I need a new job. One where I can release the things in my head in to the public domain, but get paid for it. Sure, I do the first part on this site, but it actually costs me money…and you lot never ever email me saying “Hey…Sy….I want to send you £1000 for being amazingly amazing.” Instead, I want to get a job where I get to abuse the stupid news in the world….and get paid for it.
For instance, a quick 5 minute squit around the news sites and I found these nuggets….and I want a piece of the action:
A man in China inserted a milk bottle in to his rear to cure his constipation. No…Really. Why insert a milk bottle? Why not a phone? He could of rang it, talked to his poo and coaxed it out with offers of nibbles (no, he isn’t going to nibble his poo…geez you are sick) and a date at the cinema. Or use a megaphone. “GET THE HELL OUT OF MY BOWEL!” in a really shouty voice. I am thinking though that the best cure for constipation is to insert Paris Hilton in to no mans land. I mean, she is a pointless sh*t, maybe it would have followed her out? Not sure I would be keen on the paparazzi taking countless photos of her climbing in to my rear, but you know…when you need to go and cant, sometimes it takes a special kind of cure.
Should I mention that previous story happened in China? Talking of which…
A taxi driver in China was lucky to escape death when a lorry filled with 2 minute noodles crushed his taxi. What were the china department of transport doing giving 2 minute noodles driving licences? And at no point in the news story I read did they use the line “He was 2 minutes from death”. Or “It would have been a quick death”. Nor do they mention that the worlds economic powers need to do something about the banking sector. OK sure…why would they. It was a story about noodles, but you know…given the chance, I am sure I could of got that in there. Something like “…and in other news, a man almost died today when his taxi was crushed by a lorry containing too many 2 minute noodles. If the banking sector weren’t ruining it for the rest of us, they could have used two lorries”. See what I did there? Yeah I know…I AM a natural. I know you are wondering, so I will put your mind at rest. No noodles were hurt in the making of that news story.
So yes. Those two last news stories both came from China. Talking of which…
There are many ways to propose. With my first wife it was “So. Umm…we gonna do that then? Makes sense I guess”. For my second, I sat in a hire car in an underground car park in Cape Town with my now wife, the radio was on and I said “So. Erm….wanna put this on?” and handed her the ring. That she had chosen. 45 minutes previous. Who said romance is dead? It never lived in my life. Just ask my wife. But one thing I never did was dress up as a carrot.
Along with 49 other friends and then propose to my girlfriend.
What is his girlfriend? A bloody rabbit? If 50 carrots walked up to me and started dancing followed by them talking to me, I would likely run to the hills…and stop eating those magic mushrooms. Sure, they aren’t that tasty, but I just really like mushrooms. Mostly for their description. It is a fleshy spore bearing fruiting body of a fungus. Just makes you want to suck on another one doesn’t it. Although the words “Fleshy spore bearing fungus” also reminds me of a girl I used to date. Not enough therapy in the world for that one.
Where was I? Ah yes…so a guy dressed up as said carrot to propose. It cost him £10000 to do it. I hope she said no. The news story didn’t mention why a carrot. I mean, dancing chickens are a lot more fun. Or he could walk up to her dressed normally in the street and then pull a rubber chicken out of his underwear and say “Got a ring on my cock. Can I put it on your finger? The ring. Not the cock. It’s my cock…and made out of rubber.” Sure, he explains it a little too much, but if you walk up to a girl and pull a rubber chicken out of your pants…you better have your excuses ready.
But lets leave China and their insanity and move to South Korea. I would move to North Korea, but geez…my first wife’s name was Kim. North Korea’s tyrannical nutter is also called Kim. You get the idea. I’d rather insert a milk bottle in to my behind while eating 2 minute noodles while dressed as a proposing carrot than spend time with either of those two. Instead….South Korea. And the clever scientists there who worked out that if your ring finger is longer than your index finger, you are hung like a stallion. As a side note, I find it hard to type on this keyboard as one of my fingers is so frigging much longer than the others. At my wedding, it was like Pinocchio had been doing some sponsored lying thing. I had to stand 4ft away from my wife so she could get the ring on my finger. Anyway…that’s not related to this story (call me ladies! *wink*) but instead…yes…they worked out that by analysing the length of varying parts of 144 men, they could tell if you were longer than the average bear…or if during a speed dating session, you should sit on your hands. Who actually thinks “Hey, you know…lets measure fingers and appendages. See if they are related. I often thought about setting up an aspect ratio based on how happy I am if I was to play with a girls chest. I could get 144 women of varying chest size and I could measure my happiness based upon it. It seems like it is a perverted thing to do…but really…index finger and penis length? Somebody got their jollies on that one.
The world is a very confusing place.
Aaanyway. Until next time. I am off to work out why my ring finger is so impressively longer than my index finger.
Tata!
wheelturninghamsterdead.com 