A sad day for The Loinsford Academy
Today at 0930 Police Raided the house of Charity Magnate Jerry Loinsford, on suspicion of theft.
Loinsford, 47, founder of the Loinsford Academy has recently been running a campaign to ‘Protect Innocent Vowels being deleted from words’. It seems though that this campaign has not been as selfless as the public were led to believe. Loinsford it seems has become involved with an underground gang, known as the ‘vowlers’, who go around at night intimidating the poor and infirm by singing in a manner similar to this:
“EE-AA-AA-OO-AA-NAMA-EE-AA!”
Police were alerted after Loinsford was seen smuggling donated vowels from his office, in large TESCO ‘Bag for Life’ bags, by Mrs Venuza Medinahats a cleaner in the building opposite the Loinsford Academy.
Police are also trying to trace another member of the gang, known only as ‘Guyverpop’ who is believed to be the ring-leader. The public are urged to contact 0870-BEANZ-MENZ-FARTZ with any information. Loinsford was taken into custody at Felchtown Police station and will be questioned over the next three days.
July 14th, 2006
I like monkeys.
The pet store was selling them for five cents apiece.
I thought this was odd since they are normally a couple thousand apiece.
I decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth, so I bought 200 of them.
I like monkeys.
I took my 200 monkeys home.
I have a big car.
IÂ let one of them drive.
His name was Sigmund.
He was retarded.
In fact, none of them were really bright.
They kept punching themselves in the genitals.
I laughed.
They punched me in the genitals.
I stopped laughing.
When I got home, I herded them into my room.
They didn’t adapt very well to their new environment.
They would screech and hurl themselves off the couch at high speeds and slam into the wall.
Although humorous at first, the spectacle lost its novelty halfway into it’s third hour.
Two hours later I found out why all the monkeys were so inexpensive:
They all died.
No apparent reason.
They all just sort of dropped dead.
Kinda like when you buy a goldfish and it dies five hours later.
God
Damn
Cheap
Monkeys.
I didn’t know what to do.
There were 200 dead monkeys lying all over my room.
On the bed,
In the dresser,
Hanging from my bookcase.
It looked like I had 200 throw rugs.
I tried to flush one down the toilet.
It didn’t work.
It got stuck.
Then I had one dead, wet monkey and one hundred ninety-nine dead, dry monkeys.
I tried to pretend that they were just stuffed animals.
That worked for awhile, that is, until they began to decompose.
It started to smell real bad.
I had to pee but, there was a dead monkey in my toilet and I didn’t want to call a plumber.
I was embarrassed.
I tried to slow down the decomposition by freezing them.
Unfortuantely there was only enough room for two at a time, so I had to change them every 30 seconds.
I also had to eat all the food in the freezer so it didn’t go bad.
I tried to burn them, but little did I know that my bed was flammable.
I had to extinguish the fire.
Then I had one dead, wet monkey in my toilet, two dead, frozen monkeys in my freezer, and one hundred ninety-seven dead, charred monkeys in a pile on my bed and the odor wasn’t improving.
I became agitated at my inability to dispose of the dead monkeys and I really had to use the bathroom.
So I went and severely beat one of the monkeys.
I felt better.
I tried throwing them away, but the garbage man said the city was not allowed to dispose of charred primates.
I told him I had a wet one.
He couldn’t take it either.
I didn’t bother asking about the frozen ones.
I finally arrived at a solution:
I gave them out as Christmas gifts.
My friends didn’t quite know what to say.
They pretended to like them, but I could tell they were lying.
Ingrates.
So I punched them in the genitals.
God, I like monkeys.
June 16th, 2006
This is John.
He is a knitted beaver.
He likes long walks and flogging the poor which he dos with much vigour whenever he can.
Sometimes you’ll see him, sometimes you wont. he’s like that. He’s also strangly brown.
BOW DOWN TO THE KNITTED BEAVER
June 15th, 2006
I groom lovely Poodles,
I groom them all day long,
And when I get really bored,
I groom them in a thong.
Shampoo in the morning
A trim in the by the light of the moon,
But never groom a poodle dear,
On a sunday afternoon.
It makes ’em rather angry,
grooming them pm,
but if you simple must my dear,
Calm them with m&m’s
The chocolate makes them sleepy,
Their eyes do wilt and droop,
But have some plastic bags ready,
For picking up the poop.
There’s nowt like goomin poodles,
Especially PC repair,
I know sod all about that,
But loads on Poodle Hair!
The morale of this tale,
is not for me to say.
But its the end, go on now leave
and shout Hip hip hooray!
June 12th, 2006
As a country we are not known for our fantastic weather, you do not hear the sun drenched chaps of southern france saying “You know what I fed up of the weather round here, lets visit England”, and do you know why? Because our weather sucks.
Now we’ve established that it should be fair to assume that as a nation we should be used to bad weather and especially rain. Lots of rain. It rains lots here (Unless you live down south, hee hee standpipes), its cold and generally not reet gud. Soooo. On to the point. Why… when it rains do England’s roads grind to a horrible depressing standstill??? The reason for this rant as you may have guessed is because i have just been caught in such a situation. This morning it took me 65 minutes, (thats a whole 5 minutes more than an hour!), to make a journey that usually takes 35 minutes. You want to know why? Probably not, but I’m going to tell you anyway… because the people of engalnd inexplicable becoume mushy brained morons at the first sign of moist air. Thats why.
Why do we need flashy signs telling us to do 40 mph on the motorway? Spray? Isn’t that what windscreen wipers are for? or am I being naieve? OK so its not safe to be bombing along at 90 in the wet, cos brakes and grip aren’t as good but 40? On a motorway? And that brings me to another point… why is it that when there is a temporary speed limit in force does there always seem to be someone in front who like to do 10mph LESS than the already unnecessarily low limit, usually a beige volvo being driven by colin with his driving gloves and flat cap on?
I guess what I’m getting at is IF YOU CANT DRIVE IN THE RAIN THEN YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE A DRIVING LICENCE. Why should my journey take me nearly twice as long because you’re scared of getting water on your windscreen. If you MUST drive then use the smaller routes to drive at 4mph not the motorway… Leave that to people who have brains.
ahem.
May 22nd, 2006
Yes my friends today is a very sad day, for it seems that we, or rather I, have lost/deleted/not backed up/misplaced/sold off/prematurely sent to silicone heaven, the old ConstantlyFalling websites. There is a slim chance they may lurk on an old hard drive somewhere, so all hope is not lost. 😀
May 21st, 2006
