Freaks and weirdo's

So, I felt like death all day. Not because I drunk too much last night. Although I certainly did. But because in amongst the nectar that is Hobsons best there were a couple of very nasty chemical beers in the theatre bar. I think its safe to say that my employer did not get their moneys worth today. I decided that I would forgo alcohol for a couple of days and dry out. However, after an hour of searching for my car keys this morning I realized that they were in my coat, which was still hanging in the Crown. So I had to go back tonight.

And its the bi-annual beer festival. The pub is crowded with freaks and wierdo's. I mean, different freaks and weirdo's from usual. and more. Many more. Still, I forced myself to the bar and supped an ale or two. As always the Crown is a learning experience. I learnt that some of weirdy beardy Howards scrap metal and leather fetish friends have taken to perusing this site. welcome all. I learn that councilor Norris is opening a gambling den and gay lap dancing club somewhere in the vicinity soon. I learn something instantly forgettable about bus routes from mad H. And on the way home I reminded myself why you should not eat kebabs sober.

So. I'm posting a picture of my gonk knife for no good reason. ok?

Sad days...

Today we kind of lost a blog friend. 4zillion signed off because she has a life. A life with lego. which I am fairly jelouse about.And she's right. you blog for a need. As soon as it becomes a chore you must walk away. Bloging is for you, you alone. Never feel pressured to blog. Its for you damn it. But its strange. I'll miss her. Someone I have never met. Someone I have never talked to. Some one I have just exchanged a few (probably drunk) paragraphs with over the net. And its not like she's dying (TUG), she's just found a better thing. Strange the whole blog experience. Ill miss you Jessica. But good. thats what this place is for.

Dead Smurfs

Just seen DHG in Bouncers. I was really hoping that it would be crap so that I could mock. But, alas alack, it was brilliant. Seriously. Very very funny. (mind you the post performance pink shirt was a bit frightening).

Evolution or act of god?

See, I was going to explain about how your granny was an Egyptian tea lady. And trust me, its fascinating stuff. But I feel we need to clear up the whole evolution or creationism thing first. Both. Pretty much. Darwin was right. If you put Giant tortoises on different islands for a few million years you get different tortoises. But not goats. Take wolves. We did. And in a very short time you have dogs. Great Danes and Chiwawa's. Pretty wide ranging. But basically still wolves. See, even if you buy the whole amoeba to man thing there is still that no life - life problem. Divine intervention, alien gamma ray, who knows. Certainly Darwin, Newton, Galileo, Einstein et al all went for the god option. And they're not blokes I feel I can argue with.
So if your view is that way back some god created a proto human Adam (and a few seconds later thought 'whoa, I better give him something to do with that before he wanks himself to death' and created a proto human Eve) well, I'm not objecting.
Even if you want to knock uninvited on my door, wearing an over pressed suit and over white teeth, and get me out of the bath to tell me that. OK. But don't then try to tell me that the world is two hundred and six years old because that's what it says in the bible. NO. Even if the bible is the word of god (and not a collection of bastardised folk tales mistranslated from the Jewish)its not a sin to believe its not meant to be taken literally.

Picture the scene. You're gods chosen people. You've been lost in the desert for a few decades, living of grubs. Things aren't great. So you pick the guy with the best beard to go up a mountain and have a word. And down he comes, a bit confused. "look, everything is made up of mostly nothing. But the bits that are something are lots of really small invisible atoms whizzing around. And these are made of even smaller invisible things called quarks that have different strangeness and charm and may be both a particle and a wave". And the guy at the back speaks up. Do you think he says: "So Moses, was there anything on resolving einsteinium and newtonian physics with regard to string theory and the role of relativistic time?". No what he says is: "Hey everyone, there's a great guy down the road who kills chickens and chants". And lo, the tribes of Israel are instantly reduced to one bloke who is just glad he didn't mention the bit about the world being a ball.

Now gods no fool. She's worked in advertising. She knows this won't work. So she thinks hell, I'll give them a few hints, a few guidelines, a massive brain and an incredible sense of curiosity. They'll figure it out. She must look down on suit teeth boy and wonder why she bothered. I just want to be there on judgment day when he turns up to find that god has six legs, shiny wing cases and is a forty foot high beetle. I reckon his expression would be magic, for the half a second before she bites his head off.

Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible.

Meanwhile here are some cuttlefish...

Goat Thong supplement

Well, It's been busy at work. But not in an exciting way. In a sit in the office on your own all weekend doing shite kind of way. It's approaching crisis (update CV type crisis) and I'm working my nuts off. Except, the test rig runs like a dog. So I am doing a lot of very frustrating 'waiting'. And that's always a fine time to type random stuff into google. So leading on from my last blog I type in 'goat thong' really not expecting much. Boy was I wrong.

So, there's a lot of places offering all you need to make authentic American Indian objects. Apparently Goat thong is a key ingredient. (makes you wonder how they coped before the internet). There is an interesting feature on the Thong game park in Malaysia which includes wild goats amongst its inhabitants. There is a story about the time Loki (a Norse god)tied a goat to his scrotum with a leather thong. (it takes all sorts). And to my amazement, there are quite a lot of goat related underwear sites.


Youve just got to love that, I love my goat. Man, as soon as I have a new address those goat love boxers are mine.

gotta have kippers in Texas

"like a king without a castle, like a goat without a thong, I'm an early morning lover and I must be be moving on".

How correct Mr Tramp was. I am that man without a castle. I am that goat without a thong. And all my truly great sexual performances have been shortly before 6am. When I'm firmly asleep. I don't mean those slightly contrived, half asleep moments when your pretending she's Winona and she's pretending that its almost anyone else. No, I mean that full REM moment when the entire cast of neighbours have chosen to make porn & you've won the directors lottery. Happy dreams.

But this morning, No. I was there , in a shower with 6 female Bulgarian gymnasts, trying to explain how were all descendents of egyptian tea ladies. (we are - and that for another blog). IM IN A SHOWER WITH 6 BULGARIAN GYMNASTS AND IM TALKING HISTORY. ok, I can't be sure about the Bulgarian. They were fit, young, naked, in a shower with me and their command of English was not sufficient to understand the mathmatical modeling of genetic drift. The point is. Its a dream. Its pre 6am. No castle has arrived. It should be full on pornography. but no. Its history. Nude shower bulgarian athlete history. but still...


...I have become the goat with a thong.

No 'little boy' for NK

So North Korea have agreed to cease their nuclear weapons program and rejoin the nuclear non-proliforation treaty. And in return the USA have agreed not to nuke the crap out of them.
Now the little bit of cynic in me has this vision of George & Kim smiling & shaking hands, with the other hand behind their back, fingers firmly crossed. But most of me is saying hooray. Today the worlds a little bit safer, a little bit better.

fluffy bunny

Just for you Sally.

Mobile Phone whore

Not naming names but... I am. Naming and shameing.
Evil lord Merkin -'I need a mobile phone but I won't let it intrude...'
ooh ooh look at my new mobile, It flashes lights in blue and purple.
Ok, weirdy beardy Howard and Chris the Oz shagger asked. But the correct answer is no, I'm out with company and mobile phones are not social assests. But no. Look at the flashing lights. Aren't I cool. Its from Norwich. Crap on crap on crap. There is only one reason for having a mobile and no one was brave/stupid enough to ask Louise. The rest is just mobile phone whoredom. Its official. Evil lord Merkin is a mobile phone whore.

Stag Beetles

The stag beetle is Europe’s largest beetle – up to 8cm for the males which have the ‘horns’. Despite there fearsome look they are completely harmless. (well, one site tells me that the females can give a bit of a nip if provoked, so best not discuss politics or religion with them). They live as grubs in dead and rotting wood for 5 to 7 years before having a brief beetle summer of flying, fighting, lust and egg laying. Due to a lack of rotting wood they are in serious decline in the UK and are a protected species. I have never seen one but I look at the pictures and I think ok, maybe gods beetle fixations not so strange after all. Very cool.

Karmic balance.

Many people strive for a wealth of good Karma. This is a mistake. If your bad you come back as a goat, if your very bad you come back as a rock. If your good you come back clever, prettier, wealthier. But if your very good you don’t come back. Calling it Nirvana doesn’t make it a desirable option.
In all things the universe strives for a balance. Too much good Karma in your life can be as dangerous as too much bad Karma. Your out of balance, the universe will be pissed, the fates will be gunning for you. The good do indeed die young. Or at least get shat upon big time. So, Karmic balance is required, ideally a bit on the good side but not too much.
Unfortunately this is hard to achieve. Bad Karma sticks like shit sticks to your shoe just before a wedding. Bad Karma is with you for life. That’s why you still feel guilty after all these years. It was bad. Its still bad. The bad Karma lingers. Good Karma however is fleeting. It felt good yesterday, you were happy and proud. Today you feel like a turd once more. Good Karma just doesn’t last. Like a fine ale, its gone surprisingly quickly and you want, no, need more. So in order to keep your Karmic balance you need to indulge in random acts of kindness. My estimated bad Karma level is ‘moderate’ and the fact that I don’t do that many bad things any more (lack of opportunity mainly) means my Bad Karma level is pretty static. So I have figured that about one random act of kindness a week should be about right.
One good act a week. Its tougher that it sounds. You go up to some strange old lady and offer to carry her bags. Chances are she’s gonna scream. She might even drop dead on you. This is not generating good Karma. Giving to charity ought to be a safe bet. But if you can afford it your not really being good. In fact, not giving if you can afford it is probably bad. So giving if you can afford it is just breaking even. And giving if you can’t afford it, well I’m not going there. Poverty sucks. So I’m struggling along not kicking cats and thinking ‘rock? That doesn’t sound so bad’.

But here’s a thought. I may not be able to get my Karma balanced but I can help others balance theirs. So, girls, just send me a few tasteful shots of yourselves in (or out) of your best underwear. You’ll make an old man very happy and earn a nice little bit of good Karma. And I, by looking at pictures of your scantily clad bodies will be helping your karmic balance. A good act. I earn Karmic goodie points too. Sometimes the universe is wonderful.

Diesel at 15p a litre anyone?

And I thought Cats were useless. How wrong I was.

Wow $$$

This is amazing. Cost Of War

The cost of the war Iraq (just Iraq, not the whole war on terror) is fast approaching $200Bn for the US ( I have no idea what it has cost the UK and others).

To put this in perspective:
UK total revenue (2004): $834.9Bn
UK total expenditure(2004): $896.7Bn
US Foreign aid(2003 Budget proposal):$11.4Bn
Current estimated cost of putting men on Mars: $600Bn
Coca Cola Total Revenue (2004): $18.16Bn
Cost of ending world hunger (world health org estimate circa 2001): $40Bn
Estimated cost of finding a cure for most cancers: $25Bn
US department of education annual budget: $71.5Bn
Bill Gates wealth: $63Bn
World Wide Fund For Nature annual spending (2002/2003): $0.27Bn
Queen Elizabeth II wealth (forbes): $0.42Bn
Estimated cost of basic AIDS treatment & prevention programs in Africa (world health org): $3Bn
USA & Europe total funding for basic AIDS treatment & prevention programs in Africa: $0.3Bn

Ok. Some of the numbers may be a bit unreliable. I’ve no idea how they worked out the cost of curing cancer for instance. Still, interesting numbers. I feel a bit better about my mortgage application now.

And the winners is…

Ok. Finally I have sorted out my 5 books for my profile.
They are:
Speaker for the dead – Orson Scott Card. Read Enders Game first to give context (the short story version is better than the novel if you can get it). Primarily, it’s a book about truth. But there are also aliens, yay.
The Little World of Don Camillo -Giovanni Guareschi. I’d never heard of this little gem until I found it in a second hand book store and bought it on a whim. It’s just nice.
Jonathan Livingstone Seagull – Richard Bach. It’s a bit cheesy I know. And far to popular amongst people who have healing crystals, don’t wear shoes and think hair will clean its self if you just leave it. But I like it. A lot.
The Wasp Factory – Ian Banks. Dark, Sick, Twisted. mmm.
Bluebeard- Kurt Vonnegut. In my youth I aspired to be Kilgore Trout. (yup, I wanted to be a failed science fiction writer who could only get published in porn magazines- I guess I just aimed too high). The scene in Breakfast of Champions where Rabo Karabekian justifies modern art was a revelation to me. Bluebeard is the story Rabo Karabekian. Possibly not Vonnegut’s best work. But Rabo Karabekian opened my eyes to modern expressionism. He’s earnt his place.

Five close runners were:
Scruffy – Paul Gallico. Despite being responsible for the snow goose, which is really disgusting literary cheese that still manages to makes me cry every time I read it (an over mature gorgonzola to Richard Bach’s mild cheddar), Scruffy is a nice book. Not great, or life changing. Just nice.
Lord of the Rings – J.R.R. Tolkien. I love it but … gay midget porn.
Dune – Frank Herbert. Science Fiction at its most epic.
The Grapes of Wrath – John Steinbeck. Would have made it into the five but for the breast feeding at the end, which freaked me out a bit.
Catch 22 – Joseph Heller. Made me laugh.

And five abject literary turds were:
War and Peace - Tolstoy. Supposedly the greatest book ever written? Well I completed it, decided I must have missed the good bit and read it again. I can only think that those who love it judge books by their weight. Basically, its Harold Robbins without the sex and huge long interjections by the author on the inevitable nature of history that are complete bollocks.
Something happened - Joseph Heller. Don’t be mislead by the title. Nothing happens. About eight million pages of boredom and then on the last page a fat bloke accidentally smothers his kid. There. Saved you a read.
The Bible - God. Ok word of God it may be (although there is surprisingly little on beetles if it is). A good read it ain’t.
Harry Potter and the armpit of doom – J.K.Rowling. Actually quite liked the first book, for a kiddies book. Then I read the next book. AND IT’S THE SAME BOOK. She’s just changed the title. Now fair play to J.K. I’m all in favour of conning children out of their cash. But lets not pretend that’s good writing.
Battlefield Earth. – L. Ron. Hubbard. The hero is called Johnny Goodboy Tyler. The baddie has a limp. Humans go from backwater monkeys to rulers of the galaxy in two weeks. But the worst thing is that even though its utter crap, its hugely readable, enjoyable, cant put it down crap. And that’s scary.

Of course, tomorrows lists may be wildly different…

Hair Today

For the last two weeks I have sported a fine comedy moustache.



But all good things must come to an end.

Shoe wars.

I went down to auntie Pauls in sunny Dorset last weekend. My dad rents the cottage opposite her, His wife, Anna , My Bro & family and my cousins all turn up and everyone gets good and drunk. Not a bad weekend apart from the fact that I have to share a bedroom with my brothers three kids. There is something very disturbing about a little girl who sleeps sitting up with her eyes open. Add the fact that the eldest lad seems to think its just polite to wake me and inform me that he's off to the loo, getting a glass of water, going to play with the kitchen knives or whatever. Finally the youngest lad falls out of bed about once an hour and whimpers until I get up and put him back. And I'm not good without a full nights kip. So kids, THERE IS NO LAW THAT SAYS YOU MUST BE OUT OF BED BY 7 and despite what you idiot father has told you, Uncle Rich's favorite way of waking up is NOT having small children use his belly as a trampoline.
Anyway, I'm driving home. Well, I'm sitting in the vast carpark that was once the M5. And I notice a strange plastic binbag in my passenger footwell. Shoes. Old shoes. Some how I have become collateral damage in the on going shoe war between my brother and my cousin. Unfortunately for them both I have been stockpiling shoes (for defensive purposes only) and have a fully automated mutually assured destruction shoe aggression retaliation program in place. Phil, Bev, prepare for shoe Armageddon.

Books

Books have a special magic. I was in the loft again the other day and there are boxes of books that simply haven’t got shelf space in my house. Some are sad and broken things, yellowed and stained, pages torn, held together with tape, torn apart by time. Long past readability. But they cannot be thrown out. Euthanasia for old people, sure. But not for books. And in there I found an old and worn copy of the hobbit. Lovingly I opened it and read the first page. And shuddered and slipped it back into the box.
I remember the pleasure of libraries. Not the modern trendy internet cafes of today. But the libraries of my youth. Big stern buildings with big stern librarians. Where you tiptoed in silence between the stacks. I remember my excitement when my mum explained that I could pick five books. Any five books. And take my library card to the desk and for a week they were mine. And the next week I could return them and get another five. I remember sneaking off to the adult section, awed by the sheer numbers of books, the huge weight of knowledge. I remember first stroking the leather spines of the encyclopaedia Britannica, the unique book smell, the promises of the new and unimaginable.
Then, with age came money. And bookshops. The science fiction shelves at Clarks, the joy of owning the complete lensman series. Lined up in order on my shelf. Waterstones, Smiths. Still I can become trapped for hours, held by their mysterious power. Better yet, second hand bookstores, where time is twisted and warped by the power of the books. The unusual and the unexpected. Old friends next to unheard of strangers. The strange pleasure in finding a ‘modern history of Malaysia’ written in 1940 and costing just 20p. And back to my own bookshelves. Perhaps bookshelf is to grand as they are just piles of bricks and planks. The books are unsorted, unordered, stacked horizontally and vertically, but best of all, 2 deep. So when you remove a book you discover another book. And some are old friends, that you can open at random and enjoy for a brief moment. Some just have wonderful titles that resonate (Gibbons. Decline and fall of the roman empire. Abridged). Some taunt me (the bookmarker remains static a third of the way into the Iliad. The Oddessy remains unread). And some are dreadful. The fat science fantasy with the promise ‘comparable to the lord of the rings’ on the cover that really means derivative trash.
The lord of the rings. I first read it when I was twelve. It gave me nightmares. Then every Easter until my late 20’s I read it again. Appendices and all. On occasion I even reproduced the maps and expanded them, adding hidden realms of my own. I have been struggling to fill in the favourite books section on my blogger profile. I have decided to limit myself to just five books. Its proving a long and arduous process. It makes Sophie’s choice look pretty simple. But surely Lord of the rings is in. What other book has given me so much pleasure? But no, its out.
Why? Well it started with the films. I loved the first two and a half films. Ok, so they lacked the weight of history that makes the book so good, but they compensated with a wonderful geographic splendour. The were magnificent. Then came the last hour. Was I truly the only person who had to drive their nails into the palm of their hands. Who had to seriously fight to prevent myself from standing up and crying aloud ‘just die you little fuckers’ as Sam and Frodo ground up the mountain. Then it ended. Then it ended again. And again. Even the boat sailing off into the sunset WAS NOT THE FRIGGING END. As surely as the first two and a half films deserved their plethora of Oscars that last hour should have resulted in the director being flayed alive. But even that didn’t ruin the book. I returned to it, Opened it. It was ok. The magic was still there. I could recover.
Then the other day I was at the weird librarians blog and they mentioned that last film. And they used the phrase ‘Gay midget porn’. And I was in the loft, and I found the Hobbit. And as I read the first page that phrase came back to haunt me. ‘Gay midget porn’. And I shuddered and put the book back in the box.

Good on you, Gary Maclaughlin

On Friday, Gary Maclaughlin of Santa Cruz, Calif., flew to Nashville, Tenn., where he bought a diesel-powered 1990 yellow school bus for $2,000. He charged $1,500 worth of water, diapers, granola bars and peanut butter crackers on his credit card and headed straight for the shelters.

By Sunday evening he was driving loads of evacuees from the New Orleans Airport to a rescue shelter in Covington, La.

too much giving?

Sometimes it seems like there is demand after demand. Hurricane after tsunami. Endangered species after vanishing jungle. You can make a difference, except that you can't.
I happen to be in a good time in my life. I can put my hand in my pocket and appease my guilt. Its not always been good. I have wrestled over the contents of sainsbury's bins back when times were not great. But its never been really bad. I've never put my neck in a noose. So, when you've got it you give a bit. But the endless stream of begging letters, the endless commercialism of giving. It makes it tough.
Now I try to be an environmentalist. I subscribe to all the right organisations. But I came home today and there was this obviously dead daddy-longlegs floating in the pan. So rather than waste water by a premature flush, I sat and bombed. Only the insect wasn’t dead. Now my arse on a pan doesnt leave a lot of room for escape, but he tried hard. Made me jump at an unfortunate moment I must admit. So that’s me and nature. I'm a big fan. But not round my bottom please.
Everyone needs. And you have to choose who to give to. Still give this nutter a look. Not because the woodland trust is a good cause (although it is) but because the world needs the odd loon.
So, you've given enough? Now give some more.

eyes right

When flatfish such as plaice are born they are actually fish shaped. Then their left eye (always the left eye apparently)works its way around to the right side of its body and they take to lying on their left side. For some strange reason I felt the need to share this fact with you all.

Eat it.

Eat everything. That’s the rule. Nothing worse than finicky eaters. Just eat it. ...OK, it ought to be food. The human species has been around a long while and if no one else is eating it then its probably a bad idea to put it in your mouth. For instance, those little red frogs that they use to poison the tips of arrows. Don’t eat them. But everything else. Eat it. That’s the rule.
Now here are the exceptions to the rule.
Don’t eat endangered species. No matter how good they taste.
Eating whales is wrong. Even if they are not an endangered species. Its plain wrong. (this rule may also apply to eating humans and elephants. I’ve never had the opportunity so I’m not too sure where I stand on this).
Don’t eat anything who’s production involves excessive cruelty. So, no more veal or goose liver pate damn it. The eggs should be barn or free range. As should the chicken. Now, I’m a bit slack on that last point. I eat KFC (yeah, I know, but sometimes I’m drunk and hungry) and I don’t ask if the chicken had a fun life. And if your going to feed a world population of 11Billion then there is going to be some intensive farming. But if you’re in a supermarket and for a bit extra you can buy the free range meat, buy the free range meat.
Don’t eat anything who’s production/harvest damages the environment, seriously impacts other species, or is unsustainable. This is tough. How can you tell if your cod came from the beautifully managed Icelandic waters or the over fished wasteland of the North Sea? And if you’ve not been told about the eco-damage caused by scallop dredging then your going to love scallops. And I really wish I didn’t know because I love scallops and they are now on my proscribed list. But you can check if it says line-caught on the tuna tin. Try to buy organic, wildlife friendly, fair trade. If you at least appear to make the effort you should be ok come judgement day.
Don’t eat anything your allergic to. Doesn’t apply to me fortunately. But if your allergic to nuts eating nuts is just plain dumb.
Now a couple of additional guidelines. These are optional. You can skip them if you want. (but it means you’re a freak).
Don’t eat stuff you don’t like. This is not food you don’t fancy the look of, or food that other people have told you is vile. Its stuff you’ve tried and think tastes like excrement. For me this includes instant mashed potatoes and Manioc root. It used to include celery, but I can kind of live with that now. Tastes change so re-try stuff every now and then.
Don’t eat stuff that’s still moving. I was going to say still alive but I am partial to oysters (organic, ozone friendly, free range oysters, obviously). But stuff that’s still wriggling around, I just can’t do that.
Avoid cheese. At some point I will blog at length about cheese. Meanwhile, cheese is wrong.
Of course. All this assumes you have the luxury of choosing what you eat. If the option is dying then eat it. Cheesy whale snacks or starvation? Go with the cheesy whale snacks. Although I’m still suggesting you avoid those little red frogs.

So, let me know the most disgusting thing you’ve ever had in your mouth. (not open to ex girlfriends).