Page 32

Did you just throw an apple at me Dr?

It's a damn apple OK!

It is with thanks to Mrs Jane Turleythat the idea for this post has become reality. I am not sure if it was while eating an apple or being beaten with one, but she decided the content should include “Bath Mats”, “Small Rubber Bands”, “Issac Newton” and the “Tardis” from Dr Who. I think you can safely say she is not right in the head. But without further ado, let me ruin the next couple of minutes of your life for you.

It is a well known fact in the garden of Eden that Adam hated apples. He would often throw them as far as he could while playing with his pet snake. Nothing was more fun for him then getting 2 apples and playing with Steven the Snake but eating them was always furthest from his mind. Some bearded imaginary dude nearby was livid. The bible was re-written to take out this part of the whole made up story which is still well read today by millions.

Apples have never really left history after this point. Should you move forward in time, you will find that someone else had a fascination with apples. Yes that is right. Yours truly has a thing for apples. The glow of a granny smith makes me want to pucker up and visit a Dr. But the flaw here is that as the saying goes, “An apple a day keeps the Dr away”. So I stopped eating apples. 2 days later I made an appointment with the DR. A house call as always. The joys of privit medical. An apple in the bush is worth a Dr in the house.

As sure as expected, Dr Grinch appeared in his Tardis. An interesting fellow. I found he could be a little “excitable” if you mentioned apples though. Small rubber bands were more his thing. He would play with them for hours on end. Some say his Tardis ran on nothing but rubber bands and gerbil poo infused with the power off 5o0 damned souls.

He examined me and determined that I had Newton Faulkner disease. This is a fear of water. He determined the best way for a cure would be a trip to see the original finder of the first strain of the disease.

Upon climbing in to the Tardis, the first thing you see are thousands of the small rubber bands. Absolutely everything is made of them. I am going to be honest here. If you get an offer to go in the Tardis, bring your own toilet paper. Have a think about that. It is not the easiest thing in this world, or any that Dr Grinch takes you to.

But once arrived at our destination of 1663 we went in search for Isaac Newton. The original finder of the disease of the fear of water (also known as BathDodgeritis). He was an odd chap. Big teeth. Smelt of pears. He put me on a course of help to get me over my problem. For 2 years it was non-stop. Every day I was forced in to a bath. The bath mat smelt like a badgers behind. Newton was nothing if not a little messy.

I decided to clean the bathroom, and after washing the bath mat, I hung it from a line tied between the Tardis and an apple tree. This displeased Newton. Probably because he was so stuck up his own behind telling me how the diffraction of light behind the bath mat could cause problems with his corpuscular theory of flight in which he was doing some tests.

At this point I was very much bored with his “theories” and ripped down the bath mat from the line. Newton looked up as an apple hit him on the head. YOU FREAKA! he stormed at me. At this point me and Grinchy got in the Tardis and got the hell out of dodge and have not been back since.

The voices told me to dress like a banana muffin

Pink Espresso Machine

Well. Here we go. A thank you to Rose for the content idea of this post. As my last post said, give me 3 words or phrases and I shall see what I can do with it. Rose kindly came up with the following for me to work with: “Banana Muffins”, “Say Yes to the Dress” and “Helpful Voices”. I say “kindly”, but you should probably read “Your kidding right?”.So please remember this is pure fiction before you label me as…well…I dunno, lets start writing and just see what happens:

They say that alcohol makes people do stupid things. That teenagers drink it and cause trouble. That it is only suitable to people over 18 (in the UK anyway) for a reason. That it is not safe for minors. While I agree this is true, they are also forgetting about coffee. This is a testament to why you should not drink too much of it.

It is a cold, windy and wet Monday afternoon. The wind is howling through the bare leafless trees with an eery calmness while the rain taps on the kitchen window as if asking to come in so it can soak the floor. Zorro the parrot is talking to himself and Charlie the cat is laying next to me purring. I am sat contemplating life as I know it. Wearing a Nine Inch Nails Tee Shirt and blue jeans, I come to the realisation that I need to do something different with my life. Something to take away the hours I will otherwise spend on the Laptop (writing crap like this!). I opt for a trip to town to do a little shopping.

Loading up my MP3 player, I choose the new Down album, put the earphones in my ears and head to town. The music gets me motivated to make the most of my shopping trip.

My first stop is at a coffee house to charge my caffiene levels ready for the heady heights of finding something to buy. This is not just any coffee house. The name of it? Well you are not going to find out. There will be no free advertising on this site. So we shall just call it CostaLot For Coffee. Naturally being a overpriced conning waste of money coffee house, I order the obvious. A mug of hot chocolate and a warm chocolate muffin. The man behind the counter looks at me with lifeless eyes and a look of absolute stupidity. I read his name-badge but the letters are all back to front and written with crayons. I fear for my hot chocolate and muffin. I think that a frontal lobotomy and electric shock treatment may not be enough to kick start this guys head. He turns around and walks to the machine. I walk to the end of the counter to pay.

“Hat isch who sounds pork me.” the voice says. “I am sure it is! Any chance of a double?” I say. The moment is lost on the eastern European lady. Luckily I had worked out the amount owed before I got to the counter and hand over the correct amount of £2.40. Lucky really, as the counting ability seemed to have long left the host in charge of the till. Why is it that these places go for the “Authentic” look by employing people from a totally different country to where the chain comes from? And what is the interview process?

“Hello. Can you touch your nose?”

“vivermvdekovm” *dribbles*

“Congratulations! You have the job!”

“fvreicveiomrov” *picking nose*

I take a seat and shortly after, a limping half-bear half-human comes to the table and leaves me my wares.

A treble shot of Espresso and a banana muffin. Typical. I look over to the maker, and he stands there, shirt hanging out at one side, his cold lifeless eyes staring at a penny on the floor. Hoping no one will notice so he can dive on it. Ugh. What to do. I don’t mind the espresso, but banana muffins? I hate them.

Honestly. Banana’s?? Just because monkeys like them is not good enough reason to eat them. I feel like most of the foods us humans eat are eaten through hero worship of some wild animal. No one complains when what we eat makes no real sense. But when some insane nutter starts throwing their own feces about the place a’la monkey style, he gets arrested. I hate having to explain that part of my criminal record to prospective employers. They never listen to the part where I say I was dressed as a gorilla and was campaigning to save them. It is all about the poop throwing.

I decide to devour the muffin in one go as not to prolong the taste, and down the treble espresso in 1 shot. *Schwing!* I decide to have another several shots of espresso before I leave to get rid of the taste of banana in my mouth. The caffeine hit starts to work almost immediately.

The high caffeine dose and the potassium in the banana have left me a little misty. Things suddenly look different. I wander a few shops not finding anything and then suddenly…

“Sy…” a male voice whispers. There is no one around me.

“Sy…you total loser….listen to me…..” another male voice says. Again, no one is around.

“I like marbles!” a female voice says to me. Once again. No one around me.

Where are these voices coming from? Why are the talking to me? What do they want? I decide it is best to answer back.

“I can hear you. What do you want?”

“Listen to uuuuussss. You need to see a dressssss. Not any dresssss…a pink dresssss.” they all reply at once. I am not sure why they are being all spooky about it. I mean, just answer me dammit. Why ham it up? I hear them, they hear me, why the stupid “I am soooo spooky” voices? So I ask them.

“Why are you being all ghostly when you talk? Why cant you talk like human beings that you are? And where the hell are you? I cant see you.”

“We are iiiin yourrr heeeead. The spooooky sounds are because of the eeeempty spaaaaaace you have in heeeeere echoing in the vaaastnessss of your empty heeeeeadddd”.

Oh great. Now they are taking the piss. The conversation goes on for a while, and I have a sneaking suspicion that one of the voices may have schizophrenia. He seems a little “out there” if you know what I mean.

I move onwards, heading towards more shops. I burp a little. All I can taste is that damn banana muffin.

Ah yes. A department store. They will have clothes for both sexes. I go in and look at the suits. Nope. Nothing really grabbing me here. “dressssessss…go see the pink DREEESSEEEESSS” I hear. I look at jeans, but have one eye looking about the store in case there are dresses. I find I cannot see a damn thing. How can you have one eye looking in the other direction and be able to focus on both? That is multi-tasking. Something us men cannot do. Thing is, my eye has got stuck in that position now.

I can’t walk straight. Everything is blurred where my eyes are in different positions. I fall over and end up in a precarious position with a mannequin. In the fall, my trousers have fallen down. I went commando this morning. I jump up as quickly as I can, and pull my trousers up. People are looking. I ask if anone has a tissue I can use. There are looks of horror and “Pervert!” shouted out. I only wanted a tissue as I hit my nose and I can feel it starting to bleed. Luckily, in the fall my eye dislodged itself and it back where it should be.

“Stop playing silly buggers and go see the damn dress. We are tired. There is nothing to do in this empty shell of yours.” the helpful voices tell me.

—————-Intermission—————-

“And I haven’t seen a pupil in his eyes for 16 days…” <— Name the artist and song. Yeah I know totally irrelevant to this story, but it is what I am listening to while writing this.

————–End Intermission————–

I wander in to the “Big and beautiful” section as I realise I am never going to fit in to a UK size 8. I had already tried on clothes belonging to my wife, but neither the G String nor the dress were something I could wear. In fact, I have had to hide the dress because I ripped it trying to get it over my head.

There it is. A little black lacy off the shoulder number. Staring at me. It is beautiful. Should I try it on?

“not thaaaat oneeee” Oh for heavens sake. What do you want me to get? You aren’t really that helpful are you. “The piiiiink ooooneeee. Go see the piiiiiink ooooneee”.

I wander about unable to find a pink dress. The voices are starting to get angry with me. I need a drink. Luckily, the department store I am in has a cafe in it. I walk up to the counter.

“Can I have an espresso please?”

“Certainly. Would you like sugar?” Says the lady in a pink dress.

“Yes.” I reply.

The end.

Has anyone bothered to read this far?

An experiment in the experimental

Due to a bout of tiredness, lack of humour and the fact I am watching “I am Legend” which I thought was going to be a film about me; there will be no post tonight. OK, so that is a lie as you are reading this. But you get the idea.

Instead, to decide on the contents of my next post, I would like you to add a comment with 3 subjects or phrases (or more if you like. But don’t make this too difficult now). Random as you like. And I will make up a post which has to include them all. It could be a giggle. It could be crap. Soon find out!

This is not the key to my heart.

In my time on this little blue marble, I have been able to drink a lot of alcohol in one session. This is in no way a “yeah I am great at drinking” post, but when I read “had downed six beers, vodka and whisky”, I didn’t get excited at his drinking prowess. Actually, ~~as recent as last year~~ in my younger years, this was standard fare and I was still able to function like a real human being and not act like a complete ‘tard. So when I read about THIS idiot swallowing his door key because he didn’t want to go home, I realised he needed to be sent to the stupid island. At least he already has the key to the lock of his house there.

What is it with people sticking items in various orifices? Some examples of what people are doing in the name of….erm…hell, someone go to the comments section and let me know what we should label these under:

“A 20-year-old Taiwanese woman had to have a mobile phone surgically removed from her back passage after a sex game went horribly wrong.” A sex game? At what point during sex do you say to your partner “Sweetie. I feel a huge need to phone your colon. This might hurt a little.” Oh, and in case you want to know, the phone was a Nokia 8850 which is just not a small phone. Of course, size doesn’t matter right? Cosmo lies!

Or the nurse who had to “explain to an irate mother that her son had a vibrator stuck up his arse“. Well I guess we have all done this one in life right?

There are also occasions where you do not have to jam anything in places it was not intended for. Sometimes you just need to surf naked with a laptop on the family jewels.

On a lighter note:

There was a woman who “jammed the 15cm brush down her throat, managed to phone for an ambulance. Quick-thinking paramedics at the scene found a toothbrush similar to the one she swallowed and took it with them to hospital.” They found a similar toothbrush? Where was she? What was she doing to jam a toothbrush down her throat? I don’t know about you, but the act of brushing my teeth is not done on a running track or while doing push-ups. Why? because I don’t do either of them. I do wonder what toothpaste she was using though.

I once wanted to be a paramedic to help people. This was in my days of caring what people thought about me and I liked to receive praise for helping people. These days I know I am a genius, and know people don’t feel worthy enough to tell me, so I do IT and don’t talk to anyone.

I am sucking on a frog in the name of living.

Just recently, I have been worried that if I went to France on holiday and I died; that I might be punished for it. Yes that is right. A village in France has threatened “severe” punishment for anyone that dies. I have done some investigation in to what might happen to someone who goes against the law and dies, but I can’t speak French. Therefore I have had to interpret the answers in a way I believe they might read. These were:

Je suis vraiment super mec – which means that the ghost of the person will have to put up with Demi Moore talking to it while making phallic clay models for all eternity. And whenever in time they decide to get intimate, it will be with Whoopi Goldberg.

Je suis tout à fait beau – You will smell of blue cheese for all eternity. People will know you are coming by your rotten stench and your ghostly image will be full of blue veins.

Mon français n’est ordures – You will be turned in to a bottle of the cheapest house wine and drunk by me.

So I cannot really afford to go if I am ill.

But diabetes runs in my family. My Dad has it for instance. But then, so does the postman, as does the man at number 42. But I try not to think about the fact that 3 people I know have such a rare illness. So in order to be able to have a holiday to France, I have been sucking on frogs. This is because they secrete goo which can stimulate the release of insulin. Once I have got all the secretion, I eat the remains. Yes, I know eating them does not help as all I need is the secretion, but I am really keen to get the most out of it. I have also been eating elephant dung. Best not to ask about that one.

But I guess this is one of those “How did they find out that frog secretion can help” questions.

Do you not find it even more unusual that at some point in history someone saw an encapsulated hen foetus emerge from a wandering fowl and thought, hmmmm.. I think I’ll eat that as I haven’t had a bite to eat in days, and it seems so much easier to eat what could actually be a solid chicken poo rather then chase down said chicken and cook it.

Of course, this also leads to the other major questions in this quest for the truth, justice and the insanity way. These are:

What came first. The runny egg or the solid yolk or a dose of the shits that made his eyes water for a month?

And why did they decide to boil it in water at some point?

And then to wash it down with, why did they then go and see a cow and think “I should probably give a good tug on those dangly things and drink what comes out”.

A thank you to my esteemed best man at my wedding for some of the text in this post.

He is doing what? With who? How?

It is a fairly quiet night at work. So we decide to turn our attention to the TV. Being that we are just a couple of blokes in the room, naturally we turn to our favourite channel. So far, we have heard:

He is pumping away
What a great length
He is drying his hands to get a good grip
He has beaten him with his length
He has great stamina
There is a good crowd watching today
He is doing very well at both ends
Instead of driving it hard, he is caressing it
He has hit it right in the hole and broken the shackles
He has given it something wider and shorter as an experiment

Ah yes. The joys of watching Cricket.

Life by TV Advertisment Part 1

More damn ads

This post would be so much easier to write if I was a woman*. But alas I am not. And I am not going to have a life changing operation just to make it easier for myself and for you. Anyway, I have an impressive set of man-boobs, so I am half way there. It is like the best of both worlds. What’s that? Pectorals? Nooo…I am just fat.

Imagine a place where TV ads really were true, and not the bull that we get on TV these days. I got the inspiration for the post during a rare stint at watching TV. Well, I watched a film. But it had ad breaks, and while watching one and thinking “What a total crock!”, I came up with this idea. Bearing in mind I am English, you may find this post makes absolutely no sense to you. If that is the case, hey ho. So. This is how my day went:

This morning I got out of bed. The sheets were silky soft which made me slip all over the place during the night. I fell out 3 times and stubbed my toe in one of the falls while frantically holding on to the side of the bed. This is because of the detergent we use. It makes my sheets so soft it is like sleeping on an oil slick while being greased up in the non sexual way. Or either I guess.

To recover from this, I went to the bathroom to wash. I cleaned my teeth. They are now so white (even the 8 unstainable gold ones) that should there be a war, I cannot go out at night. I have to have a lead mouth-guard on to help my wife sleep. It looks like I have a perpetual energy source in my mouth glowing and lighting up the room.

So I took a shower. The bubbles caressed my skin and formed a rich lather which filled my body with many vitamins and minerals. I got some in my eye. It bloody hurt. While frantically rushing around trying to get it out of my eye, I bit the inside of my cheek and got an ulcer.

I got out the ulcer gel. On using it, a small army of little weird creatures caressed the ulcer to make it better. But some were juvenile little creatures and started hanging from my tonsils swinging about and making me choke.

Recovering from choking, I cleaned the mess in the bathroom from my thrashing about cleaning my eye. I picked up a live duck and strangled it in the name of cleaning the toilet. This is OK, and not a matter for the RSPCA. I then sprayed the shower guard, got dressed and made my way downstairs.

Breakfast is a scary event for me. It is full of weird and wonderful creatures, when all I want is to eat. So do I have Coco Pops again? I am still cleaning up monkey poop from last time I had them. He might look like a fun animation on the advert, but that little sod…and he is being chased about the house by a tiger called Tony. So I think about having Rice Krispies. But then I have to put up with the trio. They are so damn self righteous. They had the cheek to tell me the kitchen needed a clean last time I opened that box.

So I have toast. The bread contains absolutely no preservatives or additives. Therefore the loaf I bought yesterday is already a haven for mould. I shave the bread and toast it.

On finishing breakfast, I clean up the mess and last nights washing up. A small baby pops out of the bottle of washing up liquid. Fortunately it lands on the towels I washed last night and bounces. The problem is that is then slides off where they are so soft and I have not seen the baby since. I am pretty sure that in 18 years time it will come back to haunt me. I didn’t even ask for it! I just wanted to wash dishes!

While washing the dishes, I notice the oven needs a clean. As I pick up the cleaning product, my entire body changes shape and I am left in Y-Fronts and a vest with huge yellow gloves on and have a much geekier nerdy complexion then I usually have. Fortunately on putting the cleaning agent on to the grease, it all disappears. Actually, it is that strong, I now have a hole in the floor where the cooker used to stand. Someone in Australia is in for a nasty shock when it gets there.

I never thought making it through to breakfast was ever going to be this hard.

Right. That is part 1 finished. I cannot go any further with this post at present due to the fact watching these TV Ads is making me feel that taking a rusty sharp door handle to my manhood and chopping it off would be somewhat more fun.

* – The being a woman comment is because some of you use so many makeup products, I could write several posts by this point.

The forbidden love of a man and his…

Our eyes meet from across the room. Such beauty. But why in the corner all alone? Should I do something? Say something? God knows the place needs the kind of electricity our partnership would bring. The more I look, the more my mind turns to filth. To dirt. To thoughts I should just not be having. Or should I?

I can hear the noise we would make. The enjoyment of the way I will use and abuse her. Dragging her about the room having my way until I no longer need her.

Should I take her home? To meet my parents? Would she clean my clothes for me like I hoped she would? It is customary for it to happen like this in my country.

My thoughts turn to the need for a groinal attachment. Can I get one that will fit perfectly? Is there something universal I can use? Do both our species mix this easily?

I must not be having these thoughts. I must stop. I am a married man. What would my wife say were she to learn of this forbidden love?

No. I have to talk to her. Her eyes are piercing me like a tongue piercing done with a wooden spoon. I walk over to her. Am I about to make the most dangerous encounter I can have in my married life?

Hi. My name is Simon. I could not help but to see you staring at me. It is as if you have not blinked the whole time I am here. I know this is wrong, and you can see my wedding ring, but please… I need to know your name.

Hi. I’m Henry.

Can you buy a razor for a laptop?

Kitty porn...where can I find Kitty porn...

My Laptop is the HP Sasquatch model. It is hairier then Harry the hairy hermits hairiest day in the history of hairyism.

This is not a design “feature” of Mr Sastop. It is caused by the woman in my life. She is malting as if the world the world will end if she doesn’t lose every inch of hair in the next 48 hours. I am talking about my cat here. Not my wife, who has lovely hair and it makes her look pretty. But the cat. The cat will not leave me alone. I am pretty sure it is because she is preggers as I have said before and a trip to the vets shortly to find out if I really am that bad a father that let ger get up the duff on her “first time out”. But she also chews the laptop.

I know from hearing other conversations and from the fact that I know everything, that this is standard fare for a cat. “I want attention. You have a laptop which is getting more attention then me. Therefore, I will eat the laptop.” and the circle of life continues.

I don’t mind so much, as she is only after some affection. I am less angry with her then my wife is with me when I turn up unannounced to her work and sit there hugging her for an hour and sticking my nose in her mouth while making a purring noise. I even sat on the keyboard and threw the mouse on the floor once to get more attention as I wasn’t getting any from her. But you don’t see *me* calling security when Charlie the cat does it on the laptop do you?! Some companies can be so petty. It is rude that I now have a court injunction saying I cannot go within 200m of the building when all I wanted was a hug. It was a crime of passion.

So how comes an animal loses it’s fur coming in to summer, but I don’t lose the fat on my body? We are supposed to be the master species on this planet. Where is evolution taking us I wonder? Is there a “plan” for us? Will we all turn out like the Hindu God Ganesha where we have a most useful trunk and 4 arms? Because that would be pretty handy! OK, we might look a little stupid as far as today standards go and the first to take on this look may get a little teased in school but over time it would be accepted.

If Dog’s Can Lick Their’s, Why Can’t I Grab Mine?

My Nuts! Who Stole my Nuts!

According to THIS news story, Italian Judges have told Italian men to stop scratching their fun department in public. (Side note. The original news story is written by “Nick Pisa” in Rome. Of course it is.)

They have decided it is an act of indecency. No it isn’t. Us blokes need a damn good scratch as much as Women do. And would we have a problem with women uncouthly scratching there sexy bits in public? Actually…

But what took my interest in a story about men groping themselves in public was the line

Superstitious Italian men often hold or touch their private parts for good luck when they see a hearse or to ward off bad luck – the equivalent of touching wood in Britain.

I guess it gives us an idea of where the phrase “touching wood” came from then. “Excuse me sir, is that a lump of wood in your trousers?” “Good heavens no. There was a hearse going past.”. But the average person who would grab their crotch near a hearse in Britain is a dickhead. Thus why we touch our heads and say “touch wood”.

So they are saying that grabbing a handful is actually to bring good luck? I love culture. The differences between different countries is astounding. Should I ever be in a hearse (as a passenger, not as the unlucky victim) and I saw some guy grab his nuts as we went past, I would probably stop the hearse and make sure he ended up in the back of the hearse too.

But if they want to ban things like that, then I feel that to make up for the constant itch you cannot scratch, then women must also give up something. I was thinking of making them give up boxing, but you just don’t really see that too often in the streets. And when you do, it is a catfight of sorts and can be a giggle to watch as 2 women battle to the death while trying to not mess up their makeup. So I think that the punishment should be to stop eating an ice cream suggestively. Yeah, you all do it. You get the ice cream, open the wrapper and eat it with a look of enjoyment. So we grab our crotch (as it is itching) and now we get arrested.