Brazil.  A country that not only gives great shaving advice, but also has a ministry aimed at promoting the rights of prostitutes.  This great country has created the “prostitutes handbook”.  This useful little book helps them prepare for the randy foreigner who comes looking for a lil’ sumfin of the horizontal variety.  Or vertical.  I mean I am not saying I am a one trick pony or anything here….just a generalisation.  Look, stop thinking about how boring I must be in the sack and lets get on with the post can we? 

Thank you.  Geez, you lot are like a bunch of children with your sniggering.  I have feelings you know!

But this book, which I have not researched…nor paid a Brazilian prostitute £200 to sit and talk to me because I am lonely and just want a hug…contains such things as:

They should be prepared to perform fantasies and seduce with affectionate nicknames.  Which is in stark contrast to my wife who often says “Oi ya fat lazy sweaty git..come and give me some lovin…and none of that foreplay crap where you watch the angling channel first”.  Instead I assume they will call you honeybunches or big hard man or “oohh..Mr English man…you are sooo…BIIIIIIG!” to a muscular guy looking at working it a little.  Like me.  Who is muscular underneath the loose chubby bits.

In other news, they should show a capacity to communicate in a foreign language.  This one makes sense I guess.  The last time I asked for a penguin, she pulled my trousers down, gave little Sy a quick kiss, grabbed my wallet and legged it.  There was me, trousers round my ankles, running awkwardly after her.  See, to me, a penguin involved milk chocolate and…well…you know what, lets just not go there. 

But had I known that a penguin to her was something completely different, I would have got my translator out and mentioned chocolate hobnobs. 

They also teach the businesswoman how to negotiate the use of condoms and encourages them to denounce violence.  This could be a tough one to translate.  When I walk up to a woman and say “I wish to beat you with my coat wearing love truncheon!”, I am not saying it in a violent way and am already saying I wish to use a condom.

So hats (and trousers) off to the Brazilian government who took this bold step and created a great piece of literature.  I hope it has pictures!  Oh hell, what am I saying…of course it does.  Anyone wanting a copy, let me know.

As I sit here realising that I had not noticed that my daughter has left the contents of her nostrils attached to my shirt which is giving me the nickname of Captain Snotsky, I find myself surfing the net.  After all, I am at work.  Why wouldn’t I be?  It certainly beats the other 2 options.  The first iswatching the TV which is currently showing some 1960’s movie about something or other…I don’t know, the clothing scares me enough.  But hey, they aren’t wearing a shirt made out of a 3 month olds snot so who am I to complain?  The other option is to actually do some work.  Yeah I know…crazy!

Instead, I have just read about a couple who were charged 10,000 rupee (or £124 if you inhabit Blighty – you do your own damn conversion if you aren’t Indian or British) for four samosas.  The reason for the cost was that the shop keeper said that they contained herbs and aphrodisiac qualities.

Not completely believing Mr Shopkeeper, they questioned the bill.  Now, if I was the shop keeper, I would have said “Well, I just screwed you with the cost didn’t I!”.  Instead, he was made to pay back most of the money and after a police complaint, he has since gone in to hiding. 

Lets be honest, it wont be hard to find him.  He is living off of a stash of his “aphrodisiac” samosas which means he has a raging stiffy and a twitch where he hasn’t got his freak on since going in to hiding.  He should stick out like me at a thin persons party.  You know, loads of people pointing in a “what the hell!” kind of way.  The difference is that he has a chance of becoming a tent salesman with his “Always On” contraption.

Of course, it matters not whether you are fat, thin or indifferent.  It wont help you live longer.  Nope, being brainy is the way to a longer life.  I could go in to the whole reason why which has something to do with enzymes, biological catalysts and detoxification of the brain, but I have a room temperature IQ which basically means I am about due to expire.

But I can question their “scientific study” by giving this piece of information:

This morning just after crawling in to my pit after an unusually busy night shift, there was a knock at the front door.  As not to wake up my daughter and wife from the ringing of the doorbell a second time, I jumped out of bed and running downstairs semi naked with my body doing an impression of a large bowl of jelly being rigorously shaken (the rigorously shaken could also be like Mr Samosa Salesman after an overdose of samosa) I opened the door hoping that the postman would be holding a parcel for me that I have been waiting for.

“Hello.  We would like to talk to you about God”

This was the first and only phrase spoken by the 2 people who no matter how big an IQ they had, were going to be leaving either my doorstep or this planet in the next 4 seconds.

I thought twice about posting this. The only reason I am posting it is because I haven’t the time to write anything else at the moment. Yeah, I am that nice!

Anyway, a little background.  It was a quiet day at the office.  Things were humming along like a hummy thing.  There was then an email conversation which had started with a lunchtime conversation about giving someone who deserves it, a bit of a beating…and then this happened:

I tender for your approval, a small collection of Haiku.  I apologise in advance, but we were having a very childish moment, so if bowel movements and poems about topping someone aren’t your thing…prepare for disappointment!  (Oh, and I know that Haiku in English is generally a 3 line poem, so don’t go getting indignant on me.  OK?)

=============================================
Neil – Silent Sleep
=============================================

loathing, disgrace, a rope
everything is quiet now.
everything is better

=============================================
Sy – The sweet release
=============================================

My desk. Sitting.
Internet. Porning.
Surf with one hand. Shifting
Release. sweet release
embarrassing.

=============================================
Service Call
=============================================

all selected, all acknowledged
closure, no fault found
calendars consulted
it will probably be alright
a life wasted. no fault found.

=============================================
Sy – Weak master of none
=============================================

The smell. Overbearing.
Visitor enters the room.
Light choking. Gaseous overload.
Thud. Fainting. Head in urinal.
Piss on head. Weak master of none.

=============================================
Neil – Autumn
=============================================

evacuated, unexpected blood
no clot,twigs, glee, recovery could happen
a trace of a smile, waiting
the smile passes, like time
this can gather no moss

=============================================
Sy – Cubical Penguin
=============================================

The splash. The mess
The smell. The relief of release
No paper. No cleansing
Penguin to other cubical
All better now.

=============================================
Neil – The Silent Scream
=============================================

rumbling, squeaking, inevitability
an anxious face
cleaner concerned
gas gas GAS!
the silent voice of a toilet, help me
but there can be no help

=============================================
Sy – Red Hate
=============================================

Blood. Carpet. Red
Hate and Disgust
Glad it is over.

=============================================
Neil – Justice
=============================================

bang Bang!
bang
break, Crunch
Ouch
Its all over. Now.

=============================================
Sy – Hammer love
=============================================

Big Hammer Little Hammer.
Smashy smashy smash.
The quiet is deafening.

And that ends the small selection of haiku.  I wont even contemplate posting the other conversation that was had! Some things are best left as an IM conversation.  Should you feel mentally unstable as to want to read it though, drop me an email (it’s in the About page) and I will send you it.

Phew.  After the seriousness of the last post, I figured we needed to get back to the crazy.  I do apologise for the rare as rocking horse poop seriousness of the previous mentioned post, but just like when I wear my straitjacket, I had to get it off of my chest.

So how do you follow a post like the last?  Well, you read about the Turkish city of “Batman” who are suing Warner Bros for using their name without permission.  They have a point though.  Look at the following two images and well…it is like one image is looking in to a mirror:

 

          Batman Turkey                       Warner Bros Version of Batman

 

I have no ideal how true this is, but if it is true, then I think I need a piece of this pie.  If they can indeed sue for something as crazy as that, then I am getting my best suing suit out and having a chat with Hanna-Barbera Productions over the legality of using one of my previous lives.  One I thought was gone forever until they dragged me through the mud on national TV.

In a previous life as a caveman, I singlehandedly figured out that I could build something that could float on water.  I called it a “Boat”.  And while on my “Boat”, I called myself captain.  I was pretty impressive if I am brutally honest.

When I was not on my boat, I would walk around with my club in my hand and saying “You can call me Captain.  Check out my club ladies!”.  I got the nickname of “Jumped up little bag of crap”, but later it got changed to “Captain Caveman”.

Now you just tell me.  Where do Hanna-Barbera Productions get off with stealing my name and making me some hairy neanderthal with an awesome voice instead of the amazing guy with a weird voice?

I am pretty sure that I can successfully sue them over this.  I mean, who doesn’t believe in reincarnation?  No court is going to throw this case out.  It is slander.  Just look at their captain caveman.  Where is his captain’s hat?  Yeah sure…he has his club, but you don’t see a boat.  They took my good character and made a cartoon me who is a little less intelligent than a tomato.

                   Captain Caveman                           ME!

Of course, back to the whole Batman thing.  My favourite part of this STORY is, and I quote,

The mayor says the film’s success has had a psychological impact on the city’s inhabitants which he blames for a number of unsolved murders and a high female suicide rate.

So it seems that if you live in Batman and are a man, you are going to get murdered.  But if you are a female, your bludgeoning to death is put down to suicide.  That’s clever! 

“No serial killer round here guv’nor.  They all keep topping themselves” Mr J T Ripper was quoted as saying about the women.

Hello and welcome.  Welcome to the not-in-line-with-the-rest-of-the-site serious post.  The funny stuff is back a bit…or depending on how old this post is when you read it…forward a bit.

In fact, if you don’t want to read a serious post, move along to a different post.  There is nothing but bad ahead if you continue on this road.

You are still here?  Well OK then.  Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Until a few months ago, when watching the bain of TV that is advertising, I would watch an advert for various charities asking for your money.  One was the child protection people.  They would show an abandoned or abused child in their ad to try to get your attention, pull at your heart and ask kindly for your money.  It seems that every time I saw this ad, it was followed by an ad for animal cruelty. 

Here is the thing…

On watching the abused children, I would have a “poor kiddie” moment.  Then the poor wet lonely sad puppy comes on the TV.  I wanted to empty my bank account to that charity every time to help save that sad puppy.

I didn’t feel heartless.  After all, why should I?  Everyone has their own priorities.

And then my daughter was born, and things changed.  Quite a bit.

Every time I see that sad puppy, I still want to transfer my money to them.  But when I see the abused child, I want to hurt the people that did it.  I don’t mean a little…I want to hunt them down and hurt them.  A lot.

Maybe it is because before now, I saw a child/baby as a human like me.  Someone who can do something to change their life.  Yes, I know that sounds stupid because a 3 week old baby has no chance of helping itself, but it is a mindset, whereas an animal relies on us to survive.

But with the birth of my daughter, I got a clearer mind and everything made sense.  If someone was to try and hurt my daughter, I feel that I would not hesitate to end their life before thinking of the consequences.  But then, if I was to see a child being abused, I think the same rule applies.

Take for example these three examples:

In THIS case, an 18 month old baby was used as a punchbag by the people who are there to protect him.

In THIS case, a woman put her baby in the microwave and cooked it until it died after an argument with her partner.

In THIS case, a man snapped his 16 month old daughters spine on his knee in a rage.

I hope all of the guilty parties in the above stories live a long life.  With a couple of rules.  These are:

They get raped by the biggest angriest bear in the world on a daily basis.

They let the other inmates to have some quiet time with them to inflict as much pain as they wish.

They get put on drug trials that slowly and with the most pain possible that can be caused to a person without them dying, their brains slowly melt while someone stabs them in the eyes repeatedly with a fork…but the nerves never get damaged as to numb the pain.

I don’t understand a humans ability to do this to a child.  Last week, I was cutting Shawnee’s fingernails and accidentally took a bit of skin off of the end of her finger when she moved as I was cutting.  I wanted to hang myself through the guilt I felt from the tears that arrived.  If she was old enough, I would have bought her a pony or something as a sorry, yet someone will put a baby in a microwave and turn it on and feel no guilt?

I always said that having a child wouldn’t change me at all.  It seems some things you have no control over.  If you are human.  Unlike the worthless scum that REALLY needs to feel pain like my examples above.  If there is a hell, I hope the devil holds out his most painful treatment until they get there.

OK.  Serious post over.  If you made it this far, thanks for reading.  Normal service to resume soon.

I considered breaking the WheelTurningHamsterDead.com mould and writing a serious post tonight.  Just to be different.  To be a little contraversial.  To be a little sexier than normal. If that is possible… 

Things didn’t quite go to plan.  They didn’t for 2 reasons.  1 is that me and writing serious stuff is somewhat harder than you may think, and the other is that Animal House is on the TV.  The last post I wrote while watching this film also turned out to be a little “out there”.

What were you expecting?  Shakesphere?  Pah..  Aaaaaanyway…on with the post:

 

A man in Germany walked in to a shop and walked out with a 24 inch TV without anyone noticing.  Nothing exciting about that, after all people steal stuff every day from shops.

Except that he had no arms.  Yes, a man with no arms took a TV from a display stand and walked out of the shop with it.

Of course, the article also says that he had two accomplices.  Maybe his “accomplices” were 2 arms?  I don’t know.  Either way, I just don’t really care because I can top that any day of the week.

I once (for a bet…I do not condone stealing, and although I forgot to take the items back, do not consider myself a thief) walked in to a shop and put a 24 pack of crisps, a 12 pack of coke and a copy of the Angling Times in my underwear. 

Now, I know at the moment that you are thinking “Why does he have so much space in his trousers to fit that kind of material in there?”.  Well…when I was being created, I was in line for the “How big a penis do you want” queue, but thought I was in the queue for “How many vegetables do you want to eat in your lifetime” queue.  So when I got to the front of the queue they said “So how much do you want!” and I replied “Nothing.  Nada.  Nout.  Don’t even ask me twice.  Do the deed now and let me get out of here, and if I ever come back begging for you to change what I requested, you can damn me to all eternity”. 

Boy was I pissed when I walked out and realised I went to the wrong queue.  Obviously it was better to not go back and damn myself to all eternity, so instead I make a use of the blank space that I inherited for my dastardly deeds of world domination and of hiding all of the christmas presents I buy for my wife so she cannot find them before Christmas.  I mean, that is the last place she will be looking for a present! 

But that is life isn’t it.  Sometimes you just cant change things for the better no matter how much you try to.  I took the “plant” route to try and put things right.  I talked to him every single day for a year.  I stuck him in horse crap as that helps plants grow and you know what…nothing.  Well, when I say nothing, I mean I got one hell of a rash and now enjoy running around fields and jumping over things, but that is it. 

The world is one messed up place.  I guess I should be thankful that when I was in line for brains, I asked for big and squishy, just like when I was asked what kind of body I wanted.

On Thursday, I had 187 unique visitors to the site.  174 of them were from the USA.

It occurred to me after my last post that writing a post that appeals to all “languages” is not maybe as easy as it seems.  An example is that my esteemed bloggy pal and all round top banana CRSE (I should ask what it means, but I am guessing it is something like Chickens Really Shit Eggs) asked in a comment in reply to the post “And at the risk of sounding like ignorant American, what is marmite?”.  Now, we all know the whole “you say tomato, I say stupid red thing that tastes like boiled rhino poop”, but it is the whole “language” and “products” thing which makes writing a post harder. 

Languages are always hard.  Especially when I often have to pick between “English (US) or English (European) when installing software.  What about English (English)?  You know the one…the one that we invented and is just plain “English”.  It is not “European” and it is not “US”.  It is the original content that has been adopted by the world and changed for their own needs.  In fact, I was once in an English speaking country and was asked “So what is the main language spoken in England?”.  I thought he was joking.  He wasn’t.  The same person also asked if we have roads in England.  It is worth mentioning that he didn’t own a passport and was not going to be getting one anytime this lifetime by the sounds of things.  But I did edumacate him by letting him know that we do indeed have roads, and we are often attacked by the remaining dinosaurs left in the world.  He believed me, I never let out the truth.

If I was to write a post and say “I sent them a cheque for £200”.  I didn’t send them a “check for £200”, do a lot of my American readers know that we Brits say cheque?  In fact…do you even care?  Or maybe you read the posts and think “Holy hell, this guy is as about as stupid as it gets” because of “spelling mistakes” which actually aren’t to me.

So how many “jokes” are lost through translation?  I have no idea!  A lot of British humour is incredibly unique in the fact that it is often sarcastic toilet humour.  I cannot do intellectual humour due to me being as intellectual as a bag of crisps.  Or is it a bag of chips, depending on what country you are from?

Of course, it is just not hard to write humour that suits other countries, sometimes you can say something to a fellow English type person and wonder how they didn’t see the sarcasm.

During a long drive down a short road once, in the fields to the side of the motorway were fields of milk producing cows.  You know…the pretty black and white patchy ones and not the pretty “steak making” ones.  So I told my passenger that the reason you only get milk from the black and white cows is because when you cut steaks from them, they taste milky.  Hook, line and holy hell, they believed me.  I was going to go on and say that the steak cows milk tastes like steak and that is why we don’t milk them, but I was laughing too hard inside that I coughed up a little sick.

So I guess what I am trying to say is that every single thing I write is plain hilarious.  So if you don’t get it, laugh anyway.  Please.

According to the bit of paper I have in front of me labelled “Blog Stuff to write about”, I have to write about an erection.  I cant see why I would have thought that, but last night I did have a tipple or 233.  Ohh…hang on…*scratch* *scratch* A-ha!  It was coffee.  I actually wrote eLection.  Ah yes.  As I read more of my childlike handwriting, it seems I wrote notes as a running commentary of the election last night as seen through the eyes of me.  An Englishman.  In England.  I also see that I wrote a note to myself saying “You’re a doofus” although that looks like the handwriting of my wife.  I seem to have also drawn a stick man peeing up a wall. 

So anyway.  You all know how you saw it, this is how I saw it.   Times are in GMT.

11pm – OK, lets get Sky News on the go.  Channel 401…oh hang on, Family guy is on!  Yeah lets watch that instead.  That Stewie!  Comedy gold!

11:30pm – A second episode!  Awesome!  I should probably check out any incomming results though.  Actually, lets have another beer.

Midnight – Oh yes.  That is what I am talking about.  Freeview “adult” material.  Oh, I mean “Whisky”. 

1am – Huh!  Now there is something different.  McCain just won a Kentucky.  I am thinking Mega Bucket rather than one of those easy 3 piece meals.  And now I want KFC.  I think it is great that our American cousins also vote for their favourite fast foods.  Or was it a scratch card win?  “Match 3 similar voters to win the meal of your choice!” maybe? 

1:45am – OK, getting hungry now.  I hope no one wins BK.  That would be torture.

2am – Fine.  Marmite sandwich it is.

2:15am – Mouth. So. Dry.  Need more drink.  Marmite too dry.  OK, I should check up on the voting I guess.

2:30am – Oh, it seems Obama had a dodgy take away as he has won Penicillin on his scratch card..  Hang on…I think that is my handwriting.  Ooohh…yeah, he won Pennsylvania.  So close. 

3am – I should go to bed really.  Actually, yeah, I will.  Except that my daughter just woke up and is now a 3 month old highly interested in what is going on.  Armed with a bottle of beer and a bottle of breast milk, we settle down back in front of the TV.

3:05am – Ugh…wrong bottle.  How does she drink this stuff?  I mean, I am a man and therefore I enjoy the pleasures of the female form…especially the fun bits my wife has, but geez…there was NO need to drink that.  I guess now I now know how she feels when I pressure her.

4am – OK, so the beers are going down very well now.  In other news, it seems everyone is already saying Obama is as good as done.  Well, with that in mind I look at the map of the USA.  What did you guys do?  Start off seriously drawing distinct lines and really working on the states from the east and then got bored and got a ruler and pen out and started drawing straight lines so you could get to the pub quicker the further west you move?

5am – Holy crap I am tired.  Well, it looks like the guy with more votes has won it, and I should have just gone to bed rather than follow something that was a lot less exciting than the finish to the F1 grand prix on Sunday as that waited until the last 2 corners to be decided unlike this where the other dude should have given up hours ago.

6am – Ahhh…what a moving speech.  It really tugged on the heart strings.  No, not the Obama one, the one my wife just made about me being an idiot for staying up all night.  Obama’s was nice though huh. 

I have the munchies.  All that breast milk really has given me the nibbles.  Oh well, at least kiddie is asleep…for now. 

Hmmm, well that was maybe not the insight that you wanted, but that is all I could give based on my notes.

 

I pick the one in the middle.  Of course, I am not American, so not me to say!  But between you and me, I voted for McCama.

Ah yes.  It is almost that time of year again where we celebrate blowing things up and burning an effigy in the name of killing government leaders (well, King someone or other and his band of Merry men) and then celebrate the epic fail that was Guy Fawkes.  Of course, if you are not British and don’t know your history, you are already wondering just what the hell I am on about.  Well, look it up.  This ain’t no history lesson boy.

Of course, we call it Guy Fawkes night or bonfire night, but he was just the messenger.  Well, a guy with lots of things that go bang anyway.  And he was only caught because he was wearing a coat, boots and spurs when it was a “Dress like a farmyard animal” night down olde London town that night, so he stuck out like a large thing in a small place and was put down like old yella.  Why was he wearing spurs in the middle of London?  Was he trying to be a cowboy?

I have never understood the reason why we celebrate trying to kill all of the government which ended in teaching young kids that it is OK to stick the body of a guy on a fire and burn him.  Maybe make a pinata out of him instead as at least that ends in sweets and the kids get to work on their swing!.  This is one of those mad things that makes no sense.  A little like Council chiefs in Oxford renaming the town’s Christmas lights a “winter light festival” to avoid offending Muslims.  Except that the local Muslims said they just don’t have a problem with Christmas.  Which why would they, being in Britain and all.

But probably the worst of all is that in a recent poll of “World sexiest man”, at least one magazine didn’t have me in the top 10.  Actually, I wasn’t in the top 100.  OK, so it was every magazine that missed me.  But I understand why I wasn’t top of the list.  You all thought everyone else would vote for me and so you didn’t bother.  Well, next year it would be appreciated if you could at least vote for me.  It just doesn’t matter if I am as ugly as a cup of cat sick does it?  We are all friends here.  You scratch my back so to speak.  Your back has too many spots, so don’t complain when I don’t return the favour hey; Flaky?

Of course, all this pales in to insignificance for our American cousins who tomorrow get to do something quite amazing.  They get to celebrate the holiday for the patent for the artificial leg being granted to Benjamin Palmer which was granted in 1846.  Amazing.  Oh, and of course…you guys get to put a cross in a box.  It is all about the cross huh.  Most boring game of Noughts and Crosses ever.  The noughts don’t even get a look in.

Well, it could be worse.  You could change your name to “Captain Fantastic Faster Than Superman Spiderman Batman Wolverine Hulk And The Flash Combined” (No.  REALLY).  But then, when your original name is StupidDumbName McGetALife, you can see why he changed it.  So does he now walk around with a sailors hat on and getting people to call him “captain”, or is he trying to be a seaman for the “other” reason?  Either way, if I ever find myself in Somerset, I am going to get him drunk and then get him to change his name to “Spanky Monkey” or “Poppy Sprinklebottom” or “Harold”.   Dude, I will even pay the £10 to get it done if you ever read this!

In important other news, I stubbed my toe earlier.  I screamed like a big girl.  OK, so I am getting why you didn’t vote for me now.