Farty's Ecksmas Quiz 2011

Let's have an Ecksmas Quiz!

1. Easy one to start with. Name that choon.


2. Pick the odd one out.
a) The Great Scottish Haggis Hunt.
b) Loch Ness Monster sightings.
c) The Edinburgh Trams.
d) UFOs over Bonnybridge.

Sorry, I got distracted by shiny. Continuing...

3. What famous quote from Independence Day was appropriated by Disney's Tangled? (Clue: You won't find it in IMDB, I just checked.)

4. At what age is it appropriate to ask someone if they still believe in Jesus?

5. What nationality is Andy Murray...
(a) When he wins?
(b) When he loses?

6. What is wrong with this picture? (click to embiggen)
Proving Atheists Wrong With Science #1

7. Better question: What's right with it?

To be continued. Maybe.

A Little Princess

Princess Farty may be a Little Monster, but baby, she was Born This Way.

X Factor Drops Singing From Show

In a move that has shocked absolutely no-one, X Factor producers have announced that contestants will no longer be required to sing on the show. Not even miming like the celebrity guests plugging their new singles.

It is widely believed that the reason behind the move is to make more time available for Simon Cowell to pontificate about Louis Walsh's absolute and total lack of any musical taste whatsoever. Not to mention his rapidly-darkening hair colour, whiny voice and propensity to go off on one at the slightest provocation.

Insiders on the show have also pointed out the potential savings to be made by not having to pay any royalties to copyright holders, but since Cowell's record company, Sony BMG, already owns every song ever written, past, present and future, this theory has been widely discounted.

Former Pop Idol winner and Girls Aloud member Cheryl Cole, who has previously mimed live on the show herself, is said to be delighted at the news, as it gives her the opportunity to spend even more time fighting with the other judges and verbally abusing the contestants in front of the cameras.

Irish judge Louis Walsh, who manages Westlife, Boyzone and some pop groups, is understood to be disappointed that he will no longer be able to pull out his rulebook and claim that Cher's song wasn't actually a Beatles number as it was a solo hit for John Lennon.

Critics were quick to point out that the change will allow people with the musical ability of a dead sheepdog to win the show, but hurriedly withdrew their objections when they noticed that karate expert Wagner was standing staring at them.

Gaining A Son

So. Little Miss Farty is no more; now it's Mrs Drummer.

The service went very well, flower girls strew petals down the aisle as I led my daughter to meet her new husband. She didn't recoil in shock when she saw his face, which I took as a good sign.

The minister said a few words: when it came to the "any lawful impediment" part, he didn't even pause to draw breath; you don't want to take any chances with these things.

Rings were exchanged and the deed was done.

A quick pause outside for photos and then Mr & Mrs D headed down to Arthur's Seat for the scenic shots while the hoi polloi were carted off in a coach. Meanwhile the ladies and I climbed into the stretch limo and relaxed as we were transported in comfort and luxury to a classy hotel just outside the city.

Spacious grounds, sunny weather, hardly a breath of wind - hard to believe a week ago it was snowing here. A leisurely drink before the bride and groom arrived, then a blitz of photos. To everyone who asked, "But where's your own camera?", I replied that I had absolute trust in the professional photographer. Which left me free to get pissed.

The hotel staff were friendly and efficient, showing us all the way to our room. A bicycle would have helped: getting there involved negotiating a maze of twisty little passages, all different.

With the meeting and greeting out of the way, a kilted piper serenaded the happy couple into the wedding breakfast. Butternut soup, roast lamb or chicken, followed by sticky toffee pudding were all on the menu but first! The speeches.

Yes, I did do the bit about rising from a warm seat with a bit of paper in my hand (thanks to Non-Working Monkey for that), right through to my daughter being the reigning SE Scotchland Farmville Champion, which got a laugh from everyone under thirty and puzzled looks from everyone else.

And then got totally outclassed by the Best Man speech with accompanying slideshow. Grr!

Missed the first dance as Mrs F and I were up in our room trying to get our granddaughter, Princess Farty, settled. Not. Going. To. Happen. Eventually mum and dad arrived, picked her up and took her down to show her off to the guests. They were suitably impressed that at eight months she was dancing to All The Single Ladies, even though she can't walk yet.

There was a special request from Mr & Mrs D just for me - Westlife singing Amazing. Which was quite thoughtful, considering that they know full well I can't stand the talentless Irish coverband. I'm already plotting my revenge. Patience.

Three little old ladies turned up - I didn't see them arrive, but surmised that they had come by broomstick. I swear I heard one say, "When will we three meet again?"

And once we'd said goodbye to the last of the guests, and made our way back to our room, we found that we'd forgotten to pack Mrs F's underwear, my pajamas, her nightie, my jeans, any toothbrushes...as you do.

Slept soundly, then up at the crack of ten o'clock just in time for a quick shower before a fab breakfast with the folks who had stayed the night. Still wearing the kilt (see above), but combined with a t-shirt because I'm classy.

Cadged a lift home, opened the door to a bombsite. "Oh, my God, we've been burgled again!" wailed Mrs F. "No, wait. This is how we left it yesterday. Oh, lordy!"

Fast forward to Monday, where just as I was about to return my kilt to the hire shop, daughter-in-law dropped off her sons' outfits with an abject, "Sorry about the vomit." Lovely.

Oh, and if you were wondering if anything is worn under the kilt? See the labels below.

Farty's Friday Chart

Haven't done this for a while. Look at the picture and...



...name that tune.

Mouse over the picture if you're really stuck.

Living In The Future

Busted - The Year 3000.

So I went to the future but it wasn't so great. All of the chicks, although pretty fine, turned out to be my own great-great-great-grand-daughters. Which kinda sucked.

The Earth had had its axis straightened so that we could have BST all year round, but that had melted what was left of the polar ice caps and put all the ski instructors out of a job.

The Earth was, of course, flooded, but that was ok because the scienticians had worked out how to give everybody gills so they could live underwater. Oh, and since people were pretty bored with eating fish every day, they'd bio-engineered squid to taste like chicken.

Oh and Jedward's seventh album had gone multi-platinum, so it was just as well that ears had been done away with. Innit?

Xtraordinary

So it's that time of year again, when the clocks go back and we need something entertaining to brighten up our long winter evenings. Sadly, we're stuck with Strictly Come Dancing¹ and The X Factor².

On the one hand we have well-loved tunes being mauled by some half-wit who thinks it's a good idea to randomly cut out half the lines to fit the song into half the time and on the other hand, yep, exactly the same thing.

Strictly isn't terrible, with the exception of Brucie's jokes, but oh, deary me, what is it with Jedward on The X Factor? Instead of gradually improving week by week, under the careful supervision of their mentor, like any normal contestant, they seem to revel in sinking further and further into the mire of publicity-happy mediocrity. Like Jade Goody, Kerry Katona and Barrack O'Bama(sp?), they are famous simply for being famous.

I'll admit that at the start, I said I'd stop watching if the terrible twins made it onto the live show, but now there's a morbid fascination with the anticipation of which classic they're going to murder next. And last night they hit a new nadir with Queen's "We Will Rock You".

I'm not saying we should form vigilante squads armed with duct tape and ball gags. No, wait. That's exactly what I'm saying. We could replace them with a pair of shaving brushes and no-one would be the wiser. Well, Simon might comment on the massive improvement in their performance, but that's about it.

Boydrone and Westlifeless have a natural successor.

¹ Merkans read "Dancing With The Stars".
² Merkans read "American Idol".

Computer Terms Illustrated - Michael Jackson Tribute

Everyone else is doing it, might as well jump on the bandwagon.

Zombie

Mask

Foreground (sp?)

Dongle (sp?)

Icon

Michael Jackson 1958-2009

The Hymen Manoeuvre

So. Just another quiet weekend at Farty Towers. Up at 7:30 on Saturday morning for a pee. Dither over whether to stay up. For about a nanosecond. Wake up again at 9:30, that's more like it. Make bacon sandwiches. You get the idea.

Blah blah blah Britain's Got Talent crap except for that little black girl blah blah.

Blah blah blah Eurovision. Denmark's attempt to clone Ronan Keating - creepy; Germany using a stripper to boost their vote - FAIL. Russia - as host, superb production values; their own entry - not so much. France - completely forgettable¹. Spain sitting there all alone on nul points until neighbouring Andorra took pity and gave them twelve. Nope, not political at. all. UK could have done better if Andrew Lloyd Webber had stayed off stage.

Lloyd Webber

And well done to Alistair Darling's love-child on pulling it off for Norway.

Alistair Darling

Love Child

Anyway. Today. I've made roast chicken, parsnips, boiled potatoes, carrots, sweetcorn and gravy, nothing fancy. Mrs F compliments me on my cooking. Little Miss F has just gone outside for some fresh air. Drummer Boy ² goes to check up on her, then comes running back inside.

"What?" asks Mrs F, "tell me what's wrong!"

Not a word comes from him, although his face has gone a funny colour.

LMF comes running in behind him, all in a panic. By this time he's bending over, facing away from us and pointing to his back. Mrs F realises what's wrong and thumps him on the back. "Has that cleared it?" He shakes his head.

This is where Mr Farty steps up to the mark, puts his nose to the grindstone and leaps into action. I ♥ mixing metaphors. Read this bit from the bottom up.



Step up behind. Hug below ribcage. Squeeze. Hard. Again. Take a bow.

So yeah, I just totally saved someone's life. Fuck me.

Having choked up the piece of chicken that was stuck in his throat, he then showed his Scotch credentials and asked for ice cream.

"Christ, how can you be thinking about pudding at a time like this?" I asked.

"Naw, it's for my sore throat," he croaked. "That bit chicken scratched it on the way up."

So Mrs F called NHS 24 and told them all about our little drama, including me giving DB the Hymen Manoeuvre to dislodge the chicken. "What? Oh, Heimlich. Right." And they asked him to drop in for a checkup.

Anyway, he's just been to A&E³ to get it checked out and they say he'll be fine. Just so long as he remembers to chew before swallowing.

¹ No, really. I don't remember the French song. Was it any good?
² I've decided to call him this at least until he marries my daughter. It's shorter than Potential Second Son-In-Law.
³ ER

No Lyrics

Radio ad: blah blah 2 Unlimited coming to Embra...

Little Miss Farty: That would be hard.

Me: How so?

LMF: One of them died ten years ago.

Me: Oh rly? Which one?

LMF: The girl.

Me: What, the girl that played to a sell-out crowd in Brazil last year?

LMF: Er...

Me: Not that I'm a big fan of Anita Doth or that.



I love it when I know more about the pop scene than my daughter. I am so hep.

Computer Terms Illustrated #22

It seems that even the simplest terms sometimes need a thorough explanation, sigh.

Hover your pointy thing over any image for more info.

Right-Click

Cut

Paste

Hour glass(sp?)

Variable

Constant

Save

Run

Play

Cyberspace

Account(sp?)

Give Generously

I give and I give and I give and still you want more. You're like a bunch of zombie vampires or something. Sorry, I've been immersed in another blog and some of it seems to have rubbed off.

So. What have I missed?

Well, for one thing, the fuckwitted city council of Birmingham (not Alabama, the other one) have seen fit to ban apostrophes from their signage. Apparently the cost of reintroducing them would be astronomical. Maybe I can help out. Hey, Brum! Here, have some apostrophes! '''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

While were on the subject, whats the correct spelling of the half-street that runs through Embra city centre?
Thats right - Princes Street. Named after the two sons of Mad King George III. No apostrophe needed. Your welcome.

You have no idea how hard it is for me not to go back and punctuate that paragraph.

Mrs F decided we should buy a bassinet for Little Miss Farty's baby, due in August.
Me: So we're going to play it soothing music?
Mrs F: WTF?
Me: I've heard that's good for developing fœtuses.
Mrs F: What exactly do you think a bassinet is?
Me: Er, some kind of musical instrument?
Mrs F: How did you arrive at that conclusion?
Me: It's a cross between a bassoon and a clarinet, innit?



I wonder which part you blow?

Did you know New England isn't actually a US state? I didn't.


An atheist campaign group was cleared to run ads on London buses claiming that there's probably no God. Christians wanted the ads banned on the grounds of substantiation and truthfulness, but the ASA ruled that the ad wasn't misleading, because they used the word 'probably'. Now the backlash - Christians want to place ads saying there is a God. Won't they have to prove it first?


On the subject of invisible flying things, did you hear about the Lincolnshire wind turbine that was hit by a UFO? According to The Sun, "there was no trace of one of the turbine’s three huge 65ft blades." Until it turned up a few feet away. And in order to hit two of the blades, any object must have been about 170 feet long. Er...unless the blades were rotating. Its It's all very mysterious.

Farty's Friday Chart

William Norris Powell
1952 – 2009

Name that tune. RIP Billy.

Farty's Friday Chart

Given the events of this week, it was either going to be this or Bob the Builder.



Go on, name that tune.

Farty's Friday Chart

So, I've been reminded today a couple of times about Morgan Bay and the fab times we've had there.

Sadly, the Warren-Smiths seem to have ignored my advice, namely: "Don't you ever lower yourself, forgetting all your standards." Just look at the riff-raff who've squeezed themselves into this family photo, sigh.



Anyways, can you name that tune?

Farty's Friday Chart

Probly before your time if you were born after 1972. British group.

Name That Tune.

Farty's Friday Chart

This is getting hard - every time I come up with an idea now, I have to check in The Book to see if I'm subconsciously nicking ideas from it.

Anyway.



Name That Tune.

Happy New Year, btw.

Farty's Friday Chart

I'm back! Merry Eckmas to both my readers and before I forget, here's a rather late Friday Chart. With an Ecksmas theme. And Hollaby Wallabooby off the telly. Bonus!



Name that tune.

I'm off to catch up on my internets. Toot toot!

Stuff and Nonsense

Sooooooooooo... out shopping, I couldn't help but notice this in my trolley:

Original. Improved. Now I'm not saying all marketing types are a bunch of coke-addled suits - no, wait. That's exactly what I'm saying.

Police in Glasgow are threatening to arrest anyone caught singing the Hokey Cokey, since it incites religious hatred. Whereas Uptown Girl just incites hatred of talentless Irish cover bands.

Donald Trump, or Donald Fucking Trump as I like to refer to him, has been nominated for the Scot of the Year Award. The usual requirement that nominees should be born on Scottish soil was apparently met by Trump digging up a million tons of fine Aberdeen coastline and exporting it to his New York birthplace.

It should be a close-run race, as he's up against such luminaries as Andy Torn-Face Murray, Gordon Greetin' Broon, Gordon Christhesugly Ramsay and Fred Loser Goodwin. Oh and David Phwoar Tennant.

Finally (for now) - the credit crunch is really taking its toll at Farty Towers. I arrived home early from work today to find Mrs F sewing a turkey's head onto a fish supper. Picture that if you can.

Toot toot!

Farty's Friday Chart

A nice international theme for you this week.





Name that tune.