Are you still buying Christmas presents?
Can’t what to do buy Uncle Dad or Cousin John in prison?
Then what you need is the ultimate gift for the ultimate person! Smoochies Inc are proud to announce a release of 1000 only set of Stretched Weasel Cheese Statues, not available in the shops.
Each statue has the chiseled features of nature’s favourite mammals: the beady eyes, the protruding whiskers, the cutsey face. In fact each statue has ten times more cute than the leading competator with a whole stack of satisfaction guaranteed.
Order now and we will ship within 24 hours, so that’s at least 24 hours before the country gets snowed in again. And remember there are only 1000 sets for sale making it an instant limited edition, never to be re-issued again. In fact if you do not order at least one this instant you will forever remember this moment as the moment when you could have ordered a life-changing collection of Stretched Weasel Cheese Statues and you didn’t, because you plumped for something stagnant and ordinary like a copy of Shrek which you can buy any time and you shouldn’t really because they’re just plain awful.
…
Order now. Our dedicated staff are on hand to take your call.
December 14th, 2010
Ian
As I walk, she walks with me.
As I play, she plays with me.
I look back and all I can see is her, everywhere, like a French sunset of brilliant colours. An obsession writhing on the beach.
I am with one with her and myself.
You will never know it but you can feel it. Feel it every day.
Man Musk by The Saint King.
December 13th, 2010
Ian
December 12th, 2010
Ian
There are so many great wizards out there, Gandalf, Merlin, some kid with glasses, that it does put a lot of pressure on starting wizards or begina-wizards to become somewhat of a legend. Luckily someone has seen sense and decided that not everyone has to be a great wizard, that sometimes being the worst at something can be a lot more fun. So we hereby present a bitesize version of Smoochies Inc’s ‘How To Be A Shit Wizard’.
- Start off with the most basic spells you can come across. The ‘box into another box’ and ‘make a pencil sharpener appear in your pocket’ are favourites amongst the shit magic community.
- Dress as you mean to go on. Rummage around in any charity shops for clothing in the wrong sizes or look in your dad’s wardrobe for fashions that don’t exist out of 1976 (but not too deep, you never know what’s lurking in there).
- Don’t bother with a magic wand; go for a magic straw instead. It’ll lessen the strength of your magic because of the hole in the middle.
- Stay indoors a lot. Stray away from exciting adventures involving knights and dragons and gold and the such. Always make sure you catch ‘Eastenders’ and ‘Coronation Street’ and bore any other wizards you come across with thrilling conversations such as, “Did you see what Phil Mitchell did last night?”
- Piss yourself as often as possible.
The standard and deluxe editions of ‘How To Be A Shit Wizard’ are available now from most bookshops.
December 7th, 2010
Ian
I agreed to go to a somewhat unconventional jazz festival with my counterparts Mr Nick and Mr Neil which was being held in a large pub some thirty miles away. The first problem was that I didn’t know where it was located and they had already set off without me so I was left to my own devices. I managed to somehow get to within a couple of miles and hitched a ride on an old fashioned red double decker to the front of the pub.
Inside it was comprised of three or four floors. The main floor was on the ground level comprising of many tables and chairs and a huge spiral staircase through the middle of the room, but you couldn’t use it. It appeared to be some sort of art edifice. Encountering my usual bladder troubles even in a dream I head downstairs to the basement level to go to the toilet.
It is set out like the toilets in a school gym; line upon line of urinals as far as the eye can see, drenched in piss stains and chewing gum. The toilets are so far in the distance I can’t make them out, it’s as big as a warehouse. To make matters worse filling up most of the room is a group of school children lined up in formation and being drilled by a teacher. I quietly pick a urinal as far away from the chaos as possible and slip back upstairs.
There’s no music though. For a jazz festival there is only the sound of people talking. Perhaps it’s a metaphor or something, I didn’t pay to get in after all. I wander up to the top floor and still no music. I haven’t even located my two friends and instead get followed by a strange man with a beard and glasses, trying to start a conversation with me about vermouth and spiders. I make my excuses and leave but he still follows. Outside it’s a beautiful warm day.
What does it all mean?
December 1st, 2010
Ian
I have obtained a reputation of sorts, a name amongst my kin,
For smashing faces, breaking chairs and gouging gallons of gin.
Everyone was shocked at first due to the severity of my condition
But none could fault my ballsiness, nor pick at my ambition.
The taste was pleasant and rich, a tapestry of flavours
That challenged my ability to walk and pissed of all the neighbours,
Especially when they caught me urinating on their flowers in-between receiving sexual favours.
They look at me though as a pioneer, a pilgrim in the rushes,
Would they themselves spend an hour furiously vomiting in the bushes?
No, not they. Too clean for them. I’d figure that they’d rather
Entertain a spot of family then play bridge with mumsie and father.
I was told I’d went too far one night, waking in a pool of grime
With a donkey, a goose, three pipes, one wrench, an onion and a lime.
Instead of taking to the baths I did a little skip,
Downed another shot of gin then skidded on my sick.
I don’t think I’ll ever stop though. I’ve grown accustomed to this way,
It’s only others who believe it’s full of anguish and dismay.
Many scream and shout at me, many do implore,
“I thought you weren’t going mad but now I’m not so sure.”
November 24th, 2010
Ian
The world has been left reeling after reports that a woman from Montreal in Canada has written, recorded and sung the greatest song ever.
The woman, Candice Eely, has not come forward yet with these claims; it is her husband Dennis who is lavishing her with all the attention. Mr Eely apparenting ran to the top of the church tower in their village and shouted at the top of his voice, “MY WIFE HAS JUST WRITTEN THE GREATEST SONG EVER!” to which this was immediately responded to with, “what, better than Livin’ On A Prayer by Bon Jovi?”
Nobody other than Mr Eely has actually heard this song so far, so how can anyone claim that it is the world’s greatest song? Reputed lover of music and all round innovator Markle Funkter gave his opinion:
“I am in no doubt as to the validity of these claims. I have met this woman on numerous occasions and her ability to write beautiful melodies and superb lyrics is unquestionable. Well, apart that song she wrote about dirty sinks. That wasn’t so good. “Oh! We’ll clean clean clean the sink, don’cha think? Rack up those cups, knock out some suds, you know exactly what I meeeeeean!” I think Christina Aguilera did a cover on her last album.”
Mrs Eely has reportedly signed a multi-million dollar contract with Whack-Away Records to have the song released before Christmas. With only five weeks left though they will have to get a wriggle on. Many expect it to be delayed due to the adverse weather conditions due shortly.
November 22nd, 2010
Ian
Times have been hard for Tasmin Archer. It’s not easy having an international hit single, being labelled a one hit wonder and then struggling to come up with a follow-up.
The year is 1992. Sleeping Satellite (you know the one, “don’t blame you for the moonlit night and I wonder why, when the eagles fly” etc) slams into the top spot of the UK and Irish charts eventually being forced off by supreme lords of the smooth soulful chug-a-long Boyz II Men. Some other songs followed but they could never quite reach the heights previously set.
Four years after her debut album a second album followed and I’m sure it had its high points however there was something missing and it failed to carry on the success of the previous.
Apparently Tasmin Archer has a season ticket for Sunderland AFC. Well what else would you do in between recording sessions? Eat a pear? Neck a pint of red bull? Furthermore she is actually from West Yorkshire, born in Bradford. How’d you like them apples?
What is quite amazing is that despite only having three studio albums to her name she has three compilation albums. I thought that All Saints having a greatest hits after only two albums was odd, but this? Quite unheard of I must say. She does have a good set of pipes so it can’t be the pipes. Then again unless you’re struggling to decide whether you’re a man or a woman whilst simultaneously re-releasing your album ever five seconds, or filming videos songs with overly gratutious sexual images with whipped cream and jelly tots you unfortunately won’t get very far.
Shame. Toot on Tasmin, toot on!
November 16th, 2010
Ian
“There’s always something slightly disturbing about eating teeth” – DG
“It makes you look as though you have a massive overjaw” – SD
“She got the same with… I was gonna say Russian Roulette… with horseradish sauce” – DG
“If he hasn’t sewn around the area correctly then there will be an allowance of seepage” – HR
“Eee, you had a baby on Christmas Day? When did you find time to fit your dinner in?” SD
“Bananas are full of potassium. People who aren’t allowed potassium aren’t allowed to eat bananas” HR
“I like sitting in the house with the curtains closed” DG
“What’s soft porn?” SD
November 10th, 2010
Ian
Hello
You know me, I’m the biggest most selfish bastard you’ve ever come across but recently I’ve decided that perhaps that isn’t the best way to be. I mean pushing over old ladies and pissing in bins is as polite as I get, why change the habit of a lifetime? Well, bad karma for one.
So in order to stand up like a man and pretend to be one for thirty days I am cultivating a little weasel’s foot underneath my nose, a smush of a badger’s snout if you will, a veritable treasure trove of hair-ical eccentricities on my top lip. A moustache if you will.
Do I look like an idiot? Of course. Do I resent myself when I look in a mirror? Yeah but so what else is new? Any help, any money, any sarcasm you can donate to my worthy cause would be gratefully received.
http://uk.movember.com/donate/your-details/member_id/867182/
SPONSOR MY FACE!
November 8th, 2010
Ian
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