Monday, August 27, 2007

A Story for Children: Return to Pimslandia: The Beginning That Never Was, Part 1

‘Oh how perfectly drab the day is, Charles,’ Alexandria said, twirling her blonde ringlets with one delicate finger.

‘Yes,’ Charles replied, muffled by the feather-filled pillow into which he spoke as he lay upon his bed, ‘yes, drab, drab, drab. Perfectly, utterly and absolutely drab!’ And with this he sat bolt upright and pointed a single accusatory finger at the awful weather beating insistently upon the window like a dull acquaintance demanding entry.

‘If only there were something to do, something exciting!’ Alexandria said.

‘Oh yes, something exciting would be wonderful, just the tickety-boo for a day such as this,’ Charles said. Their nanny Molly had suggested ‘snuggling up to a good book before the open fire’ until she was forced to retreat under a hail of publications that might have been good books had anyone paused to crack them open.

‘What we need, brother dear, is an adventure!’

‘Goodness, how welcome an adventure would be at this very moment.’

There was a long pause as the twins watched drips of rain roll down the glass.

‘I –‘ Charles began but he never finished his sentence. At that very moment, the bottom drawer of their chiffonier sprang open and the most curious creature leapt out. It had the legs of a goat and the body of a small man. Its chest was well proportioned and it carried a set of pipes slung across its back. It breathed heavily and quickly through a thick beard matted with various kinds of grasses.

Pausing only a moment to take the room in, the creature ran over to the children and grabbed their wrists.

‘Quickly, quickly, there isn’t a moment to lose! You’re needed for the sequel!’ It said in a high reedy voice that sparkled in the air like gold dust.

The twins stared at one another in amazement.

‘Oh do hurry, children! The Winter Queen has seized the Pumpkin of Deyar and her army of Isslings is marching on the Tam river which has frozen over for the first time in a century. Oh, everybody thought that when you pushed the Queen into the Abyss of Xar she would be gone for good, but she’s not! She’s back! Come, you must help us!’

‘I’m very sorry, er, sir, but we don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Alexandria said. The faun, for it was a faun, suddenly grew angry and his face reddened in a most impressive way.

‘Please children, there is no time for childish foolishness. The fate of Pimslandia hangs in the balance. We must act! There will be time for games and japes later.’

Charles felt his face darken.

‘Listen you goaty little cunt, we have no fucking idea what you’re talking about. Now get your hairy dingleberry covered arse out of our bedroom and out into the fucking street. We don’t need your sort in here,’ he said.

Alexandria folded her arms across her pink ribboned chest and nodded her head seriously, her blonde curls bobbing.

‘Charles is right. Get your randy little goat cock out of here. It’s disgusting. You smell like a barnyard in springtime. Would it kill you to put some fucking trousers on?’

The faun’s jaw dropped in surprise and it coyly covered its swinging genitals. It peered quickly at a note rolled up behind one pointed ear.

‘Is this,’ it said, pausing, ‘is this number four, the Pinnacles, Shropshire? I hope I have the right chest of drawers.’ He looked around, suddenly unsure of himself.

Charles shook his head firmly

‘Number four, the Pines and this is Kent and that, you ignorant little half-man half-twat, is a chiffonier. Now get your fur-trimmed rectum out of here before I start using it as a place to store my 200 die-cast metal Duke of Cumberland’s Own Royal Fusiliers!’

The faun backed away towards the chiffonier, eyeing Charles warily as he turned a toy soldier over in his fingers. And then he was gone, bolting back into the drawer as he quickly as he had come. The drawer shut behind him and the twins ran over to it and pulled it open.

It was empty.

‘Hooray!’ They said. ‘Hooray!’

‘Golly, that was exciting!’ Alexandria said. ‘And you were awfully brave, standing up to the beastly little man like that!’

‘Oh I know how to deal with his sort, see his kind every day as I walk past the State school. They don’t frighten me.’ Charles said, puffing his little chest out. Alexandria shuddered.

‘Well they frighten me.’ And then she smiled a bright smile.

‘What an adventure we’ve had! I can quite feel my appetite coming back! What a story we shall have to tell Mother and Father over dinner!’

‘Goodness, it’s five’o’clock already!’ Charles exclaimed. ‘How time has flown! Dinner will nearly be on the table! Do lets rush down and tell cook all about what’s happened. And Molly too, if she can forgive our earlier temper.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Alexandria said, giggling. And they both agreed it was quite the most exciting rainy day they’d ever had!

Friday, August 24, 2007

Looking for love

Me: forty-eight, ‘large’, ‘between jobs’, never married, optimistic. You: young, rich and interesting but not so young, rich and interesting that you will leave me for someone else, malleable.

Former child-star, perky but balding seeks Jamaican professor of economic history for fun times. Must have own crampons.

Smooth-talking lothario with leather trousers and waxed chest seeks attractive women of all ages for long-term emotionally satisfying relationship and possible marriage with children. Is your biological clock ticking? Let me put my head to your chest to find out. If you don’t receive a reply immediately, don’t worry – am working my way around the country, will get to you eventually.

Amateur surgeon seeks woman who likes walks on the beach, romantic candle-lit dinners and secluded mountain cabins. Must not ask too many questions. Medical insurance a plus.

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

Workplace Toilet Mathematics

Door closed + feet present + minimal movement + no noise = workmate disturbed mid-pooh, is clenching buttocks and willing you to leave immediately.

Door open + stall vacant + lid closed + can of air-freshener present + thinly disguised odour of beef = toilet recently poohed in, smears present.

Door closed + one foot present + sound of crackling plastic wrapper = workmate has period

Door closed + soles of shoes visible + groaning + retching + sound of can of chickpeas being emptied into bowl = workmate has food poisoning or bulimia.

Door open + stall vacant + receipt from Target present + discarded tag from new underwear on floor = workmate is dirty stop-out.

Door open + lid closed + traces of white powder present + no recent evidence of bowl or paper use = you work in an advertising agency or record company.

Door closed + four feet present + underwear visible + grunting audible = office Christmas party currently underway.

Door closed + two feet present + sound of box being opened + sound of urination followed two to five minutes later by word "Fuck!" = workmate is pregnant.

Door open or closed + two or more females present + tears + word "bastard" audible = Chad from marketing is the father.

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

You say 'youtube', I also say 'youtube'

I've often heard it said in the technology press that a new technology has not really arrived unless its been picked up here at Snarkeology. For example, we'll have nothing to do with the internal combustion engine so it remains a pariah technology on the dark outer fringes of acceptability, one billion cars, trucks and buses notwithstanding.

Well, I'm glad to tell you that youtube is finally achieving the legitimacy that has eluded it despite near total internet saturation.

Below is the Man at the Pub's take on John Howard's latest youtube appearance. Now I just put it up because right now I'm desperate for content but damn if it isn't pretty good. Mad skills and all that.

Wednesday, August 8, 2007

Milwaukee Poem

Marion, as housewife
You not only clean and cook;
You rock your neat-pinned up-do,
And your beige Dior New Look.

Howard, you're the patriarch;
The king of hardware shops;
A member of the Leopard Lodge,
And chubby 'round the chops.

Chuck, you're off in college,
So we see no sign of you,
In fact, your excommunication
Is complete by Series Two.

Joanie, you love Chachi;
As romances go: sublime,
Although you had a crush on Potsie
For a brief, disturbing time.

Richie, you're a Ginger,
And you comb your hair so neatly;
Why, who'd've thought, much later,
It would fall out so completely?

Ralph, you're not so funny
With your silly rhyming name.
You keep insisting "you still got it",
But you've not got what you claim.

Potsie, real name Warren,
You're a singer and a saint
But with your cardigan and big blue eyes,
Jim Morrison you ain't.

Fonzie, you're so cool that
Even water-skis can't spoil it.
You jump things on your motorbike,
And hang out in the toilet.

Sunday, August 5, 2007

The notebooks of Clive James...

But Stalin's speeches were the merest rehearsal for the tedium of his writings. It was particularly brutal of him to call his personally penned missal on the theory and practice of communism The Short Course. There was nothing short about it except its length. - Clive James, Cultural Amnesia

Stalin was a really crap writer.

Oh, awful, Clive, what are you saying?
Stalin wrote very long, very bad books.

The only thing short in Stalin's books was their quality.

Ewch! Hideous!
The only thing in short stature in short supply (better) in Stalin's books (too much detail) them was their quality.

No, no, no, no, no!
The only short thing in them was literature.

Oh, too, too pretentious by half, darling.
Stalin was really quite a bad writer.

NON! (To quote Mel Brooks)
Stalin was awful.

Obvious, in more ways than one. Plus, I think J might get offended. She's a commie.
Stalin's books were really fucked up.

Much too honest, the publisher would never let that through. Also, J.
The only thing short about them was nothing.

The only nothing short about them was

Oh GOD, Clive, can you get any worse?
The thing

The only thing short about them was their length.Hmmm, I'll stick with this one for the moment. God, this writing is hard work. I really need a coffee. And where did I leave my pills? Aaaaaaack! J! J! HELP ME!

Lesser known ‘walks in to a bar’ jokes

[Jokes have been sorted into categories to aid enjoyment. Punch-lines have been italicized to aid the obtuse]

Animal misogyny humour
A man walks into a bar with a Shetland pony and orders a beer. The barman says: ‘we don’t serve ponies in here.’

The man says: ‘That’s no pony. That’s my wife.’ The pony whinnies and then the man says: ‘Shut up bitch, I’ll get you a fucking bloody mary when I’ve finished my beer.’

Department of Finance humour
A Treasury official walks into a bar and orders a round of drinks for his friends.

Professional regulation humour
Three brain surgeons walk into a bar and one of them orders drinks saying:
‘Three beers, my good man, and make it snappy – my colleagues and I are operating in twenty minutes.’

And the bar man replies: ‘Being a barman is only a part-time job. My full-time job is as chair of the Medical Professional Standards Review Board. And I’ll being bringing you up on charges of Consumption of Alcohol while on Duty. I must also say that your rude and demeaning attitude to perceived inferiors will not help you as you defend your case before a sitting of the full review board in August.’

Inappropriate disability humour
A blindman walks into a bar and orders a beer. He says to the barman: ‘lot of weather we’ve been having.’

And the barman replies: ‘That’s not weather. The other patrons are pouring their drinks on you as well as spitting and urinating on you.’

European Union humour
An Englishman, Irishman and a Frenchman walk into a bar and order three beers.

The barman says: ‘well, it’s just gone closing time but I suppose there’s no harm in getting your drinks.'

To which the Irishman replies: ‘well actually we’re officers of the Directorate of Economic and Corporate Affairs, Consumer Division, Liquor Licensing Branch, Investigations Inspectorate, Beer & Allied Beverages Unit. That simple decision to serve three drinks is probably going to cost your entire livelihood.’

And the barman replies: ‘Actually your ad hoc judgment in this affair seems clearly inconsistent with clause 17 of European Directive 31 of 2005 (‘Transitional Arrangements for Certain Types of Business Establishments’). Also, this is Latvia and you have no jurisdiction here until 2009.’

South African humour, circa 1968
A black man walks into a bar and orders a beer. The bar man says: ‘we don’t serve kaffirs in here. Get out.’

The black man replies: ‘Your attitude seems somewhat unreasonable. I have only walked into this public bar seeking momentary refreshment. I will drink up and leave presently.’

‘It’s not unreasonable. This is South Africa circa 1968. Didn’t you read the title to this joke? Stupid kaffir!

Soviet humour circa 1921
A Bolshevik walks into a menshevik bar and orders a beer. The barman says: ‘We don’t serve Bolsheviks.’

And the Bolshevik replies: ‘Oh but shortly you will. At the recent Party Conference, our faction seized control of the Politburo. All of Russia now belongs to us. The other Republics will follow swiftly. Also, your wife and children and currently being transported to a re-education camp in Novosibirsk.’

Sexual non-sequitur humour
A man walks into a lesbian bar, stands next to two lesbians kissing passionately and orders a drink: ‘I’ll have what she’s having and also two small bowls of pork scratchings.’

Professional non-sequitur meta-humour
Three agronomists walk into a bar and order a beer. The first agronomist places a large mound of cow manure on the bar. The second puts a large pile of sheep manure next to it. The third follows this up with what appears to be human faeces but is actually artfully sculpted alpaca manure.

The barman stares at the three agronomists silently for 30 seconds before he says: ‘there had better be an unholy punchline to this joke to justify putting all this shit on my bar.’

The first agronomist says: ‘punchline?’
The second agronomist says: ‘joke?’
The third agronomist says: ‘bar?’