I read today that some research on students at a university came to the conclusion that drinking too much coffee can make you hallucinate.   They were quoted as saying

Large amounts of caffeine also made people more likely to think they could sense the presence of ghosts

Now I had a thought about this, and the only time I can think when this may have happened to me was one night where I couldn’t sleep due to a higher than usual intake of coffee.  It was about 2am and I couldn’t sleep, but because I had about 20000 litres of coffee sloshing about in my bladder, I decided to go relieve myself of a gallon or two.  So off to the bathroom I went. 

Hobbling along like a drunk weeble, I entered the bathroom with only the light of the moon lighting up the room.  No, my bathroom isn’t in the garden or anything, I just hadn’t turned the light on because I didn’t want to wake the rest of the occupants of the house up.  Of course, me standing on stuff and smashing in to things on the way to the can and shouting “Bloody hell…who put that copy of hooters monthly there” may have done it, but at least the thought was there.  And my wife now knows about my magazine subscription.

I walk in to the bathroom and start to relieve myself when out of the corner of the eye I saw something move.  Startled, I turned to my left and saw a milky white pale as you like naked fat dude standing there looking sideways in my direction.  Staring at me right in the eyes.  With his little manin his hand.  He began to mimic my every move.  Goading me.  Abusing my senses.  He was ugly too… And I don’t mean ugly ugly, I mean he was just disgusting ugly.

Like a big girl, I legged it back to bed and woke my wife up. 

Honey…there is a ghost in the bathroom!  I said.  She asked me where, and we went to the bathroom.  I pointed to the corner of the room where the ghost had been and she replied You mean where the mirror is?  and walked away and went back to bed seemingly pissed off with me. 

So maybe they are right, and the coffee would do this.  I do have just one concern with the research though.  Students are generally a little on the inebriated side most of the time.  The material fails to mention if they had drank themselves silly before they drank the coffee.  If you have to drink vast quantities of alcohol first, I am pretty confident that you see things no matter how much coffee you drink.  Or maybe they were drinking liquor coffee!  I don’t know.  But what I do know is that I once drank so much that when I looked in the mirror, all I saw was me looking like a hunk of burnin’ love. 

Yup, amazingly there IS enough alcohol in the world to make me look attractive!  Who’d have thunk it!

 

In other news, come join the facebook page for this blog!  Or not.  You know…no pressure or anything. Do it now.  Do it…DO IT!  Not that I put anything on there yet…but time is a dish best served…doing something or other.  http://apps.facebook.com/blognetworks/blog/the_wheel_is_turning_but_the_hamster_is_dead/

Wandering through the google search results in my stats, I realised I had enough weird ones to do another of these posts.  So.  Here is it.  For those new enough to the site, and havent read the entire back catalogue of posts yet (what is taking you so long?), the words in the ” ” are the phrases that were put in to google to find the site. 

The rest?  That is just me being me…because…well, I can.

Dear Sy:  “Will french fries kill a hamster?”

Uncle Sy Says:  Well, yes, I guess.  But you are probably better off going for a hammer.  Quicker, less pain and you get to practice hammering stuff compared to eating french fries. 

Dear Sy:  “Why are vegetarians bad in bed?”

Uncle Sy Says:  I think the answering is so blisteringly obvious that you are going to feel stupid asking.  The answer?  It is allll about the meat. 

Dear Sy:  “What happens before a hamster dies?”  

Uncle Sy Says:  It lives.  Holy hell.  Why dont you ask me why I have thumbs or something else intelligent.

Dear Sy:  “What does it mean when u dream about the person u love?”

Uncle Sy Says:  Well to start with, it is YOU and not U.  What are you?  12 years old?    Anyway.  Think about this:  What does it mean when you dream about a gerbil armed with a machine gun?  Nothing.  So if you dream about someone you love…ah hell…forget it.

Dear Sy:  “What does it mean when a cow hits a person in dream?”

Uncle Sy Says:  That she is really pissed off that you dated her sister.  Yes.  You are broken in the head.  Date normal girls.

Dear Sy:  “How would a blind person react to seeing for the first time?

Uncle Sy Says:  I am guessing with the words:  Oh my god you are so ugly.  I wish I was blind and denying your uglyness again!  Get me a bucket…I think I am gonna see my lunch for the first time.

Dear Sy:  Can you tell me “How to get your cat to trust you?”  

Uncle Sy Says:  Yup.  You offer it all the fun stuff, and once it comes around to your way of thinking, you destroy it’s spirit!  That’ll teach it!

Dear Sy:  “How do you cheer up a person when their hamster died?”

Uncle Sy Says:  I can tell you how NOT to.  By laughing at them, and bragging about how cool your alive hamster is and then punching them when they arent looking.

Dear Sy:  Can you tell me what it is like “having sex with a blind person?”

Uncle Sy Says:  Kind of the same as when you have sex with a person that can see, but at the end, they cant see your face so they dont feel so dirty and used.

Dear Sy:  “Does it matter what language a carer uses with a blind person?”

Uncle Sy Says:  What?  They are blind you doofus.  Not bloody deaf.  Did someone fall out of the cot at an early age?

A man in Australia broke in to a sex shop, had his wicked way with three blow up dolls in the “Jungle Jane” range (and probably a pack of chocolate willies as a snack once he was done, coz you know, people get the munchies after such a hard days graft) and then threw them in an alley and ran off.

Granted, that makes this dude one of the most confused men on the planet when he could have just ordered them on a buy two get one free offer from some online site for a very generous price.  That I know absolutely nothing about.  And certainly nothing about the pump to quick inflate and quick deflate for those moments of need, and moments of panic when you realise that during your ménage à trois with Pootle and and Bootie, your bestest blow up pals, that your wife comes home unannounced.  You know, if that stuff could happen.   Anyway…moving along swiftly…

The shop owner was quoted as saying:

“It’s totally bizarre. It’s a real concern that someone like that is out on the street,”

Soooo…a person that sells blow up dolls to the concerning buyer of all things plastic and full of air and will let anyone in the world take advantage of them no questions asked (no, I don’t mean Pamela Anderson*)  said that people like that on the street is a concern. 

Is it just me or is there a sense of, well, complete and utter stupidity in his statement?  He sells them to people and then worries that there are people like that on the street?!

Not me though.  You wouldn’t see having sex with dodgy blow up dolls that don’t look that lifelike even though I paid you could pay £50 for them for 1 simple reason. 

I lock the doors and close the curtains.  That way my wife may catch me when she cant open the door, but she thinks I was planning a big surprise for her.  Well, that is what I will tell her anyway.

But back to the main story.  The police have taken fingerprints, DNA samples…and photos of the “crime scene”.  Photos?  What are they expecting to see?  A shop filled with things they wish they could show their wife, but instead is kept in their “private collection” in that mysteriously locked cupboard that you don’t admit to having a key for.

When they catch the guy, and they will because they always get their guy, just what are they going to charge him with?  Giving the police force a damn good laugh?  “Your honour.  The defendant had sexual relations with 2 blow up dolls and did not call them back in the morning”.  Not exactly a punishable offence.  Maybe he just lost their number?!  Or maybe…just maybe…he was waiting a few days before calling them. 

Let me tell you, the male/female blow up doll relationship model is a LOT harder than most people imagine.

 

* – Well, I guess I should sit back and wait for all the hits with the search term “Pamela Anderson blow up doll” to appear then.

So it seems that (although I am pretty sure it is just a joke) the porn industry is having a….erm…hard time with the economic crisis, and have asked for $5Billion to help them get it back up again. 

I can see where they are going with this one I guess.  If I was given $5BILLION, I know I would be a little on the excited side.  But back to the industry.  You have a lot of staff.  It isn’t just someone with a camera and a few people giving it all for president and country.  You have so many people behind the scenes.  There is the one that has to hand out the hand and face wipes, then you have the “testers”.  The people employed to have a damn good look at the finished product and see if it is firm enough to send to market…and many more tireless souls giving it as much as they can.  I mean really…do you think that the “actors” and “actresses” enjoy their job?  Damn friggin straight they do.  And how often do you hear of people enjoying their job?  So I personally think they deserve the cash to keep the world up and going.

I myself once offered my services in the adult industry.  I applied for the position of chief gawker.  My job was to stare in amazement and then sit down with a cushion on my lap and say “hmmm…might need to watch a little more”. 

I got the job, but didn’t last long.  I was told after my 8th trip to the bathroom in 15 minutes and smoking a pack of cigarettes that my “heart” wasn’t in it.  Crazy.  I had just drank a lot and needed to pee.  Honest.  I asked if there was any other job I could do, but I was escorted off of the set and they wouldn’t even shake my hand goodbye.  Some people are so rude.

The more I think about this, the more I feel I should research it more.  See just what is really out there from this industry.  Spend some valuable time bringing you the answers.  If I can still see straight at the end.

But I can’t.

I can’t because I have 3 cats.  No really, that is my reason.  And it is a valid one.  You see, when you have 3 cats, you expect them to be a little on the territorial side.  You expect them to protect their “ground”.  So why did all 3 of them just sit idly by while another cat came in the house, ate their food…and then on the way out threw the whole damn lot up on the floor in the kitchen? 

Because they are lazy little gits.  That’s why. 

And now I have cleaned up that mess, the last thing I want to do is “research”.  Currently at the top of my list is not throwing up from the site and smell of whatever it was that the cat had also eaten tonight…which I am pretty sure NASA would be interested in studying.  It was green and I swear it was moving.  And when I threw it in the bin, I am fairly sure I heard “Noooooooo…heeeeelp meeeee!” in a quiet squeaky voice.

Huh.  What do you know.  200th post.  I guess that deserves absolutely nothing different from my usual drivel then!

I thank Tami for the subject content for this post, and for the next one I write as she saw this and thought of me.  Which is nice in a way, and disturbing in another because she associated me with some nutter.  But anyway…

A man has decided to divorce his wife.  Nothing devastatingly unusual there.  Except that as part of the deal, he wants to go that little further and get his donated kidney back.   I can see where he is going here I guess.  I mean, it’s his.  He paid for it etc.  What right does she really have to it?

He was reported as saying

he had not only gave his heart to his wife, Dawnell, but donated his kidney to save her life. 

As a side note, is there absolutely anyone else in the world called Dawnell?  If you are…speak up.  And I want proof in the way of £100 transferred to my bank account.  Or is she called Dawn and he wishes that she was currently residing in hell, and just mashed the two together?

So he gave her his heart and is now saying he wants to kill her?  Because if he takes away the magic life saving kidney.  Then again, if he takes his heart back, that is gonna do much the same.  Maybe he should take her heart rather than take back his spiritual heart?  He could take it on a stick.  And smear it in BBQ sauce.  And cook it for 45 minutes on gas mark 7.  He could call it a Dawnell-b-q surprise and dish it up to his dinner guests while supping a nice Chianti.  I bet they could use that in a film!  I mean, it sure as hell hasn’t been done before right?!

But I know some of his pain.  When I got divorced from my first wife, it was nowhere near this bad.  We each took half of the possessions.  Sadly, in my half was my memory.  So while she took my bed, I was left remembering her ugly gerbil face and her whiny annoying accent.  It seems a tad unfair when I look back on it that she got the frontal lobotomy, and I was left with all those annoying memories.  Although the more I think about it, the more I think she may have had the frontal lobotomy at an early age. 

I once asked her what she was thinking as she looked a bit perplexed.  Her answer?  She dribbled and said “Flibble” while spraying biscuit filled spit all over the floor and my shirt.  I should have got a sign then.  Although thinking back, why I didn’t get it at the wedding when the minister said all the BS and the idiot responded with “I doodoo” in a voice like an elephant with a lisp and laughed like a deranged child is beyond me.  I think I was caught up in the moment.  Or the one before where I got reeeeeally drunk while thinking “There has to be something better than doing this for charity”.

The big difference between the kidney dude and my divorce is that he gave her his heart and kidney, and my ex wife gave me heartburn and wind.  Although I am fairly confident we both wish they were sat in hell somewhere!

I am starting to wonder who was really worse off here!

A woman in Australia set fire to her husbands pulsating python of love because she thought he was cheating on her.  A bit extreme maybe when she could have just talked to him constantly for 5 hours without him getting a word in…which would have probably made him want to hurt himself anyway.   OK, so maybe he wouldn’t have set fire to his twig and berries, but holy hell… Amazingly, he died.  Yeah, shock horror!  If you set fire to someone, especially in there fun department, they die!  But it is OK because the was quoted as saying:

“I just wanted to burn his penis so it belongs to me and no one else, I didn’t mean this to happen,”  (Sy: “penis”? What a stupid name for a thrill drill!)

Why not get a tattoo with “Bessie loves Gerry” or whatever the hell names they had instead?  Or use a biro or permanent marker and write your name on Ralph the fur faced chicken?  Nooo…this woman wants to burn her name in it. 

I think that all women that have been hurt by a man should create an effigy of a huge penis (no, presidents and prime ministers are DIFFERENT types of penis…) and stand in the streets burning it while shouting out chants of some kind like they do in middle eastern countries when they are pissed off.  They have the right idea!

I am going to be honest here.  I am a little worried.  Not about getting caught cheating, because I know what would happen if I did that.  My wife would be wearing a pretty new pendant on her necklace.  A sadly reeeeally small pendant, but that is my issue and not yours.  But what I am worried about is this:

If a woman will do something like that because of something like cheating, just what the living hell is my wife going to do when she finds out I have a secret stash of star wars collectible figures?  Yeah I know… What woman would put up with that?  Cheating…fine.  Star Wars figures?  Pass the divorce paperwork and a hefty punishment.

I am pretty sure she will be committing an offence far worse than bringing a match to Richard and the twins.  I am thinking that she will volunteer my services for THIS story.

Yes, they are running out of human brains to work with.  But this is where I am lucky because there is about no chance that medical science would want any part of my body to work on.  Especially my brain.  It would be too much for them to handle when they see something so big but so vastly empty.  It is like a black hole.  Yeah everyone knows they exist, but no one wants to go near one.   Unlike my stomach which is bigger and very full.  The contents also has a frothy head on it if you attach a tap to my belly button and see what comes out. 

I am pretty confident that they wont want to investigate the contents there either.

 

 If you feel the need to read about the toasted wiener, it is HERE.  But no photos so don’t rush.  Perv.

Well, as my wife seems to say to me a lot;  “Is that it?  All that build up and now I don’t even feel like it even happened!”.  Yes, Christmas (for me) is now a blurred whisky and beer soaked memory.

Of course, it is good that it is over after the fundamental errors I made in the build up to the “big day”.  This included not getting the turkey out in time to defrost so “Speed defrosted” it by getting all my wife’s female friends to come over and talk to it.  All the hot air seemed to do the trick nicely.  But my biggest mistake seemed to be my wife saying “While you are out, can you get some Christmas wrapping paper?”.  Except that I wasn’t really listening because I am a man.  So I got this:

Yup.  Instead of wrapping paper, I bought Christmas crapping paper…which apparently is great for wiping your arse, but not so good for wrapping a present.  I don’t know why though…it was 2 ply!    And if my present to my wife was the gift of going to the toilet on a very regular basis…which it was as I cooked dinner…I don’t really see what the problem was!  But either way, I screwed up.

But of course, the one thing I manage to do every single year is get the wrapping paper etc, and then hide in a room ready to wrap my presents which is pretty much always followed by the immortal words “Honey…have we run out of sellotape?” which this year was followed by “I told you to get some when I asked you to get the wrapping paper and you bought the damn toilet roll instead!”

Dammit.  Brown parcel tape and toilet roll it is then.

Which brings me on to an issue I have with Christmas Crackers… And I don’t mean the pretty girls wearing the ultra short Mrs Santa outfits which I am not allowed to stare at when I am with my wife.  Well, ever…obviously. *cough*

Why do Christmas crackers, no matter what brand or cost, ALWAYS have one of the gifts of a mini sellotape.  Is this because just like the bad jokes you get in them, someone is trying to wind you up? 

“Yes, I knew you forgot the sellotape, so just to tease you, here is some sellotape.”  Which is about as useful as clamping crocodile clips to your testicles and speaking with a Swedish accent.  Yeah in theory it sounds good…but where is it going to get you really?  Exactly.

Well, that is me for 2008.  I hope you all enjoyed your Christmas/Holiday/Still working as your country doesn’t celebrate, and I will be back in 2009.

Rant rant rant.  You know, I tried to make this funny…wow did I ever fail!!

Well, it is that time of the year again.  Christmas.  A time of peace on earth, and of being kind to your fellow humans.  A time of no stress and happy thoughts.

The start of Christmas in my household was as follows:

Various light bulbs died in the house.  They weren’t asked to, they just did.

We bought a frozen turkey this year to save costs.  It needs 48 hours to defrost.  I got it out of the freezer this morning at 10am.  Bugger.

A good start!  And then….

Because I am a really lazy git who couldn’t be bothered to go out to buy stuff genius, I did all my shopping online.  Except that I kind of forgot a couple of important things.  Naturally, I remembered this at about 3am this morning while trying to get to sleep while thinking how sexily awesome I am to have everything done already.  So on Christmas Eve, your intrepid site writer got in his car and went to the local town center.

Holy hell.  Peace on earth and goodwill to all humans???  I think not.  It seems that if you have a pram (which where I am, most people do because the average mother is about 12 and shouting at their kids in an accent which..well..yeah it is English, but not as you know it.), it is your god given right to break my ankles when standing in a queue by jamming the damn thing constantly in to the back of my legs because naturally, that makes the queue go quicker and doesn’t make me want to empty a box of icing sugar on your head and then throw eggs at you.  Or maybe you are standing behind a till on Christmas Eve filling the shoppers with Christmas spirit by being the genuinely most miserable person known to man.

Hmmm…this post is becoming a bit of a rant!

It was at this point, I reached in to my pocket, got out my iPod, put the earphones in my ears and put some of the heaviest music I have on.  It was supposed to calm me down.  Dammit.  Wrong again.

But being Christmas, I did my bit by buying a copy of The Big Issue from the homeless man on the corner.  It costs £1.  Oh, except that he said he wants a meal, so can I give him £3. 

His psoriasis was sexy so I gave him £3, shook his hand, wondered what was now attached to my hand and went off to buy some acid to clean my now infected hand.

Escaping town with my wares, I head off in to the big Christmas queues on the road.  Again, being Christmas, you make an effort for the car that is trying to go from the left lane to the right who has indicated for ages.  Except that you don’t.  You get as close to the car in front of you so no one can get in.  How dare that car want to cross lanes in to your lane so he can continue his journey!  Quick…beep at him for trying to change lanes and give him the V sign until he threatens to come and beat your head in with a Christmas card! (I had nothing else to hand…)

And then I made it home.  To wrap presents. 

I am the kind of man that loves to wrap presents.  Except replace “loves to” with “is painfully crap at even trying to”.  I cut my gum in 3 places trying to bite the sellotape.  This is because I didn’t use the scissors to cut it.  And why not?  Because I am an idiot!

Screw this, the only Christmas Spirit I am having is a whisky and lots of beer.  Bah Humbug.

If you are of the celebrating Christmas kind, Merry Christmas!

If you don’t celebrate Christmas, Happy Holidays!

If you are one of the unlucky (or lucky depending on how you look at it) colleagues from work or if indeed you are someone at work who I don’t know, merry Christmas lads and lasses.

If you just don’t care for it at all, good for you!

Either way, have a great time and I will be back in 2009 (or 2008 if I get the urge)…if my liver holds out that long from the alcohol and turkey abuse…or I don’t get arrested for trying to hurt someone!

I think my cat may have a drug problem.

It started a while ago when her behaviour changed which was followed by money missing from my wallet.  At first I thought it must have been my wife stealing the money because…well…when is the last time you saw a cat spending money?  Yeah exactly.  So when I challenged my wife regarding the missing money and she threatened to remove my fun department and play “Pin the penis on the dart board” which I believe is a new take on pin the tail on the donkey, I took back my accusation and bought her some flowers.  Without prickles obviously.

So we laid a trap and put tainted money in my wallet.  The next day the money was gone, and my cat was licking her paws trying to get the peanut butter off.  Of course, she denied it and said the peanut butter was from where she was making a sandwich.  Either way, I know that putting peanut butter is a really bad idea.  If only I had found out before I did it!

With the knowledge that the cat was the erm cat burglar, I followed her.  I followed her to her dealer.  The neighbourhood wannabe who seems to be dealing catnip.  I watched my cat give him my money and a few minutes later, she cut a line of catnip and with one big sniff she started running about the place like a crazed ninja who just found out he forgot to ingest his testicles prior to battle.

Later that day she returned home and I heard a fight in the house.  Now, my cat is quite small.  She isn’t the size of a horse or anything, she is just…well…cat sized.  If you don’t know what size a regular cat is, you either live in the jungle where the cats eat you or really don’t get out much. 

Hearing the fight, I ran to the kitchen where I could hear the noise.  I entered a scene of carnage.

Feathers everywhere.  The picture doesn’t show the true horror (although you are probably wondering why there was the remains of a bird scattered around the floor and the first thing I thought was “Hmm..lets take a photo!”).

At this point the cat did a great impression something running very fast.  Her children followed shortly after.  Was this a team effort?  Actually, as you can see, there are the feathers…but where is the rest? And then I found it.  The Dead Bird of Doom.

I should mention that the damn thing is huge.  The size of my cat.  My cat has no battle wounds at all.  Is catnip actually PCP of the feline world?  I don’t know.  But…

So here is my predicament.  Do I save on buying a turkey this year because of the credit crunch, and say “BAD KITTY!” so she brings me more and we have many a tasty pigeon for Christmas dinner, or…actually, is there another option?

No I don’t think so either.