Sunday, November 29, 2009

I am not Zoe's boyfriend.

I have entered into a sophisticated debate (note that twitter only allows 140 characters, so that gives some degree of the level of sophistication) with dear old Brian Cox on Twitter about the large hadron collider.
He asserts, and acknowledges that it is reported on Fox News so responsible presentation of an argument is obviously of negligible account to him, that “Anyone who thinks the LHC will destroy the world is a twat”.
I have pointed out the unfairness of this argument. Those of us who forecast that anything or anyone will destroy the world without defining a time frame will never have the satisfaction of saying “I told you so” when the prediction comes true. Let me say here and now, with complete conviction, that if the world ever ends, I will apologise to Margaret Thatcher. You have my word. Further I will donate £200million to anyone who correctly predicts the manner in which the world will be destroyed.
Professor Cox is the embodiment of the Schrodinger’s cat dilemma – he is a physicist, but I quite like him.

Thursday, November 26, 2009

I've been in your family since 1532

"And what, Scurra" you may ask, "are you thankful for on this auspicious day?"
"Well," would be my riposte, "I am fucking thankful that at least one shitladen American tradition has not invaded these isles. We already have Hallowe'en, prom nights and baby showers, none of which were around in these parts when I was growing up, so let's hope that we maintain sufficient self-respect to resist this one. We already have one day a year where morons eat themselves even more fucking stupid on murdered poultry corpses, and the European fucking Song Contest. Let's hope that it stops here. What the fuck did we do to you, America, that we deserve to inherit your dross? Bastards! I'm glad we gave you Benny Hilll and Engelbert fucking Humperdinck."
love and peace.

Monday, November 23, 2009

Another splendid scientific theory

I have been a little remiss in attending to that section of my readership (aMToNW) who fall into the category “pervert” – those who come here, if you will, under the impression that because this blog is on the electric internet then it must be here to talk about sex. I am therefore pleased to pass on the following intelligence to those poor folk; maybe even Tom will be induced to comment.

I should point out that all is well with me. I am in no need of the following research. If it should ever arise that I find my interest flagging, as it were, I need only to listen to Marianne Faithful singing or imagine a Tom Graveney cover drive, and my ability to please the thousands of people who force themselves upon me on a regular basis is soon restored.

Anyway, to get to the point, my friends in the scientific community have decided that there are not enough openings, missus, at Cern to occupy them all, and so they have had to devise other pastimes in order to justify their title. What better, they asked themselves – they should have asked me and I would have given a better answer - subject for study is there than the good old penis and its different moods?

They have turned their attention to the issue of erectile dysfunction, what with viagra being so hard to come by, missus, and all. After all, I am down to about 40 emails a day offering me said substance at cheap prices.

It is my habit to link to sites on the electric internet from which I quote, but I do not feel that these people are worthy of attention. They say:

“The researchers treated 20 volunteers with an average age of 56 years old who had mild or moderate erectile dysfunction for roughly three years.

At each session, a device that resembles a computer mouse applied shockwaves at five different sites on their penises.”

Please note use of the word “roughly”. Hardly encouraging, is it? And which of you, after reading this, does not feel a slight compunction to wash your hands after touching your computer mouse. Further, why do they say ‘sites’ instead of ‘places’ or ‘positions’? To me the word ‘site’ implies a place of special interest. I confess to having no special interest in any particular area of penises. I would suggest that once you had established which end was which that you had pretty much discovered everything that you needed to know. Are these ‘sites’ designated by special symbols in medical textbooks? I really do not wish to know.

More importantly, I cannot discover what exactly constitutes a ‘shockwave’. I have not looked beyond the article, and, again, I really do not wish to know. Our scientist friends can only give meaningless comparisons (see my previous writings on ‘the size of a salad plate’ and ‘teaspoonfuls of semen’). Apparently, the pressure exerted is 20 times the air pressure in a bottle of champagne. You see how really useful that is? If there is one among you, and if there is please keep it to yourself, who has encapsulated his gonads in a bottle of champagne, then all you need to do is to imagine 20 times that pressure and you will know with what the subjects of this experiment had to cope. I confess to have never having drunk champagne. I now feel even less inclined to do so, as it appears that there are a significant number of my gender to whom this comparison will be meaningful.

At the other end, missus, of the spectrum we are told that it is less than the pressure exerted “by a woman in stiletto heels who weighs 132 lbs”. This, sadly, recalls a previous article, also featuring a deluded scientist, who banged on about stilettos. I can only conclude that there are some out there, and they may be reading this, who derive sexual gratification by enlisting the help of someone to dance on their tackle. Good for them, I say. However, I find that I am approaching the boundaries of credulity to picture their enquiring about the weight of the operator as she enthusiastically performed the can-can on their bludgeoned todger. Perhaps I lead too sheltered a life in North East Hampshire.

I knew that it would lead to this. From my first physics lesson with Mr Sutton – and I have no idea what he was trying to convey now any more than I did then – I predicted that my studies would be of no use. I stick by that assertion, and I have no more respect for these silly people and their research than I have for Saturday evening television programmes.

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Our glorious democracy

Philip! Philip! Look! It's just as if I am on the telly!

Sarah refused to stay at home, even though Gordon had superglued her spectacles case to her head.

For God's sake woman, who the fuck are these people? I thought we were going to the Chessington World of Adventure.

No, David, I don't want to hold hands. You seem to have forgotten that I did not go to Eton.

The "Heigh-ho" song was always one of Liz's favourites.

Neither of them would admit to cutting the cheese, and managed to keep a straight face for over 36 minutes.

"What do you have under your gown?"
"Your momma!"

This year's erotic dancer adopted a black tights and giant pepper dispenser theme. "Sleaze and Sneeze".

No, we confiscated your wand and cauldron on the way in, you vile old ratbag, now sit down and shut the fuck up before you curdle any more milk.

Gerald had gone to great lengths to ensure that he had enough spare wigs for his Mae West tribute act.

Ever since she had seen "Cleopatra" it had been Liz's dream to be rolled out of a carpet down a very long corridor.

Hundreds of Father Christmases staged a sit in to protest about the proposed tax on beards.

The lads practise for the skittles tournament. Last year Edwin managed to topple Nicholas Soames.

Wait until you hear what I said about you in the speech. You'll piss yourself!

Liz read the script, and wondered who in hell had requested Take That to appear.

Gord and Dave were equally perplexed as to which party Jimmy Krankie represented, and why he got precedence over them.

You'll never believe this shit! And here's me supposed to read it out as if it is for real.

You will shit yourself when you hear what Philip is going to say to you.

Get a move on, you old trout, I want to get home before Countdown.

Friday, November 13, 2009

Illegal immigrants sent back home

We had all been waiting patiently for an update from our reporters at ground zero, but MJ giggled incessantly throughout her audience and couldn't remember a thing afterwards, and Donn claims to have been forced to sign the Official Secrets Act and says that his conscience will not allow him to discuss the plans to take the USA back into the Commonwealth using huskies and the RCMP.

So I will just have to tell you the story myself

The royal couple had been advised that it was protocol to wear two poppies in Canada - one to commemorate the war dead, and one to apologise to the rest of the world for Celine Dion. Just after this picture was taken, Cams leapt on Chuck's back, shouted "Yee Haw!" and had to be restrained. The palace refused to comment on the "All fur coat and no knickers" stories in the less respectable parts of the press.

Donn assures Chuck that he had not gone to any trouble, and that he always dressed like this on a Tuesday.
"Can you repeat that more slowly please? We're cutting down on expenses and haven't brought an interpreter. It sounded as if you said something like 'How'd y'all like three foot of rusty sword up your sorry limey ass' but I've no idea what that means.

Trisha and Janice told the prince that they certainly did not want to know what he had in his pocket, and that he could expect to hear from their respective mothers. Meanwhile Camilla is curious to know exactly what the children had done wrong to be roped off.

In order to avoid frightening the last 7 pairs of mating "McKenzie's bison" in Manitoba, Camilla was given a sound proofed umbrella. "I can still see you, though" joshed Charles, "and it's put me off rumpy-pumpy for the night!"

Charles was crestfallen. Mummy had told him that he would be going on a boat trip round the Great Lakes, but when he got to Toronto he had to make do with the Mayor's photographs of the new 'water feature' in his yard.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Sunday, November 08, 2009


May I solicit your views about the artistic performance most deserving of an award this weekend?

The contenders are:

  • The elegant and poetic Martin Castrogiovanni, who epitomises grace and subtlety.

  • The multitalented Henry. You will all know his dear mother Melissa from her association with dear old Bozza. Henry is the 8th of her seventeen children, and has already made it into the national spotlight. Henry hopes to become lead singer with Hawkwind when his voice breaks. On this link, he is about 9 minutes in.

  • The cast of “The Thick of It”. I done several lols this week. I am especially enamoured of Ms Rebecca Front, and I have contacted her via Twitter to ask her, if possible, for her to visit and do her dance on the cushions at my house. As I have never met the lady I felt it expedient to point out in said message that I was not a pervert. Strangely, she has not yet replied. Those of you (Dave) with no interest in her distinguished comedy career may recognise her as the boss of the repressed homosexual Lewis and his screamingly camp sidekick Hathaway. Surely in this new century it is no crime to catch the other bus, and the sooner these two incompetent cops come out of the closet the better. I shall put this point to her if I get the opportunity.

Friday, November 06, 2009


I may attend to the request from the reverend gentleman in due course, but I need to record the fact that I have been moved by watching one of the finest displays of sporting prowess that I can remember.
For those of you, and I really must try to educate you, who do not appreciate the beauty of the spectacle of rugby union I will be brief.
Leicester have just beaten South Africa. South Africa are the world champions, and just about the best team in the world. The result may seem close, but actually they destroyed them. I have never seen a tri-nations team capitulate in the scrum in the way that the boks did tonight.
For those of you who would, more than a little churlishly in my view, say that it was not the main South African team, I would point out that Leicester had 12 players injured and a further 6 away on international duty - they had to recall players out on loan to other teams in order to make up a full squad today.
Please view it as a religious duty to see Martin Castrogiovanni play rugby in this lifetime.
That is all.

Wednesday, November 04, 2009

Brotherly love

The BBC news channel is offering a story in which David Cameron outlines the Conservative’s approach to Europe.

Unfortunately one has to watch a video stream in order to find out what the approach is, and I fear that I would regurgitate the delicious vegan fruit and ginger cake that I have just eaten if I had to watch the odious little tit.

So I am guessing their approach is via Calais and direct to Dresden with the bombers.

My approach to Cameron would be from above, sitting on top of a five ton weight.

Tuesday, November 03, 2009

I will be back after these messages

  • Boggins is back. Perhaps only temporarily. Please do not miss what may be his final performance of the year.
  • Do not miss "Campus" on channel 4 on Friday 6th at 10.00. Dear old Blue Cat is the star behind the scenes.
  • I am reluctant to send you lot to this next one. This lady is my cousin. She is actually my cousin's wife, so we do not have any genetic connection. I have never met her, and don't want any of you to be silly when you go to visit. She is a very nice lady, and I have forgiven her husband and his family for fleeing the continent when I was born. If you misbehave I will have my other cousins come and sing to you. Then you will be very sorry indeed.
  • I had a postcard from my dear friend ILTV. I done a lol. Get over there and make her do one. Now.

Sunday, November 01, 2009

Weeding out the troublemakers

I felt compelled to join the growing numbers of highly qualified experts who have resigned from the Advisory Council on the Misuse of Drugs. My resignation letter is enclosed below. I trust that you will all respect the confidentiality.

Dear Alan

I am sorry to lay this heavy trip on you, man, but would it be cool if I split this scene? It’s kind of freaking me out, and I really want to be mellow and spend some time listening to the latest String Band album, if you can dig it. I can dig your vibe, right, but the only reason people have got it in for dope is that it is the people’s weed, man. The CIA and the KGB got together to try to control the supply (this is true, Steve told me) but they couldn’t stop all the brothers and sisters who were growing their own. I think that it would be far out if you stopped trying to mess with our heads, man, and realised that no harm ever came out of a few joints. Wow, man, if you just turned on, tuned in and dropped out in the cabinet meetings it would be too fucking much.

Love, peace and move away from the towers.


P.S. You know what would be really cool? To rename the Committee “The Advisory Council for Information about Drugs”. (geddit?)

You will all realise that the only way that a committee can advise on drugs is to get totally stoned. Otherwise there is no objective way of forming a view. The BBC have tried to cover up this truth, for example when they reported the sacking of Professor Nutt (crazee name, crazee guy) they said:
“The professor said smoking cannabis created only a "relatively small risk" of psychotic illness.”
I have corrected the punctuation:
“The professor said, smoking, cannabis created only a "relatively small risk" of psychotic illness.”