Monday, August 30, 2004

Been blogging offline, if you get my meaning. Abnormal service will be exhumed shortly. Until then, squawk amongst yourselves you funky bastards.


Wednesday, August 25, 2004

The Olympic tally so far:

Brazil: 42
Sweden: 37
France: 26
Nigeria: 25
Jamaica: 18
USA: 14
Germany: 12
Australia: 9
Italy: 9
Netherlands: 8
Cuba: 7
Denmark: 6
South Africa:6
Finland: 5
Colombia: 5
Venezuela: 4
Cameroon: 3
Israel: 3
Canada: 2
Denmark: 1
Norway: (aborted)

Apart from Norway, they've all been very enjoyable wanks although i'm a bit disappointed in the British team who once again have fielded a team of potato-faced halflings with no masturbatorial potential whatsoever. The five-ringed Pearl Necklace is almost certain to go to Brazil again.


Tuesday, August 24, 2004

Sorry this obsession is taking me overboard. I'm going to go and (ahem) ease myself off a little, maybe eat a few slices of cold Turgooswan Gelee and peruse this, positively the last link to her until i find the next one

Her Fan Club

Since July, she has ... Swallowed 7-3/4 pounds of turducken dinner (turkey, duck and chicken) in 12 minutes.


Which reminds me that family legend states that Great Uncle Abie or somesuch once ate 25 Matzo Balls and immediately had to be taken to hospital to have his stomach pumped. Is it any wonder I can eat a whole chicken in one sitting without realising (I call upon the Deep Fat Friar as my witness)

How unfortunate it is to fall in love with two exceptional ladies at the same time. My own dear marriage module will always be number one and still has exclusive access to the meat spatula and fun eggs but i'd be lying to myself if i didnt admit i've falled mouth over arse in love with this little lady (picture link at the bottom)...

An unrivaled hunger?

She's 5-foot-5, 99 pounds. Her appetite puts "voracious" to shame.

By Alfred Lubrano

Inquirer Staff Writer

ALEXANDRIA, Va. - Growing up in South Korea without a refrigerator makes a girl famished.

And when Sonya Thomas immigrated in 1997, she brought with her that unslakable, piranha-efficient appetite.

Peering like a predator through the sneeze guard at the $6.95-a-person Win Chinese Buffet, the linguine-thin 36-year-old scoops schools of cooked and uncooked fishes onto the first of what will be six plates consumed in a two-hour lunch.

Thomas has channeled that profound and perfect hunger into her current profession: competitive eater. It's as though she took a Scarlett O'Hara-like oath - "As God is my witness, I'll never go hungry again" - then added, "And I will eat America in the process."

A rookie in what some call the "sport" of competitive eating, Thomas believes she will win Friday's Wing Bowl XII, the chicken-wing-eating contest run by the WIP-AM (610) morning show. She can eat 134 wings in 12 minutes, which ties her for the world record. Thomas is one of about 3,000 people who enter eating contests under the auspices of the International Federation of Competitive Eating in New York.

"Stomach-centric sport," as the federation's president Richard Shea calls it, has been around for decades. But through the influence of the seven-year-old federation, the number of contests has grown from 12 eating events in 1997 to more than 100 this year, with Wing Bowl among them.

With the federation's guidance, IFOCE-dubbed "gurgitators" have been winning cash prizes and garnering media coverage as they chew through the eating circuit, which includes jalapeño peppers in Texas, pommes frites in London, and bass in Thailand.

WIP folk invited Thomas at the same time they tried to disinvite Bill Simmons, the 318-pound Woodbury Heights trucker known as El Wingador, a four-time winner of Wing Bowl who took the event last year by devouring 154 chicken wings in 30 minutes.

So now the stage is set. There is the brooding champion who wasn't going to compete again until Wing Bowl impresario Angelo Cataldi irritated him by saying that he wins too often.

And there is Thomas, the self-confident, 5-foot-5, 99-pound challenger in a size 0 dress who drives a red Grand Am and devours spicy wings like a wolf let loose in a Tyson chicken plant.

"My personality cannot accept losing," Thomas says.

"She's a great eater for 12 minutes, but she's never proved anything for 30 minutes," El Wingador intones. "You have to have the will to go on. We'll see."

Sonya's first two plates

Thomas insists she is not bulimic.

That is the paradox. Waiflike in a pink DKNY cotton turtleneck, blue jeans, and white sneakers, Thomas looks as if she exists on sunflower seeds and Virginia air.

But appearances belie her capacities, as her 2003 eating resume shows: July 4, Brooklyn - 25 hot dogs and buns in 12 minutes. Sept. 13, Indianapolis - 65 hard-boiled eggs in 6 minutes, 40 seconds. Sept. 16, New York - 43 1/2 soft tacos in 11 minutes.

Today, lunch starts with a bowl of seafood soup, 16 pieces of sushi, a plate of salmon and shrimp and a 20-ounce diet soda. She eats slowly, deliberately.

This is not a training regimen. This is simply how Thomas eats. She sticks to one colossal meal a day, then works it off by walking at a 4.4-m.p.h. rate on a treadmill with a 14-degree incline for two hours a day, five days a week.

"I always ate more than regular people," she says. "At first, I was ashamed. But I'm not shy anymore. I feel like I'm special. If I were normal, my name wouldn't be in the press, right?"

Born in Kunsan, South Korea, to a carpenter and a maid, Thomas was the third of four children. Rice was scarce, and the family did what it could to satisfy Thomas's howling hunger.

She graduated from college with a degree in hotel management and came to the United States when she was 29. Thomas, who is unmarried, got a job managing a Burger King at Andrews Air Force Base in nearby Maryland. At the end of a shift, she would eat three large orders of fries, a chicken Whopper, and 20 chicken tenders, then wash it down with two 32-ounce soft drinks. Thomas recently quit the job to be a full-time eater.

"I have great stomach capacity," Thomas says. "I can take in and hold 14 pounds of food in 12 minutes."

The human stomach is roughly the size of a deflated football, says Noel Williams, director of the obesity surgery program at the University of Pennsylvania.

Competitive eaters inflate that football fast. And they can train themselves to distend their stomachs and increase capacity, says David Metz, a Penn gastroenterologist. "The stomach can relax and accommodate large meals," he explains.

Arguably the world's greatest eater, 5-foot-7, 145-pound Takeru Kobayashi of Japan shrinks his stomach by running, then expands it with cabbage and water to teach the organ to distend. Some believe that fat hinders stomach expansion, which is why thin people such as Kobayashi and Thomas excel.

Kobayashi holds the record for the granddaddy of all food competitions, the 88-year-old Nathan's hot-dog-eating contest. In 2002, he ate 50 1/2 bun-wrapped dogs in 12 minutes. It's the buns that hurt, eaters say.

Sonya's third and fourth plates

Sonya returns to the steam tables to score 20 more sushi pieces, another soup, another drink, and more cooked fish with rice. For fun, she grabs 15 wings.

Displaying her form, Thomas places a wing in her mouth with her right hand, strips the meat with her teeth, then pulls out the two bones with both hands. She chews off the remaining meat with a deft alligator chomp. The only sound is that of gnawed bone hitting plate. In the Wing Bowl, speed and efficiency count.

Unlike most eaters, Thomas does not distend her stomach in training. She is, fellow competitor Eric Booker of Long Island says, a natural, with a world-class metabolism, an ability to trick her brain into thinking her stomach isn't full when it's brimming, and a method of well-timed chewing and swallowing that allows food to clear the esophagus before she chokes.

Booker, who is 6-foot-5 and 400 pounds, is matzo-ball-eating champ (21 baseball-sized beauties in 5 minutes, 25 seconds). He has the archetypal look of an eating pro. "You would think I could eat all of Sonya's food in a competition, and eat up Sonya, too," he says. "But size doesn't matter in this sport."

Her rarity in this male-dominated activity delights Thomas.

"I call myself the Black Widow," she says with a smile accenting her high cheekbones. "Men are not always better than women. And a spider bites and kills men. That's a good name for me."

Thomas' killer charisma notwithstanding, eating contests inspire harsh criticism.

"Overconsumption of food in this country is one of our biggest problems," says sports psychologist Jerry May, an adviser to U.S. Olympic teams. "And bulimia is a big issue in sports. Binge eating isn't a sport."

Although it's not exactly a regimen for salubrious living, competitive eating may not be particularly harmful, some medical experts say.

"It's certainly not healthy," says Metz of Penn. "But I don't think it's that dangerous. I can't think of any major badness that would happen, although without experience, you could regurgitate. I just think it's crazy."

Sonya's fifth and sixth plates

Thomas digs into Oriental beef, green beans, roasted potatoes, a few more pieces of sushi, then some melon and Jell-O.

Ask eating pros why they do it and they invariably say because they can. "You gotta find your niche in life," Booker explains.

Is competitive eating interesting? Well, 20,000 people show up for Wing Bowl each year.

Is it OK to use food as sports equipment? The federation says it doesn't get many complaints.

For Sonya Thomas, competitive eating is that thing you find in life, if you're lucky, that sustains and elevates you.

"Sometimes, you feel like life is nothing, with no purpose," Thomas says. "But after eating contests, there is no stress, and no depression.

"The only bad thing is, your jaws get tired."

And here she is proving that beauty has many faces, some of them quite slobbery

If you had to choose between having an evil scientist break into your room at night and skilfully fill up your bum crack with flesh putty or having to lick clean the beards of every drunken Scotsman alive today, which would it be?

Thanks to Fast Eddie's Bullet for reminding me of the importance of questions like this in life.


Monday, August 23, 2004

Many years ago, during those mental teenage fumblings self-scathingly known to us as BP (Basic Philosophy), in the company of the (one might say Deep) Fat Friar I wondered aloud if for 10,000 pounds one would be inclined to eat pus for a month. And only pus, mind. No steak and chips for lunch and then pus for dinner. I might have allowed pus and blood, but only when the two cannot be easily separated.

So, i'm putting out a tender to all my bored millionaire friends to put your money where my mouth is - on a great big pile of pus. Let's see this one through. I swear you'll make your 10k back in no time just on the dvd sales. We'll film it like a SuperSize Me style documentary with the twist being that i have to find the pus myself first. I don't just get it at the drive-in take-away. I have to suck it out of teenage faces. Am I some kind of genius or am i some kind of genius? Or am I some kind of genius?

From today's IMDB:

Cast and filmmakers of Goodfellas have reunited for an Italian meal 15 years after they shot Martin Scorsese's classic gangster movie. Warner Home Video arranged last Monday's dinner party at Matteo's restaurant, Los Angeles, to promote the special- edition DVD release of Goodfellas and were thrilled actors Ray Liotta, Paul Sorvino and real-life mob informant Henry Hill - who inspired the story - accepted the invitation to "break bread not legs." The movie's director, Scorsese was unable to attend because he's working on new film The Aviator, Robert De Niro and Joe Pesci - who won a supporting actor Oscar for his Tommy DeVito character - were also absent


...and the gold medal for mothering the populace goes to Yahoo US


...and the gold medal for following standard procedure goes to Yahoo UK

In the pantheon of worldwide conspiracies to keep Americans from the bitter truth, this isn't going to change diddleyshit but it still amuses me. Here's the Olympic Medal Table from Yahoo UK which follows the standard ranking regulation of most golds first. I bet you can't guess what Yahoo US have done to their medal table. But it'll be a "sportsman's bet".

My Picasa is conspiring to deny me the chance to upload screen-prints of this because doubtless by the time you get round to looking the tables will have changed due to some more medals being won. Still, as long as you feel good about yourself that's the main thing, eh?


Saturday, August 21, 2004

I'm saying nothing

taken from the unpublished manuscript 'Inappropriate Cockney Rhyming Slang'. It's also known as me and Keith, bored at 2am, being wilfully offensive. Note the slang word comes first, the true meaning afterwards. Except for when it's the other way round.

Dane Bowers - the Twin Towers
Bette Midler - Kiddie Fiddler
Robert Kilroy-Silk - Prostate Milk
Wind Assisted - Fisted
Holocaust Documentary - Forced Entry
Cock Salad - Rock Ballad
Black Grape - Black Rape

im sure there's more but i cant be, um, James Last

Whilst inspiration continues to delude me, i'm happy to note two guys who clearly aren't in need of a swift kick in the tits to get them started. Mind you, if I cared passionately about politics or worked for the NHS i suppose i'd have more things to blog about. if i worked with other people at all, even.



Friday, August 20, 2004

Quite obviously the answer is yes...

Am I going mad?

and gloriously so.


Ah, the modern Olympics. How noble, how grand and civilised we can be when coming together to celebrate human ability.

The silver medallist from today's 20km walk, Francisco Javier Fernandez of Spain, had this to say...

My silver is as good as a gold. My father and coach died this year and I found it difficult to compete here.

Which certainly puts the press conference given by gold medallist, Italy's Ivano Brugnetti, into perspective. I'm paraphrasing here but he roughly said this...

I knew I was going to beat Fernandez and win gold because Spaniards have no heart

That's the Olympic Spirit


Thursday, August 19, 2004

This from the BBC website

Physicists have carried out successful teleportation with particles of light over a distance of 600m across the River Danube in Austria.
Long distance teleportation is crucial if dreams of superfast quantum computing are to be realised.

Researchers from the University of Vienna and the Austrian Academy of Science used an 800m-long optical fibre fed through a public sewer system tunnel to connect labs on opposite sides of the River Danube.

The link establishes a channel between the labs, dubbed Alice and Bob. This enables the properties, or "quantum states", of light particles to be transferred between the sender (Alice) and the receiver (Bob).

The Austrian team encoded their qubits using a property of light particles, also called photons, known as polarisation. This property describes the direction in which they oscillate.

And so on and so on.

The real question is, should we try to stop them now or after they try to bring back Hitler?

Englanders - do you live on the posh side of town? work in an office? go for walks in the park?

wherever you are today, if you listen very carefully you can hear the furious slopping noises that distinguish the mating call of the white-chested, featherless adult male bald Daily Telegraph reader as he performs the annual wank of delight in celebration of his unnatural target, found outside schools and colleges in the area and inevitably, on the front cover of his favourite nesting material the Daily Telegraph itself. That target, the sweet group of 18 year old girls, clutching eachother and gaping open-mouthed at their results, has a fragrance all of its own. It's the smell of...


Wednesday, August 18, 2004

Today's smell is Musty


Tuesday, August 17, 2004

The marriage module does come out with some surprising things sometimes. This week it was:

"Why don't we take them to the mountains of, what is it, Mordor?"

- Honey, that's from Lord of the Rings, ther's no such mountain range here


just for my Dublin reader/s...

i've just finished a wonderful book about the goings on at a convent in Dublin 4 located between the canal and Landsdowne House, bordering Raglan Road and very near Searsons Public House.

It's called the Wimples of Baggot Street


Would someone who speaks Dutch please be able to tell me what in the name of 'Heft een Dubbeldildo?' (the only Dutch i know) is going on here?


Every so often you come across a blog so original, so fascinatingly different from all the rest, well, you just have to stop and shake your head in awe. Then leave a comment in the box provided.

But enough of me


look at this crazy rock 'n roller



Saturday, August 14, 2004

and while we're on the subject, I see Matthew Pinsent's joined the Men's Coxless Fours. That's a pretty desperate situation, no? Is it permanently removed or does he get it back after the race?

Speaking of rowing, my girlfriend and I should be representing our countries. Nobody fucking rows like us. Real wrath of god, parting the waters stuff, believe me.


Friday, August 13, 2004

Want Cheap flights to Paris Hilton?
A Jennifer Ellison Route Planner perhaps?
Maybe Abi Titmuss's Big Brother will give you a Horoscope Job?

All these and more phrases i shall be trotting out from now on feature in the top 50 web searches of the week.

i don't have to speak for any of the competitors (unlike, perhaps, the Special Olympics) but i for one WILL be on drugs for the duration of the Games.

I was living in a country not dissimilar to France for the last lot and, true to form, they showed a remarkable amount of sporting action involving french competitors. There is also no such word as 'neutrality' in the french sports commentators dictionary. Fine. Go fucking nuts over a big fat farmer-boy winning the judo. But please, for the love of god, don't cover Steve Redgrave making rowing history even if it IS at a most hostpiable time of the evening.

Oh shit, i forgot - i'm too cool to care about sport. Really I am. Still, for those rare moments when the herd gets its way and erases my better judgement, it matters.

Now i'm in Ireland, i'm wondering if they share the British distaste for any kind of passionate sports reporting. I'm also wondering if they'll be cheering for themselves and booing at the Brits? And maybe the Yanks this time too? Maybe they only cheer for Catholic countries? Or those oppressed by the British? Or those that don't send their poor and desperate to Ireland in search of safety and a job? Or those with a nice bit of green in their flag?

Whatever the answer is , I shall not be finding out because as I think I just said, I'll be watching on drugs.

what's all this about the limpets? everyone keeps asking me if i'm going to spend the week watching some limpets or something.

fuck THAT

i'll be too busy watching the Olympics.


Thursday, August 12, 2004

slicing up a courgette that wouldn't talk - the bitch
knew where Zeke and the money was but she wasn't
gonna sing so i fucking sliced her, diced her and
grilled her ass - george foreman style. Unfortunately
i also serrated right thru my guitar finger and that
hurt like a motherfucker fucking a mother. aie!


Tuesday, August 10, 2004

because i'm performing hospitable duties for the wifely family relations, because i sliced the tipple of my little finger off and because i've run out of ideatrons, i'm going to spend the whole week promoting Friar Cous Cous and you can all fucking well lick it for all i care. He's the dog's daddy and the dad's bollocks as far as i'm concerned.
I'll e-wank him all i like. generally speaking i would advise all gullible readers to believe me.

for God's sake, and yours, go here and laugh


Monday, August 09, 2004

Well, didn't it haven't to had to happen eventually?

Yes it did did.

My greatest unwitting sole contributor has taken my advice and gone and git himself a blog of his own. Despite my advice. Nutgroist is going to plummet in quality and quantity and i know that will intrigue you both, dear dear readers. We could be witnessing the creation of some new negative numbers in the mathiverse. But fuck it, here's the final email exchange which prompted his departure (the last few lines of which will make me laugh til the day i cry) and a cunningly hidden link to his website. Already supremely funny, the bastard.

him - From that last website - I would particularly like to hear more about the Canterbury Monks Death Cult, which had been preaching the doom of the world since 1178

me - i think they released a couple of critically-acclaimed albums in 1977-'78 on Harvest and toured with Colosseum before dying in a fatal teepee crash at the Camarthen Space-Rock Dodequinox Mellow and Blues Festival November 1980 . There's been persistent rumours of a reunion ever since.

him - Yes - I know who you're talking about now - I've just read all about them in the internet's one and only TV-based phone and web e-text searchable virtual browser rock database, "We Built This Site-y on Rock and Roll" - Apparently, 'The Monks', as they were seldom and never known, started out as an informal backing band to Artemis Sprout, Canterbury's premiéèêère agricultural tone poet whose legendary reclusive lifestyle was the talk of all his parties. After picking up a residency at Canterbury's famous "Mushroom Soup" café/pretentious tree-huggers' squat, Sprout and the band started racking up full houses of up to five hippies. When Sprout suddenly grew up and decided to become a local grocery store manager, the band continued, and the rest is, as they never gainsay, history. In 1979 The Monks released their timeless testimony to their former leader, a sprawling guitar driven symphony entitled "Glad You're Not Here", an ode to the once revered frontman, now slowly slipping into sanity, hard work and relative wealth as the rest of the band continued to rake in as much as £2.50 a night on the south coast's bingo circuit. Only time would tell if the band was destined for even greater things, but unfortunately, time was running out, and the 1980 teepee-death of drummer Friar Cous-Cous along with 23 other band members marked the end of an extraordinary career which burned as dimly as it did long.

me - And yet, and yet their star shone as lightly as any within the galacto-rock firmament that but briefly threatened to take down the whole Rock-Classical Establishment (aug 16, 1:37-1:39am, 1978 - when Jon Peel mistakenly played their double B-side single 'Bullet Train to Mordor' / 'Bullet Train to Mordor (slight delay, day return)' ). They were not the Supernovas or the Quasars of this particular galaxy, more the White Dwarf. Or at least they would have been had that name not been taken by another of the scene's mysterious also-rans 'White Dwarf', the legendary Maidstone white-supremacist hippie combo who had a top ten hit in Byelorussia in 1983 with the unmemorable 'Shit is a Dirty Word'. Perhaps the true pioneers of this awkward lot were a band who supported both The Canterbury Monks Death Cult and White Dwarf - the mythic 'GOOD GOD!' who showed the talent and ambition to go far. Signed to Witchseason in the autumn of the 1970's and an album made with famed producers Joe Boyd, Tony Visconti and George Martin, they were all set to take on the world when they made the fateful decision to release their album on drugs. The 1970's is litered with obsolete formats and none more so that this one. Witchseason, through their subsidiary EMI who at the time were technologically commited to the Binatone Corporation, decided that the best way to supercede the cassette/vinyl hegemony was to run a print copy of 250,000 editions of their new showcase album on the new drug format. It didn't work.

him - Interestingly, one of the only sole survivors of the teepee disaster was Friar Bodo Neumann, who, traumatised by the event, quit music to return to his native Germany. After several months in the wilderness (just outside Dresden), Neumann returned to the musical fraternity with a new image and a new name. The year was 1981 and who alive at the time could fail to remember the classic single "Anal Robot" by Elasto-Spax, aka our old friend Friar Bodo. Followed swiftly to the number one slot by an album "Laser Slip-Ons", "Anal Robot" became the battle-cry of the Future Dimensionists, a musical and fashion movement engulfing continental Europe like a musical and fashion movement engulfing continental Europe. Unfortunately, the curse of the Monks never seemed to be lifted, and just years after his debut album had hit the number one spot, Neumann was killed in a freak collision with Falco in one of the many corridors made freely available in the building in which they were walking by the people who had built it. Miraculously Falco survived, and later went on to bear no relation to the Falco who recorded "Rock Me Amadeus", or "Rocke Me Ama Deus" as it was known in Germany. Soon afterwards, on the 27th of Hell 1983, the whole of Germany would be changed beyond description by the death of Hitler, which many had predicted as early as 1934.


Friday, August 06, 2004

The Animal Men-Farm

The chickens, the pigs and the woolly sheep shiver
The bullocks, the cows and the quacky ducks quiver
Will they be slices, will they be slivers
Who of their kind will then end up as livers?

But they know it not and yet so they do
They'll be pressed into service and also pressed through
a grinder, a mincer, a chopper and then
fashioned and honeyed and formed into men
battered and blithered and salted and herbed
given new life but yet left so disturbed
by their cruel and unhealthy, raw meat resurrection
from them and ourselves we don't give no protection

You think that im joking, you think it's a fable?
just go to the pub and sit down at a table
then look at the pigmen, grunting through darts
please observe the cowgirls, the fucked ducky tarts
avoid well the bulldogs, the bullet-head cattle
the hot-george-crossed herd and their common old prattle
for they are the sausages and they are the pies
they are the bacon, the burgers and fries
the dregs of this country*, the scum of the earth
the junk of this nation, let's cook them at birth

*by which i mean England

thanks again Von Korkre:

Human Meat Factory

Hot buttered corpse

Half-eaten torse

Amputated pegs

And pools of bloody dregs

Bottles of brain

And a flesh-blocked drain

Finger nails snapped

And odd bones cracked

Jammy head stew

With a skull or two

Scrotal gravy boat

And a horrid jus de poo

Eyelids torn and bumkrax gone

Fiddle with your giblets

In a place that's not the norm

ah bertie o'herne
yer the feckin best pressie
dis countrys never had
and dat's no mistakey
youre a lovely little man
stumpy and chunky
you'd pass fer a troll
if you weren't so feckin ugly
so put down dat bottle
and pick up der pieces
o' yer miserable life
and stop smackin' yer wife
without good reason
it's not even the season
for dat sort of ting
wait til its xmas
when the kiddies need a laugh
den smack her about
and drown her in der bath
but dont tell a soul
except for father mchardy
he'll tell nobody no
except maybe der Gardai
and you'll not go to prison no
except mabe for life
yer feckin eedjit
dont put down der bottle
she's yer best feckin friend
stay with her, sleep with her
until der bitter end

Sal seems to enjoy these. Sod the rest of you:

(Having just read an article on how to deter telemarketeers)

JJJJY01: some nice ones
faraa3: yeah, a few
JJJJY01: i've started just saying 'renting' - that's all, one word, that's enough for them to put the phone down on me
faraa3: !
faraa3: id like to just say 'yes' and then not talk again, no matter what
faraa3: i just go 'yeah, i want one - just send me the details' then put the phone down
faraa3: keep em keen
JJJJY01: or just go 'mmmmmm' in a thoughful way through the whole conversation, even when they're not talking
JJJJY01: just go ' I'm sorry, I'll have to ask my pimp, he controls all the money'
faraa3: 'look im poor as dirt right now but with a bit of luck my grandad is dying of cancer and i should be quids in in about a week - call then'
faraa3: 'listen, ive got the most fantastic cock - it keeps me entertained all day long - what do i need a set of new bay windows for when ive got that?'
JJJJY01: and its 'double-glazed' for most of the day
faraa3: 'im sorry, the last thing i bought down the phone was a hit job on my bastard uncle -you shouldve seen the trouble i got in for that. no, im not going to be buying your carpet cleaning services anytime soon. it would get me into a whole world of trouble'
faraa3: 'have you ever considered modelling?'
faraa3: 'im a fucking alcoholic'
faraa3: 'im really interested in what youve got to offer but i know me, by the time i put the phone down i'll have spent every last penny on drugs'
JJJJY01: 'sorry, I'm Welsh'
faraa3: 'here, talk to my bitch'
JJJJY01: 'I would buy some double glazing, but the Earth is about to be demolished to make way for a hyper by-pass'
faraa3: 'oh fuck the bypass - how much are they anyway?'
JJJJY01: 'oh go on, I'll take three windows, I only have cash. Can you take it down the phone line ? Here, try, I'll roll the notes up really small.'
faraa3: 'i dont really need any - you see, i live in a greenhouse'
faraa3: 'how much for just one window? well, i'm in prison. for life'
faraa3: 'i've already got double glazing - if i add yours to mine will i be able to get that quadrophonic effect?'
JJJJY01: 'new windows ?' 'no, i've just replaced my computer, i don't need it. Besides, I use a Mac.
JJJJY01: 'Houston, everything's beautiful here, tranquility base........'
faraa3: 'the only kind of cunting window i need mate is a window into my fucking dark soul - do you do ones of those?'


(Having just watched Buffet Froid)

faraa3: did your girlfriend like it?
JJJJY01: yeah, bit too surreal for her i think
faraa3: she prefers a good down-to-earth rape film?
JJJJY01: yeah, she prefers hers without humour
faraa3: raw rape
faraa3: that must be a problem for you
faraa3: when you want to crack a joke
faraa3: during rape
faraa3: must be more than two years now, yes?
faraa3: since you first raped her
JJJJY01: yeah, jesus has it been that long ?
JJJJY01: you'd think she'd recovered by now
faraa3: do you still get the same thrill?
JJJJY01: same shrill
JJJJY01: from her
faraa3: does she still not know it's you who's been breaking in and raping her all this time?
faraa3: have you changed masks?
JJJJY01: i always say i've popped out to get milk
faraa3: then pop it in to get milked
faraa3: i wonder if anyone really famous has been raped by someone wearing a mask of that famous person?
faraa3: Ronald Reagan, for example?
JJJJY01: yeah, but he didnt know who he was
faraa3: you know they're doing that Alien vs Predator film?
JJJJY01: yeah
faraa3: they should do one with famous film rapists
faraa3: trying to rape eachother
faraa3: with earth as the battleground
JJJJY01: haha
faraa3: spy vs spy with cocks
faraa3: that's a list i havent seen Premiere or Empire try yet...
JJJJY01: give it time....
faraa3: top 100 screen rapes - as voted for BY YOU!!!!
faraa3: 'what's your favourite rape?'
JJJJY01: if they did a list of rapes, Star Wars and Pulp Fiction would STILL be top of the list
faraa3: 'Robert de Niro - the rapists' rapist'
faraa3: 'Quentin Tarantino - brought rape kicking and screaming into the 21ast century'
JJJJY01: Star Wars - 'George Lucas' seminal space-rape opera'
faraa3: that's an idea who's time has come - 'rape kicking'

so i thought i'd better do my own:

by the light of the lantern of Loch Llangangillie
there's a licky 'top the tipple of my wee willy willy
hot lips and top tits smother me silly
and if the lake isnt flat then it must be quite hilly

there's a dwarf in a dogsuit tootling his pooflute
and a giant in a dwarfsuit taking him for a screwing
there's a dog in a godsuit gambling on the crap chute
and a god in a bonesuit offering himself for chewing

ah this world we live in has it all does it not?
a flaming bowl of fancy fire, a steaming pot of hot
a cube of icy cooling cold, a frozen bar of celsius low
what does it mean? please do not ask. what can it mean? i do not know.

thanks to the Louetenant Ginster for this slice of nice:

Friday's ode to my work and abode:

I lived in a city
And then in a town
Thence came to a village
With country around
I found money in threshing
Squeezed my truncheon by night
And the old country crow
It took flight
Yes took flight

They brought back the bustard
Repainted the sign
Crushed pebbles with prittsticks
And swigged at the brine
As the jet bitches whirred
On their way to new lands
I fell on my knees
And scraped with my hands

Now the country is city
And the city a town
The village for breakfast
For dinner a frown
For lunch a new sixpence
To pay for my sins
And a half-blind Swiss coolie
Collecting old tins

Yes this is my world
And for it I've died
And after they buried me
They told me I'd survived
The mighty dick-willy
Meets the spicy neat shell
And everyone is silly
Except Kenny Hell.


Thursday, August 05, 2004

Found in the back of InDublin, the free listings magazine....What exactly are they selling here?


Wednesday, August 04, 2004

It's time, at last, to confess:


So to kick the ball rolling, I shall proudly proclaim that many, many years ago I first thought of socks with individual toe-pockets, like gloves for the feet. And I was largely ridiculed. But look now - the guy who came up with those bought Scotland last year.

All contributions, modesty put aside for once, gratefully recieved.

(ps. has someone already done this?)


Tuesday, August 03, 2004

from Ananova

Woman says she's followed by showers of stones

A South African woman claims she's being plagued by a hail of stones that follow her wherever she stays.

Miyi Shongi was kicked out of her own village by her family and neighbours three weeks ago and moved in with relatives 30km away.

But the stone showers followed her there, says the News 24 website.

The 58-year-old believes a Zimbabwean trader cast an evil spell on her, because she failed to pay for clothing she'd bought on credit from her.

When the problem first began in the village of Lombani, the woman's family called police for help.

Police spokesperson Ailwei Mushavhanamadi said: "We were there for nearly the whole night and saw stones falling from the sky like rain. We went around the area to make sure someone wasn't throwing stones on the roof on purpose, but we didn't find anyone."

A spiritual healer told the woman she should consult a more powerful healer to break the spell. He also advised her to find the trader, apologise and pay for the clothes.

Which reminds me of something. When I was young, my big brother told me in all seriousness that 'when you're 13, the Devil throws stones at you'. And I, in all seriousness, believed him. With hilariously terrifying results.

Have you ever wanked off a statue? Tell me about it?


Would you rather lose your sight or your 'old fella'?

My sight, cos once the 'old fella' goes you may as well lose your sight too - there's nothing left worth looking at


Hanging around Blackrock Market yesterday afternoon, the only bit of Blackrock that would allow me in, I discovered this sellotaped up everywhere. Is it a Dave Gorman / Alan Berliner thing? Is it hunting for the beautiful and highly rare pine martin? Or what?

There's only one way to find out and you're going to do it

Long before Ivan, there was another Tsar monikered 'The Terrible'. His name was John. John the Terrible. And before you think about taking the piss, below I reprint his other titles:

Czar & Grand Prince, Autocrat of all Russia, of Vladimir, Moscow, Novgorod,

Czar of Kazan, Astrakhan, Siberia;

Lord of Pskov;

Grand Prince of Smolensk, Tver, Ugra, Perm, Viatka, Bulgaria;

Lord & Grand Prince of Novgorod of the Lower Lands, of Chernigov, Riazan, Rostov, Yaroslavl, Belozero, (Livonia), Udor, Obdoria, Conda;

Dominator of all the Northern Countries;

Lord of the Land of Iveria, of the Georgian & Kartlian Czars, of the Land of Kabarda, of the Princes of the Cherkasses & the Mountaineers;

Comment box caption competition: on the photos below replace mine with something funny and win.


Vlad, you impale me


Peter, you're also great


Boris, you're 'godunov' for me


Catherine, you're great


Ivan, you're terrible

candidate for most off-the-wall spam i've ever received:

Subject: Эти кадры вам не покажут по телевизору!
Date: Thu, 8 Jul 2004 17:13:03 +0300
From: ПЦ Аляска
Organization: ПЦ "Аляска"

Потому, что это - кадры эпизода "Собрание на ликеро-водочном заводе". По требованию Михаила Жванецкого, эпизод был вырезан из телефильма "Между первой и второй".

Все остальные эпизоды вы сможете увидеть на телеканале "Интер" (Украина) в воскресенье, 11 июля, в 15:20, в телевизионной комедии "Между первой и второй".

Продюсерский центр "Аляска"!

The photos above came attached. Thing is, i never get spam on this email account. So i must have signed up at some point. I'm sure i'd have remembered that.

Danke you schone very much, Oberleutenant. You're very kein.

I've been having these strange dreams lately which are clear and

I dreamt that the whole of America would be asked to decide between two men
as to who would lead them for the next four years. I saw people putting
ballot papers into boxes, and other people, officials maybe, counting the
ballot papers. I see a long campaign by both "candidates", lasting up until
the final reckoning, which appears to me to take place on a November day. At
the end of the reckoning, one of the men is sworn in and takes office. But
which one? The one of the sign that read GWB, or the one who hath the
initials of John F Kennedy, without the F?

Also, I see fires being lit all over England. A fire in almost every home.
I'm not sure when this will happen but I think it will be in winter.

And, I see a man of the east brought to trial for crimes against humanity.
He is a man of moustacheod features who may have once wielded great power in
the land where he now stands trial. Some have suggested to me that this
might be David Wilkie, ex-Olympic swimmer, but I am not sure. No, not sure
am I.

And finally, I had a vision that someone I knew well and did honour, sortied
out one night in a town of Double-men, to see the great witch visionary of
the occident as she sang equine truths to the hearts of the Double-men. And
she did have hairy armpits and the name of a Jamaican snack


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