The Last Post of the Year
Bane broke Batman’s back
Bane broke Batman’s back
Bane broke Batman’s back
Bane broke Batman’s back
Bane broke Batman’s back
(and keep saying it ’til 2010 baby!)
7 comments December 31st, 2009
Archive for December, 2009
Blog That!
It’s been a while since the last time. When was the last time I sneered? I might do it all the time and not realise. When you don’t have a mirror in your face all the time you forget to do some of the classic facial expressions and tics that make being a human being so worthwhile: the wink, the horsey clicking noise with your tongue, the Jim-Robinson-from-Neighbours-look-of-surprise-which-causes-your-forehead-to-ruffle-like-jagged-crisps. All of them necessary of course.
Sneering has almost dropped off the radar. Our country as a whole sneers at a lot of things that are too numerous to mention here. I can bet that anyone caught reading this will be able to come up with two or three, possibly a handful at a push. It expresses a disbelief or a dislike of something, a clear and straightforward view that couldn’t be taken any other way. Interestingly enough an absence of sneering during World War II and post-way Britain led to a deficiency of Vitamin B in both men and women. Children however remained unaffected due to bad television and the realisation that the PSP and Pokemon wouldn’t be invented for another fifty years.
Too little sneering and you’re one of “those” people, you know the type. The ones who think everything is great and that life is worth living and that you should every day as though it was your last. Who would want to wake up thinking they’re going to be killed in less than twenty-four hours? It’s hardly a way to live. Too much sneering and you’re labelled a miserable tw*t. It’s very difficult to find a balance which is why most people opt for the former. The over 60’s unfortunately have been sneering for so long that they cannot stop and they will continue to blurt out classic phrases such as:
1) “It wasn’t like that in maa dey!”
2) “A war would teech you a fing a two, Sonny Jim!”
3) “F*cking ‘ell! The metric system strikes again!”
(the preceeding phrases were taken mainly from various parts of Yorkshire which is why they mainly appear illegible. Please see your local codjer for regional variations.)
The more disheartened we are, the more things go wrong, the more times we fail will all eventually push us towards further sneering. Having not done it and not missed it for so long I will, for the moment, enjoy and relish a good sneer and I openly encourage everyone else to do so. For only five minutes or less. You wouldn’t want to linger on that four minute and fifty-nine second mark, believe me…
December 30th, 2009
2010: The Year Of The Cash-In Mascot
So it’s almost over yes, I admit that, but what I won’t admit is defeat when we all stand on the jaws of success. The jaws of triumph. The jaws of not defeat. We have only two more days left of 2009 which has been the worst 2009 I have ever come across. If I ever do come across another 2009 I will be sure to boot it up the backside before it has a chance to turn around and gaze into my wonderful face.
So… what should 2010 start with? Unfortunately it would appear as though the mascot has re-surfaced as the way of grabbing attention from the general public. Compare the Market managed it with a meerkat in a dressing gown. Churchill continues to have a nodding dog that sounds like Vic Reeves. Awful, awful advert for Go Compare has an awful, awful opera singer and a terrible pun at the end. So what do we do? We jump on the bandwagon of course!
We will have to sit down and think about this for a while. Luckily I did a lot of that over the Christmas period so the majority of it is almost done. What I was thinking when it comes to a mascot for da Beans it would have to be something that you would instantly link us to. So I’ve narrowed it down to two possibles:
1) A Badger with a limp
2) The Knitted Beaver
I think we would have more chance with the beaver given the rich and wondrous history he has given to us all. We could have a stupid tagline like, “Beev-er? Done that? Then try Pouring Beans Dot Com!” What does the focus group think?
December 29th, 2009
Note Perfect
Having been given a harmonica for Christmas by one A Jermyn (but for this post I shall merely refer to her as Audrey J) I have quickly surfaced with a slightly sad tune for those late nights and early morning when the sun can’t rise swiftly enough. It has poetic meaning that stretches further than any mere pop song can. In all honesty it’s the best thing to every emerge. Ever. Let’s see how the world takes to the verbosity:
Squishy Milk
Squishy milk, squishy milk
1 1 -1 1 1 -1
Meant to last, squished by fate
2 2 -2 2 2 -2
Nothing left, nothing left
1 1 -2 1 1 -2
But squishy milk, squishy milk
2 2 -2 1 1 1 1
I feel as though by adding further words it would destroy the essence of what is there. It is as Quaff would say, “intrinsically bereft of any doubt or shame.” How that man can be so succint is beyond me.
December 28th, 2009
Newsboost Zoom Flume – Salt Shortage Sucks
In one of the biggest, “duh!” moments thus so far seen within the British Isles due to the overwhelming icy winter this year, the recession and the high interest in fish and chips over the summer the UK is shortly running out of salt. Mines are empty. Shakers are shaking nothing.
“We all saw this coming,” advised Chief of Staff at Salt, located in Hampshire, the leading supplier and manufacturer of salt in this country. “We told them that eventually the demand would reach such high limits that our machines wouldn’t be able to cope. Even at full pelt we’re turning over less than half of what we are being asked for.”
In fact in the last few days most of the salt factories have seen a number of thefts and bizarre instances that can only be described as intrusions. One woman was caught on camera trying to season her sea bass by dipping it in one of the rock salt vats to cater for a dinner party for eight, including herself, at her home eighty miles away. Three men each armed with a bottle of tequila and a shot glass climbed the fences to do slammers for eight hours before the security guard heard songs coming from underneath the bins. “It’s just madness,” said Cat Deely.
In light of this Local Councils in certain areas have joined together with the police force to help combat one of the problems from this harsh December. Kingston Upon Hull have enlisted the assistance of all the drunks picked up on the evening rounds to help remove dangerous patches of ice on the roads and pathways. “It’s a particularly controversial scheme I admit but if it means saving people’s lives then I’m all for it,” revealed PC Bobby McFee, “all they have to do it drop their trousers and walk forwards. How hard is that?”
A lot of the drunkards are keen to help. A few can barely stand up. Some can’t even open their eyes to check if they can drop their trousers. It is both a touching and disgusting scene when witnessed. Trevor Winnings, picked up Wednesday night, had this to add: “Ah did it an’… an’ I did it with a sens… a sensss a somethin’ an’ then ah went home and wet the bed.”
Whether or not this will pick up in other, slightly more trendier and more sensible parts of the country is only speculative at this moment in time.
December 27th, 2009
Classic Quotes – A Year With Reuben
Audrey: Don’t let the beg bugs bite!
Reuben: That’s alright, I know kung fu.
Ian: Why don’t you give your grandad a hug as a present?
Reuben: That’s not a present!
Reuben: I saw broccoli in the pan but there’s none on my plate…?
Siobhan: That’s not fair! I was winning!
Reuben: Do you enjoy losing mum?
Reuben: Wow! A Wii! Now I have two!
Ian: Erm I think you’ll find the one at mine is Audrey’s.
Reuben: Yeah but it’s a little bit mine.
Reuben: SANTA IN YOUR EYE!
December 26th, 2009
A Christmas Treat
So we’ve now managed a full twenty-four days and with only seven still to go I believe that we can finish this year well. When I say well though I do mean with a post for every day. ‘Well’ has so many… no actually it doesn’t, it’s pretty straightforward. So for all you lovers out there here is a song to warm your cockles and melt your heart:
Love My Face
Lady
Do you like my face?
Could you love my face with all your eyes?
If you loved my face would it taste
The sweetest you’ve ever spied?
‘Cos one thing I wouldn’t want
Would be to hear the lies
The ones that taint the taste
Taint the looks of your eyes
If you can’t look
At my wonderful face
And feel the thrills we once cried
Then you should walk away now, tootpaste
The well trodden path I despise
I might still call you
On the odd occasion, with no ties
To hear the words from your face
Let them drift into my eyes
There’s no rushing, no time to waste
I hope you know Ted Hughes is a spy
Once you lay waste to my face
Then my face will be disgraced
It will taste like mace
Do you want me to taste like mace?
I’m a waste of space without my face
But like space I will chase
Chase you and your face
Your face, full of grace… and raspberries
Actually that wasn’t very romantic and I think the last verse was supposed to be rapped. Erm… MERRY CHRISTMAS!
December 24th, 2009
The Late Sir Reginald Winston – Recounting Events with Winthrop Chalmers
Our second trip to India was by far the most interesting and eye-opening of all of Winthrop’s adventures. We had initially hoped to only be there for a few months but as it happened the expedition lasted a good two years. In that time we managed to survey and map practically all of the country’s locations we had wanted to visit including the final rest ground of Bab Nool Yony, his two villages, his summer house on the borders of China and even the curious umbrella shop who’s ultimate purpose was never revealed to anybody…
After the first couple of weeks I must admit I did yearn to return home to the luscious green fields of England and I kept this to myself but Winthrop could see this written all over my face. With the absence of a mirror I couldn’t see that he’d actually written it all over my face using some lipstick he’d stolen from Lady Gannymede at the last ‘Fine Wines and Limes’ evening in Printstock Hall. He never explained why he did it and for some reason I didn’t ask. Instead we would talk about many things that for legal and personal reasons cannot be noted here.
I recall one particular evening in the wildernesses of Bengal where too much brandy had given way to red faces and wet trousers. The next morning we were due to meet with a respected local who held much sway over the surrounding areas. Unfortunately because of the state we had gotten into during the night neither of us was in any state for diplomacy. When we arrived in the village Winthrop announced to the nearby population that he was “gagging for a wizz-wizz-woodle”, urinated in the only water supply, made ambiguous s*xual gestures towards any female who came within his path of rapidly deteriorating eyesight and then passed out under a tree hugging a scimitar. I removed the sword and apologised for his behaviour claiming dissentry and a diseased colon for the display they had just witnessed.
Secretly though I enjoyed every moment.
December 23rd, 2009
Rubbing the Lapels of History – The Coca Cola Wars
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