Posts filed under 'Quite nice'
A lot of people aren’t old enough now to remember one of the great wars of the last twenty-five years or so. Some still take precident over others and it is because of this phallic and intrinsic obsession with the Middle East that only a few people now can recall the devestating affair that resulted because of the Coca Cola Wars.
Before we start touching that though let us set the scene. It was around the eighties; texts are now few and far between which account for just how it all began. Two drinks industry giants stood tall, dominating the US and indeed most other countries around the world with their carbonated beverages. But then something happened. Mr Coca Cola was sat in his study enjoying the warm summer breeze floating in through the window when, apparently, Mr Pepsi stormed in and cut his head off with a scythe. When Mr Coca Cola’s head was later re-attached at Washington State Hospital he decided that such an unprovoked attack could not be ignored.
Back at his base, Mr Coca Cola organised his troops and sent three of his Coke Ninjas into Pepsi HQ to deliver a message. This message was fatal to anyone who came across it. Luckily nobody actually came across it because they left it in the men’s changing room that nobody used anymore and when it was located it was by a cat who had been trying to take her life. Mr Pepsi immediately identified who the message had come from. It didn’t say anything other than a picture of a smashed bottle. Anyone else would see this as some sort of poetic visual display but Mr Pepsi knew what it meant. It was war.
(the following exert was provided from ‘Suck On This: Coca Cola vs Pepsi (in a war)’ by Blardy Blardy Bloomer)
December 22nd, 2009
I realised that it has been a disgustingly long time since I posted anything to this ‘ere container of mirth. So, riddled with shame, I decided that, like a pheonix from the flames, I would, triumphantly, rise up to the task before me and, once more, become a worthwhile contributor to this hallowed site.
Unfortunately I have nothing of any particular interest or value to add… Oh, except this nice picture what I drew on a pad at work…
We could turn it into a colouring competition if you like. Prizes for the winner.
December 1st, 2009
Good Morning and thank you for staying with us after that particularly foisty advert break.
To further thank you for your allegiance we, the Home Beans Shopping Network, would like to present this one in a lifetime offer to you, the viewers, as in you, not me, the T 4500 Deluxe:
This is for today’s modern parent. Not only does it have unstealable nickel chrome wheels but also lush 50 / 50 wool and velour interiors for that smoother ride. Your baby will have no quarms with entering and riding around this babe magnet. Furthermore after thorough tests it has been confirmed that it can achieve speeds up to 20 mph; that’s 7mph faster than the leading competator.
And that’s not all. This wouldn’t be the 21st century without some pointless mechanical alterations. The T 4500 Deluxe can be controlled remotely with a remote control. What good would that do I hear you ask? Coupled with the fact that it also has its very own camera on the top of the bonnet you can do all your parenting right from your sofa such as:
- Taking baby to the park.
- Visiting friends and family.
- Picking up tabs and cider from the shop down the road.
All these and more can be yours for the taking. This is not available in any shops, at least none that you’d think twice about going in. How much would you pay for this marvel? Two hundred? One fifty? You can if you want to as we are willing to accept higher offers BUT NO. You can buy this sweetened honey for the low low price of one hundred fifteen as well as four weeks of milk vouchers. Yes. We take milk. We’ll take your milk. Oh!
Order now to avoid disappointment!
October 5th, 2009
It’s the discount pebble sale here at Marshall’s World of Pebbles! Come on down to our Discount Pebble Warehouse for some kerr-azy discounts on pebbles at prices you can’t afford to miss!
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Big white pebbles! Ideal for poncey minimalist flats where graphic designers and marketing executives live, with whitewashed floorboards and arty candles and that sort of shite. You might like to get an enormous jar of these pebbles and put it in a corner. Yeah, cos that’ll be individual. £12 a dozen. |
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Little brown pebbles! Super for sprinkling on cakes and other desserts. Or get a whole truck full of them and use them on your driveway, if you want to spend the rest of your life raking the damn things back into place again. Supposedly a good security measure but a shotgun is better and makes less noise. £42 per hundredweight. |
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One huge pebble with swirly bits! Lots of fun for the whole family can be had if your whole family are some sort of mentalists who take pleasure in looking at rocks like this one. If you are then you’ll probably appreciate being able to buy one off us at stupid prices instead of just picking up armloads of them for free at any beach. Just £150 a pop. |
So come on down for all your pebble bargains to Marshall’s World of Pebbles! Carcroft, Thorp Arch and Denby Dale. Offer must end Sunday.
October 4th, 2009
Hello children! It’s time for another brilliant list of all the things that are in close proximity to me!
- fancy new VOIP telephone that doesn’t work very well, and requires you to press “OK” after you dial a number or it won’t do anything.
- 330ml bottle of Tesco apple juice (from concentrate), with about 40% of juice remaining.
- thermal non-spill mug with dregs of coffee in it.
- my portable telephone, currently set to vibrate.
- keyboard, manufactured by HP, with silver strip around the function keys.
- large speaker which is hardwired to Network Ringmain Point 22, so if you switch it on you can hear the Afghan Stream as carried by BBC FM relays in Kabul, Mazar and Herat.
- pair of Canford headphones, level limited to -93dBA, with tangled cable.
- lid of my USB pen drive.
- empty plastic cup.
- grey optical mouse with scroll wheel.
- my hands.
I will be delighted to answer your questions on this subject. Please raise your hand if you wish to make an enquiry.
August 5th, 2009
As handsome a picture as any you’ll see in the calendar this year. I’m very pleased with this – we went to great lengths to get just the right shot and luckily it all paid off.
EEFY McJEEFY knows a few people in the Admiralty, so we got a knock-down rate of £18,000,000 to hire an aircraft carrier for a fortnight. We sailed it out to the Indian Ocean for just the right shade of blue water, then set it off towards the helicopter (which we stole in Madeira) at full speed. EEFY was up in the copter, lining up the shot, and on his signal I did a fabulous pirouette off the far side of the vessel. Dressed in a see-through nightie and the most fabulous string of pearls, the picture captures me in mid flight as I spin gracefully towards the water. The control tower completely obscures any view of me from EEFY McJEEFY’s vantage point.
A beautiful shot of a single moment in time, captured perfectly, I think you’ll agree. It’s definitely one of my favourites.
July 10th, 2009
The horror, the horror…
The village of ‘Sanctuary’ was in a vicious area of the country surrounded by thieves, villains and wolves made of gold. Generally those who visited would only be frightened of the first two as golden wolves are quite heavy and slow-moving. In fact most of them were stolen and now occupy various people’s homes as doorstops and unlikely centrepieces at dinner parties. The thieves and villains were too dumb to work out that selling the wolves made of gold would make them a canny (Geordie!) profit and thus set them up for life. When Stirrup bumped into one of these at a water fountain he was consequently spat on in the most humiliating way possible. The thief in question, Bob, was having a horrible day. After discovering that golden wolves were worth a lot of money and remembering he had sold his for a bag of turnips he cursed everyone that strayed into his path. Stirrup was the fifth person, which was blessing as the other four had been put in hospital. Bob did his spitting and stormed off to look for something to pilfer.
They found Gums propped up at a bar called ‘The Foisty Armpit’. It was hard not to notice a gigantic mouth in an empty drinking establishment but Gums was drunk and making sure everyone, including the worried-looking staff and few stragglers sat outside, knew it. Stirrup heard the horrible things he was saying and cowered in the corner. Nasel could smell the alcohol on his breath and knew how drunk he was. Iris looked at Gums, drooping to one side, struggling to stand up properly, looking as though he needed the most help out of the four of them. She wandered up to his side slowly and looked, reading the words coming from her mouth. She now heard what Stirrup had heard and was appauled. This mouth could certainly speak like the filthiest whores of Droitwich. Using what little powers of persuasion she had, what we may as well call some sort of telepathy because five hundred words in we’re still not any closer to what it might be, Iris tried to reason with Gums. Gums however was having none of it and ordered another whisky and coke.
Just then Nasel ran into the backroom of the bar. Iris hadn’t a clue what was going on but it didn’t take long before she realised. Through the window of ‘The Foisty Armpit’ she could see five small, smartly-dressed individuals smoking cigars and chattering amongst themselves. It was the mafia penguins looking for Nasel. Iris nudged Stirrup into the back with Nasel and there they cowered, wishing for a means of escape and finding none. Willy, the leader of the penguins, stode into the bar and smacked his fist off the bar and gestured for a white wine spritzer. Not your usual mafia drink but really we shouldn’t judge. Gums, so pissed now he couldn’t get off the floor, couldn’t stop talking. He complained about having a hallucination about some facial features harrassing him, asking him to take his trousers off (that bit he made up), and wander into the crowd outside chanting like a monk (he made that bit up too). Willy asked where they were and Gums obliged in helping them.
With a tommy gun pressed against their forehead most people will feel very scared. Iris looked scared. Nasel froze, not wanting to sniff a jot. Stirrup heard the gunshots and was annoyed that he was having the worst time out of the three of them. The mafia penguins marched the trio outside in a cage welded to a carriage and locked them up. Gums grasped the side of the doorway as Willy gave the order and the horses pulled them away. Although he didn’t have any eyes Gums was convinced he could see them all looking as depressed as three people would do in their condition. Perhaps it was the drink talking. It had, after all, convinced him that he could:
A) Climb trees.
B) Cut holes in ice with his tongue.
C) Sing like Mariah Carey.
and now he could see? Utterly ridiculous. The mouth stumbled back into what he called his home, his church and his life and ordered another drink.
June 22nd, 2009
Thrust thrust thrust thrust
Three days later they came across a deserted village covered in the darkest cloud Iris had ever seen. All the houses were empty, abandoned for some time. Most of the buildings were already starting to crumble apart from a church which stood directly in the middle of the village. A terrible noise was coming from it but alas neither of them could hear it. Nasel, however, could smell something close by and it had to be in the church. Iris peered inside. Huge stone walls, empty pews and an altar greeted her presence. She slowly walked in and was met with a strange sight; a pair of ears were hanging from one of the ropes attached to the church bells. It looked as though she had gotten caught up and couldn’t shake herself free. With help from Nasel, Iris managed to climb up and let the ears free. The ears were very grateful. In the same inexplicable way she had managed to communicate with Nasel, Iris convinced Stirrup, the ears, to join their group. Stirrup wiggled in excitement, something that unnerved Iris at first until she realised it was a good thing rather than a seizure. None of them knew first aid, or at least she thought none of them did. It hadn’t come up yet.
The following night Nasel had a vivid dream. In it he was sat in a glossy Las Vegas-esque room full of people gambling and shouting loudly. As the lights dimmed at least twenty-six brazen hussies, wearing skimpy Irish bikini, pranced onstage. It was as unexpected as it was provocative. But he could see! He could see everything for once which was what probably scared him. To be witness to such a sexy show merely confused the young nose and he promptly woke up once he fell off his stool. The stool in the dream. Not a real stool. They were camped in a small opening at this point. Not a stool in sight. He was back in the black again, back in the dark. The smell of bacon streamed up his nostrils much to his delight.
A couple of weeks had passed and Iris had already two new friends. There were only two more directions left to travel and after a tricky game of rock / paper / scissors it was decided they would head South to look for the mouth. Nasel liked this because it rhymed. He would think about that often in his darker moments of which we cannot speak of. Walking together in a group they were beginning to resemble the features of what should be a face. When they came across a passport photo booth they all crammed inside and Iris balanced a banana where the mouth should have been, and it almost, almost looked right. This made Stirrup wiggle with excitement, again, which knocked the booth over and they were asked to leave the post office without further notice.
And so their journey continued.
June 17th, 2009
Read on read on read on read on…
Two days passed without much to note, and so Iris arrived at a bustling town at the edge of the country. People were dashing to and fro hardly noticing each other. The market in the centre of the town was the hub for most of this chaos. Iris looked up to see a huge poster covering a wall which said brought a little spark to her huge eyes. It mentioned a circus that was in town for some festival the town was holding. Among the acts were three sword-spinning lions, five mafia penguins and a giant nose that danced whenever anyone played a tambourine. She immediately ran as fast as she could to the circus, which in fact was a gentle trot when compared to most people; her feet were very small after all. Glancing around the edge of the tent she saw rows and rows of people watching the circus. They clapped and cheered and rose to their feet whenever something amazing happened. It was the mafia penguins that got the more admiration; isn’t that always the case though?
The nose had already finished by the time Iris had arrived so she waited until the show was over and snuck backstage. There, sat on a small stool with a moistened towel over its bridge, was the nose looking slight dishevelled. Iris approached with caution but could see there was no danger. Her immediate concern was in startling the poor thing and being sucked up into one of its gigantic nostrils never to return. The nose couldn’t see her but could smell something amiss, something new in the area and it gestured in Iris’ general direction. How she managed to explain her story to him we can only imagine. Why the nose gave up his life in show business is a lot easier. He was bored, depressed and in need of some excitement. Iris promised that they would be better off together, in a platonic sense, and so under cover of darkness they left the town and started to head east.
Along the way there were many confusions. Sometimes Iris would sit on top of the nose to pretend that they were part of the same face, in the hope that it would allow the nose to see but unfortunately it didn’t work. The nose was called Nasel but he couldn’t tell Iris and Iris couldn’t ask let alone hear so she thought of him as ‘the nose’ and he thought of her as ‘thing that smells like makeup’. On those long days of walking in silence Nasel would walk in front and if he was about to stray from the path Iris would nudge him in the back to ensure their journey could continue. One time they were confronted by an angry group of squirrels who wanted to keep them both as pets and perhaps make a little money on the side. Iris fluttered her eyelashes under Nasel who in turn sneezed, blowing all the squirrels into a conveniently-placed deep hole. Try as they might the squirrels could not escape and so the two friends continued.
June 16th, 2009
Here’s one in the eye for all those literary buffs who think that we’re all about nonsensical futile discussions about chagrins and stuff. This here represents the highest point in modern fiction. Thanks to the remenants of Chris Industries we managed to secure the rights to publish the debut story by Byzantium Terror, a whiper snapper of unbelievable proportions.
Read the first part and loathe yourself.
Pet away! Pet away!
Once upon a time in a far distant kingdom there was a young girl called Iris. Iris was not what usually constituted a young girl because really she was just a pair of eyes and no other features. No nose to smell the sweet smells of spring, no mouth to taste the wonderful culinary delights of Senor Sauce, no ears to hear the music that swept through the valley. She was a pair of eyes, oh, and a small pair of feet to help her get about. When you’re only a pair of eyes with a tiny pair of feet your life is pretty limited to walking about and looking at things which is what Iris would do every single day of her life. Don’t get me wrong, she saw some wonderful things during her lifetime in Soreen Sity but it all came down to the fact that she lacked the other parts of her that everyone else seemed to have. So it came about that after ten years of living in this state that, sat on the top of the hill overlooking her village, she decided to leave. There were tales written that in the far off regions of the country there were others held in a similar state such as her; a nose to the north, some ears to the east, a mouth to the south and a face in the west. With nothing keeping her where she lived Iris left one warm summer morning and started in the direction north hoping to find something if not hope for her condition.
A couple of miles from her quaint cottage she came across a bridge that swayed back and forth in the light breeze. There was a problem though; the middle part of the bridge was missing! She was glad she had seen such an obvious error and sat back to wonder how to deal with it. For once she was quite relieved to have huge, looming eyes as otherwise she would have walked to her death. There’s no telling how delicate a sole pair of eyes is and how much damage they could take from a 10ft drop into a mildly lukewarm trickle of water. Just then a parade of travelling musicians came up behind her. They were playing the best jazz-fusion the world had ever heard; only the only person within five miles of this place was Iris who was unable to hear it. She could see them wandering towards the bridge so caught up in their music. A disaster was on the horizon. As fast as her little legs could carry her she ran at the troop hoping to prevent them from a fall but with no mouth to warn of the impending doom she was powerless. Over they went, still playing their provocative jazz as they fell through the air into the slow-moving stream below. Iris felt a pang of sadness at knowing their fate but luckily because the water was shallow they succeeded in making it to the lower bank on the other side albeit instrument slightly wetted. She saw it all. The musicians waved back at her with great cheer and admiration for such a lovely pair of eyes. Had she the power of hearing she would have heard a wolf whistle or two along with some racy remarks to make even the most heavy-hearted of people blush into the deepest shade of red.
CONTINUES TOMORROW
June 15th, 2009
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