Thursday, September 15, 2005

Jokes i'm not doing...

Man walks into a bar, says ‘barman, I’d like a double negative please’. The Barman says ‘are you sure?’ and the man goes ‘sure? I’m positive’

So the barman says ‘I can’t give you a double negative’ and the man says ‘you can’t not give me one. It’s the law. Of logic’


Monday, September 12, 2005

John Travolta in Grease?

That's my personal nightmare


Wednesday, September 07, 2005


Friday, September 02, 2005

and wouldnt you know, a few minutes afterwards, the genital irritant that is nutgroist found this in her own berlin-era bowie world...

Every time I make a move
I leave a little love behind
It frees me up for pleasures new
but i feel empty as a mind

Oh, Senegal where are you now?
Your propane grills and sacred cows
are flame-grilled on this lover's heart
scorched with ancient, tribal art

And when will I see you again?
My dusky, dancing Samarkand
Delights ive had them many there
for then now and then, then and

the steppes of old Niagara fell
into the porcelain of your face
that basin where i wash my soul
weary til it you embrace

there's nowhere left for me to go
where i still feel out of place
even the boudoir of a Persian Princess
tangled up in 'rabian lace

i've got to get away, yes, get away
an international man is never at home
unless he's taking the shuttle today
somewhere new where his hearts can roam

this is major tom at the check-in desk
i'd like a flight to spa-aa-aa-ce
i've got my bags all packed and ready to go-oo-oo-oo
my van heusen shirts are pressed, now the papers kn-oo-oo-oo-w

Friar Couscous, the full-fat alternative, recently unearthed yet another top quality Berlin-era Bowie lyric:

The Pacific and its Indian brother
Seven seas for severed lovers
I thumb through guides and minibars
Wondering how I have come this far

Swiss chocolate days and impossible nights
The Alpine sleigh, the Italian sights
Rome has a hold on my secret desires
Let the Tiber’s waters wash over your fire!

Still I come to the Lebanon
In Arabian garb under cover of gun
A passport, a name, a stamp on a file
I’ll slip you the codes as we cover the miles

Desert sun through a Panama’s shade
As I head to the Veldt on safari again
The best of the big game will meet you in the eye
The flick of the knife, our jungle-love dies

Oh I’m an international man
An inter-, an inter-national man of the world
Oh, I’m an international man
Crossed hearts and borders

A lost hotel hero
I feel my world turning
Your kisses still burning!
For ever and ever more,

I just keep on the move –
An inter-national man of the world.


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