-check - oh. Both hands. Well done. 2/10 for observation, Farty.


Fast forward six months. I've met Jean-Paul, and yes, he really is a very, very nice man. If it wasn't for the accent, you'd almost think he was Scotch. Dougal tells me he's proposed and shows me the ring. It is beautiful - a simple band of gold with a diamond inset. Except that it's a bracelet, of course. They're getting married in France and going to live in Romantic Paris.


Two years later. "Coo-ee! Farty!" It's Dougal. And Jean-Paul. In Safeway's. Embra. They have a buggy. I peer inside. A little person peers back at me. "This is Fifi. Isn't she lovely?"


I can't help it. I check the fingers. Ten. "Yes, she is. Cute." But she would still be lovely if she had taken after her mum. "So what happened to Paris?"


"It was horrible, just horrible. We really couldn't stand it. We stuck it out for as long as we could, but in the end we just gave up and came back home to Embra."


"Yes, but what exactly was wrong with Paris?"


"It was full of bloody Parisians. Even Jean-Paul hated it, and he's French!" We all laugh. It's a funny old world, innit?


I never did have the heart to tell her about where she really got her name, but I sometimes wonder if she knew all along?

Adventures in the Canada - Addendum

Not strictly - or at all - our adventures this time, but I just had to share this.

At a party the other night, we mentioned where we'd been and S piped up, "Oh, we went to Vancouver in the Spring a couple of years ago! And Whistler - there was proper snow there and that. And Grouse Mountain¹."

Being good Scotchmen/women, they'd tagged onto a Merkan tour without paying and went to see some orphaned Grizzly Bears, Cari and Boo. Trouble was, despite wheedling and coaxing from the Merkans, the bears didn't feel like coming out of their cave for the cameras.

"Come on, Bubba!" yelled one hopeful fucktard, "come to Mama!"

Six-month-old Bubba stayed resolutely where he/she was.

"Christ, I'm starving," declared Mama eventually, taking a paper bag from her handbag and unwrapping a cake. Then a thought struck her. Quickly, before it could escape or die of lonliness, she snatched it from the air.

Waving the cake in front of the cave, she cooed, "Hey, Bubba, can you smell my muffin?"

Cue howls of laughter from the Scotch and blank looks from the rest of the Merkans.


¹ When we were there, we were told: "You haven't been to Canada until you've been up Grouse Mountain." So it turns out we haven't been to Canada after all. Fuck me, where have we been?

Competition Time!

Or "I Can't Think Of A Funny Caption"

This picture is begging, BEGGING I tells ya, for a funny caption.

Ten British Pounds worth of Thornton's vouchers for the best one submitted by, say, 14th July 2007. If, by a fluke, some Johnny Foreigner comes up with something more amusing than a Brit, I'll have to think of something. Maybe a competition to decide on a prize...no, wait...

Update

Competition closes in 3 hours or thereabouts. Many thanks to Goth for getting the ball rolling. My own best effort (after checking the original story) was "Library gets serious about overdue books".

Nuvver Update

Competition has now closed. Ner ner ne ner ner.

Winners posted here.

Psycho The Rapist

Or "I Don't Wanna Go To Rehab"

"To keep a man, a woman must be a lady in the drawing room, a gourmet chef in the kitchen and a whore in the bedroom." - Anon

Came across this article in the news.

A German psychotherapist must have thought all his Chistmasses had come at once. He had been treating one of his female patients for Multiple Personality Disorder (MPD) and decided to take advantage of her. He used one of her alter egos for sex, another to be his cleaner, a third to lend him cash for holidays, etc.

He now faces five years in jail, as it turned out another personality was a grass in the police interview room.

Party Time!

Non-Working Monkey's Blog Birthday is on July 10th. Get over there now and start whooping it up!

That is all.

Incontinent

In his wee speech at Live Earth today make that yesterday, Al Gore said the concerts were being broadcast from all seven continents. Yay!

Excuse me, but when, exactly, did the Earth acquire a seventh continent?

I know that Geography was my worst subject at school, partly because my geog. teacher was suck a prick, but even so, I'm quite good at sums and that and I distinctly remember that back in those days there were only six continents.

A continent was defined as a fuckoff big chunk of land, pretty much surrounded by that wet, salty stuff - oh, yes, Ocean. Each continent had a name starting and ending with the letter 'A'. And there were six of them:

1. North America
2. South America
3. Africa
4. Asia
5. Australia
6. Antarctica

Europe was quite clearly part of Asia. There was no nonsense about mountain ranges counting as water. If that were allowed, Iberia (Spain and Portugal) could easily declare itself to be a separate continent. Not to mention the bits to the west of the Rockies/Andes, south of the Himalayas, west of the Quantocks etc.

I tried checking if the definition of a continent had perhaps subtly changed since I were a lad. Apparently so: I typed define continent into Google and guess what I got on my very first hit? Now that's just taking the piss.

Maybe they've found a new one under a melting ice sheet?

Merkan-English Dictionary #6

The time has come, I fear, to address Bossy's issues with shoes.

First off, Car Boots are not footwear for driving. Go back and read Part 5 properly. Honestly, the fuckwittage I have to put up with!

On the subject of boots, the Wellington Boot is a knee-length rubber boot designed for kids to splash in puddles with. Hence the expression "Giving It Welly".

Wellies are inedible, unlike Beef Wellington.

This seems like a perfect opporchancity to mention La Cubana Gringa. I've heard about Cuban Heels, but it wasn't until I read her blog that I realised what the term refers to.


You live and learn.

When I was at Primary School (first to seventh grade), we wore gumshoes to gym. The Merkan equivalent appears to be "sneakers".

Although why a wheelchair-bound detective should need sports footwear is beyond me.

The Stiletto, as any fule kno, is an Italian short sword.

But anyone can make a mistake. Especially with pictures like this to confuse you.

The Thong isn't English or Merkan, it's Australian. But being a sandal, it does count as a shoe.

And it gives me an excuse to show you - This!

Ner ner ne-ner ner.

What A Difference A Day Makes

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Open Letter To Religious Fundamentalists

Here in Great Britain we have spent centuries building a way of life that other countries can only aspire to. And then you come along and decide to bugger it up for us. Well I, for one, have had enough.

If you don't like our country, our culture, our values, then rather than trying to destroy everything that we stand for, why don't you just fuck off back where you came from?

And take your ambulance-chasing lawyers, your money-grabbing PFI schemes, your Intelligent Design, your Ronald Fucking MacDonald and your cat's-piss Starbucks with you.

Daniel Powter - Bad Day

Caution - Parental Guidance Suggested

Young children - very young children - should only be allowed to read this blog under grown-up supervision.

It says so right here:



2 x gay + 1 x slap = PG

I am such a potty-mouth.

(Thanks to M1nx for this one)