All of these people seem to want to sit next to me on the train. I must be terribly popular, or the trains terribly crowded.
1. The criminally flatulent.
2. The interminably chatty. Seriously. 70 minutes, non-stop. Discussing the various disorders, misdemeanours and psychoses of their nearest and dearest at full and painfully audible volume. For the record, apparently:
A: Dad's colostemy bag has, of late, taken on a troubling burgundy hue. Presumably because of his bumper beetroot crop. Or is could be bum cancer. The amateur medical profession is divided.
B: Leslie has a crush on her physics teacher.
C: The dress in the attic belongs to Gavin.
3. The diseased. I had not realised that the train doors shutting was a universal prompt to the suited and posh-frocked alike to choke, hack, sneeze and generally evacuate their passages of, collectively, several gallons of phlegm, mucus, and assorted other fluids. A quantity of this, as a rule, ends up on or about my person by dint of proximity. Delightful.
4. The fat.
5. The mal-coordinated. While you're taking a seat, why not take the opportunity to batter 7 shades out of your co-sardines with your bike helmet, brief case, shoes and other such toughened sundries. Why not, indeed?
6. The young. Students. On their way home, at 7 in the morning. Talking about how much "fun" they've had. "Fun". Poor souls. Spare a thought for these people who are going to have to grow a second stomach for all the crack they'll have to smuggle to pay off their loans.
7. The dozers. Apparently, crammed into a seat and surrounded by filth, snot and bum-smells it is possible to grab forty winks. Oh, and dribble copiously. On my shoulder. Soggy now.
8. The incoherent. Giving the "announcements" obviously. These typess are usually half way through some form of gender reassignment therapy, leading to adolescent croakiness, and often blighted with a cold or similar (see 3) and missing one or more teeth (see 5 and, or 10). All of this aids pronunciation no end.
9. The criminally depressed. (See, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, and, ultimately, 10).
10. The drunk. Well, I have to take the edge of somehow, haven't I?
Tuesday, 3 November 2009
Friday, 9 October 2009
Why-don't-they-already-exist festivals
1. SwingerFest
10,000 middle-aged ugly people fucking in self
catering chalets in a leisure-park on the outskirts of Doncaster, while
an Eagles covers band play Hotel California 24 hours a day for the
entire event.
2. Blubber-Fest
A Bacchanalian orgy taking place in an Olympic-sized swimming pool
filled with recently harvested seal blubber. In the absence of newly
butchered seals, any amount of liposuction wastage or corpulent
octogenarians will suffice.
3. The annual Mudcraft Gathering
A weekend of mudcrafts, herbal tea and new age bullshit. People come to share their joy of crafting stuff with and in mud, whilst being able to unwind in an atmosphere of nauseating incense, questionable folk music and spiritual enlightenment. The event will culminate in the crowning of Mudcrafter of the Year, a prestigious competition only rivaled by the Crafted in
Mud Excellence awards, now sadly defunct.
4. Testival
Taking place every other Thursday, except in months containing letters, 400 proficient leotard wearers convene in a disused sports hall in East Cheam to examine the contents of one another's knicker arrangements. Prizes are given for size, resonance and texture of pustules.
Once every thousand years, a small tin cup is awarded to the "prettiest scrotum". Since the dawn of time, this has been presented to a disgruntled meerkat named Susan who thought she was queuing for tickets to see a cast of pharoah ants perform Waiting for Godot at Milton Keynes leisure centre.
5. Drunken Landmark Forum
A retreat where people get ploughed with booze and are made to apologise for passing out. Its character building and only £275.
6. Extremely unhelpful self help festival
Basically a two week self help endurance course. After paying £300 quid the festival goers are locked in a portaloo with a photocopied picture of Alistair Darling, a pair of broken pliers and green tea, with the inspirational instruction "You can do it" handwritten on every sheet of toilet paper.
7. Non-Event
Nothing happens anywhere. As normal. What's the point? I mean, honestly?
8. The Fifth Annual Mass Suicide Event 5 (V)
Several Guatemalan gentlemen claim to have attended each of the previous four "Events", giving the impression that they had rather missed the point. They refute this entirely. But they would. Because they can. Because they are not yet dead.
9. The Biannual Smelling a Dead Pigeon Weekend Extravaganza
Enthusiasts flock to Norwich for this much loved biannual affair, in which people go around smelling dead pigeons in various stages of decomposition. There's a choice of Asian or Italian food and entertainment is usually provided by some guy's mate's band called Gynocops. Festival goers, or pidgesniffers as they jovially refer themselves to, are responsible for their own accommodation, although this year the arranger has promised to open up his back garden for campers.
10. Pirate-week festival
Every six months or so Blackburn hold their weekly Pirate festival, or Yaaaaarrrrrz!!, in which the arts of the pirate are celebrated. Deceased pirate legends give free spitting and swashbuckling lessons, there's the try-the-parrot experience and free rum for all sea-worthy
males. Sherry for the women, or brandy, if they're frisky lasses. Yaaaaarrrrrz!! competes with Burnley's Ninja week festival, or NinjaFest, on deserted moors once a year with live weapons to the death.
(Thanks to AB and KK for #s 5 and 6)
10,000 middle-aged ugly people fucking in self
catering chalets in a leisure-park on the outskirts of Doncaster, while
an Eagles covers band play Hotel California 24 hours a day for the
entire event.
2. Blubber-Fest
A Bacchanalian orgy taking place in an Olympic-sized swimming pool
filled with recently harvested seal blubber. In the absence of newly
butchered seals, any amount of liposuction wastage or corpulent
octogenarians will suffice.
3. The annual Mudcraft Gathering
A weekend of mudcrafts, herbal tea and new age bullshit. People come to share their joy of crafting stuff with and in mud, whilst being able to unwind in an atmosphere of nauseating incense, questionable folk music and spiritual enlightenment. The event will culminate in the crowning of Mudcrafter of the Year, a prestigious competition only rivaled by the Crafted in
Mud Excellence awards, now sadly defunct.
4. Testival
Taking place every other Thursday, except in months containing letters, 400 proficient leotard wearers convene in a disused sports hall in East Cheam to examine the contents of one another's knicker arrangements. Prizes are given for size, resonance and texture of pustules.
Once every thousand years, a small tin cup is awarded to the "prettiest scrotum". Since the dawn of time, this has been presented to a disgruntled meerkat named Susan who thought she was queuing for tickets to see a cast of pharoah ants perform Waiting for Godot at Milton Keynes leisure centre.
5. Drunken Landmark Forum
A retreat where people get ploughed with booze and are made to apologise for passing out. Its character building and only £275.
6. Extremely unhelpful self help festival
Basically a two week self help endurance course. After paying £300 quid the festival goers are locked in a portaloo with a photocopied picture of Alistair Darling, a pair of broken pliers and green tea, with the inspirational instruction "You can do it" handwritten on every sheet of toilet paper.
7. Non-Event
Nothing happens anywhere. As normal. What's the point? I mean, honestly?
8. The Fifth Annual Mass Suicide Event 5 (V)
Several Guatemalan gentlemen claim to have attended each of the previous four "Events", giving the impression that they had rather missed the point. They refute this entirely. But they would. Because they can. Because they are not yet dead.
9. The Biannual Smelling a Dead Pigeon Weekend Extravaganza
Enthusiasts flock to Norwich for this much loved biannual affair, in which people go around smelling dead pigeons in various stages of decomposition. There's a choice of Asian or Italian food and entertainment is usually provided by some guy's mate's band called Gynocops. Festival goers, or pidgesniffers as they jovially refer themselves to, are responsible for their own accommodation, although this year the arranger has promised to open up his back garden for campers.
10. Pirate-week festival
Every six months or so Blackburn hold their weekly Pirate festival, or Yaaaaarrrrrz!!, in which the arts of the pirate are celebrated. Deceased pirate legends give free spitting and swashbuckling lessons, there's the try-the-parrot experience and free rum for all sea-worthy
males. Sherry for the women, or brandy, if they're frisky lasses. Yaaaaarrrrrz!! competes with Burnley's Ninja week festival, or NinjaFest, on deserted moors once a year with live weapons to the death.
(Thanks to AB and KK for #s 5 and 6)
Monday, 30 March 2009
10 tasteless euphemisms for... you know... downstairs lady parts
1. Lady garden
2. Hoo-Ha
3. Crotch taco
4. Tinkleflower
5. Front bottom
6. Afro clam
7. Pink chimney
8. Tangy beef pocket
9. Wizard's sleeve
10. Velvet TARDIS
2. Hoo-Ha
3. Crotch taco
4. Tinkleflower
5. Front bottom
6. Afro clam
7. Pink chimney
8. Tangy beef pocket
9. Wizard's sleeve
10. Velvet TARDIS
Friday, 20 March 2009
Carlsson can't truly enjoy himself unless he's:
1. Offending someone, preferably the recently deceased;
2. Stocked up on White Ace;
3. More successful than his opponents in Jeopardy, by some margin;
4. Unable to catch a lit cigarette whilst someone is filming whilst exclaiming "how cool am I?" with a futile timbre;
5. Within an arm's length of his private parts at all times;
6. Able to make Steve feel guilty;
7. Knee-deep in a four-day drug-induced stupor, somewhere between Norwich and Lewes;
8. Constantly aware of the direction of north;
9. In a state in which he can enjoy himself (see points 1-8, but especially 2, 5 and 7. And 3);
10. Able to discuss, with no particular reference to fact, the phenomenon of the quail.
2. Stocked up on White Ace;
3. More successful than his opponents in Jeopardy, by some margin;
4. Unable to catch a lit cigarette whilst someone is filming whilst exclaiming "how cool am I?" with a futile timbre;
5. Within an arm's length of his private parts at all times;
6. Able to make Steve feel guilty;
7. Knee-deep in a four-day drug-induced stupor, somewhere between Norwich and Lewes;
8. Constantly aware of the direction of north;
9. In a state in which he can enjoy himself (see points 1-8, but especially 2, 5 and 7. And 3);
10. Able to discuss, with no particular reference to fact, the phenomenon of the quail.
Thursday, 19 March 2009
Ten facts concerning the death of Natasha Richardson
We have all heard the devastating news by now. Natasha Richardson, actor, has tragically died whilst putting on her skies on a beginner's slope in Canada. Here follows a list of ten facts concerning her death that may or may not turn out to be true. We here at Gasmpire will spend the rest of the day in solemn mourning, in between working and going to the rest room to skive off. Despite repeated attempts we have been unable to contact Nigel Havers (pictured below, with moustache) for comment.
It is such a tremendous loss.. she was an actor, you know.
1. Her death will make little or no difference to her acting style. She'll still be a stiff in front of the audience (note: her demise may have a slight negative effect on the long-term prospects of her acting career)
2. She is only the second person to die whilst on a beginner's slope. The first was Jurgen Kassler-Schmidt, an Austrian poultry farmer who accidentally shot himself in front of with a group of deaf data-entry clerks from Walsall with an ageing harpoon whilst demonstrating its inherent safety when used in conjunction with beginner's ski classes. It was a tremendous loss. An onlooker later commented that Jurgen died gracefully, despite having a rusty 60cm pike lodged in his abdomen. He took it like a man.
3. She was merely 300 words away from finishing her double-spaced, 300 word essay entitled "World peace, hunger, clean fuel and all those other pesky problems solved" that would have, many believe, revolutionised the world. Now we will never know her secret. It is a tremendous loss.
4. She is currently alive and well, living under the name Gertrude van der Leeuven in a cupola-shaped shed made from ostrich bones, deep in the remote parts of Wisconsin. She intends to use her new-found anonymity to write books and poems about krill.
5. Conspiracy theories suggesting that her left ski was an undercover agent working for Al-Qaeida have flooded the internet, causing severe delays in some corners of cyberspace. Apparently a ski rental shop mix-up ensured the survival of Jeb Bush.
6. When she died, a thousand penguins burst into tears, inadvertently creating several million cubic kilometers of new icebergs.
7. Following her departure, Jeremy Irons has vowed to never shave until she treads the boards again.
8. Following her departure, Jeremy Irons has been forcefully admitted to a psychiatric ward in downtown Kiev with excellent male grooming facilities.
9. Natasha has bequethed her entire estate to the preservation of Yorkshire.
10. Seconds before dying, Natasha made the solemn promise to never go skiing again.
It is such a tremendous loss.. she was an actor, you know.
1. Her death will make little or no difference to her acting style. She'll still be a stiff in front of the audience (note: her demise may have a slight negative effect on the long-term prospects of her acting career)
2. She is only the second person to die whilst on a beginner's slope. The first was Jurgen Kassler-Schmidt, an Austrian poultry farmer who accidentally shot himself in front of with a group of deaf data-entry clerks from Walsall with an ageing harpoon whilst demonstrating its inherent safety when used in conjunction with beginner's ski classes. It was a tremendous loss. An onlooker later commented that Jurgen died gracefully, despite having a rusty 60cm pike lodged in his abdomen. He took it like a man.
3. She was merely 300 words away from finishing her double-spaced, 300 word essay entitled "World peace, hunger, clean fuel and all those other pesky problems solved" that would have, many believe, revolutionised the world. Now we will never know her secret. It is a tremendous loss.
4. She is currently alive and well, living under the name Gertrude van der Leeuven in a cupola-shaped shed made from ostrich bones, deep in the remote parts of Wisconsin. She intends to use her new-found anonymity to write books and poems about krill.
5. Conspiracy theories suggesting that her left ski was an undercover agent working for Al-Qaeida have flooded the internet, causing severe delays in some corners of cyberspace. Apparently a ski rental shop mix-up ensured the survival of Jeb Bush.
6. When she died, a thousand penguins burst into tears, inadvertently creating several million cubic kilometers of new icebergs.
7. Following her departure, Jeremy Irons has vowed to never shave until she treads the boards again.
8. Following her departure, Jeremy Irons has been forcefully admitted to a psychiatric ward in downtown Kiev with excellent male grooming facilities.
9. Natasha has bequethed her entire estate to the preservation of Yorkshire.
10. Seconds before dying, Natasha made the solemn promise to never go skiing again.
Saturday, 28 February 2009
10 idle threats
1. I shall put a cat poo in my phone, and, in time, it will emerge in your ear.
2. I will start a low level leafleting campaign, informing your neighbours and local wildlife that you have a tiny tinkle, and that your botty is infected with icky poos.
3. I'll have you gently aroused with tinned salmon until you admit that you fancy your grandmother's catgut tennis racket.
4. I will put your keys into a different pocket, confusing you for several seconds - perhaps leading to a nagging doubt that will last for up to a minute.
5. I shall insist on calling you "Claudia" every time we meet on a Thursday.
6. I will write your mobile telephone number on the wall in the chaps' lavvy in the pub under the motto "Call this number for raging hot bot-bot".
7. I'll telephone your mother and inform her that you are pregnant by another man, and that you are yet to resolve the embarrassing situation involving a pound note. The shame will only be partially bearable.
8. I will steal one of your socks. But you won't know which one. Yeah.
9.I'll sneeze, not wipe the snot off my hands and then pat you maliciously on the back. Maybe twice.
10. I will photoshop a baby blue beret onto your favourite picture.
You have been warned.
2. I will start a low level leafleting campaign, informing your neighbours and local wildlife that you have a tiny tinkle, and that your botty is infected with icky poos.
3. I'll have you gently aroused with tinned salmon until you admit that you fancy your grandmother's catgut tennis racket.
4. I will put your keys into a different pocket, confusing you for several seconds - perhaps leading to a nagging doubt that will last for up to a minute.
5. I shall insist on calling you "Claudia" every time we meet on a Thursday.
6. I will write your mobile telephone number on the wall in the chaps' lavvy in the pub under the motto "Call this number for raging hot bot-bot".
7. I'll telephone your mother and inform her that you are pregnant by another man, and that you are yet to resolve the embarrassing situation involving a pound note. The shame will only be partially bearable.
8. I will steal one of your socks. But you won't know which one. Yeah.
9.I'll sneeze, not wipe the snot off my hands and then pat you maliciously on the back. Maybe twice.
10. I will photoshop a baby blue beret onto your favourite picture.
You have been warned.
Thursday, 26 February 2009
Ten alternate uses for Belgium
Belgium symbolizes for many people (and certain breeds of otter) the ultimate waste of geographical space. Sure, it is funny, and sometimes even endearing, but ultimately Belgium serves no real function. Given this, it is understandable that most people (and the Dutch) would like to see the country diminish to the point of non-existence, both in terms of landmass and culture, despite not having any culture and very little landmass. We here at the Gasmpire feel this perception (and the strong desire on part of the Dutch to rid the world of the Belgique) is a bit unfair. Not to the Belgians, as they are stupidly called, but to the rest of Europe as a whole. Here we have suggested ten alternate uses for the territory and absurd cultural identity currently known as Belgium. We hope they will be taken to heart by politicians and the Dutch alike, to ensure there will be a Belgium for the future, and perhaps most importantly, that it be wholly distinct from the Belgium at present.
1. Give it to the Dutch. As a nation they're only marginally less superfluous than the Belgians, but at least they can play football.
2. Excavate the entire country and the use the soil to create a massive mountain somewhere. It could be called 'Flemish Peak' and could serve as a reminder of the people who sacrificed their country for a giant mound somewhere. School kids would be made to remember (under duress, if at all plausible / legal), the noble act espoused by the once frankly ludicrous and highly unnecessary people of Belgium and their selfless act aimed at expunging the world of their kind whilst creating a huge peak somewhere.
3. Rebrand Belgium in a Europe-wide competition among the continent's unemployed. The winner will be allowed to decide the fate of the Belgians (as long as it involves gentle annihilation and historical revisionism) and will be asked to place a plaque with the branding of the new look Belgium where the country once stood. Not really much of an alternate use as such, but food for thought nevertheless. (Is it really? Who edits this shit? - Ed.)
4. Turn Belgium into the world's only (and premier) Stella Artois themed pleasure park. People would trek to Stella Park in their droves to engage in such Stella related, time-honoured activities as wife-beating, beer belly cultivating, petty but violent crime and public defecation. One-way chartered flights and buses would leave Rotherham every ten minutes, destined for this great new family destination.
5. Ahh shit... we can't think of any more alternate uses for Belgium. Sorry.
1. Give it to the Dutch. As a nation they're only marginally less superfluous than the Belgians, but at least they can play football.
2. Excavate the entire country and the use the soil to create a massive mountain somewhere. It could be called 'Flemish Peak' and could serve as a reminder of the people who sacrificed their country for a giant mound somewhere. School kids would be made to remember (under duress, if at all plausible / legal), the noble act espoused by the once frankly ludicrous and highly unnecessary people of Belgium and their selfless act aimed at expunging the world of their kind whilst creating a huge peak somewhere.
3. Rebrand Belgium in a Europe-wide competition among the continent's unemployed. The winner will be allowed to decide the fate of the Belgians (as long as it involves gentle annihilation and historical revisionism) and will be asked to place a plaque with the branding of the new look Belgium where the country once stood. Not really much of an alternate use as such, but food for thought nevertheless. (Is it really? Who edits this shit? - Ed.)
4. Turn Belgium into the world's only (and premier) Stella Artois themed pleasure park. People would trek to Stella Park in their droves to engage in such Stella related, time-honoured activities as wife-beating, beer belly cultivating, petty but violent crime and public defecation. One-way chartered flights and buses would leave Rotherham every ten minutes, destined for this great new family destination.
5. Ahh shit... we can't think of any more alternate uses for Belgium. Sorry.
Wednesday, 5 November 2008
10 future British tabloid Obama-based headlines
Apparently there's been some kind of erection in America. Someone could have at least said something...
So, as tabloid headline writers moisten themselves at the prospect of a new world of nauseating puns - here are are few little headlines to get them started.
1. George W. "Yo Blair" Bush meets Obama to congratulate him on spanking the ass off someone's grandpa...
Yo 'Bama!
2. But Obama doesn't show as teasing losers is mean...
No-Bama
3. This causes a kerfuffle...
O-Drama
4. But a good deed performed in a former life restores public opinion...
O Karma
5. So Obama takes a public relations trip to Peru...
Barack O Llama
6. But gets in a pickle with a native livestock herdsman
Obama in Llama Farmer Drama
7. Fortunately the herdsman sticks up for the stricken president...
Obama's no Llama Harmer
8. Who rewards the herdsman with a trip to a Turkish snack bar...
Shawarma Obama
9. The next election rolls round - Schwarzenegger takes on Obama...
"I'll be Barack"
10. Who goes clinically insane and gets shipped off to a funny farm....
O-Barmy
10.5 Before joining an 80s girl band tribute act...
O-Bananarama.
So, as tabloid headline writers moisten themselves at the prospect of a new world of nauseating puns - here are are few little headlines to get them started.
1. George W. "Yo Blair" Bush meets Obama to congratulate him on spanking the ass off someone's grandpa...
Yo 'Bama!
2. But Obama doesn't show as teasing losers is mean...
No-Bama
3. This causes a kerfuffle...
O-Drama
4. But a good deed performed in a former life restores public opinion...
O Karma
5. So Obama takes a public relations trip to Peru...
Barack O Llama
6. But gets in a pickle with a native livestock herdsman
Obama in Llama Farmer Drama
7. Fortunately the herdsman sticks up for the stricken president...
Obama's no Llama Harmer
8. Who rewards the herdsman with a trip to a Turkish snack bar...
Shawarma Obama
9. The next election rolls round - Schwarzenegger takes on Obama...
"I'll be Barack"
10. Who goes clinically insane and gets shipped off to a funny farm....
O-Barmy
10.5 Before joining an 80s girl band tribute act...
O-Bananarama.
Friday, 15 August 2008
10 lessons from the lav, as last night's curry dissolves both arse and plumbing
1. Don't take dinner recommendations from a grinning midget with red teeth.
2. In these circumstances it is advisable to ring ahead and warn the North Sea. Norwegians take a dim view of losing ships to radioactive faecal matter.
3. Rectal prolapse does not just happen to cats.
4. Eat more fibre, buy sturdier pants.
5. Dodgy curry + 1 pound of green grapes = what the Germans charmingly refer to as "durchfall".
6. Great inventions are dreamt up on the lav, such as the pebble-dash.
7. James Bond does not have this problem. Nor does Action Man. That said, Action Man has no bum-hole and his pants don't come off, so arguably his problems are greater.
8. Now matter how vast and horrible your toilet experience may be, it is unlikely to cause you to implode.
9. Humming the theme tune to Will O the Wisp is a pleasant way to mask chronic flatulence.
10. Always always always check for bog roll before taking a seat. Something which I, unfortunately, have failed to do on this occasion. Oh dear.
2. In these circumstances it is advisable to ring ahead and warn the North Sea. Norwegians take a dim view of losing ships to radioactive faecal matter.
3. Rectal prolapse does not just happen to cats.
4. Eat more fibre, buy sturdier pants.
5. Dodgy curry + 1 pound of green grapes = what the Germans charmingly refer to as "durchfall".
6. Great inventions are dreamt up on the lav, such as the pebble-dash.
7. James Bond does not have this problem. Nor does Action Man. That said, Action Man has no bum-hole and his pants don't come off, so arguably his problems are greater.
8. Now matter how vast and horrible your toilet experience may be, it is unlikely to cause you to implode.
9. Humming the theme tune to Will O the Wisp is a pleasant way to mask chronic flatulence.
10. Always always always check for bog roll before taking a seat. Something which I, unfortunately, have failed to do on this occasion. Oh dear.
10 things I'd rather do than shop for office insurance
1. Punch myself in the face over and over again whilst chewing a lightbulb.
2. Spend a weekend being slowly digested by a portly Belgian man.
3. Spend the next twelve years living rough, observing the mating habits of diseased elm trees.
4. Work for the Guardian.
5. Examine the insides of my own eyes with a fish hook and a blow-torch.
6. Grow breasts and then have them sawn off and used to beat me to death.
7. Have a conversation with Anne Robinson, Jeremy Clarkson and Anthony Worrall-Thompson.
8. Staple my own knackers to a plane, before jumping out of said plane at 12,000 feet with no parachute, listening to a walkman playing bag-pipe "music".
9. Support my ageing bedframe on a base of my own faeces. Involves waiting for them to dry first, of course, otherwise your bed will slide all over the place and this might keep you awake.
10. Watch a full Hollyoaks omnibus edition, and then Pearl Harbour, "starring" Ben Affleck.
2. Spend a weekend being slowly digested by a portly Belgian man.
3. Spend the next twelve years living rough, observing the mating habits of diseased elm trees.
4. Work for the Guardian.
5. Examine the insides of my own eyes with a fish hook and a blow-torch.
6. Grow breasts and then have them sawn off and used to beat me to death.
7. Have a conversation with Anne Robinson, Jeremy Clarkson and Anthony Worrall-Thompson.
8. Staple my own knackers to a plane, before jumping out of said plane at 12,000 feet with no parachute, listening to a walkman playing bag-pipe "music".
9. Support my ageing bedframe on a base of my own faeces. Involves waiting for them to dry first, of course, otherwise your bed will slide all over the place and this might keep you awake.
10. Watch a full Hollyoaks omnibus edition, and then Pearl Harbour, "starring" Ben Affleck.
10 quail brand names
1. Quail or Fail – topical gameshow.
2. Quailuude – a new take on the classic depressant. "You'll be light as a feather".
3. Famous Quail - a little known and frankly undrinkable brand of whisky.
4. Scotch Quail Eggs - for the connoisseur with no tastebuds and no chance of making it to 30 without suffering a coronary.
5. Quailsits - Foam packaging that some bastards try to pass off as crisps. Don't eat them, they turn your cock orange.
6. Quailkea - A furniture shop where all the loo brushes are named after ugly villages in Denmark.
7. Quaility Street confectionary. For those moments when you just gotta have a crispy beak, or a caramelized quail's liver.
8. The Daily Quail - a dire newspaper for racists and idiots that I wouldn't even stoop so low as to wipe my arse on. We don't want Captain Botty getting stupidized by osmosis.
9. Quailure is not an option. Low-budget karate-flick about a young boy's journey into manhood following an ill-advised move to join the foreign legion, starring Ben Affleck.
10. Quailin' - bog roll your finger won't go through, and with which you stand at least an outside chance of not unnecessarily abrading an arse-cheek off.
2. Quailuude – a new take on the classic depressant. "You'll be light as a feather".
3. Famous Quail - a little known and frankly undrinkable brand of whisky.
4. Scotch Quail Eggs - for the connoisseur with no tastebuds and no chance of making it to 30 without suffering a coronary.
5. Quailsits - Foam packaging that some bastards try to pass off as crisps. Don't eat them, they turn your cock orange.
6. Quailkea - A furniture shop where all the loo brushes are named after ugly villages in Denmark.
7. Quaility Street confectionary. For those moments when you just gotta have a crispy beak, or a caramelized quail's liver.
8. The Daily Quail - a dire newspaper for racists and idiots that I wouldn't even stoop so low as to wipe my arse on. We don't want Captain Botty getting stupidized by osmosis.
9. Quailure is not an option. Low-budget karate-flick about a young boy's journey into manhood following an ill-advised move to join the foreign legion, starring Ben Affleck.
10. Quailin' - bog roll your finger won't go through, and with which you stand at least an outside chance of not unnecessarily abrading an arse-cheek off.
Thursday, 14 August 2008
10 reasons why Carlsson’s boss is a complete and utter twat
1. He’s a complete and utter twat
2. He only awards contracts to companies he claims he wish he had bought shares in. The more times he says “I wish I had bought shares in this company” before offering that company contracts, the more obvious it becomes that he HAS bought shares in that company, and subsequently offered them contracts. I’m sure this is illegal
3. Every time he addresses his ‘minions’, he seems to get stuck in a timewarp that somehow entitles him to incessantly spout out vacuous 80s motivational drivel that invariable turns out be to untrue, misleading and highly narcissistic
4. He has a nervous tick that, although possibly not his fault, fails to endear him to yours truly. Never trust a man whose face contracts every five seconds whilst he is lying to an audience of 200.
5. He constantly informs us of how successful we are as a company. I have to sit and listen to this shit knowing that several projects have and are failing on a spectacular scale as we speak, resulting in job losses and shit-bottom morale
6. He thinks he is funny and “down” with his staff. He thinks wrong.
7. His novel approach to management (taken from the pages of any early 1980s how to book) means that no one makes decisions or take responsibility for their actions. This has traditionally always been conducive to a great running operation.
8. He is incapable of answering any question in less than 600 words, even if that question is “what is your name?” Verbosity is one thing, inane verbosity from a cunt who thinks he is God’s gift to business is entirely another
9. He is incapable of addressing any member of staff without somehow referring to his previous successes with other companies. As if we care! He clearly lost his way since then, as all he can truly lay claim to now is failure after failure
10. He is a complete and utter twat
Tuesday, 12 August 2008
10 reasons why liberal lefties are ruining our lives
1. The colour purple (both the film and the colour)
2. No one likes using a dictionary
3. We know the world is fucked. Stop going on about it!
2. No one likes using a dictionary
3. We know the world is fucked. Stop going on about it!
4. Left-handed scissors don't stop you being mal-coordinated
5. We don't all deserve a chance, especially not people who make toothpaste from butter mixed with clay
6. Don't believe anything Clegg says. Vince Cable, if you are reading this, kindly smother Clegg while he sleeps. Note: Please don't, thinking about it. Just give him a good telling off and send him to the Naughty Corner
7. Hippies ultimately reject their own liberal ideals and end up managing multinational corporations with a fascist ferocity. “Save the trees so later in life I can pay poor people pittance to chop them down”
8. "Liberal Ideals" is an anagram of "Daddy didn't love me". (?)
9. Can liberalism cure my hangover? Answer: No it fucking can't
10. Tofu is not, I repeat not, universally acceptable as a source of nourishment
10 pathetic excuses for not writing blog entries
1. I have to count my pubes.
2: It currently measures 0.76 on the Carlsson scale
3. Belgium is still a sovereign state
4. If I write something I'll have to stop whinging about not having written anything, then what will I do? Huh?!!
5. I have been incapable of writing words containing the letters ' ' and ' ' since April 1936
6. There appears to be some elderly mayonnaise on my keyboard.
7. For every syllable I write a kitten is doused in kerosine and thrown on a bonfire.
8. Mother says my words are sinful, and if I blog again she's going to purge me with a horse whip and coca-cola enema combo.
9. There is something rotten in the state of Denmark, apparently (although this may be old news. I don't read much). I refuse to go on until this unacceptable situation has been resolved.
10. There's something rotten in my desk drawer which makes me gag when I try to get to the computer. I think it may be the corpse of a budgie I mislaid in early '07.
2: It currently measures 0.76 on the Carlsson scale
3. Belgium is still a sovereign state
4. If I write something I'll have to stop whinging about not having written anything, then what will I do? Huh?!!
5. I have been incapable of writing words containing the letters ' ' and ' ' since April 1936
6. There appears to be some elderly mayonnaise on my keyboard.
7. For every syllable I write a kitten is doused in kerosine and thrown on a bonfire.
8. Mother says my words are sinful, and if I blog again she's going to purge me with a horse whip and coca-cola enema combo.
9. There is something rotten in the state of Denmark, apparently (although this may be old news. I don't read much). I refuse to go on until this unacceptable situation has been resolved.
10. There's something rotten in my desk drawer which makes me gag when I try to get to the computer. I think it may be the corpse of a budgie I mislaid in early '07.
Wednesday, 30 July 2008
10 reasons why Man City are better off without Ronaldinho
1. He's so ugly, no channel would want to televise any of their games (not that they would want to now, either...)
2. There is relatively little call in Manchester for people with the ability to eat an apple through a tennis racket.
3. His poor command of English would inevitably lead to him referring to the club as Man Shitty.
4. He's Brazilian. Meaning in a few short days he'll either be working as a waiter, selling his ass for crack, or being shot on tube trains by the Met for no apparent reason.
5. He might overshadow the mighty Darius Vassell.
6. Ronaldinho is Mancunian dialect for "Please kick me in the nuts really hard, and then nick my trainers. "
... as indeed is "Hello".
7. Man City doesn't need flair, they need a football team
8. The site of the former World Player of the Year in a Sky Blue shirt would be the optical equivalent of "brown noise" meaning that the entire population of the world would collectively shit themselves at the first training session, burying the planet in faecal matter and rendering football irrelevant.
9. Ronaldinho would singlehandedly expose the entire squad for its shortcomings, leading it mutterings on the terraces of "we are actually really, really shit"
10. He looks like a twat in a beret.
See?
2. There is relatively little call in Manchester for people with the ability to eat an apple through a tennis racket.
3. His poor command of English would inevitably lead to him referring to the club as Man Shitty.
4. He's Brazilian. Meaning in a few short days he'll either be working as a waiter, selling his ass for crack, or being shot on tube trains by the Met for no apparent reason.
5. He might overshadow the mighty Darius Vassell.
6. Ronaldinho is Mancunian dialect for "Please kick me in the nuts really hard, and then nick my trainers. "
... as indeed is "Hello".
7. Man City doesn't need flair, they need a football team
8. The site of the former World Player of the Year in a Sky Blue shirt would be the optical equivalent of "brown noise" meaning that the entire population of the world would collectively shit themselves at the first training session, burying the planet in faecal matter and rendering football irrelevant.
9. Ronaldinho would singlehandedly expose the entire squad for its shortcomings, leading it mutterings on the terraces of "we are actually really, really shit"
10. He looks like a twat in a beret.
See?
10 things that aren't relative
1. Death
2. Belgium
3. Amputated fingers
4. Modern life
5. Everthing (according to a film of 1994 of the adult genre)
6. High resolution holographic recordings of elephant figurines with specific reference to Rousselot de-ionised, photo-type gelatins
7. Time
8. Conceptual violence
9. Kronenbourg 1664, Sponseur du Tour de France
10. Hackney
2. Belgium
3. Amputated fingers
4. Modern life
5. Everthing (according to a film of 1994 of the adult genre)
6. High resolution holographic recordings of elephant figurines with specific reference to Rousselot de-ionised, photo-type gelatins
7. Time
8. Conceptual violence
9. Kronenbourg 1664, Sponseur du Tour de France
10. Hackney
Thursday, 5 June 2008
10 famous British cats
1. Cat Deeley
2. Bagpuss (Note: Not, as you may be forgiven for thinking, a cruel euphemism for a lady's front bottom)
3. Henry's cat (Note: He has since let me in on a little secret... Henry's Cat is only his stage name! Surprised? I fairly shat.)
4. Cat scan...
5. James the Cat
6. Henk ten Cate (Note: May also claim to be Dutch. Don't believe a word of it. Nor indeed is he Belgian)
7. Catterick.
8. Quail-Cat (Like Spider-Pig but with much more palpable a sense of inner turmoil)
9. The Argos CATalogue.
10. Sophie Ellis Bextor.
And now for your enjoyment, some cats in hats:
2. Bagpuss (Note: Not, as you may be forgiven for thinking, a cruel euphemism for a lady's front bottom)
3. Henry's cat (Note: He has since let me in on a little secret... Henry's Cat is only his stage name! Surprised? I fairly shat.)
4. Cat scan...
5. James the Cat
6. Henk ten Cat
7. Catterick.
8. Quail-Cat (Like Spider-Pig but with much more palpable a sense of inner turmoil)
9. The Argos CATalogue.
10. Sophie Ellis Bextor.
And now for your enjoyment, some cats in hats:
10 things the French have got right
2. Carla Bruni
3. The rest of the world does not matter as long as it does not speak French and is not a former colony of the republic. Wait, did they get that right?
4. Wine. As opposed to Buckfast.
5. A liberal attitude to the purchase of codeine
6. An acceptance of the fact that women are sexier when they smoke, don't speak English and have hairy armpits
7. Cheese eating surrender monkeys, perhaps, but ultimately still alive.
8. Building refugee camps next to the border of a country with poor immigration service to solve your own immigration problem.
9. If it weren't for
10. Snails are nicer to eat than to step on
Wednesday, 4 June 2008
10 things to do if you run out of drugs
1. Buy more, immediately!
2. Develop another addiction, like an irrational love of sponge. If and when that runs out you can always resort back to drugs.
3. Call your boss, grovel and ask for your job back.
4. Start drinking. Heavily!
5. Relax. Your flatmate will be back in a few hours and hopefully he’ll have some drugs.
6. Make your own. Your local pharmacy has more outs than you can imagine.
7. Get sectioned. Do some research prior to this on what drugs are given for what mental illnesses and act accordingly.
8. Masturbate. WORKS EVERY TIME!
9. As above, but in the company of another, or several, like-minded people.
10. Snort shavings of Keith Richards.
2. Develop another addiction, like an irrational love of sponge. If and when that runs out you can always resort back to drugs.
3. Call your boss, grovel and ask for your job back.
4. Start drinking. Heavily!
5. Relax. Your flatmate will be back in a few hours and hopefully he’ll have some drugs.
6. Make your own. Your local pharmacy has more outs than you can imagine.
7. Get sectioned. Do some research prior to this on what drugs are given for what mental illnesses and act accordingly.
8. Masturbate. WORKS EVERY TIME!
9. As above, but in the company of another, or several, like-minded people.
10. Snort shavings of Keith Richards.
10 ways to avoid getting hung, drawn and quartered
1. Make sure you’re not currently in any of the centuries preceding the 20th and in the process of planning, carrying out or getting caught for deeds of a criminal nature, including treason, libel and/or homosexuality.
2. Prior to the commencement of your punishment (should you have avoided following the advice given in point one, above), take a bath in hot, liquid steel. Once dried, the metal should make strangulation and dismemberment more difficult. Note: may cause severe bodily harm and death.
3. Always align yourself with the current King, Queen or other such de facto ruler, but not too much, should the power suddenly shift in favour of another ruler after which your show of support might be construed as amounting to treason, libel or homosexuality. Again, the best advice is probably to follow the guidelines set out in point one.
4. Prior to the metering out of your mediaeval punishment, swiftly remove all rope, sharp objects and horses from a 50 miles radius of the gallows, thus making the process of hanging, being drawn and quartered more difficult due to a lack of material.
5. Whilst awaiting your gruesome and no doubt just demise, convert to the animal kingdom and proclaim yourself a servant of the noble Quail. You can then deny the authority of the court and wait to be rescued by your feathery friends whilst maintaining a certain level of righteous smugness.
6. Claim you have a bad back and as such should be spared the punishment. It may help to have a doctor’s note to back you up, should it go to a tribunal.
7. Become a pike, or as much like a pike as you can. It is a well-established fact that pikes can’t be quartered. You will probably still die from the hanging, though, this despite pike-necks being notoriously slippery and not of the ideal shape for hanging.
8. Accept the weight of eth world on your shoulders. The extra pounds of weight may cause the rope to snap before the point of asphyxiation. Note: proceed with caution as the weight of the world can be rather heavy, especially during bank holidays and when in the company of deceased German philosophers.
9. Create your own gravitational field in your gut by eating Jade Gooding and not going to the toilet for a week afterwards. When the trapdoor opens you will simply hover in your current position. The massive force exerted by the dense weight of consumed Gooding will also make the process of quartering impossible. Should Jade Gooding not be available during your century, any old fat bitch will do.
10. Commit suicide by decapitating yourself and then eating the remains. Imagine the indignation when the executioner arrives only to find his subject reduced to faeces! Remember, a quarter of shit is still shit.
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