I wonder whether you might lend some assistance to the person who arrived here by enquiring of a search engine "how to epilate testicles video". I am assuming that it is the testicles rather than the video that needs epilating, but cannot confess to have significant knowledge of either subject. I am unable to help, I have searched my archives and can find no film of someone removing hair from gonads, of this or any other species. Please leave links to appropriate media in the comments section. No filth, please.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
With a little elk from Southend
Once again I am obliged to Gwendomama for this link. I can't embed it, so you will have to go and have a look.
Mr Cocker comes from Sheffield. He speaks English in the way that God intended - I have no trouble understanding him.
Mr Cocker comes from Sheffield. He speaks English in the way that God intended - I have no trouble understanding him.
Friday, January 23, 2009
George and Barbara Bush introduced the tradition, I believe
I am obliged to my new friend, Gwendomama, who placed this link on her blog. Fortunately a veil remains drawn over the intimacy that took place in the Thatcher household.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Another capitulation to feminist propaganda.
The BBC offer the following headline this morning.
"Donors up but organs still short"
"Donors up but organs still short"
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Door knob
The new presidency does indeed herald a new era of friendship, tolerance and sympathy. I was therefore a little saddened to see numerous (well, two) bloggers utter the sentiments to the outgoing holder of the office "be sure that the door doesn't bang you on the ass on the way out".
This rhetoric is not in keeping with the new mood sweeping the world, and disrespectful both to the man and the office.
I would therefore, in the spirit of love and peace, like to say to Dubya, "back out of the door, brother, so that your ass is not in danger of getting hit. Instead, let me repeatedly smash it into your fuck ugly, useless, stupid, warmongering, callous face, you cunt."
This rhetoric is not in keeping with the new mood sweeping the world, and disrespectful both to the man and the office.
I would therefore, in the spirit of love and peace, like to say to Dubya, "back out of the door, brother, so that your ass is not in danger of getting hit. Instead, let me repeatedly smash it into your fuck ugly, useless, stupid, warmongering, callous face, you cunt."
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Incisive political analysis
Some of you with long memories will recall dear old Watski, who has been a little bit tardy in updating his blog, which is a shame as he capable of the insights typified by this topical observation on facebook:
" (Watski) doesn't know why all the Americans are so excited about having a black president, Zimbabwe have had one for years and he's shit"
" (Watski) doesn't know why all the Americans are so excited about having a black president, Zimbabwe have had one for years and he's shit"
Monday, January 19, 2009
Thursday, January 15, 2009
They can both sod off
I saw this competition, and thought I could do a good caption. Then I saw that everyone else in the world had beaten me to it. Any takers?
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Clarification.
I need to make it clear that this relation of both the Reverend Spooner and Margaret Thatcher is from Sleaford in Lincolnshire, not the charming metropolis in North East Hampshire.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Countdown to the royal divorce - part 21
It was fairly inevitable that various parties in the palaces should attempt to enlist my support in sorting out the latest little publicity kerfuffle to have surrounded Chas’s youngest. Eventually, in the realisation that I wasn’t going to get any sleep unless I agreed, I called the lad.
“Harry, you great bratwurst bashing barmpot, what the fuck have you done this time?” I began in my most gentle voice. “You great gormless, goose-stepping git, don’t you realise that you can’t just go around handing out insults to all and sundry without it coming back to bite you in the bollocks?” I could hear him sobbing. So far, so good. “Listen, you shitferbrains, sauerkraut sucking, sturmhauptfuhrer, there is nothing clever or funny about ridiculing people because of their ethnic background. For fuck’s sake, get a grip. Look to your family for the example they set. Do you think that the family would have the world-wide reputation for tact and diplomacy that they and you enjoy if every time, let’s say, your granddad opened his mouth, it was to poke fun at Johnny Foreigner?”
I paused.
“I think, I’ve said enough, don’t you?”
“Yes”, he mumbled.
“What?”
“Yes. I will certainly take more care from now on. Is there anything you can advise to help build some bridges?”
“Good lad! I am pleased you asked that, and yes of course there is. You should try to remind people that your family and their ancestors have been in power over here for a millennium and a half. During that time they have mercilessly oppressed and often tortured their subjects, lived off the fat of the land, been the epitome of reactionary authoritarianism, paraded around like a bunch of cretinous popinjays who would not survive five minutes if they went out alone in public, overseen one of the most evil empires in the history of humankind, they and their lickspittle lackeys are responsible for the situations in Iraq, Afghanistan, Israel, Zimbabwe, 80% of the genocide in Africa, the partition of India which may lead to the first nuclear war, and all the while they have been filling their coffers for doing fuck all. And now the asswit media think that a mild insult by a third rate minor royal, a brain dead carrot-topped cunt, an insignificant walk-on-part player in the grand theatre of human stupidity is worthy of opprobrium? WTRoyalF? Three words, Per Spec Tive.”
“I’ll go and tell them that now, then”.
The idiot boy will have forgotten it all by the time he works out how to use the doorknob to get out of his room, but no one can accuse me of not trying.
“Harry, you great bratwurst bashing barmpot, what the fuck have you done this time?” I began in my most gentle voice. “You great gormless, goose-stepping git, don’t you realise that you can’t just go around handing out insults to all and sundry without it coming back to bite you in the bollocks?” I could hear him sobbing. So far, so good. “Listen, you shitferbrains, sauerkraut sucking, sturmhauptfuhrer, there is nothing clever or funny about ridiculing people because of their ethnic background. For fuck’s sake, get a grip. Look to your family for the example they set. Do you think that the family would have the world-wide reputation for tact and diplomacy that they and you enjoy if every time, let’s say, your granddad opened his mouth, it was to poke fun at Johnny Foreigner?”
I paused.
“I think, I’ve said enough, don’t you?”
“Yes”, he mumbled.
“What?”
“Yes. I will certainly take more care from now on. Is there anything you can advise to help build some bridges?”
“Good lad! I am pleased you asked that, and yes of course there is. You should try to remind people that your family and their ancestors have been in power over here for a millennium and a half. During that time they have mercilessly oppressed and often tortured their subjects, lived off the fat of the land, been the epitome of reactionary authoritarianism, paraded around like a bunch of cretinous popinjays who would not survive five minutes if they went out alone in public, overseen one of the most evil empires in the history of humankind, they and their lickspittle lackeys are responsible for the situations in Iraq, Afghanistan, Israel, Zimbabwe, 80% of the genocide in Africa, the partition of India which may lead to the first nuclear war, and all the while they have been filling their coffers for doing fuck all. And now the asswit media think that a mild insult by a third rate minor royal, a brain dead carrot-topped cunt, an insignificant walk-on-part player in the grand theatre of human stupidity is worthy of opprobrium? WTRoyalF? Three words, Per Spec Tive.”
“I’ll go and tell them that now, then”.
The idiot boy will have forgotten it all by the time he works out how to use the doorknob to get out of his room, but no one can accuse me of not trying.
A new camel dildo
Some of my older readers (a Mr East of Trellis Wales) will recall that some time ago I was encouraged to take part in one of these electric internet experiments whereby one uploads a photograph (of oneself for best results) to see if any famous person bears a resemblance. 9 out of the 10 matches only matched because they had similar glasses to mine (spectacles, you dullard, please pay attention). The only person not to wear glasses who was deemed to be the S.I. of me was Andie Macdowell. This was, of course, no great surprise to me, and at the time I thought little of passing it on to you, as I know you hunger for titbits about my activities.
In addition to being obviously hugely attractive, the lady is a very fine actress. In one film, I recall, she was obliged to indulge in some heavy shagging with that prize turd Hugh Grant, and managed to get through it without throwing up.
Alas, the revelation has had rather sad consequences. It appears that the good lady has developed some anxiety about the comparison, and is to be seen regularly applying unguents to her aging skin in sundry television advertisements. It would be nice if someone could assure her that, even though her complexion is never likely to match the smoothness and freshness of mine, she isn’t doing too badly for and old ‘un.
There is no secret to my exquisite epidermis. I owe it all to my healthy lifestyle, my strict diet, my cheery disposition and my general benevolent and optimistic view of the activities of my fellow human beings.
In addition to being obviously hugely attractive, the lady is a very fine actress. In one film, I recall, she was obliged to indulge in some heavy shagging with that prize turd Hugh Grant, and managed to get through it without throwing up.
Alas, the revelation has had rather sad consequences. It appears that the good lady has developed some anxiety about the comparison, and is to be seen regularly applying unguents to her aging skin in sundry television advertisements. It would be nice if someone could assure her that, even though her complexion is never likely to match the smoothness and freshness of mine, she isn’t doing too badly for and old ‘un.
There is no secret to my exquisite epidermis. I owe it all to my healthy lifestyle, my strict diet, my cheery disposition and my general benevolent and optimistic view of the activities of my fellow human beings.
Monday, January 05, 2009
TCM in 2009
I knew that all that was required to provide the impetus for the start for my blogging year was for someone to put 50p in and twiddle with the buttons. Who better, I ask entirely rhetorically, than the science pages of our leading newspapers.
Over at the Torygraph, space is given to an oddly named gentleman, Rupert Till, an expert in acoustics from Huddersfield University. Yes, I could go off on an enormous tangent about the likelihood of a seat of learning at said town, but not now. The Torygraph let us know that Huddersfield is in West Yorkshire. Where it has been for some time. It has not moved. Later in the article, however, Mr Till, no doubt alarmed at being associated with Huddersfield, now claims to come from York, North Yorkshire. The Torygraph have taken (yes, I know I haven’t started to describe what the article was about, you great steaming twassock, just be patient) to telling us, USA style, which county the towns are in. York, heavens be praised, is in Yorkshire, exactly where God intended it to be.
Anyway, Silly Tilly is proposing the theory that Stonehenge was a concert venue. Go on, go and read it for yourself if you don’t believe me. It could have been, couldn’t it? Purpose built for a Cliff Richard concert. The acoustics may have been very good until some prize pillock put all those fucking rocks there. Imagine traipsing out to Wiltshire on a wet Wednesay in October on prehistoric transport to hear the Bee Gees, and then getting stuck behind a pillar. (I know that most of us would prefer to hide behind anything rather than look at those talentless tossers, but we would not be part of the typical audience would we? Do keep up.)
Let me make this very clear. I know that I have said it before, but evidently not everyone was listening. Stonehenge is a pile of ugly rocks. The only possible purpose for it is as a practical joke by our ancient forefathers, in the same way that we will leave recordings of Jeremy Clarkson for future generations. It is a hideous and boring eyesore, almost as hideous and boring as the twerps who go and look at it. I wish they would paint it luminous pink and be done with it.
The next amazing article, also from the Torygraph, is headed “Teenagers who skip breakfast are more likely to have sex”. Well, that does not seem to be worthy of a great deal of attention. Obviously there is only so much time in the day, and one has to make economies somewhere in order to fit in everything (missus). I dare say that I, should the occasion every arise, on being required to indulge in copulation, would find it easier to forego my toast and tahini than miss the finals of Celebrity Yak Gelding on ITV3. Indeed, if you are in need of sacrificing some part of your day to make way for an activity, then you may as well give up one that occurs early in the day, because then you know that you have saved that time and not have the problem nagging you throughout the day. In any case, cocopops and coitus do not, I would imagine, go together well. If you know differently, then please keep that information to yourself.
The most ridiculous and propagandist article to be found on the Torygraph science pages is most distressing. Are you sitting down, this may offend. Spanish scientists claim that Neanderthal man was ginger. Yes indeed. Bastards. Let me defend my ginger cousins (I use this noun figuratively, although I do have many ginger cousins. Ginger is the least of their problems when it comes to physical peculiarities. I also have/had a tendency towards that hair colour, though not as pronounced as many of my relations. It is not, however, because of this kinship that I speak out for carrot tops, but simply to stop mindless prejudice) by drawing your attention to the word “Spanish” near the beginning of this paragraph. Some blackhaired Bernardo from Bilbao has concocted some quasi-scientific mumbo-jumbo to make our extinct relatives appear bad, simply because one of his mates made fun of his appearance. Whatever happened to scientific integrity? And, if you go over to the appropriate page in the Torygraph, please do not come back here and say that the representation there looks like Dave, because it doesn’t, and it would be cruel to say so even if it did, which it does not, OK?
I think that is enough mumbo jumbo for now. I shall not rest until the ravings of these knuckle-dragging, neo-stupid nincompoops cease to be thrust in our faces everytime we seek to enquire about the state of modern knowledge.
If they do not stop, I may be forced to reveal the name of my first form chemistry teacher. No one with that name would think about entering the teaching profession these days. I am loathe to expose her, but this is an important battle that we are fighting.
Over at the Torygraph, space is given to an oddly named gentleman, Rupert Till, an expert in acoustics from Huddersfield University. Yes, I could go off on an enormous tangent about the likelihood of a seat of learning at said town, but not now. The Torygraph let us know that Huddersfield is in West Yorkshire. Where it has been for some time. It has not moved. Later in the article, however, Mr Till, no doubt alarmed at being associated with Huddersfield, now claims to come from York, North Yorkshire. The Torygraph have taken (yes, I know I haven’t started to describe what the article was about, you great steaming twassock, just be patient) to telling us, USA style, which county the towns are in. York, heavens be praised, is in Yorkshire, exactly where God intended it to be.
Anyway, Silly Tilly is proposing the theory that Stonehenge was a concert venue. Go on, go and read it for yourself if you don’t believe me. It could have been, couldn’t it? Purpose built for a Cliff Richard concert. The acoustics may have been very good until some prize pillock put all those fucking rocks there. Imagine traipsing out to Wiltshire on a wet Wednesay in October on prehistoric transport to hear the Bee Gees, and then getting stuck behind a pillar. (I know that most of us would prefer to hide behind anything rather than look at those talentless tossers, but we would not be part of the typical audience would we? Do keep up.)
Let me make this very clear. I know that I have said it before, but evidently not everyone was listening. Stonehenge is a pile of ugly rocks. The only possible purpose for it is as a practical joke by our ancient forefathers, in the same way that we will leave recordings of Jeremy Clarkson for future generations. It is a hideous and boring eyesore, almost as hideous and boring as the twerps who go and look at it. I wish they would paint it luminous pink and be done with it.
The next amazing article, also from the Torygraph, is headed “Teenagers who skip breakfast are more likely to have sex”. Well, that does not seem to be worthy of a great deal of attention. Obviously there is only so much time in the day, and one has to make economies somewhere in order to fit in everything (missus). I dare say that I, should the occasion every arise, on being required to indulge in copulation, would find it easier to forego my toast and tahini than miss the finals of Celebrity Yak Gelding on ITV3. Indeed, if you are in need of sacrificing some part of your day to make way for an activity, then you may as well give up one that occurs early in the day, because then you know that you have saved that time and not have the problem nagging you throughout the day. In any case, cocopops and coitus do not, I would imagine, go together well. If you know differently, then please keep that information to yourself.
The most ridiculous and propagandist article to be found on the Torygraph science pages is most distressing. Are you sitting down, this may offend. Spanish scientists claim that Neanderthal man was ginger. Yes indeed. Bastards. Let me defend my ginger cousins (I use this noun figuratively, although I do have many ginger cousins. Ginger is the least of their problems when it comes to physical peculiarities. I also have/had a tendency towards that hair colour, though not as pronounced as many of my relations. It is not, however, because of this kinship that I speak out for carrot tops, but simply to stop mindless prejudice) by drawing your attention to the word “Spanish” near the beginning of this paragraph. Some blackhaired Bernardo from Bilbao has concocted some quasi-scientific mumbo-jumbo to make our extinct relatives appear bad, simply because one of his mates made fun of his appearance. Whatever happened to scientific integrity? And, if you go over to the appropriate page in the Torygraph, please do not come back here and say that the representation there looks like Dave, because it doesn’t, and it would be cruel to say so even if it did, which it does not, OK?
I think that is enough mumbo jumbo for now. I shall not rest until the ravings of these knuckle-dragging, neo-stupid nincompoops cease to be thrust in our faces everytime we seek to enquire about the state of modern knowledge.
If they do not stop, I may be forced to reveal the name of my first form chemistry teacher. No one with that name would think about entering the teaching profession these days. I am loathe to expose her, but this is an important battle that we are fighting.
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