We’re cranking them out this year, 3 for 3. Yep you heard. Cranking.
This time around we discuss:
- Cherries
- The Legend of Stabby MacKenzie
- Posthumous skulduggery
- Chris’ way out.
We’re cranking them out this year, 3 for 3. Yep you heard. Cranking.
This time around we discuss:
I feel like a bitter disappointment.
BITTER.
At the end of 2018 I was bragging about how we were going to jump on-board that sweet, sweet dusty bandwagon trail and start throwing about porn like it was going out of fashion. Since then despite a few notable graphic and rather explicit efforts it has mostly been a big nen for the last month or so.
I tried to look for some horrible images with which to draw the crowds in. I checked all over the internet and there’s nothing there. All the porn has run away. Unless it is hiding in the shadows I can only presume that there’s none left. Clearly the world was done with the sight of naked flesh on flesh on possibly animal on flesh.
All I can do is offer up this very small picture as compensation. All you filth hounds out there watching, I hope it is enough.
You have to pay the toll. That’s the way it works.
In order to get past you have to stump up the money or whatever is needed. You have to satisfy the teller to avoid salmonella. You must grease the wheels to sort out your shady deals.
I am about to venture down South towards the magical, Icelandic borough of Royskopp in order to meet Sheriff Rockingham himself. I have heard terrible, terrible rumours of the gentleman who he currently lives with though. Hushed tones have informed me that Steve Steveingtons is a violent wretch. I once sent him a Superman t-shirt which he loved with all his heart. One day he wore it to the pub, somebody accidentally spilled some lager on it and the authorities are still finding bits of people weeks later, scattered around the neighbourhood. A man with a temper like this needs to be appeased.
So what do you do? I understand that Steve Steveingtons is a big fan of the Trek through the Stars, something from television. Biggles maybe? I have been daydreaming about weird things mashed together and this keeps popping into my head at work. I don’t think my pedestrian drawing skills have done it much justice, and it doesn’t look anything at all like the one in my mind, but I hope that it is enough to stop him knocking me literally into next week.
If this should be my last post let it be known that I regret nothing, not even all the Beans comics I wrote.
I was the victim of a crime, a crime that mostly goes unnoticed.
As I returned the trolley to the bay in Asda car park I was greeted by the following sight:
Was this dog doing anything wrong? Not really, he was protecting the car until his owner came back.
Was I doing anything wrong? No, because I was returning the trolley to where it belonged.
So why did the dog look at me as though I HAD done something wrong? Where was the justification for the judgement in his eyes?
I did test this by clocking him on the way past the first time and walking slower on the way back. His eyes burrowed deep into mine, never flinching, never blinking. It was the longest five seconds of my life I’d ever experienced in a car park.
There was the chance that I looked like someone else or perhaps he was hoping I’d open the door and set him free.
Or maybe, just maybe, he was hoping I’d come a little closer so he could bark the fuck out.
I’ll never know what I did to that dog and, quite frankly, I don’t think I want to know.
The first thing I want you to know is that, whatever the world may think, we are not judging you.
You may have chosen to leave your seafood sauce out in the hot August sun, why wouldn’t you? It’s your sauce. If your hob isn’t work properly then leaving it outside for nature to warm it up is a great idea. It saves money and is environmentally friendly. We admire what you’re doing and, boy, are we impressed!
The only questionable aspect of this whole affair though is that you may have left it out and forgotten about it, given that the sell-by date was several months ago. Perhaps you forgot where you left it and bought a replacement when you’re stomach started growling. Nobody is pointing fingers. We deal with facts here, not speculation.
We are not talking about you behind your back in hushed tones, far from it. Only, let’s have a little more foresight the next time you decide something is a good idea.
We’re only thinking about you. And your prawn crackers.
Most days I have breakfast at home before I go to work. I know how to do breakfast. Make some coffee, put some bread in the toaster. Some days there’s something more interesting like crumpets. Pour a glass of orange juice if there’s time. Any idiot can do breakfast.
Not, it turns out, the people who run the only food outlet in the building where I now work. No, as I descend the marble staircase into the atrium there are inviting smells coming from the cafe, but the company that runs the franchise don’t understand breakfast. The inviting smells will invite you to disaster.
During the day they sell health food. In the morning they sell insults.
Here’s their breakfast menu almost in its entirety:
That’s more or less it. There’s no bacon sandwich in there, no egg that is not scrambled, no porridge made with actual milk from a cow. (Fake milk from soya or a coconut does not actually make something that looks or tastes like porridge, it makes sloppy white soup with lumps in. I know because I tried it one hungry morning and it was worse than I could have imagined.) There isn’t anything bread-based, because bread contains wheat and wheat is not healthy. You can have a vegetable smoothie with your breakfast (including kale, cucumber and spinach) but you can’t have a slice of toast with butter.
There isn’t really any point to this beyond the fact that sometimes I get to work early and I want something to eat and when I go downstairs I find nothing but seeds and spinach. It just makes me very upset and very disappointed, and I don’t know how these people can do something like this to a fellow human being. That’s all.
This completely took me by surprise!
Now I am used to receiving abuse from family members, close friends, clients, the general public and the occasional letters through the post, but this is a new low. I was recently walking past a new development of houses and what did greet me upon turning my viewing eyes to the right? A sign in the window as above.
It would appear as though property is now turning its attention to me. I do not know what in particular it had against me and my award-winning personality and, quite frankly, I do not care either. I just wanted to make sure that this issue is brought to light so that others do not suffer in silence.
Thank you.
In ancient Latin a ‘broiler’ is a broken boiler. So many people have been brought to their knees because of a lack of hot water.
In accordance with Beans law, so it was requested that a song be written to accompany Christopher’s anguish at no longer being a Big Man (TM) and having to resume his role originally handed to him in a sock over a year ago.
I was the person handed that task and I am the one who has furiously sculpted the song that lays before you. There is no joy to be had in this post. If you are looking for sunshine and pickles then I would suggest you look elsewhere. Only doom and gloom permeate this blackened tune.
If only the National Whinge Line was still up and running. Keep your next of kin on speed dial.
Broiler
It was a Tuesday night,
I wasn’t feeling alright.
I knew I’d felt better,
As I clung to my sweater.
Inclement weather in May,
Added to my disarray.
Kettles wearing a frown,
My boilers broken down.
I think it’s the flue,
Problems, I’ve got a few.
The warranty’s out of date,
Got there two days too late.
Now that the meters teasing,
Everything’s slowly freezing.
Oh, there is just no pleasing,
Shunt’ be this cold this season.
(Instrumental break)
Glow worm, Valliant, Worcester Bosch
So, I am left this way,
In this cool month of May.
Engineer can’t come by
‘Til 3pm next Fri.
Over a week like this?
Fiddlesticks, ladles and whisks!
Combi’s left me so blue,
Tell me, what can I do?
Diddle diddle dee dum de dum de babaaaa badum
I hope this is sufficient for everyone’s purposes. Whilst this tale may not be true, it easily could have been.