Tuesday, 12 May 2009

I don't normally use this blog for a serious...

Purpose - apart from slagging off white supremists and such, which is vital work - but today, I'd like to make a vital appeal:
Does anyone have spare socks? I've run out of clean ones, and the washing machine is 6 flights of stairs away. I'm sure I had more socks, but I can't find the little buggers. I know someone stole them out of the washing machine once, because I found all my clothes in a big pile by the dryer. With my underwear on top.
People keep pointing at me and laughing. I think it's a conspiracy - they were all wearing socks.
Send whatever you can, thank you very much.

Celebrity endorsements follow soon.

Sunday, 10 May 2009

The woop-woop of the fire alarm woop-wooped like some sort of annoying bird. Wearily, I rose and checked the time. 4 in the morning, fucking great. I pulled on my jeans and a jacket, and got most of the way into my shoes when the door burst open and a fireman entered. From behind a truly massive moustache, he offered the following in a calming, authoritative voice:
"Nothing to worry about Sir, it's only a drill. Go back to bed, sorry to have disturbed you."
Waving off the trouble, I turned and headed back towards bed. As I approached, I heard a yell, and turned in time to see a large axe spit my door in half. A small, balding man with a clipboard and a badge indicating he was doing the testing ran into the room. After looking around for a second, he threw a match into my bin, and another into a pile of magazines. He then retreated to the door.
As I looked on in shock, two different firemen rushed into the room and started to put out the fire, which had rapidly spread. A third ran in and lifted me up, carrying me out of the room.
He discarded me on the grass outside and ran back into my burning home. Within minutes, the fire had spread to the neighbouring buildings, and two more fire engines had arrived. Within two hours, the fire was extinguished.
The firemen had gathered around the examiner, who proudly informed them that their demonstration had given him no reason to doubt their abilities, and that the district would be safe should a fire ever occur. With that, they left.
It was cold outside, but fortunately an ambulance crew were doing a similar test and rescued me.

Friday, 8 May 2009

"Welcome to Sunny Firson" the sign proclaimed proudly. In a cliched fashion, it was not sunny. It was in fact raining, as it is prone to do in such places. I checked the tourist brochure again - the picture of a warm, sunny beach mocked me happily. Firson, it appeared, didn't have a beach. It was actually 73 miles from the coast, and the only place in England to actually have a week of night every Winter.
There was no accommodation. In fact, there was no town either. It appeared a strong wind had blown most of it away, and deposited it somewhere near Liverpool. After an hour of searching, I found a tourist information board advertising the local attraction. This attraction appeared to be a particularly large sheep with a sign saying "alpaca" around its neck. I returned to my car, but it was out of petrol.
I sheltered under the sign until the rain stopped, then tried to find a saddle for the sheep.

Thursday, 7 May 2009

"Oh, and you were wrong. I looked it up, and Wolverine wasn't made of wolves and margarine. I told you it was Adamantium."
"Yea, OK." Max replied. "But I'm right about Rocky - he should have boxed that robot in 4"
"Hmm... you have a point. It would have been pretty cool."
The car swerved across the road, narrowly missing another cyclist. He looked pretty pissed off, and tried to throw a water bottle at us. It missed, but I noticed a strange thudding from the direction of the boot.
"What's that?" I asked, somewhat worried about the answer.
"Oh, that's my mother. She wanted a lift to the Bingo."
"Right, OK then..." I replied calmly. This had happened before. "Why's she in the boot though?"
"She's... what do you call it? Afraid of open spaces, you know?"
"Yea, that's the one. So she likes to ride in the boot. Don't worry, she's got a blanket and lots of water. I even put up one of those grids to keep her off the back seats, and I keep the windows open back there. The man at the shop said that was the best thing to do for her."
"Ah, of course. Except he may have had the impression you were transporting a dog, not a 79 year old retired Pope impersonator."
"I suppose you have a point, but it's too late now." He paused, then: "I'm just stopping here, need to piss."
"Great news, thanks. Just great."
We pulled up at a petrol station, and Max headed towards the toilets at the rear. I got out and opened the boot. It was empty, save for a empty petrol can that seemed to have been bouncing about.
I decided not to get lifts from Max any more.

Wednesday, 6 May 2009

Balloon Animals

My attempts to master the art of creating balloon animals has failed, I'm afraid. I tied a string to the dog all right, but he refuses to fly.

Monday, 4 May 2009

I picked up the newspaper, and was about to turn and go back into the house when I noticed something in the sky. As I watched, the something grew bigger, until a spaceship, around 4o foot long, landed on my front lawn. A hatch on top popped open, and two Martians - I know they were Martians, don't ask how - climbed down a ladder and walked towards me.
Fixing me with a curious look, the first one started to chatter in a language I didn't understand.
"I don't understand" I said, to clarify this point.
The second Martian reached into his/her/it's clothing, and I recoiled in fear. A few seconds later, it produced a picture of a Labrador puppy.
"I'm sorry," the first Martian said. "I had to adjust our translation matrix. I was just wondering if you had seen our dog? We only got him last week, and I'm afraid he slipped out of his lead when we were walking him."
I studied the picture, and replied that I had not seen their dog.
"Well, thank you anyway. Sorry to have taken up your morning."
I told them it was no trouble, and wished them luck. With that, they flew off and visited Mr. Reynolds at number 47.

Sunday, 3 May 2009

"Hey! It's starting! Hurry up!"
I didn't know what was starting, but Max seemed excited about it. Rushing into the living room, I took a seat. After a few minutes, I was totally confused.
"Right, here's what's happening. Tom - that's him there
[he pointed at the fat, stereotypical "trailer trash" styled American on screen]
he's got to get a new t.v. for his flat to impress his girlfriend, Brandy. Now, the problem is, he only buys American, and his room-mate Stan wants a new, cheap Japanese flatscreen."
"OK," I replied. "That doesn't sound like a huge problem."
"No, not in itself. But there's an underlying conflict between the two, you see. I should have mentioned this earlier, I'm sorry. Tom's a homophobic, white supremacist, and this clashes with Stan's character - he's a black gay robot who was designed to fight the Nazis."

To my credit, I left shortly afterwards and remained calm. To this day, I have no idea why a seemingly emotionless robot could be gay. I have even less idea how he was black.
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