Categories
Fiction

The Robert Palmer Crazy Food Game

This is a game that Robert Palmer introduced me to when we used to buy petrol at the same garage. It’s very simple.

  1. Buy some food, the greasier the better.
  2. Buy some barbecue dip.
  3. Put both in the fridge.
  4. Wait for a few days.
  5. Take food out of the fridge.
  6. Record a cover version of “I’ll Be Your Baby Tonight” with UB40.
  7. See how much of the food and barbecue dip you can eat before you run to the bathroom screaming, or throw it into the bin in a fit of repulsion.
  8. Kick your shoes off, do not fear.
  9. Bring that bottle over here.
  10. I’ll be your baby tonight.
Categories
Photos

Cashback

humpsA cheque fell out of an envelope this morning. £70, from my grandmother. Attached was a letter, fully addressed, signed and dated. The words were to the effect of “Here’s the outstanding balance on your Christmas present – sorry it took so long.”

I paused, and attempted to figure out… well, anything. I suspect that she has heard from my sister that I have no money, and has taken it upon herself to send a donation. If this is the case, then I don’t really want to accept it (damn my foolish pride), but I feel that it would be rude to metaphorically throw it back in her face. What to do?

On another note, I had my first dream in ages last night. It involved a popular high street bookshop and a copy of a cartoon kama sutra starring a black man with a 24″ penis. And yet, surprisingly I am totally unconcerned about the state of my psyche.

Categories
Meander

Following a blogmeet

“Hi, I’m in a bit of a peculiar situation. I’ve arranged to meet a group of total strangers at this pub tonight, and I don’t know what any of them look like. Seeing as you are a group of total strangers, I wonder if you are the group of total strangers that I am looking for?”

“No, sorry.”

“Ah, never mind.”

“Try downstairs.”

“Oh, there’s a downstairs? Splendid, I’ll give that a try.”

Categories
Uncategorized

24

I remember the first series of 24. At the time I was totally hooked, but in retrospect I felt a lack of enthusiasm, and it plopped promptly from my mind. I attribute this to being totally daunted by the concept of ever watching it again.

After all, if I were to watch one episode again, I’d have to watch all 24, and that would be just too big a chunk of my life to lose on a repeat.

So I haven’t really been awfully excited by the arrival of the new series on these shores. The concept itself is no longer original, and the plot threatens to be a rehash. Yet I watched it last night, and unsurprisingly I didn’t feel the buzz of excitement which I did at the end of series one, episode one. However, I can be sure that I will be watching next week.

I wonder how many times Kim will get kidnapped. Oh, and I’m glad that Kiefer had a shave. After one hour of that fluffy golden West Country-stylee beard, my nerves were starting to wear raw.

And while I am being picky, what the hell is it with all those identikit-blondes? I can’t tell them apart, though maybe that is intentional on the part of the scriptwriters.

Categories
About Me

Barcode Battler

Two things made me stop dead in the street at lunchtime.

The first was walking past a mobile phone shop. My contract is nearly up for renewal, and I am going to attempt to talk my current provider into giving me a new phone and a better deal, by threatening to switch to a different network.

As I walked past this shop, I stopped quite abruptly. My sidekick kept walking, but turned around just in time to see some guy narrowly avoid walking into me. Needless to say, the sugar in our veins, coupled with the elation that arises from being out of the office, raised this simple event to the status of “funniest thing that has ever happened.”

The second thing that made me stop was a sudden recollection, of a toy I had when I was a kid. Does anybody remember these:

Barcode Battler

This was the Barcode Battler. It was fantastically bad.

The concept was that you would scan in a barcode and it would be converted into some mystical character or powerup or something. Some were provided with the set, but the real beauty came from scanning in your chocolate bar wrappers, upon which point you’d realise that you had, in your possession, the weakest and crappest warrior that ever existed.

The graphics were on a par with half a dozen digital clocks. Who am I kidding, there were no graphics. It was all just a bunch of numbers. All the trouble that the manufacturers went to when making up these characters was sadly wasted, as when it came to battle, all that mattered was the transitive nature of the field of integers.

It was a dreadful toy, and I probably only played on it for a couple of hours before chucking it to one side.

As a final note of interest, Barcode Battler was a lot more popular in Japan, where it led to Barcode World, which actually spawned Pokemon. So now we know who is to blame.

Categories
About Me Meander

Tam

For some reason, my dad liked Tam. Tam wasn’t exactly a friend. Friend is the wrong word. We were never really friends, in that we didn’t actually talk an awful lot. But we used to stay over at the other’s place for a night, and play computer games.

This was back when I was about 12, I guess. I had an Amiga 500, and he had a Sega MegaDrive.

And for years after me and Tam stopped playing computer games together, my dad would sometimes ask “How’s Tam?”, and I’d reply “Haven’t spoken to him for years, dad.”

This morning, an envelope arrived on my mat, the address written on in my dad’s handwriting. I peeled it open.

Inside was just a scrap of newspaper, cut out of the local newspaper. No letter inside, nothing.

I haven’t spoken to Tam for about three years, maybe more. I think the last time we spoke was when we worked in a bar together for a short while. At the time he had been going out with this really nice girl for about a year. She wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, but she was pretty, and she smiled all the time, but not in a stupid way. In a nice way. And they made a good couple.

The scrap of newspaper showed a quarter of an advert for a fireplace showroom. “Interesting,” I thought, “but I don’t have a chimney.” I realised my idiocy and turned it over.

I saw two familiar faces. A recognisable nice smile, and the ever-so-slightly buck teeth that could only be Tam. She was wearing a white dress and holding a bouquet, and he was in a black tux.

I’m very happy for both of them, naturally, and I also think that they are both very lucky that they met eachother when they were so young.

For the rest of us? Maybe we’ll never meet the right person. But that doesn’t matter, because even if you end up unmarried forever, there will always be somebody else in the same situation to keep you company. The thing that you have to understand about life is that it has the advantage. Life makes the rules, and life breaks the rules. Sometimes you just have to be flexible.

Categories
Dear Donkey

Dear Donkey – the brain map

> Dear Donkey,

> The new(ish) swearing function has finally destroyed my already fragile ego, thus sending me into a tragic spiral of self-loathing despair.

> While I’m lost in the depths of my own neurosis, do you have a map of the mind’s nether regions that I can borrow?

DonkeyDonkey says:

You can borrow my brain map, if you like:

the brain map

Now, at first it might look a bit complicated, but allow me to walk you through it.

Section 1 is called the Frontal Lobe. That’s used for thinking about womens’ breasts. It’s pretty big, as you can see. And, as Ms. Brook is demonstrating over there on the right hand side, it varies in size during the course of the day.

Section 2 is called the Temporal Lobe. That’s used for getting angry. Like, if some guy in a bar is hitting on your girlfriend, then BOOM! Your temporal lobe kicks in, and you lay the smack down on him.

Section 3 is called the Parietal Lobe. You use that for thinking about how attractive your friends’ parents are.

Section 4 is the Occipital Lobe. That’s the bit that the surgeons squeeze when they need to knock you unconscious for any reason. That’s how the Vulcan Death Grip works.

Section 5 is the Cerebellum. The cerebellum does everything that the other bits don’t do. For example, thinking about pies and watching films.

thinking about pie

I hope that this answers your questions, you fucking idiot. I mean, you’re lovely and cute and great and we all love you.

Categories
Politics

The Obligatory War Post

(punctuated by pictures of a pretty lady, to make it more manageable)

I was wondering the other night what my contribution to the war effort is going to be.

I don’t think I’m going to be the shouting general in the room with the guys with headsets. That’s a thankless job really, and I don’t think I could see me in a moustache. And besides, they all suffer from hormone imbalances and want to nuke everything, until the geeky bespectacled scientist in the white coat suggests a far more constructive and pacifistic course of action. And then the general has to eat humble pie. And I prefer chicken.

I don’t want to be the cannon fodder on the front line either. I’m useless with a bayonet, and I’ve never liked the look of dismembered corpses. That said, one of my ambitions before I die is to have sex with a prostitute, so I imagine that there will be plenty of opportunity for that out abroad. Long time, five dollar?

I don’t think I could be a spy either. I think I’d just fall over too often. And I haven’t got the right sort of verbal delivery either. When the bad guy is interrogating me, I think I would be less likely to say “Do you exchpect me to talk, Goldfinger?” and more likely to say “Wanker.” Mind you, the women would be throwing yourself (whoops, I meant, themselves) at my feet. It’s not the same if you aren’t paying for it though.

Working in intelligence probably wouldn’t be wise either. I don’t really have the anticipative mentality when it comes to foreigners. The less said about this, the better.

I could do a George Bailey, and stay at home and organise rubber drives and such like. Be a bit of a local hero, just do odd jobs around the community and be a good guy. However, that would require me to take some sort of initiative, which would probably mean that I would lose my job, as that kind of thing is not allowed around here.

I think I’ll be a pilot. I’ll be like Tom Cruise in Top Gun, and I’ll get to utter the immortal line: “He’s too close for missiles – I’m switching to guns.”

Nothing would give me greater joy.

Apart from not having to go to war, of course.

Categories
Photos

Some snow

A snowy scene

I haven’t yet posted any photos of the snow from the last couple of days, so here’s one of the view from my French doors at 8am this morning.

Categories
Dear Donkey TITGIG

Dear Donkey – the one with the townie’s shirt

> Dear Donkey,

> How can I cope when one of the blogs I read has “a background like a townie’s shirt”?! Someone else’s words, but they reflect my sentiments…

DonkeyDonkey says:

You call that a problem? If that is really the issue that is vexing you the most in your life at this particular moment in time, then I am most impressed with how incredibly “together” your ensemble de vie seems to be.

If you really need tips to cope with this eyesore of mammoth proportions (which, strangely, everyone except you seems to like) then resize your browser to about 800 pixels wide.

And besides, it isn’t a townie’s shirt. It’s a picnic blanket. Sounds to me like someone has some unresolved issues relating to townies. Were you abused by townies as a child? Did you once walk in on a townie having sex with the family cat? This is the kind of stuff that “Dear Donkey” wants to hear about.