Why No, I Don't Drive. Why Do You Ask?

Formula 1 driving. WTF is the fascination with fast cars being driven in close proximity to other drivers around the same track over and over and over? Surely it just encourages the audience to engage in reckless behaviour when they themselves take the wheel. Can you picture the same mad enthusiasm if the sport were some other life-threatening activity?

Coming soon to Sky Sports 1:

• F1 Smoking. The B&H championship launches amidst a blaze of publicity and a cloud of smoke.


• F1 Leaving Your Pet Locked In The Car During A Heatwave. How long can Rex survive as the thermometer climbs ever higher?


• F1 Leaving The Iron On. Can the Fire Brigade get there in time?


• F1 Running With Scissors. An old favourite, this. Get the Band-Aids ready, mum!


• F1 Standing On A Chair To Hang Curtains. Put the emergency services on standby!


• And finally, what can beat Formula 1 Ladder-Climbing Whilst Carrying an Open Tin of Paint?

Science Lesson Update

I never know when to update an existing post or just write a new one, it's not as if anybody reads this stuff anyway, but...

The UK Science Minister has echoed the fears of the RSC ¹ that science teaching in schools has been dumbed down, leading to ignoramuses and creationists finding their way into the scientific community.

In other news, scienticians at the Large Hardon Collider on the border between Switzerland and Australia have published a report identifying the cause of the recent explosion there thusly: "A flock of penguins must have flown into the intake valve. Probly. That or kids messing about with laser pens. Yeah. Definately not some new interns using the 17-kilometer tunnel to secretly test a new Formula 1 car and crashing it. No sirree!"

¹ Royal Society of Chemistry - what did you think, Royal Shakespeare Society?

Merkan-English Dictionary: Oil Crisis Special

If a British person says his/her car runs on gas, they usually mean it's powered by hydrogen. If a Merkan says the same thing, they're usually wrong. Here's why.

Crude Oil: A black, smelly, sticky liquid that comes shooting out of the ground at 100mph. And swears a lot.

Oil Strike: When the people whose job it is to refine the oil decide to down tools and join a picket line.

Diesel:

1. One of the top bloggers in the blogosphere.


2. A train, but not as exciting as a proper steam train.



3. A petroleum-based fuel which is burned in engines ignited by compression rather than spark.

Petrol: A mixture of hydrocarbons which is used as a fuel.

Gas:

1. One of the five "states of matter" (after Bose-Einstein condensate, solid and liquid, and followed by plasma), that subsequently appear as a cold substance is subjected to increasingly higher temperatures.


2. The direct cause of flatulence.

Gasoline: A volatile flammable mixture of hydrocarbons (hexane, heptane, octane etc.) derived from petroleum. Merkan for petrol.

Farty's Marketing Tips #1

This was inspired by Jacki's post: How to Make Money on Craigslist. Her dad managed to sell a telescope for a tidy profit just before a total lunar eclipse. In a way, I'm glad I didn't buy it, since it was cloudy over here. Of course tonight would have been a different matter...

I digress. As usual. The trick is, of course, to know your target audience, or "mark". If you're selling an astronomical telescope, simply post a picture of the instrument with a human beside it to give an idea of scale. Shortly before a major astronomical event.

* $150. That's only £75. Weeps *

If you're selling a small car, make it seem larger by getting a small person to pose beside it, or better still, inside it.


And if you're selling a generator: again, put someone in the picture near it, so that the buyer knows just how big they are. It is.

Is it just me or is it hot in here?

Christmas Is Coming

It's getting a bit nippy now, eh? Five below freezing this week, lovely white frost on the grass and trees and that and I left my fecking camera at home! Bolloxy buggerations.

No, wait. I took a picture with my phone. Better than nothing, I suppose.

No snow here, worse luck. Oh, how I wish I lived in a country with proper winters, like Non-Working Monkey!

We went for our works Xmas dinner on Wednesday. Partridge for starters, then a nice bit of pheasant and a nice cranachan for pudding dessert. The portions always look so tiny in the middle of those huge plates, but you never go away hungry. Or stuffed. Just poor.

I see that tosser Leon won this year's X Factor, and now all the Welsh radio stations have banned his song in protest. Oh, how I wish I lived in Wales!

Last night, my South African son-in-law flew out to New Zealand for a job interview. If he gets it, the whole family will be emigrating in the [thinks...switch to Southern hemisphere, add two seasons, translate to Merkan, take away the number you first thought of] fall. How are we going to break it to them that we'll still be taking our holidays in South Africa, with its beaches, biltong and braais? Oh, how I wish I lived in South Africa!

Not really. Embra is still the best, and here's why:


Merry Xmas, readers! Ho, ho, ho, etc.

Visions of the Future...from the Past

Robotic Cars

DIESEL engine idling, Alice peers left, right, then straight at me. With her headlights on in the hazy morning, the imposing grey Ford van emits a loud beep, warning the world she is about to set off with no one at the wheel.

According to New Scientist, 17 November 2007, cars like Alice are a glimpse of the future.

Alice was developed for the Pentagon's Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA) Urban Challenge, which aims to prove that cars will, one day, be able to navigate through a city autonamus automatous completely without human help.

"Robotic cars could become a feature of our cities, and maybe reduce road deaths too."

Reduce or increase? ¹

Prison overcrowding

One way to deal with prison overcrowding and the shortage of organs for transplant would be to, er, kill two birds with one stone. Take one prisoner from Death Row, match his blood and tissue types to a deserving, dying (or simply rich and overfed?) hospital patient. Snip, slice, stitch, and Robert is your mother's brother.

Surely nobody would be that ghoulish?

Oh. Right. Nobody except a major government. And if China's doing it now, can the rest of the world be far behind? ²

Non-Lethal Weapons

TASER International, Inc. has recently unveiled the eXtended Range Electronic Projectile (XREP^(tm)), which "incorporates wireless Neuro Muscular Incapacitation (NMI) technology and is designed to be launched from a 12-gauge shotgun".³

Armed Robots

A company called...wait for it...IRobot, has announced a robot warrior called Sword. Don't worry, though. "The military insists it is not unleashing a mindless killing machine. A soldier must press the fire button."

And, as we all know, a soldier isn't a mindless killing machine. ⁴

Where will it all end? Or indeed, where did it all begin?

¹Into The Shop, Ron Goulart, 1964.
²The Jigsaw Man, Larry Niven, 1967.
³Not quite 1960s Star Trek style phasers, but getting there.
⁴Talos, 300BC.

Look Before You Leap

I couldn't help laughing when I saw this story in today's news. If you can't be arsed clicking on the link, or it doesn't work, I'll summarise.

Someone was seen trying to break into cars in a casino parking lot in Florida. When police approached a completely innocent bystander with 25 previous convictions for car theft who matched the perpetrator's description, he ran off and jumped into a lake. Such as you find in Florida's alligator-infested Everglades.

Sorry, but anyone who ignores a sign saying: "Danger! Live Alligators!" deserves what they get.

This is even better than the one about another criminal who jumped over a low wall to escape the police. It was only three feet high on his side. And twenty on the other. With a railway line at the bottom.

File under "self-inflicted".

Do you have a favourite Darwin Award winner?

Where's Sweeney? *

The British Government, in its infinite wisdom (I'm being ironic here), has ruled that henceforth, unmarked police cars are to carry No Smoking signs.

This should not hamper the police in the execution of their duties, according to a spokesman.

Hmmmm. Rearrange these words to form a well-known phrase or saying: Fucking mental are you?

Update: Mr Farty has been suffering from Premature Publication, which may well be the subject of a future post...

Talking like Yoda have I been. Anyway, my point is that we are increasingly being run by a stupidocracy. How the feck did these people ever get to be in charge of what we can and can't do? It's not like we all live in Burma. Or are these the least worst of a bad bunch? How I wish there was a section on polling forms for "None of the above" - he'd get my vote.

The new ruling also means that anyone caught smoking inside an unmarked police car - stay with me, folks - should be arrested.

"Yes, I know I already arrested you for VAT fraud, but now I'm arresting you again, for attempted murder. People have to inhale your carcinogenic second-hand smoke, you know! Oh, and attempted suicide. That's illegal too."

One day, nobody will do anything stupid and I'll have nothing to blog about.

But not this day.

* Sweeney Todd = Flying Squad = Undercover Police

"Q, You Are A Shite..."

"...For Shore Eyesh." Yes, it's Sean Connery's birthday. The first proper James Bond was born and bred in...wait for it...Embra! Happy Birthday, 007!

This global warming is freaking me out, Embra's now into its fourth sunny day in a row after almost four months of cloud and rain. Well, mustn't grumble. Let's see what's in the news...

Timothy Brady has been done for speeding - or should that be flying without a pilot's licence? 172mph? That's more than a hundred miles per hour above the speed limit. Why on earth do they even make cars that can achieve these speeds?

Boffins (dontcha luv that word?) have discovered a Hole In Space almost a thousand million light years across. It's completely empty - no stars, no galaxies, no dark matter, not even dust. The void can be found between the ears of Timothy Brady.

A German woman was outraged after finding that she'd been having sex with her boyfriend's brother. Her BF, who was embarrased about having a tiny willy, would insist on putting the lights out before bonking her. In the darkness, he would then swap places with his brother (hiding in the toilet), who would satisfy the GF before switching places once more. Sounds suspiciously like the one about the woman who turned the light on to discover her not-too-well-endowed husband of twenty years diddling her with a dildo. When she asked him to explain himself, he replied, "Only after you explain the kids."

A Neighbourhood Watch scheme in Lancashire has recruited a burglar to help them combat crime. So far, Marcell Vollings has allegedly suggested keeping jewellery on display, so that you can tell if it's gone missing; leaving keys in the ignition, to save looking for them when you go out; and avoiding labelling white goods with UV ink, in case you want to sell them later.

One more? Flat-chested policewomen in the Northern Constabulary have been ordered to wear fluorescent clothing so that members of the public know who to point and laugh at. You couldn't make it up. Well, you could, but it wouldn't be half as funny.

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!!

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.

Merkan-English Dictionary #5

As if from thin air, a whole new slew of words and phrases have suggested themselves to me. Anyone who says this is in any way related to the recent cross-border visit to Merka is a liar.

• First floor, Mezzanine, Ground floor, Cellar, Basement

This gave me no end of grief a a young 'un when I used to read Merkan SF novels (I still do, but with less confusion nowadays). "Hang on, he jumped out of the first floor window and didn't break his neck? Is he wearing a gravity belt or is he a superhero?"
Look. The Ground Floor is on the ground. The First Floor is the first one above the Ground Floor. Mezzanine isn't even a proper word, but if it was, it would be where midgits lived, in the space between the Ground Floor and the First Floor.
You might think, as I do, that cellar and basement were synonymous terms for the underground floor of a house. Maybe it's just in the Canada that the cellar can sometimes be on the ground floor, below the normal living quarters. Now my brain is starting to hurt.


• Scarf, Muffler, Exhaust

A Scarf is something that a lady (or gentleman) wears around her/his neck. A lady sometimes calls this a Muffler. Not to be confused with a muff, although both are good for keeping one's ears warm. An Exhaust is the part of a car that the engine's exhaust fumes are expelled from.


• Clamp, Boot, Trunk, Bonnet, Hood

A Clamp is the thing that the Pedestrian's Friend attaches to a car to let the fuckwit know that it is in breach of local bylaws to double-park, with or without hazard warning lights, in front of Harvey Nicks whilst picking up a couple of bottles of Bolly. A Car Boot, by contrast, is the bit in the back (unless you drive a VW Beetle, in which case it's the front) where the jack, spare wheel etc. are kept. Car Boots can easily be obtained at specialist Car Boot Sales. A Bonnet is a pretty hat worn by ladies and young girls at Easter time. A Hood is what will get you thrown out of Asda/Walmart.


• Pissed vs Pissed Off

Pissed, or Fished as a Part, refers to the condition of having had one too many Pan-Galactic Gargle Blasters. Pissed Off is what your friends are after you execute a Technicolor Yawn over their shoes.


• Corn, Maize, Mealies

A Corn is a sore bit on your toe caused by thickened skin. Apparently Merkans eat Flaked Corns. Maize (Mealies in South Africa) is that foodstuff that comes in tins and passes, undigested, straight through your intestinal tract.

Adventures In The Canada Part 1

Nae foties, ah cannae make them jump frae the camra tae the pooter. Mebbe later.

It was the longest four-hour flight of my life. 10:30 take-off from Glasgow, down to Manchester to pick up the rest of the passengers, then back up over fecking Glasgow, over Iceland (formerly known as Bejams), Greenland (no green that I could see), the Hudson Bay and the Rockies to land in Vancouver at 14:30 the same afternoon. Christ, I was knackered!

We took with us a kilt as a gift for our host. He promptly put it on back-to-front. Oh, how we laughed! Then he played a selection of shite Scotch tunes, e.g. I Love A Lassie, Scotchland The Brave, Campbeltown Loch, over and over and over. Oh, how we cried!

Canadians don't appear to have road rage, they go the opposite way. If you so much as hint that you might be considering the possibility of crossing the road (should a break in the traffic chance to appear), every vehicle immediately comes to a dead stop while they all patiently wait for you to make your way to the opposite kerb. Fan.Bloody.Tastic. You will never confuse Canadia with the US of Asshole for this reason alone.

Christ it's past midnight (08:00 BST). More later. Having fun.

No Fuel Like An Old Fuel

So there we are in Morrisons with the trolley overloaded as usual, and Mrs Farty says, "Do you think we can manage this lot on the bus?" Meh. She decides we can do retired upstairs neighbour (neighbor if you're Merkan) a favour (favor) . Rather than spend a tenner (twenty bucks) on a taxi, we'll call John to pick us up and pay him a fiver (ten-spot), which will more than cover his petrol (gas) money. Never mind that he's watching the Six Nations Rugby (like Football, but without the padding. Or the cheerleaders. Or the misleading name).

So we stand for half an hour in the freezing cold rather than hop into a waiting taxi, while John manoeuvres his way through the Embra traffic to the Gyle. Then, having loaded us up with the shopping in the boot (trunk...ok, this is getting tiresome now), he stops for fuel. The first pump's broken, so he hops forward a space, fills up and goes to pay. Climbs back in and announces that he's just filled up his diesel engine with unleaded. Nevertheless, instead of stopping there and then and draining the tank to prevent any damage, he drives us home. Now that's taking chivalry too far.

He reckons it'll cost about a thoosand poonds to fix the car. "And the one thing Andy said when he sold it to me was, 'Whatever you do, don't fill it with petrol'."