Posts filed under 'Loins'
Is this you?
Do you do this a lot? Do you wish that you didn’t do this a lot?
You are a Drophead and you cannot help it. This is a common problem amongst a lot of the population in that you forget to look up. Looking up isn’t hard but the cognitive reflexes required to do so become tired and worn out over a period of years and if not treated will cause problems.
We can help.
Professor Drophead has been dealing with cases of Dropheads for the last ten years. In every single case he has managed to turn that person’s life around. With a proven track record you can assure yourself that you are in safe hands. Courses are now taking place in your area. If you want to take control then call us now.
“Looking up is just the beginning” – Professor John Drophead
November 25th, 2011
‘There was a cowboy who lived a long way from home,
He went to a sausage bar but there was nothing there
So he went to another bar
There was no beer but have no fear
He lived in an old abandoned house and was so very old
And he lived so wiseley he never went out
And then he died
‘Cos he had no fooooooooood!’
October 28th, 2011
Scratch that! Des is back, and she’s not going to drive you home because you drank too many bottles of Slate. She’s back with a renewed sense of idealism and a new contract, new parking space and a new apron. Yazz’s Help ‘Em All Hotline will continue taking calls for the moment however for now let us delve into the wonderful melee of hindrances and ailments plaguing the general public.
Let’s meet H-Hog D-Lemma. Then let’s meet Bobby Patches, who’s the one we should be speaking to:
Bobby Patches: Dear Des’ree, I live on a street with many competative people. All they ever seem to do is try to get one up on another and it’s doing my head in. So much so that I’ve decided to join in. I want to try and make my car the fastest but it’s only got a two litre engine. I bought it for £500.00 from Wench Iser, a local crook on the deadpan pony circuit, and it’s a good all rounder don’t get me wrong. Part of me wants to rev the shit out of everything though. I heard a rumour that the more spoilers you have on your car the faster it goes; is this true? Is there anything else I can do to crush those at my feet?
Des’ree: Life, oh life, oh life, oh life.
Helping others really gives me a good vibe you couldn’t knock with a baseball bat made of purest venom. It helps to feel this way during the cold months as otherwise we’d all be dry husks living on rusks waiting for dusk. Saliva has so many qualities does it? Pull the other one. Until next time everybody.
October 27th, 2011
So, you’re struggling a bit for money at the moment. It’s Christmas shortly, in a couple of months, everyone is vying for your money. Your hard-earned pennies aren’t going to cut it and when you look in the mirror all you can see is stress lines from the constant pressure. It does make you wonder why people do this to themselves year after year. What on earth could you do to make ends meet?
You could record a pop song! It doesn’t even necessarily have to be one for Christmas because from now until the end of time there will be either an X Factor-ite clogging up the charts with some dodgy cover or anti X Factor block party. What you need is something catchy yet generic that once it has outstayed its welcome can be used on countless amounts of radio jingles and television advertisements.
Do you think the Beach Boys were looking to sell small cheeses when they were singing Barbara Ann? That Glen Campbell was hoping that, years later, a bank would poach his song and change the lyrics to something savings accounts? No! Some are unfortunate, most are just plain wrong. If your song has a plain chorus or title like ‘I Want It All’ by Queen or ‘Just What I Always Wanted’ by Mari Wilson then obviously some advertising cohort is going to find and destroy your song for their own benefits.
Still, your benefits will be money lining your pocket, no matter what your voice and tune have been set against. This is where the poor line starts; do you want to join the back? Quick, think of something that you know people will need or that they say often and then draft a little cheeky something or other. Add percussion, piano and maybe some bass and watch as the cash rolls in.
I am off to write my song ‘Give Me Your Number’ which I’m hoping will be used to advertise both dating websites and even the police service. Watch this space.
October 19th, 2011
Less than five days and I find this lying on my bed…
Dear Mr McIver
Thank you for your kind remarks regarding Weetabix & Ready brek.
Your comments really are the best endorsement we could have (did they actually read my letter?). Naturally, we would say how good our products are but to have that belief confirmed by a satisfied customer is most gratifying. We will keep up the good work!
Once again, many thanks for taking the trouble to contact us. It was great to hear from you. Please accept the enclosed (1 x £1.00 voucher), sent with our compliments.
Yours sincerely
Weetabix Food Co
The quick response time is very impressive. The comments seemed sincere and connected to what I sent to them, even though they didn’t really make light of the overall strangeness and my relationship with Mr R Brek. He won’t be happy when I break the news to him on Monday. Still, a thoroughly positive result.
If only I could have a camel that fired lasers.
September 24th, 2011
This month Des’ree unfortunately has taken a turn for the worst. Yes, she is involved in yet another law suit with another artist sampling her music without asking for permission. It’s just not on and so, in her absence, we must turn to her stand-up on occasions such as these.
Ladies and gentlemen allow me to introduce chart-topping eighties starlet, Yazz! I don’t need to go on about how amazing she is because unless you’ve removed your ears you will already know so without further ago let’s listen in on the Yazz Help-’em’all Hotline:
Caller #370: Hi Yazz, big fan of yours. I was looking for a little advice if it’s not too much trouble. I love to bake and when I’m not cleaning chimneys or dusting wildlife I’ll do a little mix and a stir and whip up a batch of lemon merangue pies. The only problem is my oven; it’s decades old and takes forever to cook anything. I once had a pineapple upside-down cake that took three years to bake properly. Right now I have some cookies in and they’ve already been in for thirty minutes. What do you think I should do?
Yazz: (Hold on) Hold on (Hold on) Hold on (Hold on) oooooooooooooooooo, (Hold on) Hold on (Hold on) It’s won’t be loooooooooooooong yeah!
Caller #370: Oh that’s excellent. Thanks Yazz!
Helping others can be beneficial for yourself and for others around you, especially if you punch people in the face when you’re in a bad mood. So order up a fresh round of sneezes and keep those calls coming in.
September 21st, 2011
Once upon a time two rising owl pop stars, Michael Owl and Owla Jackson, were driving in their tour bus around West Yorkshire. They had just finished a few dates in and around Manchester and they steadily found themselves approaching Pontefract, where nary a soul was located. It was quite dark now because people who aren’t famous have to utilise the dark. The driver of the small van stopped because the fog that was gathering was getting too thick and anyway they needed some more petrol. He upped and left poor Michael and Owla in the disturbing, creepy street surrounded by danger.
“Get out and have a look will you,” said Michael, now realising his sentence was actually a question, “there must be somewhere we can go for a drink or something around here.” Owla, still dressed in the clothes from the night before but still looking stunning hooted, “I will do Michael but only if you tell me if there is anything fishy going on outside that I can see.” So Owla climbed down from the van and slowly walked around. Her tiny torch barely lit further than her wingspan. Just then a terribly loud noise was heard; thankfully it was just Michael tapping on the window. “Can you get me a Twix if you find a corner shop, cheers,” he whistled through the small crack in the door.
Suddenly another terribly loud noise was heard and this time not from the van. The fog parted a little and Owla could see an army of zombies parading through the streets of Pontefract. She ran back to the bus but Michael wouldn’t let her on. “Let me in you dick,” she screamed frantically trying to barge her way in. “Not without my Twix you’re not, you think I like this taste in my mouth?” With no other options Owla ran into the forest that was conveniently placed on the side of the road. Inside she felt slightly more protected but it was only a matter of time before the zombies approached. They could smell her fear and the pancakes she had eaten for lunch. The trees seemed to be suffocating her, drawing life from her, she wanted to run yet she couldn’t. On the verge of fainting Owla was drawn towards the peculiar sight of a medium-sized unicorn riding towards her. She thought it was a the oxygen being cut off from her brain; she was wrong.
“Owla Jackson! Well I never, fancy seeing you here,” said the unicorn, “I am your biggest fan did you know that?” Owla dusted herself down as the unicorn had brought a surprising amount of powered soil to that particular section of the woods. “My name is Uni. I came out because I heard the zombies were out showing off again.”
“You know about the zombies? Please, you have to tell me how to defeat them,” spluttered Owla. The unicorn took a short breath looking a little nervous. She coughed and shuffled backwards. “I do know of a way to beat them and I can help you, especially considering you’re a celebrity and all that. It’s a secret though and you have to promise you’ll keep it to yourself.”
“Of course I will,” said Owla, fully intending to keep the information to herself and only using it when necessary. “Zombies loves techno music, so much so that if you play it to them they cannot help but dance and then bugger off home. It’s great. That’s how I usually clear the area.” Owla smiled a huge smile and hugged the unicorn, to which she blushed. This was hidden beneath the layers of dense mist and acorns of black. They looked at each other with a sense of purpose and walked back towards the street.
The zombies hadn’t shuffled much from where they were. Owla turned to the unicorn, “okay, you’re on, but if you need any help you just let me know.” The unicorn nodded and whipped out her microphone and decks. “Okay now it’s time for a Pontefract party, we’re living it up like homeless kitties in a pasteurising plant. Can you hear me over in the corner!” The zombies stopped momentarily and groaned. “I’ll take that as a yes… HIT IT!” The unicorn then launched into the most mesmerising song that Owla had ever heard. Michael Owl, still hiding in the van, pressed his face to the windscreen as the music lifted through the air and cherished every moment.
“OWLA OWLA! OWLA OWLA! OWLA OWLA! OWLA OWLA!”
The song lasted an hour. After sixty minutes there was a pause, and Owla walked over to the unicorn. “Are you okay unicorn, it’s just that you’ve been working for a long time and…
“OWLA OWLA! OWLA OWLA! OWLA OWLA! OWLA OWLA!”
Another hour passed. Owla Jackson sat on the kerb and chewed the inside of her mouth. Another pause came after the second set of sixty minutes. Owla wasn’t taken in and refused to go over but then, seeing that this actually might be the end of the song, got up and…
“OWLA OWLA! OWLA OWLA! OWLA OWLA! OWLA OWLA!”
After three hours the zombies had pulled so many shapes that they were tired and needed to go home for a nap. Owla stood up and hobbled over to the unicorn also feeling very sluggish. “Are you okay unicorn?” she asked half-asleep. The unicorn stared back with intense eyes, “that was the best moment of my life, Owla Jackson!” Deep down Owla was thinking that the best moment of the unicorn’s life was way, way longer than a moment however these semantics could wait. The unicorn was happy, the zombies had dispersed and just that moment the driver of the van came back clutching a thing full of petrol.
Owla gave the unicorn a signed photo as a thank you for her gracious act. “What time are you playing tonight?” asked the unicorn. “I think we’re on at 7pm and I hope that I will see you there,” said Owla with a wink. The unicorn laughed heartily like a pirate and ran off into the forest. Owla headed back and sat in the van next to Michael, who had fallen asleep after the first hour of the unicorn’s song. “What should we do now, Owla?” he asked. Owla thought long and hard and as the van drove away she said, “we should drive away in the van.”
The End.
August 7th, 2011
Dear Mr Mclever
Letters of praise are always good to receive, so thank you for taking the time to let us know how much you enjoyed Terrys Chocolate Orange.
We do our best to maintain a consistently high quality for all our products and it’s great to receive such appreciative comments about them.
Thanks again for writing.
Kraft Foods
So let’s review: they got my name wrong, it took about two weeks to reply and they didn’t really address the questions I asked. I am not in this for material gain and the absence of any vouchers etc does not come into it. Sigh, I am sorry Kraft but despite your enthusiastic response you shoot straight to number 5 in the chart.
Where will we go next? Pass me a map and several pins.
July 15th, 2011
This month Des’ree turns her attention to another desperate and unfufilled barney. We are sorry for the absence of her presence the previous months but there was a few legal issues we were ironing out. She’s back mind, with a grin and a shaky hand. This time Sheila Penzance needs her ivories tinkling:
Sheila Penzance: Dear Des’ree, I know that you are a woman of the world so I know I can come to you with whatever batzoid mental query I might have. I was going to say that you’ve been around the houses however that’s too much of a cliche. Let’s be blunt; I am sexually aroused by sewers. Ever since I was a teenager I couldn’t help but feel a tingle in my tringle when walking past a manhole (how ironic a name). Now, aged 35, it hasn’t gone away. It got so bad once when stood at a bus stop, and the bus was delayed by thirty minutes, and I was right next to a sewer grate, and I felt hot and my heart was racing and… I won’t go into too much detail. Can you please help me to sort my head out? I told a priest at confession one time and they were still laughing a week later. I am a mess and only you can help.
Des’ree: Life, oh life, oh life, oh life.
Helping others really gives me a good vibe you couldn’t dent with a two by four. We are glad to hear from you Ms Penzance; hopefully you are on the swooping path of normality.
And for the love of kolobok, if anyone tries to tell you that Buddy Holly wasn’t born in Lubbock, Texas pock them in the eyes with a fishfinger.
July 8th, 2011
You know I haven’t really been here for a while. I think its twitter’s fault. Before twitter my random outpourings had nowhere to go but facebook, (and I’ve never really liked facebook. To me it was just the thing that filled the gap between myspace and what I now know to be twitter) so they ended up on here.
Dont get me wrong, I’m by no means a prolific twitterer, but when i think of odd little things, they’re seldom worth more that 140 characters anyway. I’m not the sort of person who writes blogs. I’ve just not got much to write. I live a fairly mundane (but very happy) life, nobody wants to read about that, and even less people want to read about what I did with a stubborn server this afternoon.
I’m not really sure where I’m going with this, but its the nearest thing to a blog post Ive written in a long time, so just… well… erm. Yeah.
You see.
July 5th, 2011
Previous Posts