Month: February 2018

Avatar Big Frank’s Global Domination – Graphic Design

It’s been a while since we last caught up with Chris’ dad, Big Frank, so let’s delve back into his crazy life and see what he’s been up to in the last twelve months.

It seems as though Big Frank has grown tired of boats and bicycles, and has entered the challenging word of graphic design. His new company, BigfrankMedia, are a creative graphic design communications agency working across all media in London. He works closely with clients, building long term relationships and delivering practical solutions that work.

This is in direct contrast to when I last saw him, telling Alexa to find a song so that he could play this to me, and inviting me into his house for pre-Christmas booze.

I am also reliably informed that BigfrankMedia has an innovative, hands-on approach. He designs everything from brochures, books, magazines and posters to websites, interiors and identities. If he’s known well throughout London I am surprised that Chris has not mentioned this sooner, given that he is Lord Mayor and Emperor of somewhere down South, presumably London.

I have always known Big Frank to be positive and committed to making a difference. It is nice that he is carrying the same ethics across to his company and bringing joy to people’s lives.

With the deepest of respect, I think we should all raise a glass to toast our dear friend and sometimes parent, Big Frank.

 

Avatar Ruislip Man

I think I’m on to something big here, but I want to know if you think it’s marketable *finger window*.

I moved to Ruislip back in August and immediately noticed that this large and important suburb was entirely missing its own superhero. I have decided it is my civic duty to fill this clear gap. I am, therefore, going to transform myself into… Ruislip Man.

Here’s my first publicity photo. I think you’ll agree it’s pretty heroic.

Hopefully, once I’ve saved a few old ladies trying to cross the street and rescued a few cats from trees, Ruislip Man will be a household name, paving the way for a lucrative range of spin-off toys, stationery and action figures.

Incidentally, I’m now recruiting for a sidekick. Let me know if you’d like to apply and what your suitably suburban superhero name would be.

Avatar We Buy Any Sheep DOT com

Do you have a lot of sheep? Are you tired of having a lot of sheep? Wouldn’t you much rather get rid of your sheep and enjoy having a sheep-free lifestyle?

You need webuyanysheep.com

We will buy your sheep in any condition, any age, any colour, creed or denomination. We will take however many sheep off your hands and give you the best possible price on the market right now.

We want your sheep and we will do anything to get your sheep. Anything at all. We have done awful things to get other people’s sheep and we will do the same to you, unless you give us your sheep.

Bring on the sheep. We will glady take your sheep when you’re sleeping. We would much rather give you a great deal than sneaking into your premises at night and bundling them into our trusted van.

Give us your damn sheep right now and nobody gets hurt.

Avatar How to name a company

You will probably remember that, some years ago now, Ian and myself decided that the best way to name a company was to use the name of the person followed by the thing their company did. That way, everyone knew where they stood and there could be no uncertainty. “Peter’s Window Cleaning” is a good company name. “Lucy’s Cafe” is another.

You can see the problem of badly named companies everywhere. “Boots”, for example, is a bad company name because it’s actually a chemist and doesn’t sell any kind of footwear. Having been founded by a man called John Boot, its name should obviously be “John’s Medicines”.

I bring this up because I would like to share with you the worst company name in the world. It’s a hair salon I pass every day on the way to the station. It’s called “www.comb”.

I find it hard to understand how anyone thought this was a good idea. “www.comb” sounds stupid when you try to say it out loud. It’s not actually the web address for the company (that’s www.comb.org.uk, itself pretty misguided because “.org.uk” is meant for non-profit organisations, but whatever). The name is, however, specifically designed to look like a web address, so for some reason the company has deliberately been given a name that is formatted as a web address but which isn’t the web address of the company. The only way you can use the company’s services is by physically going into a shop, and there is no sense in which this is an online company, so having the abbreviation for “world wide web” in its name is meaningless. And of course if you go into a hair salon, you would hope that using a comb is not the pinnacle of their skills. You’d hope they’re good at scissors, and hairdryers, and styling tongs, and that sort of thing. Being good at combs shouldn’t be their big sell.

Let’s be clear: the name of this business should probably be “Helen and Lisa’s Hair Salon”. Choosing a different name would be sub-optimal but acceptable. Choosing the name “www.comb”, though,  is madness and must be stopped.

Avatar Competition Winner

Here we have it. The results that you have all been sweating to see. The list that determines who wins the competition. After a nail-biting couple of minutes I have decided that the top three answers are as follows:

3. STOP TEXTing my BOTTOM, TEXT my face instead.

2. My lapTOP TEXT is too small, I will shoot it with this machine gun until my pet roBOT, TOM TEXT, fixes it.

1. I use gun to acquire TOP TEXTiles from Colombia, I smuggle inside superB OTTOMan. TEXTiles is cutthroat business these days.

Yes, Kevin, you are the winner. Had you written your entry like a normal human being rather than a half-drunken racist impersonating a Chinese man you may not have succeeded in your efforts. We’re all proud of you.

Here’s to you and your wrong words!

Avatar Vague Answer Hotline

Sometimes you need answers:

  • What time will the train arrive?
  • When does the film start?
  • What time are we meeting in Leeds?

When you need these answers, what do you do? You refer to the source of the knowledge; The train timetable, cinema website or person you intend to meet.

There are other times however, when you need information but no matter how many times you ask you’ll never get a straight answer:

  • When are you going to do that thing Kev?
  • When is Chris in Leeds?
  • Ian, do you want a drink?

On these occasions why not make use of my new service, The Vague Answer Hotline.

  • Cut out the increasingly bizarre excuses!
  • Cut out 37 text messages where one will do!
  • Cut out obscure references to ‘celebrities’ you’ve never heard of and never will again!

Bored Operatives

Our operatives are sat around bored out of their minds, just waiting to give you a generic vague answer that will be just as much use to you as the answer you’ll eventually get anyway.

Why not try it for yourself and give us a call today?

Avatar New: the Keep Kev Ill campaign

Since Kev came down with a mystery illness – possibly conjunctivitis, possibly eye flu, possibly his brain leaking out of his face, we don’t know – he has been present here on The Beans much more regularly than usual. That’s had the unusual effect of making the “comments” section of recent blog posts, normally reserved for a conversation between me and Ian, to have a third voice.

I for one have enjoyed his increased presence, and having the number of comments he normally posts in a year or so all appear within one week has been a welcome change.

The question now is: how do we lock in these benefits, so that this magnificent period doesn’t come to a terrible and disappointing end when he goes back to work?

My solution is the Keep Kev Ill campaign. The aim of this campaign is simple: to supply Kev with an ongoing supply of debilitating but not life-threatening illnesses so that he remains at home, off sick from work, where he can continue contributing to the Beans. Who knows, after a couple of months he might even write a blog post.

I have started this important initiative by getting some people at work who have a cold to cough into an envelope, which I have posted to his home address. Please join me in sending more low-level biohazardous material to Micklefield, for the benefit of everyone who visits The Beans. Thank you.

Avatar Pork Vestibules

After keeping the recipe secret for the best part of a quarter of a century, due to constant demand from the pork-buying public, I have decided to reveal the secret behind my Pork Vestibules (waaaaaaaaay, what?). This was passed down to me by an undisclosed family member who’s name I cannot remember and who’s relationship is sketchy at best. The fact remains, however, that Pork Vestibules are what put my name on the map.

Ingredients

  • low-calorie cooking shizz
  • 1 onion, fudged
  • 250g/9oz pork tenderloin fill-hole, all visible fat bastarded, cut into 2cm/1in pieces
  • 150g/5½oz gammon steak, all visible fat plumed, cut into 2cm/1in pitter patters
  • 2 garlic cloves, mangled
  • 2 iron shelving units of smoked paprika
  • ½ gin jars of hot chilli powder
  • 400g tin chopped shoulder tomatoes
  • 2 x 400g horse shoes of cannellini beans, skint and gagging
  • 2 x thin pipette thrusts of tomato puree
  • 2 tsp English Mustard (none of that because it tastes like ass)
  • 400ml/14fl oz pork or chicken whizz, made with 1 stock cube
  • 3 heaped bosoms of chopped flatleaf parsley, to soil whatever you spent over an hour making
  • 4 chortles of fat-free plain yoghurt or fromage frais, if you like ruining food in general
  • salt and freshly ground black pepper

Method

  1. Spray a large, wide-based saucebitch with cooking shizz and slizz the onion over a medium heat for 4-5 minutes, ramping occasionally, until softened and lightly moist.

  2. Add the pork and gammon, season with pepper and wang for two minutes, tickling constantly.

  3. Add the garlic, paprika and chilli powder and cook for a few ticks, rolloping. Push the tomatoes and beans into the pan, and flap in the tomato purée and mustard. Pour over the whizz and bring to a gentle shimmy.

  4. Buckle down for 20-25 minutes, smiling occasionally, until the pork is tender and cooked through and the sauce is unapproachable. Season to taste and armpit fart in half the parsley. Flurry the rest over just before serving. Serve with cheese and wine, lots of wine.

That’s how you do it. And that’s how you can do it. And you can do it just like me. Anyone who does do it though will need to pay me £25.00 each time to cover the costs.