The Wingly Wongly Well Goes To War
At the bottom of the Wingly Wongly Well it was moist and dark and that was just how everyone liked it. Cheeks – who considered herself to be the most beautiful toad in the whole, wide world – was perched on a stone sticking out of the puddle on the floor of the well. Every few seconds she would first lick her eyeballs clean and then squint off into the distance. Henrik Hedgehog and Centipede Jack wandered past enjoying a private game of Winglyball Wonglyball before they noticed what Cheeks was doing and stopped and stared. It was several more seconds before, with a deep sigh and a slight shuffle around, Cheeks turned to the two and bellowed "WHAT?" Henrik edged backwards at the volume of the question but replied politely "Cheeks, ve vere merely vondering vot you vere doink? Is zer a problem?" "I’M FINE!" screamed Cheeks. This time Centipede Jack took a couple of steps backwards too. With his huge amount of legs this was quite hypnotic to watch and, after a second of complete stillness in the well, Cheeks slid off the stone and plopped onto the surface. Henrik and Centipede Jack looked first at Cheeks coming slowly out of her trance with amazement and then at one another with sheer horror on their faces. They turned and ran. But they didn’t get very far. At that moment Crud The Crippled Cricket boinged in from somewhere off in the gloom. There was a high-pitched whistle as he soared through the air followed by a crunch of cricket on brickwork, an "Oof!", and a squelch. Crud rolled to a stop in the path of the fleeing hedgehog and centipede putting an instant halt to their attempt to escape. "Oh man!" said Crud excitedly. "My aim is getting so much better! I almost missed the wall that time! Did you see? Did you? Huh?" He leapt to his feet but the deformed back leg gave way and he fell onto the boggy ground once more. Centipede Jack leaned down and spoke quickly. "My dear chap, we would absolutely love to stay and observe your allegedly improving jumping prowess or lack thereof, but a feeling of impending doom has fallen over us and the urge to seek sanctuary as far away from this particular spot in the well as soon as possible is a desire too strong to resist." "Oh Wow!" exclaimed Crud. "Are your psychic leg hairs tingling? What do you think it means?" "I zink," interrupted Henrik, "zat a certain large toad of our acquaintance vill soon be killing most of us gathered here unless ve run....
Lobsters
You know what I like about Queer Eye For The Straight Guy? Kyan’s dreamy … no, wait! I didn’t say that. I’m straight as an arrow and as manly as a rugged outdoorsman bathed in sweat and the lingering scent of Brut aftershave after a hard day spent wrestling with a giant grizzly bear. Hang on. That’s both manly … and confusing. Okay, I’m as manly as a gladiator; muscled, oiled, and pumped full of adrenalin as he thrusts his long weapon repeatedly into the captured … Nubian … slaves … er, that’s not really quite right either. Screw it. I’m manly. Period. Let’s start again. You know what I like about Queer Eye For The Straight Guy? There’s great rapport between the fab 5. It’s fun trying to work out just what the hell Jai does. Carson’s invasion of personal space and double entendres are great entertainment. The siblings and partners of the straight victims nearly always have major psychological and physical problems which really adds something to the mix. You know what I don’t like about Queer Eye For The Straight Guy? Specifically: from the latest episode? It’s when they kill – slowly – lobsters. We’re not talking about boiling alive here. We’re not talking about freezing in a Freezamaton 5000 here. We’re not talking about force-feeding crustacean-sized cyanide capsules, applying a lethal injection, or strapping to an electric chair made of conch shells. We’re talking about a knife in the middle of the back, slowly – and badly – slicing the lobster up to its head and through its lobsterry brain, cleaving – slowly and badly – the poor thing almost in two. And, all the time, and even afterwards … the lobster tail flicks up and down, left and right, harder and harder and faster, then slower and with less force, until … you rip its claws off. Oh God! That poor lobster! You murdering Queer Eye bastards! I didn’t much care for lobsters. Everyone knows that just as crabs are simply reinforced, aquatic spiders, so lobsters are merely the underwater, hardened cousins of scorpions. People won’t eat spiders and scorpions knowingly, yet they’ll go out of their way to capture their sub-surface relations. People are strange and one day they’ll get what’s coming to them. No, I didn’t care much for lobsters. So they get captured, and cooked, and served with an excessively high price tag and only a seven in ten chance of requiring multiple sprints to the bathroom afterwards. So what? They’re evil and they smell. Good riddance to them. But now things are different. I’ve seen the look in a lobster’s...
Necrophilia for beginners
The U.S. Government is spending an awful lot of money telling people that happy, healthy sex can only come from not experiencing it, not talking about it, and not wondering until it’s too late whether the person you’ve married with no genitalia and a fixation for thrusting his/her fist up your back passage because apparently that’s what Jesus did may not have been, with hindsight, a mistake of epic, tissue-tearing, and kidney-damaging proportions. Abstinence-only is the name of the game and the end results of the game are increased unwanted pregnancies, a rise in abortions, and a massive climb in sexual diseases. It’s quite possible that the four horsemen won’t appear until the rate of syphilic-ridden, two-headed, underweight babies born to barely-teenage, knowledge-lacking cum-sluts crosses a certain threshold and that this is all part of a larger moral plan I’m not privy to because I haven’t read Revelations in a long time and the methods of right-wing Christians is a thankful enigma to my genius. Of course, it’s also possible that the promoters of these righteous plans are merely incapable of thinking things through and like to base their physiological, psychological, scientological, and common-sensological dictates on the many-times-translated, passed-down-through-stories teachings of people who lived in areas of the world now deemed uncivilised and ripe-for-plundering out of a sense of power and greed. If the latter is true then I’ve got good news! I’ve got an alternative and that alternative is called … Necrophilia! Abstinence-only programmes are designed to combat the following "Evils of Sex": Enjoyability · Conservative Christians are incapable of enjoying sex because they do it one way only, poorly. That’s not a generalisation. That’s a fact! More liberal-minded people have discovered the techniques classified as Too Hot For The Bible but this puts them at odds with their distant, narrow-minded cousins. Abstinence-only promotes disappointing and painful wedding-night experiences that help to forge the idea of sex as a necessary child-manufacturing chore just like God wants. Abortions · You can’t abort a blob of cells if you aren’t pregnant, fact! And you can’t get pregnant if you don’t have sex and avoid using toilets where married people have been. Fact! Ungodly Thoughts · Having sex where the goal is not to create a baby soldier in the Army of God leads to thinking about sex where the goal is not to create a baby soldier in the Army of God and that’s just one step away from molesting badgers which is expressly forbidden in Ruth chapter 6. The problem is, of course, that despite their honest (truly, I swear, no really) goals the result is that abstinence-only programmes...
House of miracles!
I was somewhat surprised last week to see that – miracle of miracles! – the image of the Virgin Mary had appeared among the water stains on a concrete underpass in Chicago. To the best of my knowledge Mary, the mother of Jesus Christ, the Son of God never actually went to Chicago. During her frenzied sell-out tour of the United States in 38CE the whole state of Illinois was left off the itinerary altogether due to a massive outbreak of Velociraptors. I suppose, thinking about it, it’s possible she was making up for that omission on her world tour after all these centuries. It’s the sort of thing she might do; she’s supposed to have been quite a nice lady by all accounts. Whenever a "miracle" occurs crowds of the mentally incompetent gather to pray, cause disruption, and fail to turn up to work or care for their families en masse. It’s a miracle! With that in mind I may be taking my life in my hands here when I say that my own home is, in fact, a haven for miraculous events, apparitions, manifestations, and a-happenings the likes of which you, a sceptic, will probably not, at first, believe. But have faith and prepare to be astounded as I reveal the secret signs of proof of a supreme – if cryptic and obtuse and oddly incapable of communicating in a meaningful manner on matters which are actually important – being! Welcome to my house of miracles! Thomas The Apostle Is Under My Toilet Bowl The Virgin Mary, as everyone knows, was a white woman who wore blue and white (early Portsmouth Football Club supporter) clothing, always kept her hair covered, and stood with a coy tilt to her head (later copied by the decidedly-not-Virgin Princess Diana). This knowledge makes it extremely easy to spot her whenever she gets it into her immortal head to appear among the carrots and eyeballs present in vomit outside a pub, or her outline is formed by roundworm on a fat man’s buttocks. Thomas the Apostle is more of an enigma. Other than being a man – a man called Thomas! – and doubting Jesus we know little of him. But it’s this doubting that gives us a clue as to how to spot him when he returns to Earth. Ashamed at his actions Thomas is fated to weep sadly wherever and whenever he makes an Earthly appearance. Is it only a coincidence that there is a leak in my upstairs toilet? Or is it a miraculous appearance by one of Jesus’ closest friends! A quick peer under the back of the...
Portsmouth 4 Southampton 1
On Sunday Harry "Judas" Redknapp brought his "team" of has-beens and never-was-beens back to the club he stabbed in the back after having a hissy fit. In case you missed the result … Portsmouth demolished Southampton 4-1. Is demolished the right word? Is humiliated better? Slaughtered? Stomped all over? Squatted over and crapped on? Musical interlude … Is this the way to relegation? I’ve been tasting the Coke sensation. Is this the way to relegation? Coca Cola’s right for me. Sha-la-la-la-la-la-la-la (clap, clap) Sha-la-la-la-la-la-la-la (clap, clap) Sha-la-la-la-la-la-la-la (clap, clap) We’re gonna send the scummers down. Hangover News! Ouch. Had both sets of parents around for the match. Not sure of my personal total but between the six of us – from 11AM to around 3:30PMish (maybe) – we got through: 21 bottles of Carlsberg Export, one litre of Liebfraumilch, one 75cl bottle of Bacardi, a third of a bottle of Woodford Reserve, a quarter of a bottle of Remy Martin, two bottles of Babycham (mixer for the cognac before you ask), a quarter of a bottle of tequila. My hangover refuses to leave but he is a welcome reminder of events to savour and I embrace him like a friend. Now … is there anything good to read? Overpowered is a good word. Southampton crumble … so they did! Ripe for relegation has a nice ring to it. Woeful. Ooh. Disastrous sounds about right, mwahahahaha! Devastating. Yes, yes it was. Delightfully so. Hey … why not watch the goals from this match all over...
UK election tactical voting
The UK General Election 2005 will be the most tactically-voted election ever and you can be a part of it! Unless you’re a foreigner. There has been a lot of talk about tactical voting in the upcoming General Election. At least, there’s been a lot of talk about tactical voting in the place where I’ve been hanging out recently – The Tactical Voters Club, Tactical Voting Street, Tactical Voter-On-The-Medway, Hampshire. You may have experienced less conversations revolving around this subject if you’ve been leading a normal life. Man, you don’t know what you’re missing. We have sandwiches. So what is tactical voting? Well, tactical voting gets its name from its founder Pubert Tactical and, put simply, involves voting in a manner to keep people unelected rather than standard voting (invented c.1613, Leopold Standard) which works in a contrary way and tries to elect people instead. All good, harmless fun and a good-natured community activity to distract the general population while the powers-that-be agree on the final numbers for the rigged event. During this period of pre-election frenzy (using the olde English definition of frenzy, "yea, it be as exciting as badger-wrestling without badgers or urchins of the street, and God smite us all down if it doesn’t look like a prolonged typhoid outbreak in Swansea is on the horizon!") it’s very easy to get confused with regards to which political party is lying about which promise to improve or destroy what if they get your vote, and your tactical vote could get misplaced. Are the Conservatives all fascists or is that UKIP? Do Labour have the leader I’d like to punch in the face or is that the Tories? Will I be worse off tax-wise under the Liberal Democrats, Labour, or the Conservatives? Those were all trick questions, of course, and the answers were ‘Yes’ in each case. Luckily for you I’ve been able to ask questions of Tony Blair (Labour, Sedgefield, likes sweets but hates baby tortoises) and Michael Howard (Conservative, Folkestone & Hythe, wears a tie in the shower) and some guest alternative parties. Armed with the information provided you’ll be in no doubt as to who to tactically vote for come May 5th. Question 1: Tax-avoiding foreigner Rupert Murdoch has told his editors and "journalists" to tell us that we’re really concerned with immigrants, immigration, asylum-seekers, and gypsies climbing through our windows and putting their genitalia in our mouths while we sleep before stealing all our jobs and burning men with beards with lit cigarettes and bricking up nunneries. The burning of men with beards aside, those are all pretty horrible things and I’m now scared....
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