I’ve been thieving, burgling and extorting my workplace again. As it’s my last day here before starting my new job on Monday I’ve really gone to town with my criminal activity.
I have stolen these two images:
 A strand of DNA, and
 Liebstadt power station in Germany.
I have also pocketed a little mat to put your mug on which says Without a British Telecom Radiopager, you’re just not there. This is futuristic. Woo!
11 comments August 31st, 2006
1. Some jiggy shit (in that what constitutes music for the under twelves i.e. shit that jigs).
2. Some weird, flashy video with a threadbare plot.
3. Minimal clothing.
4. The fit one at the front.
I don’t mind the last two it’s just the first two that annoy me. They did that drippy ballad after the first one but since then it’s all, to quote myself, “jiggy shit”. What’s their new single, ‘I don’t need a man’ or something like that? Well if you don’t then why are you dressed in what would pass as a small teatowel? To impress the lesbians? I think not.
*thinks: just as long as the fit one’s at the front*
6 comments August 31st, 2006
*Removes the image of Marshall in suspenders from his head and continues writing/typing*
I would love to say that they were eaten and torn apart by the mysterious monsters but I don’t even think that I’m that cruel. Tyres kind. Footsteps rattle on the hard road surface. Four characters let what seems like a thousand bullets from their AK47’s, turning the army into a bloody mess in seconds. “Who are you,” commanded Wobbly Dog, “and what are these things?”
“We’re racist, jive-talking vampire ninja bunnies!” gloated the tallest, letting a hail of bullets stream into the sky never to return. “Are you kidding me?” shouted Wobby rubbing his eyes in disbelief. They were the unlikliest of heroes being that they clearly were chasing too many bandwagons with hobbies such as theirs. Everything that could go wrong was pretty much going wrong, like a prequel to Star Wars. Wobbly and Kitty were bundled into the back of the vigilantes’ jeep and off they sped. Like a panda on heat. “So let me get this straight,” rationalised Kitty, her eyes twinkling in the limited light, “you are a bunch of vigilantes who also happen to be vampire ninja bunnies?” They all turned around to meet her feline gaze. The one in the passenger seat spoke, “Hi I’m Mark, and don’t forget the jive-talking racist part. We love being racist…”
“…and jive-talking, it’s great,” said the driver who swerved past a raccoon in the middle of the road. Wobbly stood up. “So what were those things back there?” The driver spoke again, in a cool, calming voice, “they’re meteorites, exposed to salt and toxic waste. Sort of it Superman decided to give up flying and walk around in tatty clothes instead. It’d be the same sort of situation I think.”
“I think too,” said the ninja next to Kitty. “I most heartedly agree,” said Mark in the front seat. “Superman wasn’t a meteorite,” butted in Kitty, but her valid point was lost in the madness. “Anyway we’ve been fighting them for a million…”
“One million two hundred,” said Mark
“One million two hundred years,” continued the driver, “They never seem to go away. There’s like an inexplicable unlimited supply of them.”
The jeep reached its destination and everyone got out.Their headquarters was a disused community drama group building, the dusty costumes still hanging on their pegs waiting for the owners to return. A hug statue stood in the middle of the stage. “Looks like Lionel Blair,” whispered Wobbly as they were pushed into the centre of the room. “What do you want with us?” demanded Kitty, “are we prisoners or companions?” Mark looked at the others and turned back to his audience. “You’re our audience! We’ve been working on this little number for three years. Do you wanna hear it?” Wobbly and Kitty looked at each other, unsure as how to handle the situation. Before they’d even had a chance to say anything Mark shunted her away with, “okay let’s go!” The members of the racist jive-talking vampire ninja bunnies lined up and put huge smiles on their faces. A song ensued:
“We’re green, like the grass,
 We’re red, like the sun.
 We’re yellow like butter,
 But blue cos no-one,
 Loves us like purple,
 Set in our ways,
 Treats us like ladies,
 When we eat nobody pays.
 Dainty hankies in our pockets,
 Ready to dab away those crumbs.
 A package of lovliness,
 Monsters are no fun.
 Oh we might sound like meanies,
 We all hate the fallen,
 Being racist means acting like
 Hitler and Stalin…”
“Where’d they leave the keys?” asked Wobbly. “I already stole them from the first idiot,” murumured Kitty. With the haste of two figments of my imagination they made a dash for the jeep, slammed the doors shut, stuck on the radio and zoomed off. Kitty did the pedals. Wobbly used the steering wheel. Kitty turned the radio off when Barry Manilow appeared. With all their might they navigated out of the bitter back streets to the main road and using Wobbly’s keen sense of smell they drove hundreds of miles, down wrong ways and right ways past huge windows and pounting gays back to their house. It was almost light when they parked. “I need a drink, this night was f*cking sh*t” said Kitty. Wobbly looked at her not understanding what she had said. “What did you just say Kitty?” asked Wobbly. Kitty looked shifty with her eyes but shrugged and said, “I’m so glad to be home, I want to snuggle wuggle on the mat by the fire so I can rest my tired bones.” Wobbly smiled. They closed the door in joy.
4 comments August 30th, 2006
The streets were lined with smut and filth as far as the eye could see. Everywhere you looked was a junkie looking for a fix or stray girls of the night slinking into darkened cars. There’s no light here. No joy and no pain, only a desire to escape.
Two shadows cast along walls, darting between the streetlamps hoping to stay a secret. “How long have we been walking?” asked Kitty, her eyes awake to take in any hint of danger. Her companion, ears to the sky, murmurs a response, “it’s been a few hours, we have to keep going.” They exchange glances and then continue moving. Wobbly edges then continue moving. Wobbly edges around another corner and gestures to follow.
The streets in this part of town are practically deserted which unnerves both cat and dog. A thin stream of rain starts pattering on the secluded cars and sheltering under a bus stop both Kitty and Wobbly catch their breaths. “I wish we’d gotten the last bus now,” whispered Kitty, desperate not to make a sound. “No point in thinking about that now. We’ll get through this as long as we stick together.”
A pair of headlights appear at the end of the street. “Quick this way!” ushered Wobbly as they fled down a back alley. It feels smaller and smaller the further they venture into it. “Who would have thought eh…” said Kitty. Suddenly a figure emerged from underneath two dustbins, his arms held aloft. Wobbly darts forward but loses his balance and instead of pounding into his target his buckled legs send him careering into the tarmac. “Ow! Dammit!” he said standing up again and using a stray piece of wood to deck the stranger in the kneecaps. “Run Kitty, run!” he shouts but she isn’t quick enough to react. Frozen with fear she stares into the eyes of the madman. Red and fiery, barely human and pulsing like heated oranges. Wobbly ran grabbing her roughly between his teeth and away to the even darker recesses. They turn a corner and two more appear. Their numbers command authority and they don’t appear to respond to reason. “What is this, a tag team?” said Wobbly Dog, stealing a line from Die Hard II: Die Harder. His keen sense of smell was going mental. Seeing a gap the two heroes run between the monsters’ legs and back ont hte streets. How nameless and alone they feel. How piercing does the cold feel standing naked now amongst a whole army of freaks. “What is this, the freakin’ video for ‘Thriller’?” spat Kitty, clearly trying to sound urban but pulling it off with as much success as Oscar Wild in World’s Strongest Man. They cower in fear awaiting their fate like one a cardboard dog and a cat-shaped cushion can…
WHAT WILL HAPPEN? STAY TUNED…. I’ve written the other bit don’t worry, just my lunch break is ending now 😛
4 comments August 29th, 2006
Its rant time again!….
Last week we recieved through the post “The Big Book of Christmas”. Fine you may think, but you’d be as wrong as Pete Doherty….
Of Course your wrong and do you know why? BECAUSE IT’S AUGUST! Now unless the Churches all got together and had a meeting they didnt tell us about at which they decided that christmas is now to be held at the end of september, then Christmas is 4 MONTHS away.
Now I don’t know about you, but I dont want to think about Christmas in August, It’s sunny outside and i can still see at 10pm. Christmas is something that happens in cold wet miserable winter and is exciting because its all the things winter isn’t:
1. Exciting
2. Fun
3. Bright and
4. Colourful
There too much in my life going on now to worry about things 4 months off. I don’t start thinking about my birthday (in July) at the start of April, that would be stupid. So why? WHY? do they feel the need to shove Christmas down our throats in August?
By the time we actually get to the “magical” day of December 25th we’ve all spent 4 months listening to Jingle Bells in TESCO and I for one am bored to death of the sight of green and red, fake snow and reindeers.
SO….. Join my campaign now.
KEEP CHRISTMAS IN DECEMBER!
Thank you
That is all.
7 comments August 29th, 2006
I get bored very easily. And when i get bored i tend to drift off the plo……. Sorry, so Chickens eh? Gotta love em. Where would Coln. Sanders be without em? I’ll tell ya, hed be a booze hound in Texas, dancing for pennies.
The top of this post says bored so there was a reason for it im sure…..
Oh yeah, I searched for boring and found THIS article, which is both about and also boring.
So there.
2 comments August 28th, 2006
Read the first tri-monthly site progress report, produced by the Pouring Beans Administrative Committee’s Progress and Reporting Sub-Committee. Please sign your copy in triplicate and return the green copy to be date stamped. Retain the yellow copy for your own records.
Continue Reading 7 comments August 26th, 2006
This is boring. Katie Melua is so boring that she doesn’t even deserve to be called ‘she’ anymore. Therefore she will be referred to as ‘it’ because it’s that boring. Look at it, even it looks half-bored in this picture as it blands out another blandy ballad about bicycles and trains and crazies. You can see the intensity in its face, trying to muster all the bland in the world so it can toss off another ten songs and stick them out on a cd.
Although if you think it’s bad think how being Norah Jones must be like…
 
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4 comments August 26th, 2006
I’m at work but only 7 people are in the office out of the usual 14. Plus nobody is phoning, nobody is emailing and nobody has any work for me to do. I am so bored.
As a result of this, I am sitting here writing this. I have decided to look up BORING on Google Images and it gives me this:
Is this boring? It’s very hard to tell. I think it’s actually quite interesting. There’s a nice gay “hello sailor” thing about it all, and a mystery element because you don’t know who is on the other end of the phone. I wonder if that mystery caller knows they are talking to a pair of gay sailors in a lusty embrace?
I’m also interested in the homely American Sitcom look of the room they’re in. That table lamp with its creamy plaited shade is very Fresh Prince and the balustrade on the staircase in the background suggests a large, comfortable home, and not a battleship full of Village People singing gaybos.
My search also brings up this image from the Church of the King, Dallas. I’d like to think this is some sort of Elvis shrine that uses old biddies to spread the word.
In this image we see two such crones looking rather maudlin, both with cheery Rasta-style headgear. One is wearing horn rimmed glasses that were cutting edge in about 1952. The intention is to make us think that this church is so cool in its teaching of the Burning Love of Elvis that old grannies turn up looking like this. I think that this is actually a lie. The two old biddies in the image have never been there, and probably only like “In the Ghetto”, being much more interested in Max Bygraves’s oeuvre.
They were hired for the King’s publicity photoshoot and were told what would happen with recolouring to make them look trendy. This is why they look like you’ve just stolen their mobility scooter.
This image is also allegedly boring. I disagree. The woman in the centre of the picture is actually a hooker and is negotiating with the other two for a night of hot action. What she doesn’t know is that she’s being filmed for a late-night candid camera show where her antics will be broadcast to most of Japan. In addition, none of them are aware that the green building in the background is completely filled with Rice Krispies which were put there by a deranged millionaire.
I am SO BORED but this study of early 21st century visual interpretations of ‘boring’ has helped fill 30 minutes or so of my life. Thank you for your time.
Special reader exercise
Can you find a boring image and say why it’s a stack of cack? Prizes* for the best one!
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* Prizes are imaginary
11 comments August 25th, 2006
I found this on the shared drive at work.
Hooray for petty theft!
4 comments August 23rd, 2006