Your eyes are not quite as blue as the sky;
Your teeth are not white - they're yellowy-white.
I like your new hairdo, though it's not that crash hot,
And somewhat less black than the night.
I am really quite fond of your crimsony scarf -
It brings out your bloodshot eyes;
Your bum certainly does not look big in that dress -
It's much more moderate sized.
Your voice is as soft as a slightly lumpy pillow,
Your skin, nearly as smooth as a three-quarter bitumened lane:
I'm more or less certain that you're my third-and-a-half favourite person,
And you're really quite good - in the main.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Thursday, September 27, 2007
I go mad with power
Since unlocking the secrets of the internet yesterday, I have become maddened with the power of my discoveries, and am now seeking to change poetry as we know it. Find below, for your amusement or bemusement a personally customisable limerick and a haiku, an instant T S Eliot poem, and several rhyming couplets for the price of one!
Limerick
Haiku
T S Eliot
Couplet
Hello Charlie! Hello Dora!
(Cross-posted here.)
Limerick
Haiku
T S Eliot
Couplet
Hello Charlie! Hello Dora!
(Cross-posted here.)
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Maybe, If My Arse Was On Fire.
I'm currently trying to organise a few people at work into forming a team for an upcoming corporate-fun-run-type-scenario, because I'm so rock n' roll I can't stand myself.
I asked one of my workmates, Phil, if he might be interested.
He responded by telling me that the only good reason he could think of for running would involve his arse being on fire, and a bucket of water being a good distance away.
I said I could probably think of at least fifteen other good reasons for running, and they're listed below.
Please let me know if you can add to the list, as I'm quite fond of winning unimportant arguments.
1. Being chased by a big angry dog.
2. Being hungry and in a group of three or more people, with a single piece of cake visible in the middle distance.
3. Being threatened at gun point.
4. Being offered a place on a rocket ship exiting an imminently exploding Earth, with fitness being the single most important criterion for getting a seat.
5. Being in the carpark at the beach and seeing your girlfriend drowning a fair way out in the water.
6. Being followed by a swarm of killer bees.
7. Being followed by a group of Seventh Day Adventists.
8. Being thrust into sudden fame, and hence constantly chased by the paparazzi.
9. Being at a party, with "My Heart Will Go On" on permanent rotation on the stereo, which is broken and hence the volume is stuck at eleven, and can be heard by everyone within a five kilometre radius.
10. Being in the Amazonian jungle and having just stolen a valuable artefact, but being caught in the act by some surprisingly fleet-footed pygmies.
11. Being quite near a building that looks like it's about to collapse or explode.
12. Being three blocks away from a bank robber who looks like he's just about to empty his sack full of non-sequential, unmarked bills into the air to avoid capture, just like they do in the movies.
13. Being told you have to jump a long way or your family will die, and needing a decent run-up.
14. Being obsessed with Superman movies, but not able to fly, so seeing if just running around the world really fast will make the world turn backwards so you can save Lois.
15. Being in the main hall of a Comic Expo, or what you thought was a Comic Expo, but discovering you got the date wrong, and you've arrived just in time for the grand final of some kind of running-based competition, the prize being a lifetime pass to all future Comic Expos worldwide.
I asked one of my workmates, Phil, if he might be interested.
He responded by telling me that the only good reason he could think of for running would involve his arse being on fire, and a bucket of water being a good distance away.
I said I could probably think of at least fifteen other good reasons for running, and they're listed below.
Please let me know if you can add to the list, as I'm quite fond of winning unimportant arguments.
1. Being chased by a big angry dog.
2. Being hungry and in a group of three or more people, with a single piece of cake visible in the middle distance.
3. Being threatened at gun point.
4. Being offered a place on a rocket ship exiting an imminently exploding Earth, with fitness being the single most important criterion for getting a seat.
5. Being in the carpark at the beach and seeing your girlfriend drowning a fair way out in the water.
6. Being followed by a swarm of killer bees.
7. Being followed by a group of Seventh Day Adventists.
8. Being thrust into sudden fame, and hence constantly chased by the paparazzi.
9. Being at a party, with "My Heart Will Go On" on permanent rotation on the stereo, which is broken and hence the volume is stuck at eleven, and can be heard by everyone within a five kilometre radius.
10. Being in the Amazonian jungle and having just stolen a valuable artefact, but being caught in the act by some surprisingly fleet-footed pygmies.
11. Being quite near a building that looks like it's about to collapse or explode.
12. Being three blocks away from a bank robber who looks like he's just about to empty his sack full of non-sequential, unmarked bills into the air to avoid capture, just like they do in the movies.
13. Being told you have to jump a long way or your family will die, and needing a decent run-up.
14. Being obsessed with Superman movies, but not able to fly, so seeing if just running around the world really fast will make the world turn backwards so you can save Lois.
15. Being in the main hall of a Comic Expo, or what you thought was a Comic Expo, but discovering you got the date wrong, and you've arrived just in time for the grand final of some kind of running-based competition, the prize being a lifetime pass to all future Comic Expos worldwide.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
The APEC Drinking Game
It's APEC time, and you know what that means - protesters, police baton charges, fulminating pundits, increased threat of terrorist attack and world leaders wearing floral jackets. If you find it all a bit too much to handle, the APEC Drinking Game might be for you.
You will need: functioning liver, things to drink, access to a range of corporate media.
The rules are quite simple: whenever one of the following things happens, you take the appropriate drink. Please note that vomiting is not only allowed but is actively encouraged.
Cross-posted at Sterne.
You will need: functioning liver, things to drink, access to a range of corporate media.
The rules are quite simple: whenever one of the following things happens, you take the appropriate drink. Please note that vomiting is not only allowed but is actively encouraged.
- Newspaper headline includes one or more of the following words: "SHAME"; "ANGER"; "FURY"; "UNAUSTRALIAN": drink shot of vodka. If headline includes exclamation mark, drink a further shot.
- Andrew Bolt has apoplectic fit: drink two large gulps of beer or wine.
- Awkward on-camera conversation between John Howard and any Asian leader: take a swig of whiskey or other hard spirit.
- Phalli at the ready!: drink your choice of cocktail.
- Morris Iemma looks stern: drink five raw eggs.
- Protester wearing Che Guevara t-shirt: drink a six pack of Jack Daniels and Coke.
- Reporter uses phrase "plastic cups of urine": drink plastic cup of urine.
- Riot police remove or cover name badges: poke tequila worm up left nostril.
- World leaders pose for group photo wearing ridiculous "cultural" jackets: drink the little bit of sick that has come into your mouth.
- John Howard baffles assembled leaders with cricket references: skol fifty-two cans of VB.
- Dirty bomb: drink everything you can lay your hands on.
Cross-posted at Sterne.
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!
‘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.
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.
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.
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.
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. | Terrible |
| The only thing short in Stalin's books was their quality. | Ewch! Hideous! |
| The only thing in | No, no, no, no, no! |
| The only short thing in them was literature. | Oh, too, too pretentious by half, darling. |
| Stalin was | NON! (To quote Mel Brooks) |
| Stalin was | Obvious, in more ways than one. Plus, I think J might get offended. She's a commie. |
| Stalin's books were really | Much too honest, the publisher would never let that through. Also, J. |
| The only thing short about them was | Banal. |
| Oh GOD, Clive, can you get any worse? | |
| FUCK! | |
| 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?’
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?’
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
The Adventures of Dr Hercules: A Serial
Part One: The Whimper of Whipped Cream
Then he woke up and realised it had all been a psychotic episode.
Dr. Hercules wiped the sweat from his brow and smiled sheepishly at Margaret, his Lover, who was standing in the ensuite doorway, shielding her modesty with an origami swan.
"I apologise if I said or did anything to cause you concern," Hercules told her. "I deduce from the scratch marks on my arms that I was having the 'burrowing cockroach' hallucination again."
"You...you said they were trying to get into your veins so they could eat your [gulp] immortal heart!"
Hercules roared. Then he laughed.
"Oh, the grotesque consequences of a psychotropic drug habit! I keep meaning to give the things up, but then I think, no, what if next time I don't have visions of vampiric sandwiches or I don't attempt to ride the neighbour's dog to Spain? Think what I might miss out on!"
Margaret fled the room in tears. Captain Mustaki entered, twirling his multifarious moustaches.
“Ah, my dear Captain,” said Hercules, “friend, confidante and subordinate partner in the most successful crime-fighting duo since Cagney and Lacey. How goes it?”
“Poorly, Hercules, poorly,” replied Mustaki. “For you see, there has been a murder!”
“Most foul?”
“Most.”
“Tell me Mustaki, were there any chickens involved?”
“Pardon?”
“Chickens. You know, fowl?”
The Captain’s left moustache drooped. “No,” he said quietly.
“Mustaki," Hercules said sternly, "you need to find yourself a good woman, impregnate her with your moustachioed seed and have her gestate you a sense of humour.” Hercules leapt to his feet, almost knocking Mustaki sideways with his flailing appendage.
"Thank you for the tip, sir," Mustaki said as he watched Hercules dress.
"Well, best be careful or I'll give you the rest," replied Hercules, donning his pince-nez and codpiece.
"This crime..." Mustaki paused for a moment, lost in thought, "...it disturbs me, Hercules."
"How so?"
"Well, by virtue of its being a murder. You know how sensitive I am about that sort of thing."
"And?"
"And, sir," Mustaki paused again, before gulping down the oyster of trepidation and continuing: "and there is also the minor fact that the victim is, well, your exact physical double!"
The house trembled as Hercules hit the floor.
"Bastard floor," he said. "That'll learn you to creak in my presence! Now, Mustaki, what was it you were saying?"
The Captain's right moustache drooped.
"Never mind, sir. However, your inattention reminds me of a story old Grandma Moustakopoulos used to tell on dark nights when the goats were in season and the olive preserves were nervous."
Suddenly the power went out, plunging Hercules and Mustaki into slightly less light than they had been enjoying. Simultaneously there was a scream from downstairs.
"Margaret!" cried Hercules, racing out the bedroom door.
"Hercules!" cried Mustaki, racing out after him.
"Mustaki!" cried Hercules's valet who had all this time been standing silently at the foot of the bed. As the valet began spot-cleaning Hercules's mattress he pondered the fate of his master and his master's faithful servant, Mustaki, of whom his master was also master.
"What adventures they will have!" he remarked, shaking his head and kneeling to better attack a particularly crusty deposit. "What adventures they will have!"
Will the valet's prediction come true? Will Mustaki be allowed to finish his doubtless fascinating Old World folk tale? What is the fate of Margaret? And what of the body, Hercules's mysterious doppelganger? Answers to these questions and others should be sent to the usual address because frankly we're all out of ideas.
This story originally appeared in Amazing Sterne Stories! Vol. 18.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Lesser known child safety songs
Dude, the day’s real boring and you’re feelin’ loose
So you kick back with some mates and make a noose
But don’t put that piece of rope round your head
Or your neck will snap and you’ll be dead dead dead!
Remember: mates don’t hang mates!
It’s Sunday morn and you don’ wanna go to church
You’re cheesed off with their tired meaning search
But talk to your priest with his musty old smell
Before you sell your soul to the devil in hell!
Pray safe, stay safe: black rites are wrong!
You’re rollin in the park and you gotta go bad
So you skate off home with your bladder goin’ mad
But take off those skates after you do your tricks
Otherwise you’ll slip on the tiles and break your coccyx.
Be safe, wee safe: bathrooms and roller blades don’t mix
Your folks are away and you’re feelin real cool
Nothing seems finer than a little alco-hool
But don’t hook yourself up with a little wee dram
Or wake up thinkin’ you got hit by a tram
Watch that scotch! Kids should never drink aged single malt whisky!
Her hair’s real blonde and she seems real swell
And you like the fact she’s not from Isra-el
But good Jewish boys should never scratch their itches
By getting’ intimate with those shiksa bitches.
Goyim girls are bad news for jews! Only fuck inside the faith!
So you kick back with some mates and make a noose
But don’t put that piece of rope round your head
Or your neck will snap and you’ll be dead dead dead!
Remember: mates don’t hang mates!
It’s Sunday morn and you don’ wanna go to church
You’re cheesed off with their tired meaning search
But talk to your priest with his musty old smell
Before you sell your soul to the devil in hell!
Pray safe, stay safe: black rites are wrong!
You’re rollin in the park and you gotta go bad
So you skate off home with your bladder goin’ mad
But take off those skates after you do your tricks
Otherwise you’ll slip on the tiles and break your coccyx.
Be safe, wee safe: bathrooms and roller blades don’t mix
Your folks are away and you’re feelin real cool
Nothing seems finer than a little alco-hool
But don’t hook yourself up with a little wee dram
Or wake up thinkin’ you got hit by a tram
Watch that scotch! Kids should never drink aged single malt whisky!
Her hair’s real blonde and she seems real swell
And you like the fact she’s not from Isra-el
But good Jewish boys should never scratch their itches
By getting’ intimate with those shiksa bitches.
Goyim girls are bad news for jews! Only fuck inside the faith!
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Harderned criminals just don't phone home like they used to
From the Sydney Morning Herald:
"Police said they suspect Munis, an avid hunter [who shot his wife with a sniper rifle], could be hiding in the vast, rugged wilderness regions to the west of the city.
Captain Jeff Schulz of the Cheyenne Police Department said police had received no contact from him since the killing."
That's outrageous! Everybody knows the core skill of a great homicide detective is waiting by the phone for the perpetrator to ring.
"Hi, it's me. Yeah, I shot her. No, I don't regret it. Um, OK, I guess, they say it'll be about 28 degrees with a chance of light rain. Yeah, well, the farmer's'll be happy at least. I'm sleeping rough in a ditch, cradling my M-16 and communing with the vengeful spirit of my dead wife so I'm not so crazy about precipitation. OK, same time tomorrow?"
"Police said they suspect Munis, an avid hunter [who shot his wife with a sniper rifle], could be hiding in the vast, rugged wilderness regions to the west of the city.
Captain Jeff Schulz of the Cheyenne Police Department said police had received no contact from him since the killing."
That's outrageous! Everybody knows the core skill of a great homicide detective is waiting by the phone for the perpetrator to ring.
"Hi, it's me. Yeah, I shot her. No, I don't regret it. Um, OK, I guess, they say it'll be about 28 degrees with a chance of light rain. Yeah, well, the farmer's'll be happy at least. I'm sleeping rough in a ditch, cradling my M-16 and communing with the vengeful spirit of my dead wife so I'm not so crazy about precipitation. OK, same time tomorrow?"
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
War. Famine. Death. Pestilence. Adidas.
Bugger the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.
I know the end of the world is nigh.
I know this, because there's a girl in the office today who has made the decision that it's okay to wear tracksuit pants to work.
Sulphur will rain from the sky. Oceans will boil. And slobs will bring their lack of self-respect to the office in polyester-cotton form.
Honestly.
I know the end of the world is nigh.
I know this, because there's a girl in the office today who has made the decision that it's okay to wear tracksuit pants to work.
Sulphur will rain from the sky. Oceans will boil. And slobs will bring their lack of self-respect to the office in polyester-cotton form.
Honestly.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
The devolution will not be televised
Or, was that Armageddon, or just my pussy farting?
Laugh all you like, but while you're off indulging your trivial pleasures, it's good to know that somebody is out thinking about the important things.
For me, the only surprising thing in all this is the baseball cap. One would think in the event of the world ending, or an imminent disaster, you'd want to be wearing something a bit classier than that. Personally, I favour fedoras.
Still, it's a good idea, and for the edification of Snarkeology's wide readership, I have undertaken the task of presenting, extempore, a likely scenario in which the 'Go' bag could be used. If anything, I think that this scenario is too pessimistic, but see for yourselves...
***
MONDAY
Thank God I am finally able to come out from underneath the table! The bombing has stopped, and I have had time to survey my surroundings. I appear to be trapped in the fallen rubble of the Sydney Opera House: (and what a splendid performance of Tosca I just saw. Who thought that it would have been the last in the world, eh?)
I have just completed a survey of the room with my torch. There is a corpse, just opposite me, on the lounge, and a cat lurking on the other side of the room.
Hopefully someone will come to get me out shortly.
Thankfully, as an active citizen, member of the Australian Greens, and supporter of Clover Moore's bid for the Sydney Mayoralty, I have with me my trusty GO Bag! Pith helmet in the case of nuclear fallout, sunblock (well - may not need that down here), a set of keys (mysteriously, I have no idea what they open), four cans of baked beans, and this notepad.
The cat is eyeing the corpse on the couch already. I am going to have to do something about that.
Oh, GOD, when is someone coming to get me out?
MONDAY
*Burp*
Well, that was satisfying. Incidentally, now I know why cannibals use pots instead of frying pans. Or shishkebabs. I had similar problems frying kangaroo meat once - you see, once I had chopped it up and...
But I'll spare you the details. Anyway, let me just say that it was certainly thoughtful of Clover to suggest we take a set of keys with us - in the absence of knives, they do a surprisingly good job!
In other matters, what day is it? The minutes and hours and days creep by in a desultory fashion, and I have lost all sense of time. Sometimes it seems like merely hours since the bombs started falling; sometimes, years.
The cat is looking at me strangely, now the corpse has gone.
I had better turn this torch off. I do not know how long the batteries will last...
MONDAY
Is it Monday yet? What time would it be if anyone still had the time? Is anyone who still has the time still alive to give it to me? Who was I used to be? (Only kidding...)
The cat is still staring at me. It has a distinctly obsessed glint in its eyes: I am not altogether sure that we make the best of flatmates. (It reminds me, incidentally, of the time I used to live in a divided warehouse in Newtown. Another flatmate used to look at me in exactly that way - I thought he was gay, but considering the current circumstances, I may have entirely misinterpreted his intentions for me.)
Life here has completely gone to seed. I am down to a diet of two baked beans a day: I am not sure how long it will be before someone comes to get me - or even if they do. If they are. If they were...
MONDAY
At last! Monday again! Every time it is Monday, I give myself a treat - three baked beans instead of my usual two. O, what a glorious feast I have then! I have begun to give the cat a bean on every second day in the week. (As I'm not sure where every first day in the week has got to, this works out quite economically).
But there are fights. Yesterday, the cat spilled the can of beans and managed to eat quite a number of them before I uprighted it. It becomes harder and harder every day to perform the simplest tasks.
Only one and a half cans of beans between myself and oblivion. I must pace myself...
MONDAY
I have lost all sensation in my legs. I find it harder and harder to fend the cat away from the baked bean can: every day is an exhausting struggle. I usually find that waving my hand in its face as fast as possible helps.
We are down to seven beans - one for each Monday of the week. I shudder to think of what will happen when...
MONDAY
The cat has begun eating my leg. It kind of tickles.
I can only move my hands and so cannot throw it off. However, thanks to the thoughtfulness of Clover Moore, I am able to record the event for posterity on this notepad. I am sure glad I voted for her?
MONDAY
How long does it take for one under-sized tabby to eat a person's hip?
In other news, ouch.
MONDAY
VOTE 1, CLOVER MOORE!
Laugh all you like, but while you're off indulging your trivial pleasures, it's good to know that somebody is out thinking about the important things.
The Lord Mayor, Clover Moore, is urging Sydneysiders to prepare a "Go Bag" - packed with maps, running shoes, energy bars and even sticky-tape - so they can be ready for any disaster that may strike the city.(Via Caz)
For me, the only surprising thing in all this is the baseball cap. One would think in the event of the world ending, or an imminent disaster, you'd want to be wearing something a bit classier than that. Personally, I favour fedoras.
Still, it's a good idea, and for the edification of Snarkeology's wide readership, I have undertaken the task of presenting, extempore, a likely scenario in which the 'Go' bag could be used. If anything, I think that this scenario is too pessimistic, but see for yourselves...
***
MONDAY
Thank God I am finally able to come out from underneath the table! The bombing has stopped, and I have had time to survey my surroundings. I appear to be trapped in the fallen rubble of the Sydney Opera House: (and what a splendid performance of Tosca I just saw. Who thought that it would have been the last in the world, eh?)
I have just completed a survey of the room with my torch. There is a corpse, just opposite me, on the lounge, and a cat lurking on the other side of the room.
Hopefully someone will come to get me out shortly.
Thankfully, as an active citizen, member of the Australian Greens, and supporter of Clover Moore's bid for the Sydney Mayoralty, I have with me my trusty GO Bag! Pith helmet in the case of nuclear fallout, sunblock (well - may not need that down here), a set of keys (mysteriously, I have no idea what they open), four cans of baked beans, and this notepad.
The cat is eyeing the corpse on the couch already. I am going to have to do something about that.
Oh, GOD, when is someone coming to get me out?
MONDAY
*Burp*
Well, that was satisfying. Incidentally, now I know why cannibals use pots instead of frying pans. Or shishkebabs. I had similar problems frying kangaroo meat once - you see, once I had chopped it up and...
But I'll spare you the details. Anyway, let me just say that it was certainly thoughtful of Clover to suggest we take a set of keys with us - in the absence of knives, they do a surprisingly good job!
In other matters, what day is it? The minutes and hours and days creep by in a desultory fashion, and I have lost all sense of time. Sometimes it seems like merely hours since the bombs started falling; sometimes, years.
The cat is looking at me strangely, now the corpse has gone.
I had better turn this torch off. I do not know how long the batteries will last...
MONDAY
Is it Monday yet? What time would it be if anyone still had the time? Is anyone who still has the time still alive to give it to me? Who was I used to be? (Only kidding...)
The cat is still staring at me. It has a distinctly obsessed glint in its eyes: I am not altogether sure that we make the best of flatmates. (It reminds me, incidentally, of the time I used to live in a divided warehouse in Newtown. Another flatmate used to look at me in exactly that way - I thought he was gay, but considering the current circumstances, I may have entirely misinterpreted his intentions for me.)
Life here has completely gone to seed. I am down to a diet of two baked beans a day: I am not sure how long it will be before someone comes to get me - or even if they do. If they are. If they were...
MONDAY
At last! Monday again! Every time it is Monday, I give myself a treat - three baked beans instead of my usual two. O, what a glorious feast I have then! I have begun to give the cat a bean on every second day in the week. (As I'm not sure where every first day in the week has got to, this works out quite economically).
But there are fights. Yesterday, the cat spilled the can of beans and managed to eat quite a number of them before I uprighted it. It becomes harder and harder every day to perform the simplest tasks.
Only one and a half cans of beans between myself and oblivion. I must pace myself...
MONDAY
I have lost all sensation in my legs. I find it harder and harder to fend the cat away from the baked bean can: every day is an exhausting struggle. I usually find that waving my hand in its face as fast as possible helps.
We are down to seven beans - one for each Monday of the week. I shudder to think of what will happen when...
MONDAY
The cat has begun eating my leg. It kind of tickles.
I can only move my hands and so cannot throw it off. However, thanks to the thoughtfulness of Clover Moore, I am able to record the event for posterity on this notepad. I am sure glad I voted for her?
MONDAY
How long does it take for one under-sized tabby to eat a person's hip?
In other news, ouch.
MONDAY
VOTE 1, CLOVER MOORE!
In the news
Bush regains powers after colonoscopy is the headline.
But whose colonoscopy?
I'm guessing that either:
(1) the Supreme Court examined one or more Guantanmo detainees very closely before reestablishing Bush's ability to suspend habeas corpus... or
(2) President Bush is actually Superman and somebody lodged a chunk of kryptonite where the sun don't shine.
But whose colonoscopy?
I'm guessing that either:
(1) the Supreme Court examined one or more Guantanmo detainees very closely before reestablishing Bush's ability to suspend habeas corpus... or
(2) President Bush is actually Superman and somebody lodged a chunk of kryptonite where the sun don't shine.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
you can has ur freakin cheezburger and eat it too
Move over lolcats. Because I was too lazy to push my way into this already crowded field, I came up with an innovation so witty, so edgy and yet so gob-smackingly-why-did-no-one-ever-do-this-before obvious, it may just take over the whole internet and end the Iraq war in an afternoon.
I give you -- the loltrophy.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Eight random things about myself
TimT tagged everyone with the 'Eight random things about myself' meme. As that set often includes me, I consider myself tagged and will return fire appropriately.
(1) I am a vast quivering formless omnivorous plant-animal hybrid covering the equivalent of six city blocks.
(2) I prefer Grey's Anatomy to House and Gilmore Girls to Sex and the City.
(3) I used to really like fairy floss but have gone off it since I've got older.
(4) I think I look like Ethan Hawke but talk a little like Ben Stiller (though I'm neither American nor Jewish).
(5) I was inadvertantly responsible for the Great Fire of London.
(6) Even though I worry about climate change (a lot!) I can't stop using my Honda CR-V all the time because I just love how it handles.
(7) I hate waiting in line but hate queue-jumpers even more.
(8) I subsumed my last girlfriend, Megan, into my throbbing plasmic mass and have added the remnants of her consciousness to my hive-mind. She still bitches incessantly about my so-called commitment issues *sigh*. I'll have kids when I'm good and ready to inject carnivorous larvae under the dermal membranes of unsuspecting teenage human campers and not a moment before.
Thanks for reading!
(1) I am a vast quivering formless omnivorous plant-animal hybrid covering the equivalent of six city blocks.
(2) I prefer Grey's Anatomy to House and Gilmore Girls to Sex and the City.
(3) I used to really like fairy floss but have gone off it since I've got older.
(4) I think I look like Ethan Hawke but talk a little like Ben Stiller (though I'm neither American nor Jewish).
(5) I was inadvertantly responsible for the Great Fire of London.
(6) Even though I worry about climate change (a lot!) I can't stop using my Honda CR-V all the time because I just love how it handles.
(7) I hate waiting in line but hate queue-jumpers even more.
(8) I subsumed my last girlfriend, Megan, into my throbbing plasmic mass and have added the remnants of her consciousness to my hive-mind. She still bitches incessantly about my so-called commitment issues *sigh*. I'll have kids when I'm good and ready to inject carnivorous larvae under the dermal membranes of unsuspecting teenage human campers and not a moment before.
Thanks for reading!
Friday, July 13, 2007
Each child comes pre-packaged with its own parental trauma!
Or, what not to name your baby: an instructive poem
Adolf Caeser,
Garttub Wheezer,
Chips;
Richard Small,
Or Richard Biggs,
Or Pritchard Richard,
Or Pips.
Chastity,
Voluptua,
Honoria,
Or Desiree;
F. L. Horatio,
P. N. S. Voratio,
Ralph F. G. Barffman,
Or Hepzibah.
Ron Wong White,
Yorwick Wright,
Darcus Wight,
Or Thomas Witt;
Mary Harry,
Mary Carrie,
Uriah Gaye,
Or Mary Hitt.
Hester Leicester,
Foster Costa,
Barry Larry,
Phipps;
Roland Ronald,
Johnston Johnson,
Mary Myra,
Kripps.
Peregrine Oliphaunt Ormond,
Fassbinder Uther King,
Simon Horace Ignatius Thomas,
Allemand Roger Sing;
Cary Hunt,
Ima Runtt,
Canning Stunt,
Or Ming.
And especially not:
Gina va Biggs,
and Hope-Polly Bumin,
Peter O. Ennis,
And Mary-Lee Cumin.
New Zealand couple P. and S. W. don’t understand what all the fuss is about.Ebenezer,
They have attracted worldwide attention because of their fight to be allowed to name their infant son "4Real."
They chose the name, they say, because after viewing an ultrasound during the pregnancy it suddenly hit them that the idea of parenthood had become - you guessed it - for real.
Buzzle.com
Adolf Caeser,
Garttub Wheezer,
Chips;
Richard Small,
Or Richard Biggs,
Or Pritchard Richard,
Or Pips.
Chastity,
Voluptua,
Honoria,
Or Desiree;
F. L. Horatio,
P. N. S. Voratio,
Ralph F. G. Barffman,
Or Hepzibah.
Ron Wong White,
Yorwick Wright,
Darcus Wight,
Or Thomas Witt;
Mary Harry,
Mary Carrie,
Uriah Gaye,
Or Mary Hitt.
Hester Leicester,
Foster Costa,
Barry Larry,
Phipps;
Roland Ronald,
Johnston Johnson,
Mary Myra,
Kripps.
Peregrine Oliphaunt Ormond,
Fassbinder Uther King,
Simon Horace Ignatius Thomas,
Allemand Roger Sing;
Cary Hunt,
Ima Runtt,
Canning Stunt,
Or Ming.
And especially not:
Gina va Biggs,
and Hope-Polly Bumin,
Peter O. Ennis,
And Mary-Lee Cumin.
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