Technoranti

Updated: Welcome, BOSSY's readers!

It's this blog's second birthday, yay!!!

My loyal readers reader has suggested that in accordance with the rules for two-year-olds, I should throw a tantrum, so here goes...

I took a look at this Technorati thing after hearing that Jenny the Bloggess is in the top 2,500 and it says this blog is right up there in the top five.Million. Sigh.

But apparently by "claiming my blog" I can get access to lots of cool¹ Technorati gadgets that'll help me improve my rating. No problem...

<clicky> Register with Technorati.

<clicky> Confirm you're the owner.

<clicky> Claim that blog!

Oh.

It seems that my blog has been "flagged", WTF that means...

<clicky> blah blah Sploggers? blah blah...DOs and DON'Ts blah blah

• Do not republish content from other sites without adding your original commentary or reaction.

Hells, I live to add my own commentary or reaction!


• Do not tag exessively [sic] ...over-use of tags in your posts...blah blah blah

btw, have you noticed my new tag cloud? Over on the right and down a bit...yep...stop. There. I had to tweak it a bit to show just the tags that occur seven times or more in my blog, otherwise the tag cloud would be bigger than the page. That's not excessive...is it?


• Do not publish posts with nonsense text.

*cough*


• Do not be overly repetitive.

Which is why I've given up my Friday Chart. That and boredom.


• Do not use links that take the reader to completely different content than what is expected.

Would I do that? Oh, you mean the Stab-O-Mizer video tutorial? Sorry 'bout that.


• Do not promote ... objectionable content.

What, and lose most of my blogroll and half one of my readers? Fook off.

But just to add insult to injury, when I went to claim my other blog² it turns out that that one has a higher rating than this one.

Just a few million higher, admittedly, but still. That stings. Especially since I haven't posted anything there in months.

I'd post something over there right now, but now I'd be worried that I might pull down its blog ranking, sigh.

No, wait. Is 4,978,471 better bigger than 1? Hey, I'm a GREAT blogger! Yay me! Maybe I will do that nude photoshoot after all!


Brrr!

¹ But are they as cool as my patented Stab-O-Mizer??? Hells no!

² You do know I have another blog, right? Well, I say mine. Actually, it has lots of authors. Most of them can even do joined-up writing. I just forget it's there administer it. Wanna join in?

News Update

Anyway, 84 unread blog-related emails in my inbox notwithstanding, I've decided to post first, read later. That can be another resolution. What have we got?

Some police drivers have been given a ticking-off for parking in disabled spaces while they spend a penny. Talk about taking the piss. (I'm here all night, folks!)

The same source reports that Canadian boffins have discovered too much thinking can make you fat. This explains Kate Moss but not Eamonn Holmes.

Meanwhile just around the corner from me in Inverleith, Embra, the Norse God of Thunder, Thor, disturbed an intruder in his Valhallah flat (apartment). A couple of well-placed thunderbolts soon saw the ne'er-do-well leaping from a first (second) floor window. I'm not one to point fingers or that, but maybe Lothian and Borders Police should check out Loki's underwear for flash burns.

Lazyitis sufferer Leo Jackson actually turned up this year at Embra Castle for the New Year's celebrations. Despite pleas from hundreds of screaming girls, Jackson insisted on finishing his set before lifting the portcullis to let them out.

And now it turns out that throwing a stick can kill your dog. Depending on the sharpness of the stick and how good your aim is (I kid, I kid). In order not to choke the poor beast, an expert encourages the use of an over-sized article, such as Eamonn Holmes.

Air New Zealand has just completed a two-hour passenger flight powered by vegetable oil, which causes fewer emissions than ethanol. Or in my case, cheese. Ahhhh, Wensleydale!

After a two-year hiatus (wait), Sleb Big Brother is back. I only know this, obviously, because I was passing through the living room on my way to the kitchen and spotted a gorgeous chick nice-looking girl on the telly and asked Mrs F, "Who's that girl?"
Without a moment's hesitation, she replied, "Michelle Heaton."
"What, off Hears'ay?"
"No, Liberty X."
"Same difference ¹. I never would have recognised her." Checks TV listings. "In fact, no wonder. That's Lucy Pinder."
"Who?"
"Exactly. I thought this was Celebrity Big Brother? And WTF is Tommy Fucking Sheridan doing on it?"
"That's not the worst of it," replied Mrs F. "They've got Latoya Jackson in there too. Look! There she is."
"Looks more like Michael Jackson, to tell the truth. Haven't you noticed you never see them together? I wonder..."

And then, joy of joys. "Oh, look at the funny wee man! Hahahahaha! Wait a minute, that's midget porn star Bullet McCoy! Holy crap! He's like, mega-famous! I hope they don't let him near the booze, that's all I'm saying. That Golden Autograph of his is legendary."

There were probly some other hangers-on and Z-listers there, but my night was made.

Bullet McCoy

¹ See what I did there?

Computer Terms Illustrated #13

You may have thought that since I haven't posted one of these lately, it's because I'd run out of ideas. Bwahahaha! I've got them coming out of my ears. No, it was because I was letting you savour the beauty of the entries to my Xmas Competition. Which, by the way, you still have a few hours to vote for - see that bit at the top of my right-hand sidebar. No, your other right.

Anyway, while we're waiting for the ol' clock to tick around, here's a little something to keep you going.

User Friendly

Link

Power Point

Cray

Pr0n(sp?)

Ping

Pong

Toot toot!

Taking the Waters

This arrived today from my South African son-in-law currently living in New Zealand. I feel it travels well...

How To Shower Like a Woman

Take off clothes and place them sectioned in laundry basket according to lights and darks.

Walk to bathroom wearing long dressing gown.

If you see husband along the way, cover up any exposed areas.

Look at your womanly physique in the mirror - make mental note to do more sit-ups/leg-lifts, etc.

Get in the shower.

Use face cloth, arm cloth, leg cloth, long loofah, wide loofah and pumice stone.

Wash your hair once with cucumber and sage shampoo with 43 added vitamins.

Wash your hair again to make sure it's clean.

Condition your hair with grapefruit mint conditioner enhanced.

Wash your face with crushed apricot facial scrub for 10 minutes until red.

Wash entire rest of body with ginger nut and jaffa cake body wash.

Rinse conditioner off hair. Shave armpits and legs.

Turn off shower.

Squeegee off all wet surfaces in shower.

Spray mould spots with Tile cleaner.

Get out of shower.

Dry with towel the size of a small country.

Wrap hair in super absorbent towel.

Return to bedroom wearing long dressing gown and towel on head.

If you see husband along the way, cover up any exposed areas.



How To Shower Like a Man

Take off clothes while sitting on the edge of the bed and leave them in a pile.

Walk naked to the bathroom.

If you see wife along the way, shake willy at her making the 'woo-woo' sound.

Look at your manly physique in the mirror.

Admire the size of your willy and scratch your bum.

Get in the shower.

Wash your face.

Wash your armpits.

Blow your nose in your hands and let the water rinse them off.

Fart and laugh at how loud it sounds in the shower.

Spend majority of time washing privates and surrounding area.

Wash your bum, leaving those coarse bum hairs stuck on the soap.

Wash your hair.

Make a Shampoo Mohawk.

Wee.

Rinse off and get out of shower.

Partially dry off.

Fail to notice water on floor because curtain was hanging out of bath the whole time.

Admire willy size in mirror again.

Leave shower curtain open, wet mat on floor, light and fan on.

Return to bedroom with towel around waist.

If you pass wife, pull off towel, shake willy at her and make the 'woo-woo' sound again.

Throw wet towel on bed.


I KNOW YOU'RE LAUGHING CAUSE MOST OF IT'S TRUE!!!!!!

Scotch Roundup

Boffins have discovered that the world's oldest joke is about my favourite subject. Phew knew?

In China, web censorship remains in place despite promises to the international media that all restrictions would be lifted. I wonder exactly how many hacks will storm off back home in protest? I won't be holding my breath.

A fourteen-year-old schoolgirl has won the right in court to wear religious jewellery to school, as it's part of her faith. Good for her. I wonder if I can get away with wearing a pirate fish pendant to work on Fridays? Arrrgh!

I was hoping that Tony Hawks would be visiting Embra for this year's book festival, but nae joy. In case you think I've spelt his name wrong, visit the skateboarding section of his website. But not while drinking coffee.

Prince Jug-ears has extended his green credentials by converting his Aston Martin to run on leftover wine. Oxymoron, anyone?

I have yet to be convinced that there's any intelligent life on Earth. Apollo astronaut Ed Mitchell claims that aliens have visited us. Allegedly NASA experts have described them as 'little people who look strange to us' with 'a small frame, large eyes and head.'

Hellooooooo?


Lastly, the gorgeous, pouting Carole Vorderman has kindly written a small post over here for a very reasonable fee. Do pay her a visit and leave some kind comments, please.

Toot toot!

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.

Naked Singularities and the Grandfather Paradox

According to New Scientist, it's theoretically possible, if you can find a naked singularity, to build a time machine. Apparently, naked singularities are an embarrassment to physicists, prancing about with no clothes on and that.

"I don't know why people immediately think that time travellers will be overcome with a desire to commit murder," says boffin Fernando de Felice, referring to the grandfather paradox. This states that you can't go back in time because you might kill your grandfather and thus prevent your own birth.

I think he's got it back to front.

Alex has a rich and powerful grandfather and can't wait for the old miser to keel over and pass on his riches. So he borrows capital against his inheritance and builds a time machine to take him back to the years of his grandfather's youth, neatly sidestepping the security guards in the process.

He murders the defenseless youth, then realises that Grandad hadn't yet made his fortune as the time machine promptly disappears.

But wait! Alex knows a bit about the stock market, so he's able to buy low and sell high when there are large, "unpredictable" swings in the market - which he remembers from his history lessons.

He makes his fortune, marries a nice girl, and gradually comes to realise that his wife is Grandma. Which make Alex his own grandfather. How to prevent his own grandson from going back in time and killing himself?

I hate naked singularities. They give you a sore head.

International Talk Like A Pirate Day

Feck. I been drinkin' grog all day. Hic! Wazzup? Will someone shut that feckin' parrot UP?

Right. Now. Where was I? Where be I? Shouldn't blog after grog. Remember not to post this, Farts.

Right. First up - a Martian Meteorite has crashed in Peru. Well, they say it's a meteorite. So far, it's released some noxious fumes into the environment and made the locals feel pretty sick. If you ask me, it's either the Martian counterpart of yours truly, or the first wave of the invasion fleet. I'm just saying.

Next. Britney's been dropped by her record label, her lawyer and her manager.
Sorry, Britney who?

Oh, another space one. Hurrah! Britain should set up its own Moonbase, according to space boffins. Now, I saw the following quote in the Sun, but for some reason can't find it anywhere on t'internet. I wonder why? Good thing I wrote it down, innit, me fartys? Arrr.
"The Moon could be the greatest archaeological site in the solar system," said Professor Monica Grady.
Um. Archaeology is the study of human cultures, shurely, matey? Finding anything of archaeological significance on the Moon, apart from six (6) Apollo landers and various pieces of assorted tat, including a WWII bomber, certainly would be a great achievement. I won't be holdin' me breath, though.

Czech biker Matej Kus had an accident where his head got run over and woke up speaking perfect English. Well, of course he would, everyone knows English is wired into the human brain. He just gorgot how to speak Czech. Gorgot?

Boffins working on the shed Cloak of Invisibility have almost managed it. All that can be seen is a thin line of light where the object ought to be.

Cool! I can't see him at all.

Did I be mentioning it be International Talk Like A Pirate Day? Arrrr, ye scurvy sea-dogs! I'll lash ye to the mizzen-mast and keel-haul yer miserable bones!

Yarr!

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!

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.

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)

New Balls, Please!

Did you see the evening news today? Thousands of homes flooded in Sheffield. How awful - living in Sheffield! I could write for Graham Norton, it's a piece of piss.

Yes, it's that time of year again, when the heavens open up and Wimbledon gets rained off. Which reminds me of this apocryphal tale from last year...oh, how I wish it were true...

* wavy lines etc. *

The Hoff arrives at Centre Court without a ticket and tries to blag his way in with the tried-and-tested "Do You Know Who I Am?" ploy.

PA system bursts into life. "Can any of the guests please identify a gentleman at the gate? He appears to have forgotten his name. Tall, mid-fifties, black shirt, shades, full of himself, bit of a tosser."

I love tennis, me. I could sit and watch it all day.

I think she's followed through.

Plagiarist? Moi?

This was going to be a brilliant post about something or other, but someone spoke to me and it went clean out of my head. Must write the fecking things down when I think of them, doh!

Anyway, Spanish Goth mentioned this in his blog so I've stolen borrowed it.

You find the oddest things when you check your site stats to track how people found your blog.
This week it's:
Yaeli shoes - say what?
Fern Britton Coke - I can't believe she would - oh, that kind!
Banoffee Pie - well, I do make the tastiest banoffee pie in the world!
Emily Symons tits/flashing pussy shots/up skirt - Feckin perv! I see she's renegotiated her contract and been allowed to stay in the show barely escaped with her life.
Lorraine Kelly up skirt - naughty Cat!
Farty knickers - say no more - and
How to make slime that farts - can you do that?

And you?

We're off this weekend to the Canada. Can either of you keep an eye on LMF while we're away? Keep her supplied with Pot Noodles and she'll be fine. Ta. But no Quavers.

Toot toot!

As Good As It Gets

Oh looky, Doctor Who, Billie Piper, Daleks and The Stupid French all rolled into one.

Yes, ok, this is just a filler while I think of something deep and meaningful to write. But it's a laugh, innit?

(Not Safe For Coffee)

Hell's Grannies

I see that now Britain's pensioners are to be tagged.

Quite right too. Can't have the old farts wandering about unattended, they might start ranting on about "Eeee, when I were young this were all fields!" Or blowing all their pension money on trips to the bingo. Or stopping dead in the middle of a busy shopping centre to congregate and rabbit on about their terrible lumbago and the good old days when it were only tuppence for a half-loaf of bread.

Hmmm.

Now if the tags were on collars fitted with explosive devices, and computer chips programmed to detect the fucktards taking too long to get on a bus, whinging about the prices nowadays (at the fecking checkout whilst rummaging for change) or generally making a damn nuisance of themselves, that might put a spring in their step.

Just a thought.

The Moons of Uranus

I love to lick the moisture off a juicy, succulent, stoned plum, then bite it in half before I gobble it down. Mrs Farty moans that the juice drips on the rug and makes it wet. There's no need no come to blows over such a fruity delight, so I run my tongue over it while I have a quick nibble. Sometimes I think she is so nasty and quite hard on me, but she says if I'm not careful, it drips, penetrates the carpet and turns to slime. Perhaps I should buy her a pearl necklace to make up for the foul mess. Or perhaps I'll just tease her about it till she decides to snatch it off me.

If you found this article offensive, your porn filter needs a damn good seeing to.

Now nip over to Hot Coffee Girl for more rude words. Be sure to give her a plug.

p.s. Can anyone explain why "I Hat Bill"?

Three In A Bed

Tagged by Kissme. I've never been kissed tagged before, so I'm quite nervous. Not. I saw one tag last week that ran to 150 items, feck that. But this is quite short. Except that I'm making it unnecessarily longer by yammering on about it.

Three Things That Scare Me:

1. Ghosts.
2. George W Bush.
3. Bungee Jumping.

Three People Who Make Me Laugh:

1. Phil Kay.
2. George W Bush.
3. Non-Working Monkey.

Three Things I Love:

1. Farting.
2. Mrs Farty.
3. Choclit.

Three Things I Hate:

1. Them green things, wossname? Vegetables.
2. George W Bush.
3. ICBMs.

Three Things I Don't Understand:

1. The Inflationary Theory Of Cosmology.
2. QED.
3. Women.

Three Things On My Desk:

1. Cuppa tea.
2. Shortbread crumbs.
3. Speakers.

Three Things I'm Doing Right Now:

1. Writing this fecking post.
2. Listening to The Beautiful Corrs.
3. Farting.

Three Things I Want To Do Before I Die:

1. Swim with dolphins. I've watched them surf. Wow!
2. Dance on George W Bush's grave. Or Margaret Thatcher's.
3. Discover the secret of immortality.

Three Things I Can Do:

1. Can you guess?
2. Play Go. Badly.
3. Make people laugh. Knickers!

Three Things I Can't Do:

1. Stop farting.
2. Learn To Stop Worrying and Love The Bomb.
3. Put up with intolerance.

Three Things I Think You Should Listen To:

1. Music. Any music except rap.
2. Your heart.
3. Me farting. Ahhhh!

Three Things I'd Like To Learn:

1. To fart The Flight Of The Bumblebee.
2. SCUBA diving. See dolphins above.
3. HTML, so I can pimp my blog. Getting there.

Three Favourite Foods:

1. Banoffee Pie.
2. Choclit.
3. Pasta.

Three Shows I Watched As A Kid:

1. Captain Pugwash. Arrrggghh!
2. Dr Who. William Hartnell was my favourite right up until David Tennant arrived.
3. That one with the two numpties with the idiotic expressions, the jerky, drunkard's walk and the unintelligible flob-a-dob speech, flanking the pretty-but-shy one in the middle. No, this one.

Three Things You Should Never Listen To:

1. Rap music.
2. George W Bush.
3. People who tell you it can't be done.

Three Wonderful People To Inflict My Meme On:

1. Non-Working Monkey.
2. Apos-itivepessimist.
3. Cheerful One.

Aye Thang Yew.

It's Not Rocket Salad

WTF do we pay these people for?

On Thursday, I learned that a Science Teacher says farts can't be lit. Did you think that picture to the right - no, the other one, underneath the Shaggy Blog Stories - had been Photoshopped? Or that this was simply another Hollywood Myth like U-571?

FYI Mr/Ms Science Teacher, the active component of farts is methane, with a side order of hydrogen sulphide to make them smelly. When you ignite them in air, the reaction goes:
CH4 + 2.O2 => CO2 + 2.H2O

Mind, it's highly exothermic, so don't try this at home, kids!

And now I hear of a nurse who thinks tomatoes aren't acidic. If you're trying to find something to settle your stomach, then fruit such as plums (pH 2.9), strawberries (pH 3.4) and tomatoes (pH 4.0) are best avoided. Bad nursey.

While we're at it, strawberries are, botanically speaking, not berries. And hands up who thought tomatoes were a vegetable?

Next: Evolution vs. Flying Spaghetti Monsterism.