I'd like to imagine it's my magnetic personality...

So, how do people find my blog? It's a question, certainly. Perhaps I've asked it of myself, I certainly haven't asked the Pope. I doubt he reads my blog, he's very busy putting on his Pope clothes. Anyway, I'd like to imagine that people find my blog due to it's startling popularity in the fields of humour and satire, but I'm a realist and know it isn't. So, I took a look at some of the phrases people had googled that led them to my blog. Recently, some people actually googled "dog in the water pipe", which seems to be a good start.
 However, the most common reason people find my blog is that they have searched for the common life expectancy of a toilet. Weirder still, someone googled "Sex with my dog blogspot".
 Frankly, I don't even know what they want. Are they looking for blogs where people talk about having sex with their dogs? Do such things exist?
 Who am I kidding? I know they exist... I created them...

my neighbour's sex-shorts.

Often, late at night, I'm awoken by the sounds of my upstairs neighbours engaging in carnal activities. As a liberal and a nihilist, I feel it would be improper to judge the sexual relations of others, especially a married couple, but have decided that one is justified to complain when:
A. One member of the relationship, specifically whomever is on top most, is of the larger variety.
B. When they bed directly above you, and said bed is old and creaky.
And, most importantly of all:
C. When the neighbours have created sex shorts.

What, gentle reader, are sex shorts? Well, sex shorts, should they exist, are shorts (Yes, really). Unsurprisingly, sex shorts are worn during sexual intercourse - and, possibly (I don't know, they're probably not real) during foreplay. Anyway, what makes sex shorts special is that they let you have sex while wearing shorts (Always a bonus, especially when one is self-conscious about one's nether-regions. ) and, have pockets which can be filled with loud things, such as loose change and firecrackers. Yes, Sex-Shorts are the future for any middle-aged couple who feel their sexual relationship isn't loud and annoying enough.

If my neighbours are reading this, then please note I'm obviously talking about some other neighbours I had...

I seem to have gained a child...

He (I think) isn't mine, he just appeared one day. (That's why I'm unwilling to check if it's a he. I think he is, I left him in the kitchen, and he can't cook for shit. Anyway...)
 I'm not sure where he came from, but I noticed some storks hanging around the house last week. Word on the street is they had a kid they didn't want. If I was to put two and two together, I'd probably see a connection between these events. But I can't put two and two together.
 I can't read numbers.

Clown River

Good news, gentle yet impoverished reader - I have a money-making opportunity for all of you! And this time, you don't even need a saddle. You see, I've set my heart on a river, full of clowns. Like usual, there's no reason for my crazy idea - I just want to sing Clown River, to the tune of... Moon River, unsurprisingly. Anyway, I can promise that you will be well rewarded. The first person to construct me a Clown River shall be paid far more than anyone has ever been paid before for building a Clown River.

I may need serious help...

Why did...

This all happened a long time ago: in another lifetime. Last Autumn, in fact. Well, I think it was. Let's say it was last Autumn: it seems a nice setting, with the trees just turning yellow and such. Anyway, I'd just returned from a rather strange temporal loop where I was forced to live the life of every member of the A-team 17 times, and decided to use my new skills as a soldier-for-hire. Anyway, it seems that the scope of employment for a merc in Scotland is pretty small, so I took any job I could get. Mainly, I worked for a small-time chicken crime boss as a bodyguard. Most of my job was taken up by deterring people from asking about my bosses goals, namely his motives for crossing roads. Anyway, over time my skills seemed to fade, and I was forced to return to my old job at a chicken restaurant. Life, being made up of more coincidences than we like to give it credit for, reunited me with my old boss last week in fact, when I served him to a family on holiday from Madrid. I don't speak Spanish, but I believe I heard them joking about why the chicken crossed the road. Of course, he can't cross the road anymore. I'm just glad the constant questioning is over, and he's at peace.
 Life's funny like that. One day, you're looking after a charismatic talking chicken forced into a life of crime due to constant questioning, and the next day, you're doing something exciting, like wearing a chicken hat and using a deep-fat fryer...

It's been some time...

And where, you may ask, have I been? Well, its been a harrowing week. I went to visit some friends, you see. There's no point lying about it - They're total pigs. But at least they're not chauvinists, that's something, right?
 Anyway, I thought I'd go see these friends of mine - I won't name them, due to the ongoing legal case - since I'd been a while. They had a nice enough house, although it was made of straw. Unfortunately, after a barely tolerable cup of tea and a biscuit, said house was blown down by a deranged wolf, intent on consuming the occupants. Despite my explanation I was just visiting, the wolf - attempting to cover his would-be crime - determined to consume me too, at which point a short adventure involving another collapsing house occurred.
 We soon arrived at my third pig-based friend's home, which he had wisely constructed out of material a wolf could not blow down. However, said wolf continued his quest, climbing onto the roof and sliding down the chimney like a hairy Santa. In self defence, the pigs boiled him alive in a pot of water, placed strategically at the bottom of the chimney.
 Wolves, of course, are an endangered species, and it looks like the pigs are going to jail. I've spent the week in and out of court, testifying on their behalf. It's been a trying time, and I wish I'd invested in some bacon-flavoured mayonnaise now...

In the real world...

I'm still at home at the moment. Yesterday, I caught my mother encouraging the cat to lick my toast. There's still snow outside, but it's starting to melt. I expect this will cause a flood of Biblical proportions. Neptune! I'll get you one day...

The saga continues

Now that I'd gotten that damnable wall down, I began the process of tidying up. Max was, as usual, being unhelpful.
 "Hey," I called out, as I filled a wheelbarrow with bricks, "Did'ya hear about that women who married part of the Berlin Wall."
 "Yea," Max replied, daintily picking up a brick from the top of the pile, "What's that called again?"
 "Objectum-sexuality, I think. Something like that." I called back.
 "Sounds right," He called back. "I've got that you know... I like women"
I sighed. I mean, really. I didn't even know why I was friends with Max - I mean, he's fictional, for one thing. Still, no point bringing that up until he'd helped me clean up the garden. I needed the bricks... I was going to dam up the Sea... I'll teach Neptune to fuck with me!

I opened the curtains again. I was relieved to discover hiding from the problem had worked - I seemed to be back on dry land. In fact, my house seemed to be back in my garden. A closer examination revealed a postman trapped in the basement, but all-in-all, things seemed good. However, problems arose when the postman tried to leave. As I walked him to the gate, we both noticed my house was no surrounded by a 20-foot wall. Digging revealed that the wall was firmly fixed in place, so I called Max, remembering he had a lot of nitroglycerin lying around his flat. And nails. I should probably tell someone
It didn't take him long to blow a hole in the wall, and soon I was free again. The postman, unfazed by such events, continued on his journey.

I see...

I remember when I first noticed something had changed outside my house. I opened the curtains, as I often do of a morning, expecting to see my garden. Instead, I saw the sea. This, as you can imagine, was rather disconcerting. The sea, in the right environment, is a lovely thing to behold. A nice picture, for instance, is a beautiful place to see the sea lapping dramatically, or something. Or films. It can be very useful in films. However, outside one's window - when one should be in the city, far removed from anything as close to nature as water - is not the place for nautical nonsense.
 From then on, I actually adapted pretty well. The TV still worked, and survival programmes taught me exactly how to forage for food, and find clean drinking water. In fact, things were going swimmingly (Tee hee), until last Thursday, when a pirate ship loomed into view. It followed me until the Saturday, at which point it began to open fire with all it's cannons. Even the ones on the other side of the boat. I was able to fight them off, but they managed to steal my patio, along with all my patio furniture.

Let this be a warning to you - don't cross Neptune.
Or Aquaman.

Advertising.

Got a product you want advertised? Then look no further! For only $9.99, yes, $9.99 - That's 9 dollars, 99 cents! - Get your product advertised to several - yes, literally several - people! For this price, and no additional costs, I will tattoo your product advertisement onto a private part of my body, before flashing it at passers-bye! Worried you won't get enough publicity? Don't! I'll shout about it really loudly as well! Only $9.99!
Why work in Pounds Sterling when you could have dollars... The symbol is like an S, for God's sake. S!

OK, so maybe I'm not onto something here, but it's worth a try. Besides, you though it could work for a minute, didn't you? It was the exclamation marks, wasn't it? They install confidence...

Parteee...

I took another look around the party. Nearby, a large man was doing something hilarious with a plant-pot, and another man was trying to chat up the fridge. After a minute, a third man opened the fridge and reached in, and a small fight erupted. To be honest, I wasn't enjoying myself. It wasn't the party per-say, but going out in general that I had an aversion to these days. I'd seen Sink the Bismarck! last week, and was worried the same thing could happen to me at any moment.
 Suddenly, I realised a woman was talking to me.
 "... So that's it really. You just sow it up, and bang! You've got a spleen fit for a King. What do you do yourself?"
Resisting the temptation to panic, I thought on my feet.
 "I... proof-read..."
 "Oh?" She continued, "Proof-read what?"
Ok, I thought. Time to prove your mental prowess, show off your ability to improvise:
 "Letters. I proof-read people's letters to David Tennant. They send me fan mail they want to send him, and I check the grammar and syntax and spelling, you know? Ooh, he's a stickler for that - won't read a letter with a misused apostrophe, not David."
 I left her looking rather baffled, under the guise of fetching more drinks. Confident I'd pulled it off, I escaped through the bathroom window and ran home. The Royal Navy attempted to sink me on the way, but no-one can stop me now!

Who doesn't want one of these?

Yea, it's a car. Driven by your hamster, rat or other rodents. Or shrunken children, I suppose. I'm not judging you...
 But seriously, why wouldn't you want one of these? You snap together a track, and your lovable, tiny animal runs around the ball, powering the car. Which really makes you wonder why we can't do this?

Oh, and I tried to work a Richard Hammond joke into this. As you can see, it didn't work...

Image and product from Firebox: Here

Religious callers?

I've developed a new hobby, namely annoying those surreal peoples who appear on my doorstep. It was simple really, based on a strategy I observed some Jehovah's Witnesses engaging in. It wasn't the normal door-to-door thing, I just followed them into Greggs. One had a roll, with chicken I think. The other waited nervously by the door, stepping from foot-to-foot and murmuring like a cartoon character. Anyway, it was then I decided to spend my life sitting in whatever fictional home I'm in at the moment, fully suited and wearing a name badge. Whenever someone knocks on my door now, I tell them about Jesus for several minutes, before leaving them in my flat and going away.
 It's a fun hobby, but rather costly. Similarly, the postman seems to be more popular with my flatmates than I ever was.
 I want revenge...

Cold snaps, Sugar-snap peas, it's all the same.

They say it's cold outside, in the real world. I don't like the real world, so I stay inside. And of course, my inside is inside a bigger inside. Do I intrigue you? Well, I'll go on regardless, you're powerless to stop me. They say it's cold... I hear them saying it, standing near my windows, pretending they're not watching me... Pretending they're just here to get some frozen peas or a quiche... But I know better... They don't hate the cold outside-outside, they RELISH it... Gives them something to talk about... So they want in... "Excuse me", They say, "I'll just reach past you... Want some sweetcorn for our Gregor."... But they're not getting into my freezer... No, no they're not.... And you can't make me leave... Not you, not your mother, not the supermarket security... I'm not leaving

To tell the truth, I've been living in the frozen Isle in Tesco since 2004. I couldn't pay for some bags of ice, and had a breakdown. Shame on you for laughing. Shame!

Snow White and the 7 racist dwarves

Ding-dong went the doorbell ominously. (Yea, doorbell stories are back, and that was a shit sentence, sorry)
I looked up from my soup, but did nothing. Maybe whoever it was would go away if I ignored them. Of course, that never works, and it was foolish to entertain the though. So, reluctantly, I got out of the soup and wiped myself down with a towel.
 "Yes?" I demanded upon opening the door. I first imagined I would be a strange sight - wearing only a towel, and with tomato and coriander dripping from my hair - but what I saw before me was shocking more even so! (I'm fucking with you now, not even I write that badly) In front of me were 7 dwarves, who at first appeared to be your typical long-bearded Tolkienesque types. However, on closer inspection, I noticed they were wearing replica Nazi uniforms.
 "Ah, good morning!" One announced. I assumed he was their leader -  A small toothbrush moustache was sat under his nose. To achieve this, he had shaved away the rest of his beard-moustache-thing, so he resembled a Hitler-coconut. As he spoke, there was some discussion behind him as to whether the group liked red people or not.
 "Can I help you?" I asked. Frankly, I didn't want to help, but there were a lot of them, and they had axes.
 "We'd like to take this opportunity tell you about some of our fantastic clothing items, my good man. Here, take a catalogue."
I took the catalogue. Flicking through it, I saw some rather nice items for dwarves - mainly chain-mail, with some plate armour thrown in for good measure.
 "Now, you may have noticed that these items are not all, ahem... In your size. But the helmets should fit, you know?"
I nodded knowingly. I continued to nod knowingly for several minutes, but the dwarves didn't leave. Eventually, I felt the need to ask:
 "What's with the Nazism?"
 "Ah, yes. Well, I'm sorry about this, it's company policy. It's not something I personally agree with, but many of the older members of the Dwarven community still hold on to the old racial purity views - You know, nasty, anti-goblin stuff: "Dwarf Fortresses for Dwarves", "Decapitate Orcs on Thursdays", that sort of thing. Anyway, we'll leave the pamphlet with you - If you make an order, make sure to mention me. Clive's the name!".
With that, they turned and left. I'm glad I got a catalogue, I can burn it and use the fire to re-heat my soup. How contrived my life seems nowadays...

Kazam!

"And is this your card?"
"No." I replied firmly. There was no point lying - the card brandished in face was a 7 of hearts, and I'd picked Death. The manic figure in front of me didn't seem affected by his magical failure. In fact, he continued happily:
 "Well, for my next trick, I need to borrow your watch!"
I tried, I really tried, to hide my watch, but he wrestled it from my wrist and hid it in a bag. Performing something actually akin to magic, he produced a large hammer from a small packet, and repeatedly struck the bag with my watch...
 "Tom... is this necessary? People are looking..." I pleaded hopelessly.
He continued, hitting the bag over and over. Then, in front of the disapproving audience gathered around us, he emptied the bag onto a pew. Several squashed oranges fell out, feebly attempting to roll on the uneven surface.
 I looked at the Vicar. He, too, was looking at me. Over his glasses, disapprovingly. I smiled apologetically. My wedding day was not turning out like I'd planned. Not one bit.

My home is infested with religious figures...

"Ah, go on, have some more wine!"
 Smiling, I shook my head and turned towards the bearded man lying on my sofa. His hand resting gently on a dog, his feet on a turtle, he looked every bit the part of an old-testament Dr. Dolittle. But he was not Dolittle, he was Noah, and he was beginning to outstay his welcome.
 "Not even a little? It's good," He continued, "I made it myself, you know..."
 "Yes." I nodded, "But I remember what happened the last time you got drunk old fellow. I disapprove of my house-guests providing anything that can be used to rationalise slavery. Besides, you've got to keep a clear head - you promised you'd get that Ark off of my lawn tomorrow. My parents are coming, remember?
 And they bloody hate boats."
There was no response, but after a moment, I detected the faint noise of gentle snoring. Sighing, I turned off the lights and headed for bed. My parents weren't coming tomorrow, but I didn't feel bad about lying. After all, God wasn't flooding the earth again either, so Noah was acting under false pretenses as well. To be honest, I think he's just lonely these days, and I understand that. But you can't just force your way into some-one's house, call them evil, fill it with animals, and turn the tool-shed into a surprisingly large boat. No sir.
 Still, it must be difficult being an antediluvian Patriarch.

Some rumbling on the grape vine....

Suggest there will be a new Lego Harry Potter range this year. I, for one, look forward to using children's toys to show how much better a wizard I would have been.
 Why not buy a Lego Paul Blanchard instead? I mean, all Harry had to face was an angry, flat-faced Ralph Fiennes. He was rich for God's sake... Me? Pah, I've been chased by a normal-face Ralph Fiennes since 1984, not to mention a host of mythical animals. Frankly, I should be given magical powers, I'd make the world  a lot better...
 Well, for Nazis anyway.

(No, not really)

Lightning always strikes me twice.

I watched Ed take another mouthful of tea. He was a nice enough guy, and had been quick enough to praise the scone I offered him, baked by my mother - a habit she picked up in rehab. Meths is an awful thing. However, one thing always bothered me about Ed - he believed he was being persecuted by Zeus. His reasons for this varied according to the amount of tonic water Ed'd drunk and the weather conditions, but his most common retort was that the pair had fallen out over a $10 bill, or that Ed had sided with the Titans and attempted to free them from Tartarus. Whatever the reasons, Ed was adamant the Greek deity was out to get him. Suddenly, I realised I'd been inner monologuing while Ed talked again. I tried to catch up.
 "... pretending to sell double-glazing. Well, I saw through his ruse, and send him away. But, he smote my house with lightening! He's gone to far this time! What was the name of that God Marcus used to use when he got in trouble?"
 "Yahweh," I sighed, "But Gods don't work like that, you know. You can't just..."
 "Nah, it won't be a problem. I'll see if Marcus's guy can help me sort out Zeus."
I paused for a second. Frankly, this was a more ridiculous conversation that usual, and I had no idea where it was going. I decided to stop now. Bidding Ed a good day, I got my coat and left. I don't care if it's my house, he can have it. I'm going to Mars. This planet is far to stupid.

Happy new year...

Well, it's a new year again. Instead of some tacky chart showing all the merry, happy things that happened to me last year (there were none), I thought I'd give you a timeline of the history of your brilliant species, humanity. Or something.

• 4,000 B.C - God creates the earth, heavens,space and dinosaur bones. This comes as a great shock to the advanced people of Mesopotamia. God also creates the first two human beings, not to be confused with the 7 million who are already alive. 
• 0 - Jesus is(n't) born (yet). He spreads a message of peace and love, before being crucified. In a typical religious manner, his simple lessons of love are interpreted as directions for 2,000 years of genocide. The same can be said for the works of John Lennon.
• 1889 - Hitler is born. He will forever be remembered for sparking an interest in the WW2 sub-genre of films, novels and computer games.
• 1957 - Stephen Fry is born. He is often looked upon more favourably than Hitler, but had yet to be played by Charlie Chaplin in a film.
• 1979 - Earth is ravaged by the Apocalypse. It goes largely unnoticed
• 1990 - I am born. I accomplish mild fame in the field of romantic fiction for bears, before dying in obscurity on a lunar prison colony.
• 2042 - Due to a transporter accident, Stephen Fry's cryogenically-frozen body is transported back in time, to the early 20th century. His adventure is popularised in a film starring Charlie Chaplin.
• 2151 - Earth is all but destroyed by a Martian invasion. This blog, and several cookbooks offering conflicting nutritional information, survive. They are used as an inspiration for the 10,000 survivors of Earth as they rebuild the species near Shropshire.