**Apologies, the site ate the last copy…this is a repost. if you read it before, its just as bad as before but doesn’t have this paragraph in it. My bad. Sorry.**

It’s nearly the end of the year.  As is customary on many a TV station, radio station, news website and indeed personal blog, people look back on the events of the year.  Recollect on the funny.  The sad.  The interesting. Relive those moments that made you laugh.  Cry.  Shout out “GOOD GOD..THIS IS CRAP!”.  A way of filling the unforgiving minute with 60 seconds worth of interesting reading.  Yeah I know, I kinda stole and hacked that last line from a popular Kipling poem.  So, looking back.  To take you through the things I achieved this year between posts.

Yeah I am not gonna do that.  Or maybe I will.  Here:  “I did stuff”.  There.  Satisfied?  Good.

Instead, I would like to talk about something original.  Not cheat by going “Oh look…a post full of repeats.  Clever.  Look what I did there…I wasted your time with stuff you already read!”.  Don’t get excited though, this is me we are talking about here.  If I was on a boat all you would hear is “pointless ramblings ahoy!” by a man with one eye, 3 legs and a parrot called Gifford on his shoulder.

Anyway…190 words in to this post, I guess I should get on with it.

As I spend more and more time with my oldest daughter, I cant help but wonder how at 3 years old she has already managed to be smarter than me.  Yeah, every parent has that “MY CHILD IS A GENIUS!” thing going on.  The over zealous “She walked while she was still in the womb!” or the “He recited Mozart in his sleep at 3 months” types.  I even heard a woman who looked like tying her shoelaces would be mentally challenging say “The Dr said my daughter is very advanced”.  Pretty sure what he actually said was “How this kid even remembers to breath having a mother like you is beyond me”.  

So when I say that my oldest daughter is bordering on genius, you could easily think “Yup.  Whatever numbnuts”.  But really, she does things that just…a 3 year old shouldn’t.  She already worked out the father Christmas lie…which is a shame and I hope she forgets.  She seems just to do things that other younger kids don’t.  So when my second daughter was born, I had high hopes.  Shawnee, the eldest.  A very pretty young thing.  Hair that adults are jealous of.  A great magnetic personality. Makes even those “I will NEVER have kids…I hate them” go “She is soooo cute!”.  So when daughter 2 was born, normal service was expected to continue. she would also be this magical child.

Braelyn, my youngest….looks exactly like me.  And eats mud.  Literally.  She eats mud.  Dirt.  Shoes.  Hair.  Cat food.  Actually, most nights I try to feed her and she wont eat…and it took me ages to work out how she is managing to grow when she doesn’t actually eat a thing.  And then I noticed that the cats are all losing weight.  She seems to have started a protection racket on their food.  I walked in to the kitchen a few days ago and the cats were cowering in the corner.  Scared to go near their bowls.  Braelyn on the other hand….cheeks like a gerbil.  As soon as she saw me she started crawling away as fast as she could.  The odd crumb of dry cat food falling out of her mouth and hitting the floor as she crawled faster and got more out of breath.  

She also inherited the weirdest curliest hair in the world.  It is about as unmanageable as me trying to give up alcohol.  It’s not right.  I think it is a generational kickback or something.  Maybe to prehistoric days.

She also has quite an evil streak.  She will crawl over to Shawnee, push her over…and then speed crawl away.  Leaving Shawnee alone.  On the floor.  Crying because she was pushed over.  Meanwhile Braelyn is long gone sitting innocently in the corner.  Eating cat food. An innocent look of “What?  I was here chowing down.  She fell and is trying to set me up” on her face.

With Shawnee as a baby I could sit back and just watch her.  With Braelyn I find it is a game of cat and mouse.  She is a 27 hour a day child. Eating anything and everything.  Leaves, mud, cat food, toys, furniture, steering wheels, the cats….anything she can get near.

It is Christmas.  She is now crapping tinsel.  The Christmas tree we have has fake (coz the real stuff I guess would melt) snow on it.  That’s a whole new tasty snack.  She has taken to taking the decorations off of the tree….and eating them.  Problem is, some are polystyrene with nice paper wrapped around them.  She eats both parts.

What worries me more is that she is way more like me than Shawnee.  Looks like me.  Isn’t maybe as intelligent as you would want….like me.  If I didn’t shave my head, I would have unmanageable hair.  

Every night after bathing both daughters, I carry Shawnee to her room, we read The Gruffalo, she climbs in to bed, I tell her I love her, she tells me back and I walk out of the room thinking “I need to get a paternity test done on that one”. Shortly afterwards I put Braelyn in her cot, gently kiss her on the cheek and say “I’m sorry”.  

Well, that is the year for me done.  So.  Merry Christmas.  Happy holidays.  Whatever you do or don’t believe in, enjoy the period. I’ll try to come back in 2012…if Braelyn hasn’t eaten me.

Yes yes.  I know.  Yet again it is months between posts.  But I will be honest…I have been busy.  Not just busy, but VERY busy.  I would list all the things I have been doing, but it would take me so long to make stuff up to make me look sexy that it is just not worth it.  So I will just sum up the past couple of months in this one photo:

 

There.  I think you understand now.  I’ve been VERY busy.  I am glad you understand…I think it was getting awkward there for a minute. 

But as I sit here, my black shirt covered in lumps of green tree poo and an aroma eminating from me which can only be likened to a homeless person taking a bath in a silage container, I cant help but think “Where the hell did this year go?  And I wonder if anyone around me can smell this.  Actually…where is everyone?  Why isn’t anyone around me?  What is wrong with me?  Do I smell or som……..oh……ok, I get it”.  I mean, I like solitude as much as the next person….but I was planning on saving that for about 10 years time.  In 10 years time, both my daughters will be fighting over the bathroom.   My wife will be saying words like “You spend all effing day in that shed…why don’t you come in and be a father” and I will be saying “That’s it…I am going to my shed.  Dont bug me woman.  I need my space”.  Sadly, I think my storm off routine will look more like it came from a Monty Python sketch as I have a case of shin splints at the moment and if they don’t go before 10 years time, I can’t see my walk being more than a 46 year old man (Note to self…holy shit dude…in 10 years you’ll be 46?) hobbling out of the door like a wounded elf.

I guess I should tell you why my clothes are purest green and I smell like Swamp Thing.

Here in the south east of England we are kinda crap.  Scotland gets snow.  Thousands of houses lose power.  Roads are closed.  100mph gusts of wind.  Does that stop them going to the pub?  hell no.  But here in the south east, a mere few hundred miles away…it’s all different.  Trains stop working at the first sign of a cloud.  People moan incessantly and things are hard work.  The trees in the south east seem to have no stamina.  If they were an adult movie industry star, they would be known as “Quick Larry”.  One gust and they take a lay down.  So in the early hours this morning while you were all snuggled up in bed dreaming of me, I was the hero. On the roads.  Making your drive to work safer. 

Sure, I am not a road clearer.  Nor a manual labour guy.  I work in an office.  Doing critical communication stuff.  Thats all you need to know…this post will bore you enough as it is.

But dressed in office trousers and shirt, I found myself standing in front of my car looking at a stuffing big tree taking a lay down across the entire width of the road.  Too much for one man….but a second car appeared and another man got out.  There we were.  Two strangers.  Standing together in the rain facing adversity.  We wouldn’t be beaten.  It was miles to go around it.  We stood.  We looked.  We started pushing that tree.  It took proper HEEEEEAVE! type of pushing.  It started moving.  Gradually.  Slowly.  Then…totally unexpected….he pushed harder….and let out an enormous fart.  Lovely.  Thanks man.  That’s….what did you eat?  It smelt like he had just let a decaying rat out of his behind.  I started to giggle…and really wanted to gag.  But it seemed to work…the tree moved and I am fairly sure that guy got to wherever he was going with a turtle poking its head out followed by a swift change of underwear.  I on the other hand have that green gunge that you get on trees all over my clothes.  I am sat at my desk with a sleeve that looks like someone with a nose so snotty that they could bottle it and sell it as the perfume of some “celebrity” (coz lets be honest…”Snot Bucket – A perfume by David Beckham” or something isnt really a seller) and I am constantly wiping said nose on my sleeve. 

But we made that tree move.  I got back in my car. Drove a few miles.  Met another tree.  But that one I did alone because I am amazing.  And there is nothing to say about it.

So.  I may well do another post before the end of the year.  Yeah…really.  I know.  I don’t know what has got in to me.  I do know what hasn’t got enough in me….alcohol.  So…being Christmas, if you want to send me money via paypal to buy myself a beer or post stuff to me…don’t be shy.  I’ll even tell my friends in social gatherings about how awesome you are.  I should note that I only see about 11 other people…and 5 are kids.  But I’ll tell them anyway.  You aren’t going to are you?  I think you saying that just killed a kitten.  Let me check.  Yup…dead.  I’ll probably get it stuffed and scare small children with it.

I have never been to Switzerland. Not for any reason other than “I have never been to Switzerland”. It was never high on my list of go to places.  The toilet is high on my list of go to places.  As is bed.  And the pub.  Switzerland just wasn’t.

Until recently.

They have lots of brothels you know.  Suuure, I am happily married. I have two amazing daughters. I also have 3 cats that I wish I could shave completely bald and scare local teenagers with….but…with the exception of the local brothel around where I live which I didn’t know about until recently…and the fact that the average female in the town I live in is missing most of their teeth, smells of guacamole and generally isn’t likely to float my boat….I would be better off attaching little Sy to a petri dish full of Necrotizing fasciitis (just google it and stop saying “What is that?”) and going to town like it was my favourite female actress with no fear of what awaits.  This….if you are brave enough to click THIS link.  You did it didn’t you.  I dont know if that was to get your jollys or because you are curious…either way, I only looked it up for the sake of this post.  Thus, I am better than you.  You are weird.

So why do I want to go to a brothel in Switzerland?

Well, it’s not for the chocolate.  But instead, you can get a good mouthful of sausage.

Yeah I know, the usual straight male doesnt go to a brothel hoping to get a mouthful of sausage.  It would be like using your wife/girlfriends hairbrush to scratch your gonads.  Sure, it feels better than anything you ever felt when it comes to scratching your gentlemans area, but it is just wrong.

Now.  I think I need to explain that last paragraph as on reading it back I think I just said I like to get a mouthful of another guys manmeat…which I don’t.  Nor do I use any hairbrushes belonging to my wife to give myself a damn good scratch.  This is partly because she doesn’t have one of those wider ones with loads of “teeth” which really work.  Instead it is more one of those comb type brushes.  It hurts.  Erm…I mean “Wow, I mean, that would PROBABLY really hurt!”

Anyway.  Back to the prostitutes and their sausage.

A brothel in Switzerland was having a little trouble drumming up business so the owner thought “Hey, why dont I also set up a BBQ and let people have some cooked sausage once their own sausage is cooked!”.  And then burnt his brothel down.  True Story.

Why a BBQ?  Why not a buy one get one free deal?  Maybe a voucher scheme?  And how would you fill in the insurance paperwork for that one?

“Well, I was at a brothel and my sausage got so hot that the place burnt down!”.

And how would you explain that to your wife when you appear on TV legging it out of a burning house along with 3 naked prostitutes and a hot dog?  “No, it isn’t me…honestly dear…look, that man doesnt have any ketchup on his hot dog!” while she watches you bounce your way down the street.

I think I need to get employed by these brothels to drum up business.  I can put some slogans up which will get deals far more than the promise of a burnt sausage.

“Our deals will blow your…mind!”

“Sexy ladies looking for dirty old men who don’t get any!”

“We’ll blow you away if you come here!”

“Our prostitutes don’t have a flesh eating virus!”  <— That one would surely be a winner.

“Get your kicks at prozzysticks….not another sausage in site!”  <— I don’t know if there is a brothel calles prozzysticks but I like the name and Google didn’t come up with a result for it.

“Our sexy ladies will even let a total loser like you get some!”

Honestly…someone employ me to do this….

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!

Amongst the weird world of instant messenger conversations I had (see previous post), I also had one with someone who shall be called “Other Participant” because…well, that is what they asked to be referred to as.  I am guessing it has something to do with the illuminati being after them or some such and they are worried about being caught.  Erm.  What was I saying?  Oh yeah…I also had a conversation with them about things to take to the grave.  How did it come up?  Well we were talking about how pears are the disabled relatives of apples.  Strange how things move on in a conversation.  Anyway….this post….

The words “And I will take that to the grave” are bandied around a lot these days.  They may also have been used many years ago, but I am not a hundred years old or anything, and history bores the crap outta me so I am not going to go spending time on looking it up.  Therefore, the words are bandied around a lot these days.  I myself have used them, but I cant tell you why as that is why it is coming to the grave with me.

But just say you took some other things to the grave with you.  Quite literally.  And then, in x thousands of years time, when they want to build a supermarket on your grave, they dig you up.  And in doing so, have a sneaky look inside the coffin.  Just what could you hide in there with you?

Well, for starters, on my headstone I am going to have a logo which reads “Contains yeast”.  Why?  Why not…it’ll confuse the hell out of them to start with.  Maybe even the words “Buried Alive”.

And then once in the box, I am going to arrange to have my stiff rigamortis induced body put in to a strange position.  You know how they open graves and go “Oh yes, this one was buried being accused of being a Witch.  You can tell by the way the bones are laid out”.  So I am going to be buried in a position like I had been trying to bite my toenails.  That should really mess with the “Historians” heads.  Or maybe get a few other people in on it and have ourselves in a line doing the YMCA or something like that.

I also thought I could be buried clutching a piece of paper.  Some of the possible wording on the piece of paper are:

Just the word “Why?”

“Last Will and Tes….damn…pen is running out.”

Or maybe a game of hangman where it is spelling the words “You Lose” but they hadn’t got the o before the little man was hung and a little sad face.

Maybe just a black spot or the words “If you can read this, it is likely you have already contracted the virus”

“They found me.  I don’t have much ti….”

“Is nothing personal?  Get your own effing note”

Maybe a shopping list.  “Bread, eggs, milk, toilet roll, cure for Ebola virus, nails for coffin, bug repellent”

“If you can read this, the permanent marker guys got it right!”

“I have discovered a cure for cancer!”

“I know who shot JFK.  It is…..answers on a postcard.  The first correct answer out of the hat in 1000 years time will find out”

“Everything you have been told is a lie.  TRUST NOBODY!”

“The aliens will never find me in here!  Hang on…why have you opened my coffin?  YOU ARSE!”

“Congratulations.  You just let all the evil out”

“If at first you don’t succeed, the guy buried next to me has a note for quitters”

“This is package 2 of 2.  Please see instruction manual for details of installation”

“Check for all pieces prior to assembly”

“Is it still raining?  It was chucking it down when I got in here”

“Do you still have sex or are you all now a single being?”

“BLOODY HELL! It’s TRUE!  There is no afterlife…”
“God doesn’t have a real beard.  All of your books are wrong.  Please amend accordingly.”

“I’m not a natural blonde!”

“Scratch and sniff”

Or maybe instead of a short note, you could make it a little more elaborate like:

“Jesus was a goat. Who knew!  They hung a poor defenceless goat to a cross.  I mean, it makes sense how he could feed the 5000…they were milking him continuously.  Although, then, you milk female goats.  So Jesus was actually female when he…she died.  And you know how she was stuck in that cave, she wasn’t actually dead, and being a goat, which eat anything, she basically ate her way out.  But then they started hunting for her, so she figured the safest thing she could do was to eat herself.  Thus all that was left was a pair of horns and an ear tag with her number on.  It read “Case 666″.  So when you think about it.  666, goat, horns and female….Jesus was the devil.  Please amend your bible accordingly.  Thank you”

The list could go on.  As could items to take with you, such as a bong.  But that is a list for a different year.  Anything you feel would work well on a note?

I think it is fair to say that I require constant attention.  I don’t mean that in that vain “I am soooo pretty…talk to me!” way…coz…well…I am a balding ugly 36 year old male.  So short of looking in one of those comedy mirrors and seeing something that doesn’t exist, I cant say that being called “pretty” is ever going to be on the cards. But I mean constant attention because left to myself, the only interaction I have is with the voices in my head.  

Or with the instant messaging conversation window of people who have walked away from their machine and not logged out.  Leaving me free reign.

An example.

12:12 – Sy: The fruits that you wont see on my desk are things like bananas.  They aren’t right.  I don’t understand the need for bananas.  I mean sure, potassium.  But you can get that from possums I believe.  Or is it just how people say it?

Tomato/tomato, Potassium/possum?  Maybe I am getting confused with the language things in the world

But also, if I had a banana on my desk it wouldn’t work with the Bovril red and marmite yellow as there would be more yellow which would unbalance the delicate colour thing I have going on in front of my monitor.

Other interesting things to have on your desk are little toy cars.  They are overrated.  For instance, if you are bored, you can go “Vrooom Vroom” with your mouth and then move them along the desk.  The downside is if bring in a clear desk policy.

It’s not all about food stuffs and colour though.  Earlier I sent an email to someone who requested a list of all the people I send outages to.  This can be interesting, while being somewhat annoying.  In this instance, annoying.  I sent the list to him and he has not replied to me.  It is like refreshing facebook waiting to see if someone replied to your witty comment to their status and then when someone finally does reply, they bypass your comment.

It disappoints me.  Much like Wimbledon.

But that is the thing about Wimbledon.  All this “Players must play in whites” rubbish means that wombles have to A) wash and B) play naked. It’s true.  have you ever seen a womble in white clothes? No.  Blue coats and stuff…they should probably give up naked tennis and go work at Butlins or something.  Or is that the redcoats?

Are you coming back yet?

Its raining…your cigarette probably went out.

Dear diary.  I wrote about wombles today.  Wombles are great.  They are fluffy, clean up after me and are good for t

oh

you are back

I’ll stop.

But then they left again.

12:30 – Sy: Dear diary.  I have been over ground.  Even underground.  I mean, the UK rail network is great albeit a little expensive.  But never.  Ever.  Have I been wombling free.  I don’t quite understand what that actually means.  Can I now walk on trainlines at will without the risk of arrest?  Trains would still turn me to a pulp if they hit me, although I am quite short.  I picked up an empty pack of crisps the other day.  A normal pack, not even a grab pack, and it was like I was being sucked in to a wind tunnel when the weather changed.  It’s the least womblicious thing I have done.  Ever.  But you know, I continue to try.  Others would have stopped by now.  Not me.  I am a friggin womblegenius of mensa level.

A day later.

11:04 – Sy: I made toast.  It was the white toast because I prefer it to the brown toast.  Except that it ends up brown even though it started as white.  Maybe that disproves the whole “Man originated in Africa”.  How could we if we started off white?

I put marmite on my toast.  But that made it black.  I should have just burnt the toast to start with.

According to an incident report I was sent, someone changed something which broke something but while fixing the broken something they broke the working something meaning that everything was broken and nothing was working.  That’s a silly state to have things in.

The outage system is yellow.  I believe that it is showing a bias towards marmite.  Is the outage system a vegetarian?  I did wonder why I wasn’t that keen on it.

Snails.  I also like snails.  Except when the snail is some arse driving at a snails pace along the road holding me up.  I mean holding me up as in making me drive slowly and not actually pointing a gun at my car.  That would be scary.  Like a fisherman with a fake leg and some cockles in a bown.

bown?  That is like a bowl but I changed it to fit my own language.

I call is Syguage

I once caught a cold.

I tried not to.

I mean, someone projectile sneezed at me.  Well, not AT me, but they didn’t cover their mouth.  I caught it all.  I looked like I had just been slimed by the green dude on goatbusters.

I wish I hadn’t caught that cold

I spat champagne at someone on Saturday night.  He said “Can I have some of that!” while I was holding the bottle.  I had some in my mouth.  I hit him with it. Quite a good shot from 4 meters away!

My apple just winked at me

I like woodlice too.  They are the friendliest of all bugs/insects.  I had some to a teaparty once.  They all fell asleep.  I was telling them about my backpacking trip around western Europe.  They weren’t interested.  I smashed them all to bits in a fit of rage. I hate woodlice

Flash.

Flash

Flash

I should read the email I got so the red light on the blueberry stops flashing at me

flash

Notice the lack of capital F on the last one?  Yeah I didn’t think it deserved it.

Are you back yet?

Little yellow dot says nooooo

OH! GREEN DOT!  My loneliness ends.

Or is it teasing me?

You know what…I don’t care.  I have a smiling apple.

11:17 – Other Recipient: We are both cracking up

11:17 – Sy: I think the edges are certainly frayed

And then they left their PC logged on overnight.  And I had a quiet morning.

06:59 – Sy: Good morning, it’s 7am and you are reading the Simon Hughes breakfast show!  

Or Splendid Isolation as it should be known being that the only person reading this is me.

07:10 – Sy: An update on the apple.  It is still green…although it is looking decidedly less edible than it did last week.  I spent the weekend thinking about my apple.  The emotional journey we have had ever since I saw it in the bowl of fruit, and a week later…here we are.  Still together.  I have had relationships that haven’t lasted this long.  Part of me wants to eat it….make it a part of me forever.  Or until nature does it’s thing.  I guess it’s soul is still going to be a part of me.  If that even exists.  

So when you think about it, I am considering ending my relationship with my apple with no knowledge whatsoever of what lies beyond.

It’s wrong

It makes lambs cry.

07:13 – Sy: Depending on how you look at it, the words “I will be your prince and take you to the wonderland full of harmony and miracles” are really stupid

But I am active and enthusiastic.  I also treat people just as I want them to treat me.

My interests are various.

In unrelated news, my mailbox is over its size limit.  That disappoints me because I have to delete mail.  

07:21 – Sy: I often worry about things.  Things like going out in the sun and getting toasted because I didn’t put any sun cream on.  Or that Sainsburys run out of mini magnums.  But none more than knowing that a large amount of memory is committed to applications and processes.  This is because consistently high memory usage can perform performance problems.

I guess that explains an issue I have…I do often think of memories more than I should.

I guess they need a viagra for the mind.  “Stop reminiscing and start doing!” but that would be SRSD which you can only really say correctly when you are drunk.  

Maybe that is the answer!

07:24 – Sy: Beer:  Helping performance problems caused by thinking since 1693.

Why 1693?  Well it is a long time ago and I really cannot be bothered to find out when beer was first brewed.

This continued (re)programming is sponsored by Illuminati Industries – Bringing you high quality mind control for 300 years

Hypnotoad…Hypnotoad….Hypnotoad….say noooo.

07:44 – Sy: Have you ever thought about salt?

It’s everywhere.  In the sea.  On my foot.  There is a salty seadog on a boat.  Pour salt on a slug it goes to slug heaven.  So why.  WHY has it never ever ran for president or prime minister?  I say that or that because I don’t know what nationality it is.

But really.  Salt…a global conspiracy?

Spatch.  That’s a funny word.

“It’s not working!” “Spatch it!”  Huh? I mean…spatchcock chicken…it’s…well…flat.  

So when they say “My PC is dead!”, the answer is to flatten it?

Why not pour salt on it?

Over the weekend I got a text.  It read “6 days!!!”.  I am concerned.  Is that how long I have left to live?  Maybe some kind of coded warning?

But that’s quite negative thinking

The text had !!! in it.  It would maybe point to excitement.  

Maybe I am winning the lottery in 6 days?

It’s confusing.   I have this trepidation towards it

They played one of Adele’s songs on the radio this morning.

I couldn’t take it seriously

She said:

We could have had a ball

A bouncing little ball

I bounced that ball up and down

and you played to the beat

Silly song.

It’s supposed to be a love song…yet she is talking about a bouncy ball.

You know what else is silly?  

String.

Another song that is silly is that one that goes “There she was just a stumbling down the street singing doo wah diddy diidy i’m not drunk”

Why would they sing that?

Interesting.  if you count all the words prior to this line, there are 666 words

07:58 – Sy: You can divide that by 11.  It goes an exact amount of times….which is 60.5454545454545454545455.  Why do you think that is?  I think it is because 456 are next to each other.

08:00 – Sy: Dear Diary.  I have been typing for exactly 1 hour.  There has been no reply

At all

Why?

I am lonely.  

I just drew a smiley face on my apple.  

It’s happy smiling face makes me feel good

That concludes the morning illuminati (re)programming.  We thank you for your time.

There was an awful lot more, but I already have concerns that you wont be coming back to this site ever again…so best not to show the real crazy.

In the next post….things to take to the grave.  Quite literally.  Yeah I know, I was surprised to hear I already know what the next post will be about too.  Unless I change my mind and write about something else.  Excited?  You shouldn’t be!

And as another month passes as I don’t do anything on this site, I figure I should give you guys a carrot to keep coming back.  Or a stick to beat me with?  I dunno.  But just like the email I got a few days ago from someone saying “I am not going to come to your site anymore as you hardly ever update it anymore”,

I couldn’t help but think “Somebody needs to remove the stick from their behind…I think it is getting infected.  Actually, best leave it in there another month or two.”

So this post is dedicated to you, Mr Email sender.  Or Numbnuts as I now lovingly refer to you by.

I haven’t done one of these in…erm…a long time?  But I figured that in the event that my life is so unexciting at the moment that I can’t think of anything amusing to write (OK fine…I am busy doing other stuff that you aren’t invited to), I would give you some search engine results…and then abuse them.

To recap…as anyone from the last time I did one of these likely doesn’t read the site anymore…the quotes inside of the ” ” or the reeeeally small number

11s are phrases that somehow managed to land on this little corner of the Internet via google.  The rest?  That’s just me being me.

(And before you give me grief, I copy and pasted exactly what was put in to Google.  Spelling mistakes, grammar, punctuation…the lot.  So shhh)

Dear Sy: Can you tell me “How to get over a dead hamster”

Uncle Sy says: Yes.  I would recommend starting with big jumps.  Maybe take a run up.  Actually, is this a normal small sized hamster as honestly….you just don’t need advice unless you are an ant.  And if you are an ant, there is no way you’re little feet…can I call them feet?…can type enough to get to this site.  Or do you use a mouse?  And I don’t mean for your own sexual gratification, I mean to move the cursor about.  What was the question again?

Dear Sy: “does winnie the pooh steal honey”

Uncle Sy says: Yes.  The thieving little yellow git actually broke in to my house the other day and stole ALL of my honey.  I was annoyed at that, but he also used my toilet.  I don’t mind that so much compared to him using my bed to empty himself…but it did completely throw my ‘of course a bear craps in the woods’ comment I use to people completely out of whack.

Dear Sy:  I like “watching porn in taiwan”

Uncle Sy says:  Really?  That is very interesting indeed.  Personally, I like dressing up as Maid Marion late at night and walking around the streets calling out for Robin Hood.  At least I get a warm bed for the night when the evil men in uniforms come along and take me away.

Dear Sy: Can you tell me “negative things about being a vegetarian”?

Uncle Sy says:  Yes.  Yes I can.  Where do you want to start?  At the part where I mention that they smell of broccoli which is honestly not a nice smell, or the way that animals actually laugh at them?  I read a story that I made up in my head once that mentioned that vegetarians get covered in more bird poop than anyone else in the world.  True story.

Dear Sy: “look at me i’m a complete idiot”

Uncle Sy says:  Steve?  Is that you?

Dear Sy: Can you tell me why “foreigners want to live in china”

Uncle Sy says:  I could if I wanted to, but seriously…do I ever ask you why you go to the supermarket?

Dear Sy: “is it harmful to push penis inside body”

Uncle Sy says:  Nope.  Not if it is done correctly.  The best way is to get a mallet, hold the little guy in the palm of your hand and making sure you hit the very end first, you crack it as hard as you can.  Let me know how you get on.

Dear Sy: “what does playing with your testicles do”

Uncle Sy says:  In my experience, it makes your wife and children get home earlier than planned.  Every damn time.  I mean seriously…I am considering putting a bell around their necks so I know when they are about to open the door.  I mean it’s called gentleman’s time for a reason…and chicks aint invited.

Dear Sy:  Being the awesome guy you are, can you tell me “good things about being a vegetarian”

Uncle Sy says:  No.  Seriously.  No.  I can’t.  I thought long and hard and all I managed to do was order some chicken.

Dear Sy:  “is there any way to stop my hamsters from having babies”

Uncle Sy says:  You could always stop molesting them you dirty freak.

Dear Sy: What is a good “letter to a mother that delivered a baby”

Uncle Sy says:  I dunno.  B maybe?  B is for Baby afterall.  

Dear Sy:  What happens when a “drunk guy furget to put condom on”

Uncle Sy says:  Drunk guy becomes Daddy.  Or has a serious itch and some not so pretty discharge in a few days time.

Dear Sy:  Can you tell me where I can get a “strapon winnie the pooh”

Uncle Sy says:  Why?  Wanna give a surprise to your honey?  Geddit?  Honey…it’s what Pooh likes!  Yeah…forget it.

Dear Sy:  “am i crap in bed”

Uncle Sy says:  My friend…if you have to ask.  But seriously, I saw a video of your efforts on that site One Second Wonders and I gotta say, even in slow motion there is NOTHING you should be bragging about.

Dear Sy:  Hey Sy…word association day!  Ready…”goldfish into penis”

Uncle Sy says:  Umm…Caterpillar in to Butterfly.  Did I do it?  Did I…come on…don’t leave me hanging.

Dear Sy: “can humans die from a hamster”

Uncle Sy says:  Is the hamster armed with an Uzi?  Or a knife?  Is the hamster 8 foot tall and has a nickname of John Rambo?  I mean seriously…you gotta give me more.  If I say Nooooo….of course not… and then your family gets killed by a rabid Rambo Hamster, how is that going to make me look?

Dear Sy:  Have you seen my “my missing thumb”

Uncle Sy says:  yes.  Time to remove it from your behind.  And for the love of all that is cleansing…wash your hand afterwards.  That last sandwich you made me tasted really weird.

Dear Sy: Can you tell me about a “well fed african blog plump”

Uncle Sy says:  I want to.  I really do.  But what the hell dude…a well fed African blog pump???

Dear Sy:  Being a pretty cool guy, I reckon you could give me examples of “songs about killing dolphins”

Uncle Sy says:  yes!  I can!  99 Red Balloons was one for example.  I am better at seal clubbing songs though.  Michael Jackson’s Beat It was specifically about that.

Dear Sy: “doctor said to only have fluids, what can i have”?

Uncle Sy says: Ahh yes.  You go to the Doc’s.  He tells you what to do…and you come home and ask Google.  Why didn’t you ask while you were there?  Well to put your mind at ease, he basically wants you to stay away from dairy and soft drinks.  And certainly water.  Whisky and Beer are the best things as they also contain nutrients not found in stupid pointless drinks like fresh orange juice.  Fresh?  If it is fresh, why is it in a bottle in the fridge instead of you sucking the juice from the orange itself?

Dear Sy:  “when can i give my mother hamster back her wheel?”

Uncle Sy says:  Well you need to make sure the court gives her back her driving licence first.  She is already banned for driving while being under the influence of a lettuce leaf.

Dear Sy:  Can you tell me “stuff that makes you hallucinate”

Uncle Sy says:  Smashing your head against a wall repeatedly for 3 minutes should do it.  Email me photos of the result.  And no, not like the photos you sent last time you deviant.

Until next time… mwah xoxoxo

There has been an epic battle raging in my house for a few years.  The battle between the important people (us humans) and my cats.  Or my pets as I may call them.  But not for long if the idiots in this news story have anything to say about it:  

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1381136/Calling-animals-pets-insulting-Should-companions-claim-animal-rights-academics.html

I mean really.  It’s an animal.  Does it even know what being called a pet is?  Does the group of sad individuals who sat around a table and thought “Gerbils have rights too!  They should not be called pets…lets annoy the world!” also sit watching the film Animal Farm (not THAT one…pervs…although!) and then start a strongly worded leaflet campaign complaining that the sheep were labeled dumb?  

Because they aren’t.  

Sheep are highly intelligent.  

Look at the way you never see them as the driver when you see a car accident.  Nor do you hear about a sheep that lost the will and jumped in front of a high speed train.  Or sheep who works for the big banks…you don’t hear about them losing money.  Why?  Coz they are sheep.  A cat is a cat.  A dog a dog. A dirty unwashed skunk having a bad hair day is just that…a politician.

But anyway.  My pets.  Or “companion animal” as Nutter McStupid would have us call them (which makes sense being that sometimes as the cat goes flying across the room aided by my foot, my foot and their arse are companions for a brief moment).  There has been a battle raging and I don’t know who is winning.

It started with them bringing in a variety of dead animals.  Squirrels, birds, the neighbour.  That was annoying enough.  Waking up in the morning, bleary eyed and not having shoes on yet, you stand (and squash) a dead animal between your toes.  I mean really…picking the guts of a sparrow out from between your toes, well, it’s not quite the giggle you may at first think.  There are entrails to think of and the funny taste I get when I am biting my toenails later that night is anything but pleasant.

And they used to just find the single smelliest dead individual animal it could find.  And then hide it. You would walk in to a room and think “OK…that fart I let off just before I walked out this room last night which made me choke….it surely can’t still be here.  Did it set up home?” and then realise it is time to play hunt the dead animal.  

But then, when I started to give the cats hell because there became a dead animal a night ranging from “Look…I got this out of it’s nest for you and killed it!” to “This one was on it’s last legs….so I bit them off. Good luck finding them!”.  

Every night.  For weeks.  I don’t actually know how there are even anymore birds left in my neighbourhood.  Infact, one of my neighbours surname is Burd.  I really hope I don’t wake up one morning and he is laying on my floor.  His innards spread all over my floor. Again.  It’s getting tiring. I know he reads this..so please…dude…enough already.  Or at least clean up after yourself.  And no, my cat ISN’T interested in you.  Stop bugging her.  No means NO.

So the cats went on the offensive.  They stopped bringing dead animals in the house in the middle of the night.  They started to bring live ones in.  And not just that, one cat would bring them in and make this calling noise to the other two cats….one of which would usually be sat on my head.  His ears would prick up, his claws would come out and he would use my face as a starting block to help him get away as fast as he could to go play with what Mummy cat just brought in.  I am then spending my night trying to save a bird…mouse…pterodactyl from death by cat while trying not to wake up my daughters using language you normally only hear in the 30 seconds following accidently hammering one of your testicles to the floor.  Yeah, it was an accident OK?  I was sat there trying to hammer a nail in to the floor but got cramp so I sat with my legs apart and the nail lined up ready…you know…don’t bother.  I see you judging me, I am used to it.  My wife believes me.  Of course, as you read in the last post, the woman holds little green lights up to the sky.  So yeah.  Ok.

But most of the time, birdie went die die before I could save it.  So I would give it a good burial.  A crack on the head to make sure followed by a plastic bag and the bin until the morning and then put the bag in to a holding area.

And then the little gits got inventive/lazy and started getting the dead animal out of the bin and carried on playing with it.  So far my only plan is the next time they bring a live bird, dead bird, boat, orchestra in to the house I am going to kick their arse.  Sure, it hasn’t exactly worked well so far, but at least it gives the birds in the neighbourhood some comfort knowing that their death is not in vain.

Oh.  And if they dont bring me a turkey at Christmas, I am kicking them all out.

I have on occasion in the past been maybe a little “against” things.  Religion is one.  Vegetarianism is another.

Why?  Because I am right.  It’s not often I can say that.  Normally on making a statement I believe to be 100% true, it is followed shortly after by the words “Sorry sweetie.  I know.  I wont mention it again.  Yes, I know.  You are always right” to my wife.

Ah yes.  My wife.  A person that said “You know, I don’t come off very well on your blog. Do you think people think I am some mean woman?” to which I thought “How do I respond to this?  If I agree, then that’s bad for me.  But if I disagree, I am left  

with the words “Sorry sweetie.  I know. I wont ment……..” I mean how do I get around a comment like that?  Well, I said “I think I can hear the baby crying” and legged it up the stairs and stood shaking in the corner wondering what the hell answer I could give.  15 minutes later I came down the stairs, mentioned how I managed to get her back to sleep (she hadn’t woken up) and then said “Glass of wine?” and  conversation avoided.  Until she said “What were we talking about?” and I had a complete blank and said “My blog”.

Dammit.  Do not pass go.  Do not collect £50.  DO have a conversation where you say “Noooooo pumpkin…I reckon they love you  because you keep me in check and are the sensible one in our relationship” which is also utter crap…her the sensible one?  

And you think *I* do some weird stuff.  The woman once stood on a beach on new years eve with a green torch that had all the power of a light being charged by the power coming out of a garden gnomes bottom, waving it in the air in the hope that they could get their local little town on the map.  I mean…who was looking?  Do satellites stop during orbit?  Have a little look about…say “Hey…guys…look…down there.  Little green torches!  Get the troops! We need to report this!” and then beam messages down to make sure that the maps get updated?  

Of course they don’t.  Why would they.  

AND…this was planned.  By someone who obviously had a shedload of crappy torches they couldn’t sell and came up with some  
awesome idea to get the younger townsfolk to buy them all.  But the best part?  On new years eve, when said torches were to be held by the masses in to the air to get them on the map…she was 5 hours in the other direction.  Waving a few solitary torches in to the air.  Drunk.  Dancing around a fire on the beach.

And people think SHE is the smart one in our relationship. Exactly.

Anyway.  I have a feeling I moved on a little there and I was actually writing about religion and cucumbers.  But somehow how got sidetracked in to little green torches.  Maybe because all three are actually pointless?  I don’t know.  I DO know that I will move on now though.

So yes.  Religion.  It’s rubbish.  This is proven as we all know by one of the dumbest individuals to ever get a prediction  wrong.  The end of the world.  Armageddon.  People selling their children (or was it houses?)  and people who were so incredibly DUMB that they PAID people to have their pets when they were pulled to heaven by God.  Why?  Because they are holier than thou….but their pets led a life of debauchery?  Their pets would not be pulled to heaven by a man with a beard so white that Just for Men refuse to endorse their products when he is around?  What did the poor pets do?  “Oh yes.  My pet…he…well…he licked himself the other day.  Not once.  Enough times to know that he was actually enjoying it.  AND he had kids with that bitch next door but they didn’t get married.  That dude is going to hell.  He wont be pulled to heaven.”  

But these people actually decided they were going to heaven?  “Oh yes.  I will get picked because I went to church every  

Sunday for 18 years.  Except that one Sunday I was ill.” You didn’t go once?  That’s is…doomed.  You are staying here with the rest of us when Mr Gorgonzola gets it right (4 months time or something now?  Duuuuuuh)

And will Mr Prediction actually end up in heaven?  Because bad things happened when he got it wrong. That makes him the devil in my eyes.  You know…if the devil was someone who has so much loose skin you dont know if you should point and laugh or make a wrap for a homeless person with it.

So yes.  Religion.  Stupid.

And so we move on.  And don’t say I wasn’t right because yes…it has happened. VEGETABLES ARE KILLING US! Well not me.  I don’t eat them.  I only eat things that deserve to be eaten.

It’s natural selection you see.  Nature said “The cow can’t out run you. Thus you can eat it.”  But vegetables have no legs.  

Fish in a barrel. They aren’t right.  They sit there.  Staring at you with googley eyes as you rip them from the ground, rip off their skin and throw them in a bowl and eat them raw.  Now look…yeah, they taught you lot didn’t they.  “We don’t know the source of the infection” is being put all around the newspapers.  Of course not.  They plotted this for years.  It’s a turf war on a global scale (Did I just quote Michael Jackson lyrics by accident there?  This site really has gone downhill hasn’t it.) and they are finally coming for you.  Yes you.  Mr and Mrs Vegetarian.  Those “I don’t believe in animal cruelty and eating animals is cruel” types who probably also believe in Jeebus.  

I said it for years. Cucumbers are EVIL.  They are.  When I was a kid, I ate some and threw up.  I still cant handle the smell.  They are to me very similar to church.  When I go there, I feel uneasy.  Like snogging your cousin.  You know it’s  just wrong, but here you are.  Doing it anyway and feeling dirty all over for weeks after.

So really.  People of the world.  Send me your money so I can continue my preaching’s on what is right and what is wrong.  It  might even make you go to heaven!