Archive for November, 2009
I recently came across this merry little song between some old radishes and copies of the Sunday Times. Apprently it was written in 1678 and must be accompanied by a Lyre or a Lute or another instrument that starts with ‘L’.
The Ballad Of The Knitted Beaver
Knitted beaver, knitted beaver
Left a legacy of some discrepancies
Knitted beaver, knitted beaver
Danced a merry jig ‘twixt the bow and brig
Knitted beaver, knitted beaver
Took a candy cane and fled the Spanish Main
Knitted beaver, knitted beaver
Swam to sunny shores, full of leggy whores
And then and then
He strode around with his conkers down
Showing off in front of local sailors
Having witty talks with tailors
Knitted beaver, knitted beaver
Chased accordingly and metaphorically
Knitted beaver, knitted beaver
Left the leggy whores with their stores
Knitted beaver, knitted beaver
Found a tiny land with no marching band
Knitted beaver, knitted beaver
Drank his life away, wasted every day
Drank his life away, couldn’t hold a tray
Couldn’t hold a tray
Couldn’t hold a tray
November 26th, 2009
“All in all, the plant is one of the largest and most prosperous in the area, and, though situated outside of the main perimeter of production plants on the south end of town, is nevertheless a distinguishing hallmark of the community, to the eternal chagrin of most locals.”
(Extract from ‘Lord of the Barnyard’ by Tristan Egolf)
November 25th, 2009
Topical news today on Newsboost. It has been reported that during one of her concerts at the Manchester MEN Arena Beyonce, or the bootylicious Beyonce as she has come to be known as, invited a young boy on stage to join in with a duet.
The boy then proceeded to sing and received a kiss on the forehead from the glamarous singer. Bless. The poor lad is trying to find someone who took a photo of the magical scene as his mum was too far back to get a decent shot. Double bless. If I was eight I suppose that could float my boat although I didn’t start fancying girls until I was twelve and even then it was ones wearing gas masks.
Not only did he get the kiss though he was also handed by Beyonce a towel which she had used to dry her face. “Thanks for being my fan, now please take this sweaty piece of cloth as an eternal reminder.” Did she not have something stashed away for the boy to have? Did it really have to come down to some locker room junk, covered in beads of perspiration and dripping makeup?
Then again people are that crazy that they do buy things doused in sweat from celebrities, fingernails and other assorted oddities. In the spirit of this and in preparation for my astounding career as a singing chimneysweep (it’ll happen) I have chopped all my hair off and tied it into generous yet highly-expensive locks. Currently retailing at £19.99 – buy now!
November 24th, 2009
I’m confused. I’m mystified. I’m dragging myself all over the place and not settling on any sort of sane or reasonable explanation.
December. Prime Panto season, right? So why is it that every year I am forced to watch posters of these two knob jockeys crop up around Newcastle?
http://www.theatreroyal.co.uk/whats_on/pantomine.asp
The poster boasts that the two main actors, and I use the term loosely, Danny Adams and Clive Webb are returning again for what seems like the fifth year in a row due to, and I quote, “overwhelming public demand”. Overwhelming public demand? Who are these people that their lives are so devoid of any life or sense of purpose that they go into the Theatre Royal on a regular basis to enquire when those two lovely lads Mr Adams and Mr Webb are returning? Do they have an “Overwhelming public demand” voting box and whoever gets the most votes they get the moniker to appear on their next poster?
Bring back the Chuckle Brothers. All is forgiven.
November 23rd, 2009
You see this? I advise you not to do this.
Nine out of ten mechanics recommend you avoid doing this. The other 10% are being actively hunted by the police and will be shot on sight.
(I’m OK by the way.)
November 16th, 2009
On the verge of turning 26 I feel it’s only right that I should address the nation (as in you two) to speak some hot, manly words of stress, duress and mess.
I am now the eldest of the three which gives me certain powers and obligations. The obligations I can take or leave. The powers though are something to be nurtured and unleashed when everyone doesn’t expect it. What these powers are only one person can say, and I personally saw that he does not never nonny more ever again tell of what they may be. Leaving me the only person who knows and the chances of me telling are highly unlikely, even after half a bottle of Jack and two sambuccas.
So what I will impart on you is this; stick to your guns, never give up, trust your instincts and if you are to make enquiries with the Local Authority about work that may or may not have been done to your property that would have required planning permission and / or building regulations consent together with a completion certificate always do them in passing. Never specifically mention a property. Always maintain that you are a stranger, not the owner, so that indemnity insurance will always be an option.
Mr. McIver Esq
November 16th, 2009
(Look At Him Spaz) He’s A Zombie Spaz – David Bowie
It has been suggested that towards the end of the eighties David Bowie struggled to keep up with the rest of the musical world. After suffering bad sales as a result of The Smiths stealing all the teenagers and students, the Pixies scooping up the twenty and thirtysomethings and Daniel O’Donnell continuing his assault on the over fifties, David was left wondering what to do next. It was only a matter of time though before some magical happened.
The legend goes that David and David Byrne from Talking Heads were sat having a coffee in a New York deli. David (Bryne) felt a little too warm and so decided t o take his over-sized red jumper off. Unfortunately though he was having trouble getting it over his noggin and thus a struggle ensued. As David (Byrne) wiggled and shook like sex on fire David (Bowie) pointed at the chaos and shouted, “Look at him spaz! He’s a blondie spaz!” Byrne at this point going through his blonde hair / pinstripe suit / green socks phase.
Knowing that there was a song lying dormant in there waiting to be left out David (Bowie) left David (Byrne) and ran to his recording studio down the road, hidden by a giant owl. Byrne suffered massive head trauma and didn’t get out of the jumper for the next seven years.
Bowie harnessed the spirit of the eighties: Synths! Changing the lyrics ever so slightly to also coincide with the 132nd anniversary of Halloween the single ‘(Look At Him Spaz) He’s A Zombie Spaz’ was released on 17th October to a fanfare of praise and adoration from not only his dedicated fans but from the hardcore journalista massive. It remained at number one for three weeks and funded at least twelve of his holidays the following year.
The song has been cast aside; given how popular Bowie was in the seventies it rarely gets any radio airplay and is his least favourite of all, even favouring that awful duet with Mick Jagger over it. With such insightful lyrics such as, “Watch him go, he’s ready to flow, he’ll knock you down with a whip of his gown,” and, “Jigging along like this catchy song, you know you been beat when you come up and meet…”.
One day ‘Zombie Spaz’ will be popular again. For now it remains a guilty pleasure and a hidden gem.
November 12th, 2009
Yes! Yes!
Despite science and most of the population of the United Kingdom saying that it wasn’t possible I have defied all to actually create the world’s greatest invention… THE WHEEL OF THRUSTING!
It’s only a prototype but my lord does it purr like a kitten. To ensure that it has been made to the highest quality and standard it will be accompanying me tonight as I travel back to the Motherland (aka Leeds) to see Wilco in concert and will be making most of my decisions whilst under the influence. Furthermore it will then follow me further afield on Friday, drawing back to Leeds but then hopping into a car-dro-mat and driving with Mr Head down to Didsbury to see how it copes with the Manc way of life.
Once it has passed these crucial tests it will be then sent to the first and only customer of the Home Beans Shopping Network, Mr Christopher James Marshall. I believe that is all gentlemen. If I could work this shizz machine I would upload a photo but I can’t can’t can’t so I won’t won’t won’t.
November 3rd, 2009
Welcome to November!
Now I’m a pretty open-minded individual, except when it comes to music of course. Once I even took off my shoes to scratch my foot. Twice I opened a man-hole to let bandit rats escape into the sewers. I was greeted with a curious sight this morning. I opened the Metro (the paper, not the actual Metro, although I did really because I pressed the buttom so I could get on the damn thing), read through all the tat and got to the back pages. Bouncing about on page 48 was some adverts for jobs and O’Briens Irish Sandwich Bar are advertising for two distinct roles. They are:
- 2 x Assistant Accountants
- 2 x Accounts Assistants
Does anyone else get the impression someone is taking the piss? Reading the specifications it is clear why they are different and all that but it just looks wrong.
Perhaps it’s like in the Simpsons where Homer is unemployed and there’s a job for a Supervising Technician. “I’m not a Supervising Technician, I’m a Technical Supervisor.” Titles don’t mean anything anymore.
Still, if you could be an Assistant Accountant or an Accounts Assistant which one would you be?
November 2nd, 2009
