You and Your Orb

So you’ve taken the plunge and out comes an orb. Well done! Please refer back to my previous post before reading on because we’re British here and we don’t like getting ahead of ourselves (see here: ORBS).

You will be completely perplexed at first but that’s okay, relax! Everyone struggles with their first orb so you are not alone in your endeavours. Gently place the orb on the sofa next to you and carry on scanning this helpful article.

Your orb will still be quite small and easy to deal with. The most important thing is not to treat it like a piece of luggage. Don’t put it in your rucksack or man bag, however you roll in 2019, underneath your gym socks and your eiderdowns. This orb has feelings and whilst it may warm your socks in readiness for your upcoming “stretch session” you will not win any orbular points. Carry the orb in your arms, either out in front of you or cautiously tucked into your side. If you have the correct equipment you can put the orb in a carry case on your back so you have the benefit of being able to use your hands whilst knowing the orb is safe. It will also allow you and your orb to grow closer together because of the contact you share.

When your orb is having a fun time it will glow a warmish, orange colour; this way you know you are doing things right. If at any point they emit a loud shriek like a pigeon in a pair of stilettos then you know something is wrong. Similarly, if they display any colours towards a reddish hue then that is also an indication that you should look at what you’re doing. Occasionally your orb may confuse you further by glowing a purple or lavender colour, the same as Prince’s rain, which will either mean they’re happy but worried at the same time or that they need the toilet. We would strongly recommend keeping some orb bags with you at all times in case they have a little accident. Replacement dungarees are also to be encouraged.

There is a lot to do at first, so much that there is not enough (fake) ink and (fake) paper to cover everything, and you may feel overwhelmed. Remember that everyone learns from their mistakes and you are not the first person to pick up a little mess from the ground because you misinterpreted the colour scheme of your orb.

Love your orb and your orb will love you right back.

Big Frank’s Global Domination – The Music Biz

So what do you do when you’ve already conquered the chips, graphic design, computers, cycle hire and boat hiring services worlds? What else could you possibly need to include in your empire to satisfy your desperate need for a domineering monopoly over the rest of the world? You want to stick your dorsal fins tightly into the music business, that’s what.

Not just any music business though. You need to enter the Southern California hardcore scene. We have all seen Big Frank and he is clearly obsessed with thrash metal, speed metal, hardcore and the like. If he’s not punking out on the roof, spitting at pigeons and throwing pork pies at strangers then he’s working tirelessly to move the hardcore scene forward with his enduring work ethic.

Let us not forget that this was the man who started Nemesis Records and who put out the first Offspring album. Big Frank began as a tea boy and worked his way up all the way to the top, grinding his teeth with local bands such as Fisticuffs, Mental Eric, Cracked Vase, Hate Your Mum and What a To Do before moving to producing some of the tastiest albums of big hitters like Vaynes, Syck Syck, Death Hands and Cheryl’s Anus.

To put everyone else to shame too, as well as doing all of this he is a full-time tattoo artist and looks after sick and injured animals. I mean I may as well give up now, there is no way I can ever compete with this man. He must work 26 hour days. Big Frank is clearly a glutton for punishment; what a guy.

The next time you’re getting neck pains from rocking too hard, I hope you’ll think of Biggy F and his overwhelming contribution not just to music but also to the world. You think long and hard, sunshine.

A Menagerie of Filth

As we were all secretly hoping for, and even though the month of February slipped by without any, let’s fill up the last of March with a swift dose of filthy bad boys:

Look at all of that.

I expect there will be droves of perverts desperate for nouveau erotica swarming into our coveted halls.

They’ll take one peek at the troughs on show here and they’ll not be able to contain themselves.

It’s a burden that we have to bear, seeking the numbers and lowering ourselves to unwanted depths of depravity, yet sometimes this is what you have to do to be a success. In order to reach the top of the mountain you have to trudge through the bleak, dirty depths first.

And, deep down, you know you love it.

You a voley mother f… intervention

Christopher. I’m talking to you as both your friend and your alien overlord.

It has recently come to my attention, well, to the attention of all of us that you seem to be showing signs of unwanted behaviour. There have been times over the last few months where doubt has been creeping into our collective consciousness as to whether you are able to cope. Cope with what, you ask? I’d like you to take a deep breath and read your comments under Kevin’s eleventh (what a hard-working trooper he is) podcast, Celebration Days.

I need you to understand our reasons. If you’re allowed to carry on like this then it can only lead to worse things. Your love of roads will turn to a love of voles. You’ll spend your weekends scurrying along riverbanks with blades of grass between your teeth. You’ll open a bowling alley called ‘Hollywood Vole’ where all the balls have vole faces on them, all the items on the evening menu have titles with voles in and when you press the soap dispenser in the gents it makes the sound of a vole chewing on a dandelion.

You have to remember that what we do is out of love and kindness, even now as we’ve strapped you to a chair and put a roll of newspaper in your mouth, soaked in petrol. We know that you’ve been under a lot of pressure recently, which is fine, and we don’t expect you to change immediately overnight. This is a process which will require you to change significantly. Your view of the world will need to be distorted, then broken, then fixed back together with PVA glue before you can set foot outside again.

All this talk of voles just isn’t healthy. It was okay once or twice but you repeatedly brought it up. After the first few days it was all you could say and then Zoe took a photo of you in Hampstead Heath. It was the most shocking thing any of us had ever seen, and I’ve seen the film ‘Grease 2’.

When I’m done talking, Steve Steveingtons is going to loosen the shackles around your ankles so that you can move a little more freely. We’re going to watch a short film about the horrors of voles and then, after a light lunch with a little Q & A, we’re going to let you loose into the kitchen so you can make everyone a nice hot beverage.

Congratulations! It’s an orb!

Pregnancy, eh? What’s all that about?

I mean we all know what it is about, don’t we? Humans making more humans to fill the spaces that other humans have left. It’s the great circle of life, the wheel of fortune. If we didn’t make more humans, who would sit in all those prams? Who would use them nappies? And, heavens above, who would leave all those tiny Lego pieces on the floor for you to stand on them and wish you didn’t have legs?

Kevin has the luxury of having one tiny chilblain with another on the way. But does he? Research taken earlier today by Professor Reuben does now suggest that Kev and his lovely wife Sarah may just be on the verge of having an orb instead of a human baby. The most recent scan taken by, pft, “doctors” shows a much rounder form than previously anticipated. The subject, Mrs S Hill, has a very orbular shape around the stomach and wombular areas. When I gently placed my hand on top of the orb it kicked, then it hummed and then my palm felt warm. Orbs are known for emitting both humming noises and warmth.

This came as quite a shock to the both of them. Myself and Professor Reuben set out the facts as we saw them in graphic detail, which involved several large sketch pads, a teatowel, three inhaler cups (thanks, Kev) and a dozen bottles of mayonnaise. Within mere minutes both of them were crying with what could only have been joy. Yes, it did mean ruining the surprise of rolling out a glowing orb on the big day although we believe it was for the best. Society has not come far enough to embrace the orbs and welcome them into the playground, the classroom and, most upsetting of all, into our hearts.

What does that mean for the prospective parents? What do they have in store if they will be caring for an orb instead of a baby? In the interests of stretching out one very basic idea into several posts I have decided to extend this simple premise into a few separate articles of writing. I mean, why not? It’s the flavour of the month. Tune in next time for tips on how to look after their and maybe even your orb.

A Deliberate Accident

So recently I was pondering a question that nobody has yet dared to answer. Everyone knows what an accident is but what if someone was to do one on purpose? You see it all the time in films, TV and books; people set it up so something bad will happen to an unsuspecting person. It’s a deliberate accident. So why is it that there isn’t a word for this?

Both Chris and Kev couldn’t help with this conundrum, so it was down to me to bring this puppy home. After musing for the best part of a week it finally hit me on the way to work this morning. Combine the best part of both words and what do you get? Delibadent – a deliberate accident. It’s so simple I don’t know what it never occurred to me sooner. Hell, it should have occurred to more intelligent people a lot earlier than 2019.

Thankfully this now means the world is a better place for having my word, no, our word. It is my gift to the world. Go forth everybody and watch out for delibadents.

Tributes and Insults – Christopher Marshall

Look at this big ol’ berk here:

Look at his massive face. Why does anyone need a face that big? What has he done to his face to make it that big? All of these questions need answering and the sad fact that it is unlikely that we will ever get the responses we need.

The worst part about knowing Chris is that he’s always calling on a regular basis asking how I am and letting me tell him all my problems. There I am, trying to sit in my puddle of self pity, and he’s on the phone for about an hour trying to cheer me up. That’s the worst, it really is, however it gets worse than that. There have been times when he has not only encouraged my questionable behaviour but he has also actively joined in, such as the time that we both wrote letters to each other and did it in weird, wonderful ways. I still have most of them in a box somewhere. The most enduring, and awkward, of the letters was the one written on one continuous single line of paper that stretches on for what seems like miles. I’m struggling for space as it is and to have to find somewhere for this is just plain selfish.

I mean I am done with all of this. There is only so much that one person can take and really I have reached my limit. I hope that he is taking note of all of this because it is very personal and I mean every vicious, scalding word of it. You can take your pleasant, jolly attitude and your helpful, endearing friendship and you can shove it right up the puffin pipe.

You utter wanker.

Tributes and Insults – Kevin Hill

Here’s a little something to wet your appetite for more of the same. Look at this:

Frightening, isn’t it? Most people would agree that this particular image of Kevin is both striking and unappealing. It would be fair to say that using such a picture constitutes a mean act. I would therefore like to counter that comment with my own tribute to the man.

I have known Mr Chang, as he is known to some people, since I was about 12 years old so I believe that I know him well enough to talk down to him. Some people call it “trash talk”, when you belittle or ridicule another person to embarrass or humiliate them. Kevin is a ruthless thug who has wrapped me up in a carpet on no less than a dozen occasions and then thrown, or had his goons throw, me off a bridge. He once smashed my door in when I was at work, used all the mayonnaise and then didn’t recycle the glass jar. Kevin has been known to fart in padded envelopes and then send it to people we know with my return address on it. His despicable behaviour knows no bounds.

I would be lying through my elbows if I said that he has driven many miles to come and save my sorry ass before. I would be fibbing between the gaps in my teeth if I dared to mention that he has probably tolerated more nonsense coming out of my mouth, and been witness to unspeakable acts of insanity, than anyone within my close circle of friends, and yet still wants to stay in touch. I would be “kissing the kitten of fabrication” if I tried to compliment him on being the all round good egg that everyone knows he is. And don’t even get me fucking started on his lovely wife and adorable child.

The shit.

Pouring
Beans

Author: Ian “Air Travel Regulations” McIver