Brevity
Shortest post on PB?
5 comments January 21st, 2008 Chris
Appreciate This…
Now…
http://www.marriedtothesea.com/011807/dont-hate-frogs.gif
And again
http://www.marriedtothesea.com/011807/dont-hate-frogs.gif
Now relax.
32 comments January 15th, 2008 Kevil
The First Annual Mr Cockall Innovation Awards Ceremony
Thank you and welcome to the first annual Mr Cockall Innovation Awards Ceremony. My name is Winky Winkerson and I am here at this third rate, knock off awards ceremony to celebrate the best of the ideas suggested by various representatives across the country interviewed and documented by Mr Cockall himself. The nominees are as follows:
Morman Le Pongavent for his Fish Pen
Eddy Lafawitz for the wonderful Thrusticles
Kevin and Ian for trying to revolutionaise Pep
Susan Winkerpot with the timeless Dehydrated Water
Ebeneezer Cheesegrater for his Nasal Harps
Gardy Guh-huh-de-ha for the uncompromising Extendo-Loins
Spice Cranford for the Chicken Envelopes and
Elementary Westinghouse for her Tasty Hasty Paste
And as the world holds its breath I carefully open the envelope with the winner’s name enclosed. And that winner is…
ELEMENTARY WESTINGHOUSE!
A late comer to the proceedings but she stormed in there and snaffled the award from under the other entrant’s noses. How about that? Miss Westinghouse, could we have a few words please?
27 comments January 14th, 2008 Ian
My messed up Ian dream
So I had a dream last night and I went with Friya to visit Ian.
We were surprised when we got there, because he hadn’t mentioned to us that he actually lived in a big blue prison in New York. So Friya went shopping and I went back to his cell (it was obviously quite a slack prison because they let him out for long walks) and I looked through all his drawers.
Then we went out again and on the way back in there was a wheelbarrow full of corn on the cob sitting in the corridor. Ian didn’t want to steal one, because it’s generally frowned upon for prisoners to do that, but I really wanted one so I stuck it in my trousers and we went back to the room. But Ian didn’t know I’d done it. Then I thought it would get him into trouble, so I went up a spiral staircase to a different floor (it was a boys floor -Â every other one was a girls floor – but luckily the spiral staircase I went up missed a floor on the way) and casually dropped the corn cob on the floor.
When I got back to the cell, it was full of prison wardens, and one evil woman (who was English despite this being a New York jail) was telling us off for laughing too much and reminding Ian that it was a five-strikes and you’re out policy. She pointed above the door, where someone had painted (in elaborate lettering) “One and a half strikes”.
Then I woke up.
6 comments January 14th, 2008 Chris
Britain may have talent
Given Kev’s seemingly endless supply of scat-isms I suggest that we put him forward for the next series of ‘Britain’s Got Talent’, or whatever b*ggery b*llocks is auditioning around the same time. I mean he can also poom groodles, I mean groom poodles. That must count for something right?
We could make a bit of money from it. The proceeds could then be put forward for nationwide distribution of the ‘Nish’ series and perhaps even a publication of both copies of semi-autobiographical ‘Erudite Musings on the Human Condition’.
29 comments January 7th, 2008 Ian
The Saint King creepeth back in briefly
I, the Saint King, king of all the saints and their saintly behaviour, have returned briefly in order to convey a message. This message could have been tagged on to the endless VHS message I left played in the building before Christmas but I wanted to tell you this myself. I have found a permanent home at another website that being www.myspace.com/twoofakindyorkshiremind. Even though you have all very much made your feelings about me clear I want you to know that there is no bad blood between us all and that I hope to see you in the future. 2008 should be about new beginnings and being the Saint King, governing those saints and what they get up to, well, I don’t want you to feel as though you can’t come to me with problems and asking for advice even though you aren’t saints.
You shall all have a place in my heart even if yours is only filled with the memories of me not giving you jewels. And I don’t hold it against you that you didn’t come to my party. And I don’t hate the fact that only Sir Marshall returned his Official Form of Complaint. It’s all chunder under the canal.
January 6th, 2008 Ian
2008
It’s the new year, and I’m the first bastard to post anything here.
I’m at work today.
That is all.
Happy new year, Beansmeisters!
33 comments January 1st, 2008 Chris
Mr Smudgey Exposes Himself
Hello, it is I, once again, sat on my loins in anticipation, waiting to tell the world once again how I am the most famous man on this planet at this very point in time. People ask me all the time if I ever get tired of being famous and to those people I say, “I don’t pay you to talk love I pay you to…” erm, fix my shower. Yes. That sounds like a good cover. Let’s take another walk down Smudgedy Lane (like Memory Lane but smudgified) and bask in my celebritism.
Point Number Three – being just out of show from Rembrandt’s famous painting ‘The Night Watch’.
 
I was having a shave in Doncy McGlagin’s Hair Emporium when the lads started shouting for us to come outside. I thought they were just gonna pour rancid tomatoes over my head like they did last year. It turns out there was some painter guy who happened to be passing and decided to do a picture. Clearly because I’m the most famous they wanted me in it but the temptation of having a huge knife removing tiny hairs from my face was too much and I had to pass. You can see Mick and John on the left pointing at me as they can just about make out my silouette in one of the nearby streetlamps. Colin at the front is trying to make the point that they should wait for me however nobody is listening. You can also just about make out Crumbalina who’s hiding behind Mick in the red on the left as she’s remembered she hasn’t paid back the three shillings I leant her to buy her house.
And I never got it back. You try and buy a house with that now I tell you. That makes a total of three now. I’ll be catching, taming and ramping that dragon of success before you can tell me that I’m ramping a dragon and I shouldn’t be because they have short tempers.
15 comments December 28th, 2007 Ian
The Saint King’s Christmas Message
Even though I, the Saint King, king of all the saints and all their saintly behaviour, have been banished from ‘da beans’ during the lockdown from the previous day I managed to sneak in and leave this videotaped message. This will continually play over and over again until someone locates the VCR hidden somewhere in this building.
Christmas is a time of destruction and devestation. What better way to fill your trousers than by investing in the new Saint King game? Available on all three formats of Amstrad, BBC Micro as well as Spectrum, the Saint King game has been described as ‘The Best Game Ever… to be released in the year 2007 that looks as though it should have been released 25 years ago’. Play all your favourite characters: Saint Abbo of Fleury, Saint Hugh of Lincoln, Saint John of Shanghai and San Fransisco and of course the big man himself. Give into temptation. Join the revolution. Play the game.
Tired with your usual hand cream? Bored with the lack of any imagination? Then let Saint Monica of Hippo lead you into the light. “Hand cream has been overlooked for far too long. With the Saint King’s, king of us saints and all our saintly behavious, new hand cream you will feel a million seal pups licking your fingers. It is a cream beyond creamy, so much so that a new word has been invented by the scientists who gave up their time to create such a product. This hand cream is smoothocreamarific. Available in all major shops now, but probably not until they open again as this is Christmas Eve. Get online and have delivered to your door personally by one of the saints themselves. KNOCK KNOCK. Oh, do I hear the sweet knock of Paulina of the Agonizing Heart of Jesus at my door?”
Lead. Lead sandwich… eat lead sandwiches… something chronic in your… when the animals came to me I was only a foot high… and then the snow storm blew my… in the middle of the night…
Even though I, the Saint King, king of all the saints and all their saintly behaviour, have been banished from ‘da beans’ during the lockdown from the previous day I managed to sneak in and leave this videotaped message…
9 comments December 24th, 2007 Ian