Florida
In this modern age of wireless communications, microwaveable rice, alarm clocks for dogs, squirrel mind-control helmets, and intrusion-detecting toasters the definition of what makes a "good friend" has become smudged in the dictionary of life and scribbled over so many times by illiterate children allowed to flick through the books on the shelves of the library of existence without supervision. Is a good friend someone who eats Santa with fava beans and a big glass of lemonade? I don’t know. Does a good friend break into your house and work up a sweat while wearing your underwear? Not any more. What I do know is that if a good friend is someone you’ve never met, never conversed with, and never seen undraped photos of then Sonnie Cheeba is two-thirds of the way to being about as good a friend as I have right now. You care for good friends, right? I’m sure you do. I think I read it somewhere or it was in the lyrics to the theme song of some TV show. That must be why it pains me to hear that Cheeba has no job right now. He’s talented (he claims), hard-working (it’s rumoured), and has just celebrated four years without spraying urine into the face of a colleague (lie). Cheeba recently moved to the United States from some little island not in the United States. Specifically, he moved to Florida. On a map it’s the state that looks like the flaccid penis with congenital warts. Incidentally, that’s just how I like to remember it. I’m pretty sure there are no signs on the highways reading "Welcome To Florida: The Flaccid Warty Dick State! Have A Nice Day!" in case you’re driving around looking for it right now. I could sympathise and I could empathise were it not for the botched ingrowing nose operation that splintered my emotion ganglion. Doctors say I may never experience those feelings for another human being again and that I may become overly attached to grapefruit but what do doctors know? Sitting there in their mahogany offices with their mahogany computers. Filling out forms with teak pencils and laughing at the documentary on their rosewood television set about grapefruit pillaging in the 14th century. Those heartless, heartless bastards! Instead, I’ve arranged for a little thinking time with the supervisor ants that run my brain and decided to see if I can’t help my good friend Cheeba without actually, you know, helping him. It’s the Christian thing to do. Florida: Tourist Information One of the last states to crash into the mainland of America (April 17th, 1927 is known as Collision Day),...
Mangos, Mangos, Mangos
Every day is Mango Day here at neOnbubble, the home of the mighty Mango! The History Of The Mango Cast your mind back to the heady, lazy days of the seventeenth century. It was a time of exploration, a time of plagues, a time of purges against expressive dance, a time of lust in pantaloons. It was also a time of fruit-boredom. For centuries the people of, at first the Dark Ages, and then the Getting Brighter Ages, had engorged themselves on all the fruits known to man – the plum, the banana, the orange, the tortoise, the melon, the coconut, the apple, and the potato to name but a few – and apathy had begun to set in. Civilisation had become complacent with regards to healthy eating and lusted after the forbidden fruits of cigarettes and cornish pasties. Sicknesses and diseases long-considered extinct or, at worst, confined to France such as rickets, scurvy, and Republicanism were sweeping through populations the world over. Something had to be done and someone had to do the something that had to be done before nobody did nothing about the something. Sadly, nobody did until the latter half of the nineteenth century when popular scientist Isabella di Mango (Italian discoverer of aerobics and popular because of her insistence in performing it nude) accidentally created the world’s first mango while trying to perfect the rear body reach near a bowl of overripe peaches and a pear with an inferiority complex. One quick call to Malaysia to arrange growing rights and royalties, a naked aerobicist dripping in mango juice advertising campaign, and the mango took the world by storm. As Isabella aged, her popularity, like her often-exposed breasts, sagged, and with it went the soaraway success of the new fruit. Mangos have been in decline ever since but are set to make a comeback. Mangos Are Good For You Mangos, like all fruit except the nasty strawberry, are packed full of nanobots constructed by the progenitors of the human race and seeded on the planet Earth during the Triassic period to fight off arterial sclerosis which was ravaging the dinosaurs at the time. Over the aeons the original nanobot programming of all other fruits has become corrupted through replication errors: damsons cause your ankles to swell, red grapes cure dutch elm disease but dutch elm trees rarely eat them, nectarines sing constantly but at a pitch beyond our hearing, et cetera. Only the mango, due to its recent formation in history, has anything close to the original code intact and is the sole fruit that will fight off lung dessication. Here are some Mango Facts!...
Robot warriors
Now, I know that you are a tactical genius and you would never engage in a war in a foreign country against an enemy who was never a threat with: far too few troops, an army mostly consisting of accountants and shelf-packers who thought they were signing up for a couple of weekends playing with guns in the mud back home, about enough armour, weapons, and support to withstand a direct attack by the girl guides, but not from two sides at once, intelligence derived mainly from interpreting the works of Nostradamus and taking every 666th letter from the Bible and rearranging them, soldiers who steadfastly refuse to not get attacked, maimed, and killed at every opportunity. Sadly, this sort of decision-making savvy takes years of experience to ignore when you’re in the U.S. military command structure and too afraid to question ridiculous orders from above. Luckily, with the death toll of American soldiers currently standing at over one thousand four hundred and an official wounded figure slightly under ten and a half thousand, the magical line has been crossed that has finally seen those at the top of the chain of command decide to act in very nearly the best interests of their people. Negotiated withdrawal? Er, no. More troops! Not quite. Suppress all the bad news from the Middle East while running away? Oh, if only. Don’t say robots. It’s robots. There are benefits to using robots. A robot with missing wheels doesn’t make people feel quite so sad as a young soldier with half a head; it does make toasters cry though. There are no systems in place to deal with robots deliberately shooting civilians, or torturing and raping relatives of captives which is good for avoiding tricky bad publicity issues. Robots don’t have any rights to expect pensions either which, admittedly, will probably put them on a level with the human soldiers, but at least you can factor in cost-saving now and that pleases shareholders. On the negative side robots are more likely to be simply stolen and broken apart for scrap. That rarely happens with your typical squaddie. The first robots will be based around the bomb-disposal models. It’s an obvious first step but it won’t be long until necessary improvements are required. Aibo: Fighting Dogbot! If you want robots built then you need to look to NASA. If you want your robot to actually work then you need to look to the Japanese. The Aibo Fighting Dogbot is designed to more easily blend into its environment than the Short Circuit lookalike it will replace. Of course, I’m assuming that the landscape of Iraq...
Reptilian Diary
There comes a point in every Reptilian’s life that he, she, or the third gender pronoun ‘Malcolm’ decides to spill the beans, to let the cat out of the bag, to unravel the strings of deceit from the big bag of truthy words, to come clean. I, Reptilian Overlord Mark, am, in fact a Reptilian. There was a clue in my name but most people won’t have seen it until now because, as a Reptilian, I have scary and mystical powers that allow me to mask reality behind a woollen cloak of confusion. I’m a bit like The Shadow, only scalier. Now, there are some of you that have already seen through the barriers that I and the others of my kind took so much time and effort to construct. David Icke, one of your foremost mammalian Reptilian uncoverers has done some sterling work in the field. But I think it’s only fair to rebut some of his so-called facts. All The Presidents Of The USA Are Reptilians If you think for one second that we’re taking responsibility for that bunch then, to use a Reptilian saying, your blood’s going warm. I can categorically confirm that Gerald Ford was and is to this day the only Reptilian to attain the post of Presidency. And that was a mistake: he only popped out to pick up a pack of dried flies for lunch. Reptilians Are Blood-Drinking, Shape-Shifting Paedophiles Yes, we shift shapes, but that’s all. It helps us get laid. The blood-drinking and child molestation are purely the acts of televangelists and they’re all descended from the original, dominant penguin species who we successfully put down in the great Take That Fisheaters! War of 112400 BC. Reptilians Use Satanism To Control Humanity I’ll be honest: we considered it. But Reptilian Overlord Rupert Murdoch came up with a far better solution and we’ve used that ever since. It still involves sacrifices, a feeling of pure disgust, and occasional soiling but means that the rest of us don’t have to dress up like goths and that was one of the things we were trying to get away from when we left our home world to infiltrate yours. To summarise: we’re not as bad as David Icke makes out. In the event you’re not convinced by my arguments and find the pictorial proof of the Reptilian agenda present at Reptilian Agenda holds sway then please allow me to allay your fears by reproducing a page from my human skin-bound diary: Monday Bloody freezing in the house again. Switched the ceramic hobs on the oven to full and stepped from one to another for...
Calorie Control
The story so far … Our hero, Mark The Magniificent: Master Of Man Mammaries, along with midget wrestler sidekick Will Power, has taken it upon himself to battle the evil triumvirate of Dr Lovehandles, Professor Al Coholic, and Lecherous Lord Lazyarse. At the conclusion of our last gut-wrenchingly beautifully-directed, written, and produced episode we witnessed Mark and Will Power crash over a cliff, locked in the glove compartment of a replica of Herbie The Love Bug. Fortunately, as this enthralling and exciting tale of terror continues we learn that Mark was able to construct a rudimentary oxyacetylene-powered glove compartment escape tunnel boring machine from the car’s coffee-ringed log book, a travel sweet stuck in the back where it had rolled out of the packet long ago and been melted by temperature extremes, and a leaflet offering the services of a roofer which someone had once kindly stuck under the windscreen wipers whilst under the delusion that car owners often sought the services of repairmen during their weekly shop at Sainsburys. I’ve been noticing things since I’ve been on this health-binge. It’s not that my captured planetesimal has finally broken orbit due to reduced gravitational attraction. And it’s not my dangly bits and toes either. But yes, those too. What I’ve really been noticing are adverts for various foodstuffs geared towards people like me; people keen to make a bit of an effort in the early part of the year before the February depression sets in and the Day Of 10,000 Eclairs descends. Take ‘Special K‘, for instance: advertised by a lithe, young thing in a swimsuit, suggesting that one bowl will make you – yes, you, fatty! – this thin! Ah, but they’re not allowed to really suggest that, are they? Hence the final smallprint: Can Help Weight Control As Part Of A Calorie-Controlled Diet. Call me Senor Bleeding Obvious, but they may as well have put: Can Help Weight Control When Left Out Of Reach While Incarcerated In A Turkish Prison. You never used to see these kinds of disclaimers on breakfast cereals when I was a kid. Ignore ‘Special K‘. We used to eat ‘Common Or Garden F‘ that simply suggested "Add milk to taste". On special occasions we might buy ‘Just Like All The Rest Q‘ but the only claim that ever made was "Consumption through ear canal not recommended.". Those were the days. Since noticing these adverts I’ve been keeping tabs on all those that make ridiculous claims. If you look below this paragraph you’ll see the manner in which I’ve decided to bring them to your attention is a visual...
Resolve
I made a resolution last year: that resolution was to write about the proceeding year’s resolution about one week into the year thereby making me look slow and dim-witted and lacking anything interesting or original to write about thereby lulling any readers who might still be around into a false sense of security thereby facilitating their hunting down and subsequent incarceration as amusements in my as-then yet-to-be-completed undersea theme park, Mark’s Undersea Theme Park Land Amusement Land Park. I kept last year’s resolution when I started writing this paragraph which includes not only exciting details of this year’s resolution (as promised) in the sentence one after this, but also a sad excuse of an apology for not finishing Mark’s Undersea Theme Park Land Amusement Land Park in time. I’m very sorry for not finishing Mark’s Undersea Theme Park Land Amusement Land Park in time but negotiations with the heavy lifter crabs broke down in the Summer and picket lines have slowed progress on the main attraction, the Mark’s Undersea Theme Park Land Amusement Land Park "World O’ Discarded Condoms" Canteen. Fear not, though, because I can distract you from these setbacks with the exciting details of this year’s resolution: 2005 is the year of living healthily!!! More healthily!!! Not quite as badly anyway!!! Maybe!!! Alcohol I am not drinking any alcohol during January (although I plan to make up for it on Superbowl Sunday in early February) just to make sure I’m not an alcoholic and hope to cut down my intake considerably thereafter too! I realise I can be thrown out of the half-Irish club for this heinous crime against humanity but there you have it. It’s done, I’m doing it. What does this mean in real terms? Well, even my mouthwash is now alcohol-free. It also tastes like cloves. And it blocks up my sink meaning I either have to keep a Mr Muscle Sink Unblocker Bomb handy or swallow the mouthwash or spit out down the toilet bowl. I have chosen the latter of these three options because: like Derren Brown I am able to read people’s minds from watching how their eyebrows twitch and have discovered that purchasing Mr Muscle Sink Unblocker Bombs in the quantities required causes shop staff to suspect I must spend every waking minute on tiptoes with my privates in the sink feeling the cool, cool porcelain on my Jacobs and ignoring the pubic hairs escaping to freedom down the plughole until such time as the water starts backing up, if mouthwash works the way I think it works then swallowing it will cause my future stomach ulcer to have bad...
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