Are you a wanted felon?

If so, please hand yourself into your local police station. The police force has enough to do without having to chase after the likes of you. Similarly, if you are planning to commit a crime, please don't. If you did, we would have to waste time and money arresting you. To pay for this, someone would have to increase taxes, meaning your dear old mum would be hit hard.
To give Police Officers a bit of a break over the festive season, I would advise as many of you as possible to take the law into your own hands. This would save both the police and the wider judicial system some work.
So remember: If in doubt, form a lynch mob!

Intersted In fish?!?!

Yes, you heard me Fish Lovers!?!? It's crazy Tom here, from Tom's World of Fish!?!?!
Want a BRAND NEW aquarium???!??? I'm practically GIVING THEM AWAY!
People say I'm crazy, but I don't care!!!$!!!

So, come down to Tom's World of Fish and get the tank of your dreams for as little as it costs you to get there!
All of our fish tanks are state-of-the-art, bulletproof, and pre-stocked with fresh water salmon!
So, buy a fish tank today... Or regret it for ever!!!?!?!?!

Gary...

Larson once posed the question "If a tree falls in a forest and it kills a mime, does anyone care?" Well, they do now, because I have taken up a life of mimicry. I've already invested in a stripy top and beret, as well as face and body paints. Today's performance went very well, but sadly I became trapped in a glass case while acting, and no-one took my desperate hand gestures for help seriously.
Fortunately, a man attempted to mow me down in a car, breaking my glass barrier and letting me escape to the rooftops like a French gargoyle.

disturbing tales for children you want to hit but can't, so just emotionaly scar instead, Volume 1

"What happened to the living room table?"
Sighing, Max rose from the the chair and prepared to smooth things over.
"Well Carol," he said, giving her the old puppy-dog eyes, "I'm sorry. It was an accident."
"Eww!" screamed Carol, looking at the severed organs in her hands, "Get out!"
Still, she thought to herself, that's dinner sorted out.

Now eat your sprouts, or it'll be your dog next!

People often ask me...

Is Elvis really dead? Yes, I reply. Even if he didn't die in 1977, he would be 74 next year - not at all an impossible age to reach, but an unlikely one for a man who not only has(had):
(a)severe health problems, a history of drug abuse and was grossly overweight
but also (b) died 31 years ago. However, there are many conflicting ideas.
Firstly, Kirsty MacColl sings that There's A Guy Works Down The Chip Shop Swears He's Elvis, in the song of the same name. People often propose to me that this was not a lie, as implied by the song, but that MacColl was IN FACT Elvis!
I retort that she was born in 1959, and a history of her life for the 18 years before Elvis' death exist, making it all but impossible for them to be the same person. Even if it was true, MacColl tragically died in 2000, so this argument only supports my claim.
Other theories proposed to me suggest that on his death-bed(toilet...), he did not in fact die, was was taken by a golden light and ascended unto heaven. I severely doubt this, but I suppose it's up to you to decide what it is YOU believe.

Next week:
Bigfoot! Real live monster, or hairy tramp who stole my briefcase on a crowded train in London?
Yes, probably neither...

Happy April fools!

Ha, got you. You see, the trick is that it's actualy Christmas!

Yes, I hope I die soon too...

I don't like Christmas...

The entire event was overshadowed last year when my (fictitiously-fourth [hi Ben]) wife's nipples spontaneously combusted at the dinner table. In the commotion, the turkey got burned. So did the house. And my tortoise.

Really, I tried to stop celebrating Christmas, but people bought me presents and I felt bad about not getting any back. Also, I like the chocolate. Crass, commercialized chocolate...

The Grand National

"Yay, horsey ride!" I yelled, leaping on my Uncle Harry(I was younger, this isn't a incestuous rape story)
"Well, all right." He replied, with mock annoyance.
Picking up speed, he began to run me around the house, taking the corners rather rappidly. Unfortunately, as we took the corner into the kitchen, he slipped and fell hard on the floor, sending me flying onto the soft corridor carpet.
"Are you ok?" I asked, running over to my hunched-up uncle.
"Yes... no, wait [as he tried to stand] my hip. Damn, go fetch some help!"
Unfortunately, there was only one thing we could do in the situation. Aunt Harriet fetched the shotgun from the shed.

I don't race any more, I've put on too much weight.

A White Christmas?

Nope, it's going to rain, and lovable animals will catch AIDS.

I placed the bucket carefully on top of the door, and retreated behind the sofa, giggling. A few moments later, I heard the familiar thuds of someone pounding my door in an attention-grabbing manner.
"Come in," I called cheerfully.
A heavyset bald figure stepped towards the door, looking around furtively.
"Hey, you're not who I was waiting for," I yelled. It was true, my hilarious practical joke on Great Aunt Martha was about to be ruined by a Phil Mitchell lookalike.
As I watched, the bucket descended onto his head, spilling it's liquidy contents evenly across the intruder.
"No," he replied, "I'm here to burgle your house." Then, after a pause, "Hey, this isn't water!"
"No, it's petrol, it's part of the prank."
Well, it seemed a shame to let it go to waste, so I threw a match at the would-be burglar.

It's sad to see celebrities fall on hard times. Only last week, I had to help Robbie Williams chase rats out of his council house.

......................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................

The Further Adventures of Albert Einstein

I don't agree with violence against animals in most cases, but it seemed justified today. Loading the shotgun, I stormed out into the garden, taking sight at the beast caught in the bear trap.
"I wuv you!" It intoned, threateningly.
I knew behind the warm, loving exterior lay the heart of a sadistic, murderous bastard who only wanted into my home to eat the souls of my children. Readying the weapon, I pumped to rounds into the fluffy, pink hell-spawn.
Unfortunately, they're an endangered species.

A hot date

Help!

People are in my room! Phone the police!

"Hey! What're you playing at?"
I approached the man standing at the bus stop, striding angrily across the road. He was average sized, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, and seemed to be blacked up.
"That's totally offensive and inappropriate in this day and age!" I yelled.
"Oh," He said, turning. "Don't worry mate, you've got the wrong end of the stick - I'm not blacked up, it's just cheaper and less embarrassing to paint my face like this than it is to buy a gimp mask."
People are shit, don't forget.

This Is Life.

The potato would not dance, regardless of how many times I asked it to. I shot it, then turned the gun on myself. There were no bullets left, and I suppose I'm glad of that really. I threw the gun aside and walked off into the smog.
I don't know what lies ahead, but I suppose I can deal with that later.

Imagine...

3 rather stereotypical Neds doing a badly synchronized dance routine to Cotton Eye Joe. They try to dance, one falls attempting a hand-stand, and another smacks his head when attempting to break-dance. Then a combine harvester smashes through the wall and mows them all down.
Life isn't all bad.

"Hey Max! Look at that kid's phone. Is it one of those new Nokia ones?"
"Yea, think so." Replied Max. "God, I'd love one of those, it'll be years before it becomes obsolete."
"Yea, and it's got a really good camera." I replied.
"What?" Replied Max, "Oh, we're talking about the phone? Oh dear."

As I pushed the cart towards an old lady, I wondered wistfully why they never announced a cleanup in Isle 4 in real life. It needed it.
Slowly, I maneuvered the cart in front of the elderly dear, and let go. It glided into the display of miracle penis enlargement spray, blocking her in. Shoving another cart full of watermelons in behind her, I made a run for it.
I made it to the tills and managed to buy a tub of anal lube and a cucumber before security caught me. The police were called, my wrists were slapped, and the cucumber was confiscated.

They were right...

My door does smell of vomit...

Jolly fat men

"Ho... Ho ho"
I watched sadly as Santa stumbled hopelessly around my kitchen.
"Ho [hiccup] Ho, he!" He announced proudly. I'd always thought of him as some sort of tank, but millions of sherries, brandies, whiskies and absinthe (my mother insisted he liked it) must have taken their toll on the jolly bastard. Taking another swig of vodka - I hadn't left that out for him - he tried to stuff a bicycle into the microwave. I had tried to take it off him, but he had announced I was a bad little girl and rubbed coal on my face.
As he threw up into the fridge, I headed to bed. I could tidy up in the morning, then phone the council about getting a new lock fitted on the front door.

When I got up in the morning, I discovered that it hadn't been Santa at all, just John Prescott, getting into the Christmas Spirit.
He'd stolen my TV as well.

Santa... Doesn't feature in this post

It's nearly Christmas! soon I can celebrate a story I don't believe in by pandering to the spoiled desires of children forced on me by a greedy, capitalist society!
I prefer Easter, where we eat chocolate to celebrate a man dying because he wanted people to get on and coming back as a zombie.

The zombies came for us at nightfall. They walked around the garden and moaned for a while, then stole the gnomes. Eventually, they knocked down the door, and got confused by the sky+ remote. After a cup of tea, they left.
It was all a little surreal actually.

bake day

"Hey! Joe, come try some cake!"
Reluctantly, Joe walked over to my table and picked up a slice of cake.
"Well, this looks surprisingly good actually. Better than the goose bread anyway.
"Is it carrot cake?" He asked, taking a large bite.
"Yea," I replied. Seeing his pained expression, i added, "and broken glass. Zingy, eh?"

www.catsthatlooklikehitler.com

This amused me for a while

God, I thought, this apple juice is shit. I took another mouthful - good thing I was thirsty. Norman entered the room from the living-room.
"Seen my urine sample?" he asked.
Slowly, i put down the cup, and using my free hand, pointed to the nearby counter where Norman had put his urine sample.

This story could have gone two ways, and neither of them are funny. I imagine I should use this to illustrate a philosophical point, but I won't. So there.

Rabbits and raisins (raisins don't feature, but I liked the alliteration)

"Daddy! Daddy, Mr. Flopsie's gone missing!"
"That's ok dear," I replied, "My new lucky rabbit's foot should bring us some luck finding him!"

A shock for people who know me.

I actually considered buying jeans yesterday, but they had none in my size. So there!
Also, I had a terrible time spelling "who" just now...

There is nothing left in the world to say.

Right guys, I'm off

A Vaguely threatening advert just popped up telling me to say "goodbye U.K., hello Canada!". It told me to go and start a new life, and i think there may be dire consequences if I don't. Good luck everyone, have a nice life!

Mary checked the blinds. It was no good, it was still out there, watching her.
Slowly, she crept to the phone, but the wires had been cut. In a typical, cliched manner, her mobile battery had died five minutes ago. There was only one thing for it, she would have to make a run for it. If she was lucky, she could make it to one of the farm vehicles - the jeep was nearby, and she had the keys. Then, she could escape and find help in the village. But deep in her heart, she knew it would be no good - everywhere she went, it was sure to go.

She ran. Fleece white as snow, the lamb burst from the shrubbery and gave chase. She knew she couldn't escape, it would follow her anywhere - even school!

common misunderstandings

"Hey dear, could you take out the bin?" my fictitious wife called from the living room.
With a sigh, I rose from the sofa. Thank God for the pause feature on Sky+, or I'd be missing Jeremy Kyle. Bastard that he is. I headed towards the kitchen, stopping on the way to pick up my shotgun.
By the time I got back from dumping the remains in the river, my wife and all her belongings had vanished.
That's 3 now...

Guess what's back!

Knock knock, went the door. Ha, thought you'd gotten rid of this didn't you!
"who's there?"
"Adolf"
"Adolf who?"
"Hitler. I hope there aren't any Jews in there!"
It had been bad enough when the KKK visited last week, and lets not even get started on the offensive things the mailman said about homosexuals. I seem to live in a very bigoted and fictitious neighbourhood.

A wonderful day at the riverside

The water was too cold, and there was little else to do. A bird was singing a bad rendition of Britney Spears "Toxic" in the distance, and an few fish were jumping and such. Turning away from the river, Norman reached into his pocket:
"Bet you a fiver I can eat myself."
"Yea, go on then." I replied
With a horrible squelching noise, he dislocated his jaw and stretched it over his face. Slowly, he chewed away at his head, until he collapsed, his face a bloody mess.
He hadn't even managed to eat a quarter of his body, so i took the £5 and left. I hope he practises some more.

Blaaaaaaaaargh

People shouldn't blog when they're drunk, but they often do. I suppose that's life...

Please give generously

"Hey, any spare change?"
I looked sadly at the tramp accosting me from the street. I felt sorry for him - he looked like Santa would if he had a bad few months - so i reached into my pocket and threw him a few pounds.
"Thanks!" He replied, "Now I'll grant you three wishes."
"Really?" I asked.
"Yea, sure." He replied, "As long as you want chlamydia."

Old style mirth.

Herbert, spotting the muffin sitting tantalizingly on the table, started to walk across the room. The banana skin, positioned perfectly in the middle of the floor, chuckled gleefully to itself - fortunately, Herbert was pretty deaf, and it wasn't a loud chuckle.
One shuffling step at a time, he moved closer...closer...closer. He was so close the banana could almost reach out and touch him... He took another step, his foot rising, hovering inches above the fruity peel... it came down... slowly... the banana, practically orgasmic with excitement, prepared for the kill...
Suddenly, two men in ski masks burst in to the room, shooting both Herbert and the banana, and stole the muffin.

An excuse for the next time i forget to blog

A cold wind blew in, rushing around my body and freezing my exterior body-parts. I looked around again, at the dead trees that offered little shelter against the onset of a malicious and bitter wind. Siberia: Cold, barren and cliched.
"We should keep moving," Ben muttered nearby
"Aye," I replied, "Probably..."
So we starting moving again. In the distance, a wolf howled sadly.

"Did i tell you i had a dream you were eaten by wolves?"
"Yes." Said I, "often in fact. It doesn't improve the situation."

We had been on the run for days now, always one step ahead of the ferocious creatures that chased us, for now. I didn't know how we'd gotten into this situation, but it seemed a good excuse for not blogging. Ben blamed Lizzie and Karen, but he always did, so that didn't help.

I watched the last embers of the fire go down, a few last sparks shooting into the sky as the former Leviathan died. I knew what was behind me before i heard the tell-tale twig snapping, and i turned to look into the ferocious maw the great beast that had been tracking us. Ben was moving over, reaching slowly for a rock. Unfortunately, the beast leaped, its claws cutting a deep gash into his chest. It turned, ready to finish me off, but stepped into the ash of the fire, dislodging burned out logs and sending fresh sparks into its face. Scared, the creature turned tail and fled. But it was too late for Ben.

He lay there, cradled in my arms. With a haggard sigh, he uttered his last words:
"Macs are good", then died.
I buried him nearby, and went home. It was too cold in Siberia anyway.

Gas companies want me DEAD!

Sayith "Rachel" in an e-mail to me. Unfortunately, it's just spam. I was kinda hoping to be drawn into an international conspiracy and such, with glamorous women and deadly vegetable patches. Meh, i should probably take my medication more often...

Yay!

Go Barack Obama!

Crowd surfing doesn't work if you attempt it by jumping out of a window onto a busy high-street.

My aim in life

Is to become an evil, Victorian-style landlord. I plan to grow a large, threatening moustache and throw families out onto the street for being a ha'penny short on their rent.
I plan to replace sound with fast-paced organ music, and write everything down on large slides, to make the whole experience more old-school. If you don't pay, I'll tie you to a railway line (Could that derail a train? Hmm... I'd be so evil I wouldn't care anyway.)
So, if you're looking for a place to stay, apply now!
Unless you're Jewish.
Actually, they're good with money.
No blacks!
Ah, mindless racism...

A magical fairytail

The handsome prince threw down his sword and approached the bed. Drawing closer, he made out the figure of the sleeping princess through the thin veil, and stretching out, drew it back. Stepping inside the enclosed space, he could not help but gasp at her beauty; her golden hair falling softly on the pillow, her perfect body visible through her fine, silken gown. Upon seeing this enchanting vision, he wished he could stay forever in that moment, but he knew what he needed to do. Pushing back his hair, he leaned across the sleeping figure, tilted her chin, and kissed her.
At first, nothing... Then, slowly, her eyes fluttered open.
"Who?... Who are you?" She muttered, sleepily.
"I am Prince Charming, come to wake you from your long slumber!" He replied, dramatically.
Turning, the Princess checked her clock.
"I've only been asleep half an hour..." she muttered to herself, then, as she awoke fully and took in the situation, "What the fuck are you doing in my room? Help! HELP!"

Fortunately, the Princess's neighbours heard the cries for help and were able to 'phone the police. The not-so-charming Prince was arrested and charged with attempted rape.
Life's no fairytale.

Christmas cheer.

I saw Santa today, in the field next to my house, picking up horse shit. In his little red clothing and a big hat.
I guess the whole Christmas gig isn't paying enough. Then again, I could have told him that. Making presents for millions of children is all well and good, but obviously it's expensive. I heard the elves had organised a(n? sounds wrong) Union too, so that's another expense for him. Oh well, he seemed happy enough, and the cold weather means the shit's frozen, which must make the work easier!

It's snowing! Yay...

Some mirth

What do you call it when a man is savaged by a bear and loses the use of his legs?

A tragedy. Unless he was a paedophile or something.

An extract from my exciting novel

I'm not feeling particularly imaginative, so I'll let you all have a treat: An extract from my novel, which I'll never finish. Our hero, framed for a crime he didn't commit and on the run from the law, meets up with his friend Max, who has suggested a secret meeting place, to plan his next move:

“To be honest” Max said “that did nothing for me.
“Actually, the whole display was crap. The artwork itself left me cold inside. I mean, I’m willing to try modern art, but it was just lines and badly drawn people. And what was the theme meant to be? It was just a lot of unconnected little pictures – a dog here, family home there – No underlying message, no connections. And the free wine… I mean, I was expecting cheap stuff, but that was bollocks.” “Actually,” I retorted “It was grape juice.”
“Well, exactly. That really sums up the whole evening. The organisers had so little faith in the whole event they didn’t even splash out on decent wine. Or glasses, those things were bloody plastic. Wasn’t even worth the effort I put into stealing them!”
“Hmm…” I pondered out loud “what were you expecting from St. Mary’s PTA fundraiser? Those pictures were by 7 year olds. Personally, I rather liked some of them.”
Actually, they had been pretty crap, but I suppose it was the best they could do. I’d seen those kids, and some of them had pretty stubby fingers.
“Well, all right then” Max replied, “It was only £1.50. Hey, you know what this reminded me of? Remember that time on The Wombles, when Bungo and Orinoco and all of them pretended to be humans?”
“No” I sighed. I could see where this was going.
“Aye you do” he snapped, “they were all taking heroin, and there was that baby died, but it was crawling on the ceiling”
“For the last time Max, that was Trainspotting. Why do you always think it was an episode of the Wombles? And what’s that got to do with today?”
“Well, it’s just the whole Womble-art thing, you know?”
I didn’t, but I honestly didn’t care any more. Instead, I tried to guide the conversation back to my problem – call me selfish if you will dear reader, it’s your opinion. You Bastard.
“Right” say I, “moving on… I’ve been framed for the lamest fraud since ‘my friend’ Amobi from Africa e-mailed me from his hellish prison cell to ask for $15,000 to fund his revolution, and…”
“Yea” he cut in with, “how’d that work out for him? I’ve got some friends from work who helped out, but he still didn’t have the funds he needed”
“Oh, he got captured. Needs more money, I think. It was a good thing they threw him in a cell with a laptop and internet access though, or he wouldn’t have a hope in hell of getting out. We can’t keep bailing him out though; he’s got to learn to stand on his own two feet.” Again, I was losing control of the conversation, “Anyway, I’m wanted for fraud and someone has my ‘photo album. Where do we go from here?”

Beware! The kitchen door bit my hand! Now that it's tasted human flesh, it craves for more. Watch out residents of Murray Hall!

The future

I have just been to the future.
It's the same really. I should probably have picked a more exciting time to visit than next Tuesday.

A public service announcement

A fact, like what Ben does... Yet subtly different!

Apparently, it’s all downhill after 20, when your brain reaches its maximum weight of about 3 pounds. Over the next 60 years, as billions of nerve cells die within the brain, it loses about 3 ounces. The brain begins to lose cells at a rate of 50,000 per day by the age of 30.
Ha, no need for a diet now!
No wonder zombies are so thin...

The rain continued to fall, slashing into me like tiny needles thrown by an angry and resourceful God. With a sad, undramatic noise not unlike "thud", my garden umbrella fell slowly into the barbeque. Normally, this would worry me, but the rain had long since triumphed over the fiery grate, and had consumed the sausages in an orgy of gloop and pig anus'. I continued to stand still, spatula raised half-heartedly, ridiculous cliched apron and hat that came free with the barbeque fixed in place. Eventually, I crumpled into a ball and cried.
The doctor tells me I have hypothermia. Probably because i was lying there for 36 hours.
I propose the creation of a heated apron, but I doubt anyone will listen.

It's not youtube

It's mine!

No, YOUR sex is on fire...

Although happy in his relationship with Lucy, and secure in his sexuality, Calum often wondered why his fantasies didn't include songs he liked.

No Man is an Island, Part 2

Yes, Harold thought to himself, life on the island wasn't so bad after all.
It was a pity about the crushing loneliness though.

The Treachery of Shopping.

I shouldered open the back door, stumbled dramatically into the kitchen, and dropped the shopping bags onto the floor. A lone tin of beans slowly rolled out, colliding with a chair leg in a boring fashion.
"Oh, been to the shops?" asked my made-up, plot devise wife.
I looked down, slowly, at the bags of shopping, at the words "Tesco" brazenly stamped onto said bags, and then looked slowly at her.
"No." I replied "I've just taken all the food out of the cupboards and the fridge, and taken it on a 45-minute bus journey."
In retrospect, this was foolish. The bags were heavy, and the soup my mother had given me had gone off in the heat.
I haven't seen my wife in several days...
That's two down now...

When going on holiday...

Never give the shifty-looking man down the street a set of keys so he can check your mail.
Bastard stole my house. But, there amongst the mud and foundations, just where the path abruptly ends at what used to be my front door, he left a copy of Reader's Digest.

Does that still come out? They always annoyed me, but they did some good books on stuff. I think i have one on world history somewhere...

Crash!

The brick came through the window, knocking my lamp from the table, and skidded to a stop on my hearthrug. It was a nice brick, in rather good condition. I cleaned it up, throwing away a piece of paper some idiot had tied to it, and sold it on e-bay.
I haven't seen my wife in several days...

I'm listening.

Calum adjusted himself, settling into the couch, and took another look at the cards in his hand.
"Now Mr. Conway, it's rather simple. Just look at the cards, and tell me what the ink stains suggest to you" Dr. Conner said softly.
Calum took another look at the cards. No, it was no good. They still looked like a man stabbing another. Best to cage my bets, he thought.
"Erm, Louis Armstrong?" He offered, cautiously.

Superheroes

I think the world needs more Superheroes to deal with the problems of increased violent crime, terrorism, drugs and people who phone up to sell you stuff you don't want. To this end, i plan to start a society of superheroes, feel free to sign up. Here are some ideas:

Elderly man - an old man who fights crime by moaning at it about stuff, and hitting criminals with a stick.
Pros: The stick often catches criminals unaware. Cons: Bladder weakness, tends to get stolen.

Flash Photography Boy - using a the flash on a camera, he not only blinds criminals, but gets evidence of them committing their criminal acts.
Pros: Blinding opponents is actually rather practical. Cons: It's a pretty shit idea really.

The Bad Father - uses fighting crime as an excuse to not visit his son and for forgetting his girlfriend Julie's Birthday.
Pros: Has experience escaping from difficult situations. Cons: Commitment.

Miss Obvious - states the obvious until criminals get pissed off and leave.
Pros: Isn't it obvious? Cons: The criminals might just assault/kill/eat him instead of leaving, bloody annoying

Mr. President man - is generally an idiot, and invariably makes situations of international tension worse.
Pros: Hilarious grammatical mistakes. Cons: Everything else.

Ouch...

I got cramp, then I hurt my toe. Life's pretty shit, but it could be worse:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=78XrI_2bPVA

Cow Kites

Are real. It's pretty easy, all you need to do it get the cow running before you start running.

Yes, i stole that from family guy, Ben told me to. But wouldn't it be great if you could get real animals to fly by attaching string to them?

Welcome!

Do come in! Take of that coat and sit yourself down by the fire! There we go, comfy?
I know, i'll get you a drink! Is it good? Drink it all up... go on, I've got plenty.

Ha! You fool, that wasn't a delicious cocktail, that was my blood! Now you're my slave, for ever! Moo ha ha ha!

What, you have to leave? Oh, ok.

.........................................................

Why does no-one ever visit me?

The stall...

Was pretty shit, by all standards. It consisted of a table of some sort, covered with the Union flag. Behind the stall, another Union flag was pinned to the wall. An angry, overweight skinhead was shouting angrily from behind the stall and handing out fliers, which people politely glanced at and more politely binned. God bless the BNP.
He saw me, and similarly saw through my disguise as a standard-built white man, realizing at once that I was a black, gay Muslim.
"Hey, you!" He yelled, "You're scum! Go home!"
I take offence to this. So what, i killed a few prostitutes, that doesn't make me scum. And i was going home anyway.

Alcohol is not a substitute for food.

That is all.

My novel

As you may know, I'm writing a novel. It does not, at present, feature any gypsies, but that isn't the topic at hand. So far, it stands at nearly 9,000 words. When finished -in 50 or so years - it will feature wit, cynicism, anger, ancient conspiracies, drunken shaving and chocolate chips. However, at the moment it consists of the word "Bin-liner" copied loads of times.
I don't intend on selling this magnificent work of literature. Instead, I intend to have many copies printed out, and then I'll build a fort out of them.

All silent on the Western front

The pipes are silent.
So far, every night at around 8, they start to gargle and clunk like the lava in the intestines of Satan, louder than the bowel movements in the bowels of hell. But tonight, they seem quiet - no water, rushing through them to nowhere. Perhaps my radiator is broken, but I don't need it yet, so for now I'll let it go.
I'll miss the fucking thing in winter.

Coffee and colds

I sneezed again. Bloody cold. In fact, only 5 minutes ago, Max had commented on how pale and deathly - i know - i looked, to which i replied "bloody cold".

Anyway, we continued sipping coffee and generally sitting around the table in the small coffee shop. We seemed deep in thought, and the peace of early morning coffee drinking was only punctuated by my sneezes. As we sat in this gloomy silence, we both took to simultaneously staring out of the window, despondent but with a vague glimmer of hope in our eyes. Our hope was rewarded when a car, appearing from nowhere, mounted the kerb and pulled up sharply in front of the cafe. I noted it was blocking the side alley, despite clear warnings not to, but this didn't seem the time to complain. As we watched, a man jumped from the car, cocking a handgun, and ran into the cafe.

"hey!" exclaimed Max excitedly, "isn't that Ross Kemp?"
The man looked nothing like Ross Kemp, and to be honest, i don't see why Ross Kemp would have to resort to robbing cafes. However, i felt charitable, and replied it could be.

"hands up!" He yelled "The next person to move, or even talk, gets shot!"
To be honest, it wasn't the most impressive speech I'd ever heard, but bless him for trying. I sneezed, sadly.

"Oh!" He exclaimed - he seemed very excitable, "A wise guy, aye? Well, let's see how smart you are now! You're dead buddy!"
He raised the gun and fired at me. Fortunately, i chose that moment to sneeze again, and as my head sank into my hands, the bullet sored over my head and bounced off the wall, hitting him in the leg. With a yell, he dropped down. Alerted to the sound of sirens in the distance, he turned and tried to run out of the cafe. A police car swerved in front of him, and he was quickly restrained.
As he was dragged off, he once again shouted out to me:
"You're a dead man! you're dead... dead!"
"Can we get an autograph?" Max yelled back. I should really talk to him sometime.
"Dead! Dead, dead, dead!" He yelled, again. Not very original, is it?

I would be worried there could be some repercussions, but he seemed pretty certain i was a zombie.
Hopefully my cold will clear up soon.

Washing is dangerous

Clothes straight out of the tumble dryer are very hot, especially if they have metal buttons. I learned this the hard way.
Don't even ask about the metal fly...

Also, i think my underwear has shrunk...

Wuzz?

I woke up as normal, but the fuzzy, warm feeling in my head alerted me to the fact I might have a problem. Stumbling to the mirror, i looked at my head and saw the hasty stitching around my cranium... It appears that, during the night, someone snuck into my room and stole my brain. However, the sponge they replaced it with seems to be doing the job just fine.

The table is out to get me!

Every time i get up, it goes for my legs... I know it's just a cry for attention, but it's getting annoying.

It has been 10 days

In the last 10 days, I've been away. I know no-one follows this, so it's not like i was missed. Anyone who knows me will think this lack of posts is because i moved to Uni. Not so... Let us go back a 1 3/7 weeks...

I reached into the wardrobe. I didn't often do this, as i don't have many clothes, but do have a pretty shallow wardrobe. However, i fancied a change.
Loosing my balance, i tumbled slowly into the pit of clothing, and to my surprise, rolled out onto a mound of snow. Pulling myself to my feet, i quickly stumbled forwards, heading for a nearby lamp-post. A scruffy looking figure was nearby...
"Excuse me!" I called out "Is this Narnia? Are you a friendly fawn?"

Unfortunately, it turns out he wasn't. In fact, he was an aggressive tramp who stole my watch. It appears that the wall behind my wardrobe is pretty shit and I'd fallen into the street, concussed myself, and wandered dazed into the alleyway where i was mugged. I'd actually gotten pretty far, and spend the last 10 days working as a prostitute to pay for the taxi fare home.
It doesn't often snow in September.

Ding Dong!
The old familiar bell rang out, filling the corridors and rooms of my home. Bloody thing, the tramp must have sneaked it back in. Anyway, I headed to see what new horrors awaited me.

I failed to see the hidden cameramen when i opened the door, and just saw the 8 foot figure in a rather ill-fitting suit.
3 hours later, i watched the entire incident on Television.
Camera pans in on raucous studio audience, centering on the flamboyantly suited host on stage.
"Welcome back ladies and gentlemen!" He roars warmly. "Now, before the break, you saw that Steve [picture of Steve appears on screen] has to get into the home of an unwitting member of the public! Now, this task is difficult enough for your average monster made of decomposing body parts, but Steve is dressed as a Jehovah's Witness!"

Of course, it's easy to see how i was fooled. Steve was rather smartly dressed, standing at the door with his copy of Watchtower under one arm. Of course, if i looked closely, i would have seen the stitching around his neck and cranium. Still, one doesn't like to stare.
In the end, i let him in. He told me about God, then balloons fell out of the ceiling and he got a check for £5,000.
I was glad of the company really.

No man is an Island

All in all, the situation could have been a lot worse for Harold. Of course, he was still stuck on the desert island, but the weather was nice, and the plane wreck would keep him in supplies for another 6 or so months: plenty of time for him to get the edible tropical bug farm up and running.

At first, he had been a little despondent when his boat had sunk, leaving him marooned on the small island. He had carried out the standard, cliched actions - building a big fire, writing "help" in rocks, and searching for a single local who he could name ridiculously - but to no avail. However, after exploring the island, he found it had fresh water, and at least some edible plants and the like. Then had come the plane crash:
He had seen the plain trailing through the sky, and ran to start a fire. Unfortunately, the plane seemed to be in a spot of bother, and crashed into the ocean nearby. Harold had swam out to exploer, but it seemed the crew had parachuted out of the plane earlier. However, he found some rations, which broke up the monotony of eating coconuts, and crate after crate of sweat pants.
They were also rather tasty.

A visit to Utoforia

"Your highness, there are two men to see you"
His supreme Highness, Thomas Lefarrel, looked at the gold-plated intercom reluctantly. With a casual flick of his finger, he sent one of the waiting servants to the device, where he pressed the talk button.
"Send them in"

The two men entered a few moments later, after the cursory security checks, and walked across the huge marble floor to his Lordship's regal table. As they crossed, it would have been impossible for them to miss the huge picture of Lefarrel staring benevolently across the room, or the many gold or jewel-encrusted pieces of art around the room. They were shown to a pair of imposing, red velvet seats across from Lefarrel, where - once his Highness granted permission - they sat down. As they did so, one of the servants moved silently to the open window, shutting the grant oak shutters to drown out the noise of the crowds of cheering subjects outside.
"And," asked Lefarrel, "how may i help you gentlemen?"
"Your highness," Started one man, "This has gone too far."
"If you are referring to the subjection of workers in the downtown districts, it is regrettable, i admit. But it was necessary for the people to remember they owe their leader respect!"
"No Sir, this... Experiment"
"You mean the Ape-Men? If you mean to tell me it is 'against the will of God' or such, then silence! I act through the will of God, and my -"
"No!" Interrupt the second man, "All of this is an experiment! You are not Thomas Lefarrel, the dictator of Utoforia. In fact, Utoforia isn't even a real Island. This is all an experiment in social psychology, and it has gone too far! You are Tom Leister, you live in the East end of London, and it's time to stop this."
"But..." he started, then turning "Jenkins, you've served me loyally since you were my batman in the revolutionary wars..."
"Actually, Jenkins is a method actor from Hull. All your staff, the crowds of admirers, the Generals who brief you daily - we faked it all. Now come home. Your family miss you, and we have to pay extra if we don't return all the furniture tonight."

There's no philosophical point to this. If we look inside ourselves, we probably recognise most of our live is built on illusions and falsehoods, it's just not always so clear what they are. Personally, I'm pretty sure I have an army of ape-men.

For days, we co-existed peacefully. Sure, we were a little distrustful of each other, but i assumed that would pass with time. Then, last Saturday afternoon, two of the wasps started to poke my house with sticks. Before i knew it, they'd gotten a hose out and totally destroyed my home. Nature's a bitch

Postman Pat

Word has reached me, from my numerous high-ranking government sources, that a big Hollywood production of Postman Pat has just began. Reports are sketchy to say the least, but i understand that "postman" Pat Clifton will be played by LeVar Burton- famous for his role Geordi La Forge in Star Trek: The Next Generation. Other reports suggest that Pat's pet Jess will be played by Eastenders hard man Steve McFadden, better known as Phil Mitchell. The plot will be grittier than that of the original series, centring around Pat's attempts to escape a gang of murderous villains after he accidentally discovers a stash of heroin sent in one of his parcels.

The following publicity shot has been released:

My vision

I had a dream... A dream where black people and white people, and all the other ethnic groups of the world live and work together in my slave army, mining uranium for my tanks.
And now I've achieved that aim. But as I watch them labour from my airship, I feel the familiar clenching grip of self-doubt crushing my innards. Sometimes, as i survey my Empire, i worry that I've gone wrong somewhere; that I've not grown into a man my mother could be proud of.
But this is no time for doubt, this is a time for Action!
And so, once more, i deploy the tanks. But still, is this what my parents wanted for me in life?
I guess I'll never know.

I don't like black people.

Nah, only kidding.

Fecking door

Knock knock.
This isn't a joke, it's onomatoepea. You see, someone is at my door again.
I took out the bell and gave it to a tramp. He wasn't too happy about it, but life isn't fair.

I answered the door, as usual. The man stood there was about 5'2", bearded, long haired and dressed in a white robe. A pair of brown Converse protruded gently from under it.
"Hello, it's my birthday in 4 months" He said. "Because i'm Jesus."
"No you're not." I replied. It wasn't even a real beard, i could see the velcro.
"Yes, i am!" He retored, slightly angrly. Then, calming down and smiling serenly, he offered me a peice of card.
"Just give me a call if you need any help tidying the place." He said, before turning on his heel and speeding off.
The card was blank. Pity really, the place is a bit of a mess.

Nope, that didn't work either.

I did my best, honestly. Unfortunately, in the end the BNP members shouted "go home", and the Poles - who'd had enough by now - went home. The BNP guests then left to hassle a passer-by of Pakistani origin.
Next week; Sandpeople and Jawas - can they co-exist peacefully?

Morning has broken...

I hope they can fix it.

It was my own fault...

I should never have shaved my nose.

Canvasing for votes.

The doorbell rang again. What a bloody nuisance that was turning into. Of course, i could take the door away all together, but tramps might start living in the washing machine again. So, with a sigh and a heavy heart, i went to receive my visitors.

"Good day Sir, and what a lovely one it is!"
I looked at the two men standing on my doorstep. The first - the speaker - was a heavyset, suited skin-headed man who looked about at home in a suit as a tomato in fruit salad. He seemed slightly ill-at-ease with his speech, and as he continued, he tried to subtly check some prompt cards hidden in his left hand.
"British Summer aye, you can't beat them! But you know what would make them better? If there were less brown people about, of course!"
"Nein!" Interrupted the second man, moustache a-bristling, "Warn him about ze Jews"
I looked at the second man. he stood at 5'9", was attempting a comb-over, and looked about 119 years old. There was something familiar about him, but i couldn't place it.
"In a minute," the talked whispered. "We'll ease him in.
" Harry 'Smasher' Sedcolm, your local BNP candidate" he introduced himself, giving an almost toothless smile. He handed me some badly written paraphernalia about how my daughter was 150% more likely to be raped by a Muslim. It didn't explain what this was compaired to however.
I invited them in for tea, but they didn't stay long. The older one stole all of the biscuits, and attempted to annex the living room. He was funny, I hope they call again.

Of course, that was fiction. Suggesting the BNP are in any way a racist party who would support Hitler's anti-semitism is as ridiculous as denying the Holocaust...

Talking to God.

"Hello"
"Hello Timothy, it's God here... You asked me to give you a call back"
"Timothy? Oh, i'm sorry, you have the wrong number. Timothy is 807, this is 870."
"Oh, well i'm sorry to have bothered you. Goodbye."

Say what you like about him, God has a lovely 'phone manner.

The treachery of bananas

I tried some dried fruit. I expected it to be terrible, and it was. All rubbery and tasteless. It was apple flavoured apparently, but i couldn't tell. I mistook it for banana, and wondered why there was a hole in the middle.
Tom said it was ballsack flavoured, but he'd know more about that than me.

It's never too late

I saw my old friend Pasta the other day. I haven't seen him since school, but we kept in touch now and again. I was happy to hear that he patched his differences up with Dr. Atkins before his death in 2003.

My dog has no nose.

How does he smell?
He doesn't, he hasn't got a nose. What a stupid question.
He has got fleas though.

Oh Dear.

My plans to bring peace to the Middle East have failed. Even Tony Blair is doing a better job than me. Oh well, maybe I'll have more luck getting the BNP and Polish immigrants to get on... Nah.

Growing up is harsh.

All in all, Joseph wasn't the best father to me. I remember, for instance, sitting in the living room on my 7th birthday, waiting for him to come home; hoping that he would bring me a present. Of course, he never came.
In later life, i came to forgive him for these failings. Joseph Stalin wasn't my real father, and he had died in 1953. Still, a card would have been nice.

I saw this headline on a magazine, and promtly took a picture of it. I often wonder how Barry's penis ended up there, and how no-one didn't notice it had gone missing.
However, i didn't want to be seen reading the magazine, so i never found out and am still troubled by the issue today.
If there's a moral to this story, it's that you shouldn't not do something because you're worried the staff of a Co-op you'll probably never visit again will think you're a pervert.

It turns out...

I'm not in love, I just have an inner ear infection.

Coatboy Verus The Chicken

"Ha ha ha ha ha!"

I looked around... where was I?
Of course, the last thing i remembered was being bundled into the back of a jeep by two Fez wearing Germans.
"Ha ha ha ha ha!" Again, that evil, diabolical laugh... I recognized it... No, it couldn't be...

But it was! Emerging from the shadows and taking his place near the table i was chained to appeared my arch nemesis!

Immaculately dressed as always, The Chicken - the most evil poultry super-villain in existence - hopped onto a stool and observed me through his small, beady eyes.

"But how?" I asked. "The last time i saw you, you were locked in the Chicken-coop of eternity, lost in the great Layer's wars."

"yes!" he replied. "But i escaped! Eventually, even the best farmer-guard leaves the hatch open!"

The back-story to my relationship with The Chicken is rather interesting, but this isn't the time for it.

This is the front of an Innocent smoothie. The peach-based character bares a startling resemblance to Mr. Ellis, my English teacher for part of my 5th year. However, he never had a Halo.
He wasn't a peach either.

When i was a small child...

I would often brush my teeth, then drink apple juice. I could never understand why it tasted so strange. As an adult, I now realise it's a Government conspiricy.
The orange juice people are in on it too.

Pie?

The doorbell rang, it's metallic chime signalling to all the world - that chose to inhabit my dining room - that someone was at the door. Of course, i regretted buying the bloody thing now.

When i felt that the man at the door - definitely a man, for i had taken a sneaky glance at him out of the kitchen window - was growing bored, i opened the door flamboyantly, and welcomed him like an old friend.
" Ah, good day Sir," he started "May i interest you in an exciting, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity?
"But how rude of me! Joshua Johnson, of Johnson and McKay?"
I didn't understand the question, but i nodded politely. He continued:
"Now, how would you like to have all the windows in your house replaced... absolutely free!"
I told him i would like this very much. After all, who wouldn't?
"Great," he continued, "Then we can do the next best thing! We can replace all of your windows... for only £2,000 - £3,000, following a thorough evaluation!"
I showed him into the kitchen and offered him a seat at the table, where he proceeded to produce the relevant paperwork. While he did this, i cut up my freshly baked cherry pie, and offered him a slice. As he ate it, i slipped away, under the guise of fetching a pen.
I locked myself in the bathroom and called the police. No-one touches my pie!

Love

Love is, at best, an abstract idea, and rather hard to describe. However, to the right is a visualization of the whole thing.
Love is, as we imagine, a crudely drawn cardboard box, while the jumble of related feelings are represented by the white background. Click on the box to watch as young Henry falls, tragically, out of love.

Much like the real thing, visual representations of love don't have to make sense.
Nor need they be well created.

When I die...

Please don't film my funeral and put it on Youtube.

Kids!

There are a lot of pressures in modern life, but remember: A nice sit down with a cup of tea and a biscuit is a healthy alternative to taking heroin.

I'll show them one day...

I invested £50,000 in copies of Guy Ritchie's Swept Away in 2002, to the general criticisms of my friends and family. Of course, the film was a total failure, and i was declared bankrupt the following year. My friends no longer speak to me, and my family only send me obligatary Birthday and Christmas cards.
However, imagine how stupid they would have felt if I'd made a fortune!

An Important Lesson.

The reason I love the KKK...

Is not because I'm a white supremacist, but because the Klan website is (unintentionally) rather funny.

I enjoy the article on there front page, for example, where they explain they do not endorse Barack Obama. While this may seem obvious to us, they point out rumours have started due to an article in the Magazine, "The Daily Squib". While this magazine is satirical, the Glorious Klan don't realize this straight away, and worry that everyone else may take it for fact. And how easily we could. Looking at the website, i see that the Queen is working in McDonalds, that the Senate has told Barack Obama that he must put on weight, and that Human-Animal Hybrids are roaming Britain's streets. Of course, how easily I could have mistaken these articles for fact...

In reality, the reason behind not noticing obvious satire could be the same reason you judge black people to be a lesser people - because you're an idiot.

Anyway, back to why the site is funny, in an ironic, I wish they didn't exist way: http://www.kkk.bz/niceblacks.htm

The daily Squib article: http://www.dailysquib.co.uk/?c=117&a=1355

Allergies

I went to the doctors today, and it would appear i suffer from an allergy to arsenic. Even small amounts can lead to death. It's a bit of a bugger, i don't mind telling you. However, I've done some research and it looks like i can get through life without regularly consuming arsenic. Well, good luck to me, i say.
Best wishes to anyone in a similar situation.

Unavoidable differences?

Today, i tried to introduce the French to the Klingon Empire.
As you may expect, it didn't go well.
The cheese did not agree with the Klingons' weak, womanly stomachs, and the French couldn't manage the guttural Klingon Language.
However, i have decided not to let this put me off: Next week, i plan to bring about a lasting peace for Israel and Palestine.

Piranha-Bears, a real animal.

Piranha-Bear (family piraña-Ursine) are an Endangered omnivorous freshwater mammal, found in South American rivers. Because of similarities to Piranhas and Bears in both name and appearance, the Piranha-Bear is often assumed to be related to at least one of these creatures. However, new scientific studies have shown the Piranha-Bear is actually closely related to the giraffe.

Despite their fearsome nature, Piranha-Bears are very docile creatures. However, they have a fierce aversion to Khaki, a trait that has led them to hostility towards adventures and hunters. Piranha-Bears also have a tremendous fear of pigtails.

The favourite prey of the Piranha-Bear is the Salmon Cow, a large freshwater mammal that the Piranha-Bear can consume whole in 3 seconds. However, the Piranha-Bear prefers not to rush the meal, and enjoys to slowly cook and season its foodstuffs before eating.

It is an little-known fact that Lord Lucan was killed by a Piranha-Bear. The animal was agitated because of constant proddings with a stick. Like all of God's creatures, the Piranha-Bear responds to annoyances with fierce mauling.

I hate Trains.

“Remember Kyle?”
I took in the figure talking to me in a cold, measured glare. He seemed generally unobtrusive, smartly dressed in a well-made suit and tie. Balding a little, but covering it well with a half comb-over. Still, normal as he seemed, I found it hard to contain my rage.
“No”, I felt like saying, “Who the fuck is Kyle, and who are you?” But I didn’t, as that would be rude.
He continued anyway:
“He used to collect beermats from around the world.”
As if that would really help my remember a man I’d never met. Then again, I suppose it was an unusual character trade. Actually, as he said it, I remembered my friend Bob had done that when we were in school. I wondered if he still does, but dismissed the thought.
“Well, he’s getting married to this girl he met on a chatroom. Foreign, I think.”
“Oh, right. Well, good for him. When’s the wedding?” I replied. Keeping him happy seemed a good idea.
“Late October. 23rd, I think. Some time around then anyway. Are you going?”
“Well…” I decided to play it safe. “No, I don’t really know him well enough.”
“Aye, fair enough. I’ll tell him you send your congratulations though, ok?”
I agreed hastily, and watched gleefully as he departed the carriage. That had been some of the longest 37 seconds of my life.

An overview.

Yes, I've finally lost it and entered the world of Blogs. I intend to write them at irregular intervals, generally about trivial matters that have annoyed me. Other than that, i may write short, angry stories, or perhaps write about trivial matters and illustrate them with short, angry stories. Either way, this seems cheaper than therapy, and reduces the risks of me killing my friends for misusing apostrophes.