Khmer Rouge Strippergram

Mass Psychosis

2012-01-05T08:26:00.005Z

Preliminary Report for the European Initiative on the Standardization of Emotional Response Measurement

(EUI #32549/P)

In an effort to further facilitate administrative alignment among the various members of the European Union, the Bureau of European Policy Advisers has initiated a process of defining and determining the full range of emotional and psychic attitudes exhibited by citizens of member states. It is hoped that such determinations will allow for the introduction and implementation of precise and targeted compensatory mechanisms to ensure a broadly similar habitus across the Union in lieu of other, more vulgar, quality-of-life measures such as leisure time and financial wealth. Initial attempts show some promise, but problems have arisen, particularly in the UK, because the full range of emotions are rarely encountered at a sufficient magnitude or frequency to be accurately assessed. This is reflected in the data below.

Anxiety

Unit of measurement: Goks (Gks)

Examples: According to the American Psychological Society, public speaking elicits the highest Gok rating, closely followed by walking along the edge of cliffs, holding a baby near heavy industrial machinery, and being spotted on CCTV exploring animals.

“Ever since I replaced milk in my porridge with Jack Daniel’s, presentations to the board of directors have been totally Gokless.”

1 Gok = the weight of accepting a dinner invitation ÷ the relief of turning it down

Anger

Unit of measurement: Twats (Twts)

Examples: “I was feeling relatively relaxed until I put on Jeremy Kyle, when my Twat rating went through the roof.”

In a control group of English males aged 18–35 and selected at random, Jedward’s inexplicable popularity elicited a level of anger that averaged 117 Twats.

Twats are measured by the number of junior executives on a golfing holiday pushing in ahead of you in the queue at the airport check-in.

Surliness

Unit of measurement: Murrays (Mys)

Examples: The surliness level of Class 3G has increased by 15 Murrays since the French kid arrived.

According to Top Trumps, the back four of Liverpool’s reserve team has a surliness rating of 263 Murrays.

1 Murray = an adolescent driving and reversing his dad’s 4x4 over a sack of kittens for one hour. In the rain.

Insincerity

Unit of measurement: Baftas (Bfts)

Examples: “Cantona expressed his love for Leeds United in a Bafta-worthy speech.”

Nobody gave a fuck about anal fistulas in rural Mexico until Angelina Jolie got her Baftas out.

1 Bafta = 1 Alexander McQueen dress + hyperventilation
(not to be confused with Golden Globes [see Berry, Halle])

Trustworthiness

Unit of measurement: Loreals (Lols)

Examples: “I have no problem with Simon going to Benicassim with my daughter. The way he dealt with that interrogation by Special Branch showed me he’s a 10-Loreal bloke.”

“In order for you to qualify for a job as a journalist at News International, we require you to have a Loreal rating of 1/500.”

1 Loreal = the number of blonde Irish women ÷ the number of naturally blonde Irish women.

Cynicism

Unit of measurement: Mandelsons (Mdls)

Examples: “We have the cash to give the orphans a lovely trip to the seaside, but the national Mandelson level is at 16, so we'd better spend it on analysing their files to identify potential security threats.”

1 Mandelson = the energy required to beat ploughshares into swords.

Melancholy

Unit of measurement: Moomins (Mmns)

Examples: “Don’t put RTE News on, Susan. My Moomin rate is already at suicide-watch levels.”

“Franz! Stop moomin around in your room and get a job.” Mrs. Kafka, 1896

1 Moomin = the lack of energy required to get out of bed in the morning.

Greed

Unit of measurement: Ohms (Hms)

Examples: The rate of greed in Ireland peaked at over 90,000 Ohms in 2006, a clearly unsustainable level for the economy.

“How many Ohms do you have, Mr. Meacher?” Mark Thomas, 2001.

1 Ohm = 1 Heart.

Impotence

Unit of measurement: Milibands (Mlbs)

Examples: The Labour Party’s current uselessness level stands at 2 Milibands.

1 Miliband = -1 Brown
1 Brown = -1 Blair
1,000 Milibands = 1 Foot

Regret

Units of measurement: Riens (apparent) and Kelvin (genuine)

Examples: In front of the government committee investigating phone hacking, Rupert Murdoch expressed 3,000 Riens of regret, but his actual level was 1 Kelvin.

1 Kelvin = an apology followed by apparent efforts to rectify the offence.
1 Rien = just the apology.

Lust

Unit of measurement: Silvios (Svos)

Examples: “I expected my knicker wetness to reach 30 Silvios when I met Johnny Depp, but all he could talk about was his sinusitis, so I only ended up with a milky 2-Silvio stain.”

It is an acknolwedged paradox that Tomb Raider the video game has a higher Silvio rating than Tomb Raider the movie, although some critics point to the greater realism of the former as an explanation.

1 Silvio = 2 Viagras + 1 defibrillator

Apathy

Unit of measurement: Berbatovs (Bbtvs).

Examples: The phrases “I simply can’t be Berbatovvered,” “It’s too much Berbatovver,” and “Am I Berbatovvered?”

1 Berbatov = 94 minutes of inactivity, incorporating two minutes of mild interest.

Spite

Unit of measurement: Tories (Shts)

Examples: “I told the kids they couldn’t go on the Xbox after they beat me because I’d worn it out, but the truth is I had the Shts.”

Scotland is a Tory-free country. Notice how happy and generous the people are.

1 Tory = A festering miasma of unprincipled malevolence.

Shame

To be measured in Sepps (Sps)

Examples: “When the vicar caught me pissing in the shower, I hit 3 Sepps on the shameometer.”

After photocopies of her arse were hung up in the canteen, Amelia’s shame level went up by 16 Sepps.

Ironically, 1 Sepp = No shame whatsoever.

Vindictiveness

Unit of measurement: Carrs

Examples: Many people think that Gary Barlow is primarily motivated by vanity, but in fact he’s entirely Carr-driven.

Research has shown that attitudes towards immigrants and asylum-seekers in high-Carr societies correlate strongly with a propensity for erectile dysfunction and self-loathing.

1 Carr = 60 minutes of thoughtless, unjustifiable cruelty directed at the vulnerable and defenceless.

Pain (Subjective experience of)

Unit of measurement: Hurts (Hs) and Megahurts (MHs)

Example: Sitting on a bicycle saddle for a five-hour cycle ride generates bum soreness of 300 hurts. Sitting on a bicycle for a five-hour cycle ride without a saddle generates bum soreness of 3,000 megahurts.

See also: Cramps, the unit of measurement for feigned pain, as in “There’s Anelka rolling around on the floor with cramp again, the time-wasting bastard.”

Immaturity

Unit of measurement: Clarksons (Cksns) in boys and Twilights (Twghts) in girls

Examples: Any film featuring Seann William Scott automatically receives a film board rating of 18 Cksns.

Girls who find bastards attractive need to appreciate that said bastards regard them as nothing more than Twghts.

1 Clarkson = 1 Clarkson too many.
1 Twilight = Just a song.

Love

An emotion that the assessors found almost impossible to standardize. They suggest that it be measured in Meaters (m.) [France], Inches (in.) [the United Kingdom], Siemens (Smns)[Germany] and Euros (€) [Holland].

Obedience

Unit of measurement: Mickles (Mkls)

Examples. “Don’t worry about any default by the Irish government. Mick’ll do everything he can to please his European masters.”

85 billion Mickles =1 Merkel or, as they say in Brussels, “Many a mickle makes a merkel.”

Aggression

Unit of measurement: American Imperial units

The assessors felt there was no need for a separate European measure.

The Ballad of Enda Kenny

2011-12-06T22:00:00.002Z

Wood I Lie to You?

2011-11-19T10:07:00.005Z

Every year, the Société des Spectacles, France’s premier organization for stage performers, hoofers, actors, and thesps in general, presents its Estomac D’Or award to the individual or team nominated by their peers as the nation’s leading exponent of on-stage ventriloquism. We considered it to be in everybody’s interests to find out what has happened to those illustrious honorees over the years.

2010. Samira Guérin et Les Flics Monstrueux: Touring the provinces to nearly sold-out audiences.

2009. Yoann Bossis et “Flash”: Junior scriptwriter on Les Guignols.

2008. Franck Blanck et Macks Planck: Playing Obélix on Radio Canal Sud.

2007. Thierry Douis et Sonny: Dubbing Sunny Delight ads. Poorly.

2006. Zinedine Artelesa et Les Liaisons Onctueuses: PR adviser to Nicolas Sarkozy.

2005. Patrick Gondet et Phattseau: Presenter of the French version of The Antiques Roadsheau.

2004. Sylvain Bosquier et Tante Claudine: Timetable announcers at Gare de Lyon.

2003. Lilian Revelli et ses poupées ordinaires: Now performing as Liliane Revelli et ses poupées extraordinaires.

2002. Vincent Trésor et Paul le Doux: Successful career on French inland cruise ships and high-end canal barge holidays.

2001. Didier Carnus et Didier le Bois: On the run.

2000. Bernard Bereta avec son fils bavard: Police informer.

1999. David Guillou et Didier le Bois: Dead.

1998. Alain Platini et Kevin MacPherson: Self-employed Paris bus guides.

1997. Jean-Pierre Petit et Petit Jean-Pierre: The many voices of Garmin Français satellite navigation aids.

1996. Laurence Larios et Boule de Suif: Publicist for France’s Meat Marketing Board.

1995. Stéphane Tigana et Killer: Aisle Four, Carrefour Boulogne.

1994. Manuel Ribéry et Pipi: “Humourous” football commentators on Marseilles Radio Libre.

1993. Louise Zidane et Marie-Claire: Novelty Avon Lady.

1992. Jean-François Nasri et son Mec en Colère: Psychotic Offenders Wing, Saint Barthélemy’s Home for the Indigent and Murderous, Rennes.

1991. Jean-Marc Vieira et Héloise: Happily married to and living with Héloise.

1990. Hervé Henry et Suzi Wong: Offensive juggler.

1989. Emmanuel Gourcuff et Le Grand Oiseau Jaune: Sued by 5, Rue Sésame in 1991. Suicide.

1988. Marius Wiltord et Chocko: Retired carpenter. Living in the Ardennes.

1987. Philippe Ginola et Darkie: Touring the colonies.

1986. Marcel Des Champs et Charles de Gueule: Organizer of far right underground paramilitary group. Occasionally does benefit gigs in locations unknown.

1985. Yvette Thuram et Foulou: Still deceiving the blind.

Evil Is as Evil Doves

2011-03-13T13:16:00.005Z

British prime minister David Cameron recently received a lot of unjustified and unnecessary criticism from malevolent commentators in the media for inviting representatives from a number of arms manufacturers and dealers to accompany him on his tour of Middle Eastern countries. This criticism was the result of biased, selective and partial coverage of the prime minister's tour that deliberately neglected to mention or obscured from the British public's gaze the full and diverse range of invitees who accompany the PM on all overseas tours, thereby skewing the interpretation of the prime minister's motives. As a corrective, we here at Conservative Party Central Office have compiled a list and brief profile of the charities, NGOs, and various other humanitarian organizations that have a constant and trusted place in the prime minister's entourage:

Slave the Children: A long-established and much-respected charity that aims to encourage the untrammeled movement of free labour across international boundaries.

The Peace Sledge Union: Promoting self-esteem and unity among former colonies by teaching them cricket and then losing to them.

War on War on Want: "We believe that the best way to alleviate poverty is by stimulating competition between humanitarian agencies in a good-spirited race to the bottom."

UNICELF: Helping those who help themselves.

Oxfat: Thirty years of service dedicated to fighting Third World obesity.

The World Food Pogrom: The fewer the people, the more food there is to go round.

CAFODE: Enriching the Third World with used TVs from Essex.

GOAL: Hoping to rescue the next George Weah and give him a British passport.

Caratas: Promoting the importance of hygiene in daily life and transparency in business by washing the blood off blood diamonds.

Médecins Dans Frontières: A highly respected front organization committed to the shipping of generic drugs overseas at proprietary brand prices, thereby making everyone feel better.

Crócaire: Leading a ground-breaking initiative, inspired by the so-called Green Revolution, to help the sick, moribund, and already dead to lead useful afterlives (as fertilizer).

Hurt the Aged: Creating demographic space in countries with massive youth unemployment by giving them the economic space to flourish.

Amnasty International: Helping prisoners of conscience escape their conscience.

Comic Relief: Saving the careers of poverty-stricken comedians unable to secure voiceover jobs or work on gameshows.

and of course

The Young Conservatives: Looking for prospective wealthy donors with a penchant for horsey gals from the shires.

Anyone wishing to impugn the prime minister or cast aspersions upon the nobility of his actions need only consider the extent of his philanthropy, as implied by the above list, and draw their own conclusions.

Thank you.

Reeling in the Ears: The Irish Top Ten 2010

2011-01-12T21:53:00.002Z

The 2010 Irish Top Ten was somewhat delayed this year owing to the bad weather and the recession. Nevertheless, it has proved to be worth the wait, since all of this year's entries are home-grown, with the exception of the Thurles Male Voice Choir, most of whom are Welsh. There was some dismay expressed when this list appeared prematurely on Wikileaks at the absence of one or two of the nation's better-known and more widely acclaimed recording artists, but it's worth bearing in mind that this particular list comes courtesy of independent pirate station Raidio Siamsa (89.8 FM), whose listeners are nothing if not purists, and the slightest whiff of conglomerate approval or the imprimatur of the state broadcaster is enough to condemn any artist, in their eyes, to the Purgatory of corporate mediocrity, thereby disqualifying them from consideration. Thus, no Daniel O'Donnell, no Bono, no David McSavage. Here, instead, are the very best of last year's sea-green incorruptibles:

10: "Mommy, Drop the Gun," by Crystal Meth (Kimmage Music)

9: "Stop Calling Me Your Bird," by the Pigeon Holes (Phist the Lord Records)

8: "Smokeless Coalition," by Floorless Komplexxion (Hemi)

7: "Fuck Me, Fuck My Children," by Conditional Discharge (Xiao Long Bao)

6: "Hurling for Your Love," by The Thurles Male Voice Choir (GAA Official Audio Recordings)

5: "Nip Lip Bip, Nip Lip Bip Nip," by The Picky Eaters (Retro-Hetero-Metro)

4: "Dream Home in New England," by White Collar Clive and the Emigrant Solution (Drummbeat)

3: "Let Them Snort Coke," by Kill All Dee-jays (Deathrattle/Gerrymade)

2: "My Brown Trousers," by the Liquidity Problem (Loose)

and, by universal agreement,

1: "Death Before Bosco," by the Twittershit Spangles (Afternoon Wank)

You can find previous top tens here and here.

Genealogy, by Kevin

2010-12-01T20:25:00.003Z

Genealogy is brilliant. Some people think that it is not brilliant, but they are wrong. It is.

What genealogy is, is finding out who your real parents are. And then who their real parents are, or were, if they are dead now, and then who your real parents' real parents' real parents were, and so on ad infinitum until you get back to monkeys. Monkeys do not have the institution of marriage, so at that point it falls down. They did not keep records.

You are probably already reading this and being enthused. This is probably because you always wanted to find out who your real parents were. The scientific evidence is pretty clear that 75 percent of the British population is either adopted or the result of sexual intercourse. So the people you think of as your parents are almost definitely not. Or at least one of them. This does not mean they have been lying to you, only that one of them has. And even she might not know who your real father is if she put it about a lot.

One thing that puts people off the genealogy is all the research. Because, if you think about it, you have two parents, that you know of, and each of those parents also has at least two parents, which means that you already have at least a minimum of four grandparents, and you may not necessarily get on with all of them, and the one you loved the most is dead. Which means that, if you are going to make a video about it, like the television series Who Do They Think They Are?, you're going to have to interview the grandad you hate, the one who swears and has yellow hair from nicotine and smells of bonfires and fish. The one who calls you Keith. And then also, beyond that, you must then have had eight great grandparents, all of whom you will have to research to find the one who was interesting, and sixteen great great grandparents, and this is only three generations back and all your summer holiday is already wasted. But you'll be damned if you're going to give up before you find a better relative than Michael Williams's great great uncle, who was Sherlock Holmes.

Genealogy is particularly interesting if you are a man or interested in men, because most of our ancestors are men. It is a well-established fact that men have more sexual partners in their lifetimes than women do, and therefore it stands to reason that 1) men will have more descendants than women and 2) you are more likely to be related to a famous man than a famous woman. As well as this there is the additional fact that more women than men die in childbirth, which means that many of your female ancestors will have died prematurely, either as the mother or as the baby. This not only means that the fewer female ancestors are reduced in number even more, but also that a lot of women in the past had less of an opportunity to become famous because they either had children, or they died in childbirth, or their mother died during childbirth, leaving them as an orphan, or at the very least with no female role model to look up to. And even if they had a mother to look up to as a role model, she was unlikely to be famous because she had children to look after.

This is not to say that there is nothing in genealogy of interest to women. If you watched the TV series Who Do They Think They Are?, several women were in it. Usually it was a famous woman, which only proves my point, elaborated on above, but there were other women too, such as librarians and translators. Both librarians and translators are central to helping people trace their roots and find the famous men they were related to. Also, if you are a man, genealogy is a good way of meeting non-threatening women, such as librarians and translators. You have a ready-made excuse for talking to them and you can impress them with your knowledge of things.

What You Will Need

To do genealogy you will need a pen, a pencil, a notepad, a Thermos flask filled with hot chocolate or Bovril, a Tupperware box with sandwiches in, and a cagoule. My mother makes my sandwiches. Usually they are Marmite or peanut butter, but sometimes she gives me a surprise and puts luncheon meat on instead. You will also find that the library will not let you eat your sandwiches or open your Thermos flask in the library and you will have to stand outside or sit on a bench in the bus station. This is why you need the cagoule.

Next you will need the names of your relations, which you must look up in the local library. First, go to the library and see if they have any record of you. If they have not, then you are stumped, really. Unless you have a copy of your birth certificate, on which you will find who you are, where and when you were born, and who your parents are. You can get a copy of your birth certificate by going to the photocopy shop in town, where they will make a copy of it for you.

Once you know who your parents are, you must repeat the procedure again, and the same for their parents and their parents' parents and so on. Sometimes you will not be able to locate the identity of one of your ancestors from the library, so then you must go online and use the Census records, which is brilliant, because you can do that yourself without ever having to talk to anyone. I like to look up all the people in Great Britain called Hitler. Or Arsebandit. Once I found a man born in Stirchley in 1877 called Michael Bublé. This was seven years ago, though, before anyone knew who he was, so I didn't tell anybody. It's too late now.

If the Census or library is of no use, you must go to the relevant church authorities because a great many births, marriages, deaths, divorces, adulteries, and murders were recorded in the local parish registeries. In the olden days, the vicars were the main source of gossip and spying, so they could tell you everything about everyone. Most churches still have the vicars' diaries going back to the Middle Ages, but they won't admit to having them or show them to you unless you're willing to cough up a few hundred quid. But come back in a couple of weeks and the current incumbent will show them to you and you'll be amazed at the legibility of the typing. Even from 700 years ago.

Eventually you will discover that you were related to somebody famous, and your research will all have been worthwhile. If you do the mathematics, everyone in Britain is related to either a famous aristocrat or a famous murderer, or, in the case of the royal family, both. You have to be careful what conclusions people will draw from your relation though. It is no good being related to rich people from the past if you are now a pauper because it means somebody in your genes squandered the lot and you are now a degenerate downwardly mobile low-life. If, on the other hand, you are from a long line of plebs and peasants but are now very comfortable thank you very much, people will say you have ideas above your station. In the course of my research, I discovered that I am directly related to Robert Kilroy Silk. I told Michael Williams this, and he just said, "That figures." I assume he meant that we have the same rugged good looks and healthy pallor.

There. I hope that you will do genealogy now that I have shown you how good it is.

And that is the end.

Kevin MacPherson is the illegitimate king of France.

Just Because It's Ship-Shape . . .

2010-11-18T17:39:00.003Z

Bring on the Empty Forces

The British government recently announced that its latest aircraft carrier would not be carrying any aircraft, a decision that we here at Modern Pacifist magazine applaud as a courageous act that defies the global forces of death and destruction. We should now like to see the government take the next logical step in the process of shaping swords into ploughshares by turning the carrier into something valuable that can benefit the people of Britain as a whole, or perhaps even the peoples of the world, thereby truly embodying the "Big Society" philosophy that the government is so keen to promote. We therefore humbly offer these 50 suggestions, which we would like to have considered as our contribution to 101 Possible Uses of an Empty Aircraft Carrier. We would love it if our readers could come up with even better suggestions.

1: A children's petting zoo filled with military mascots.

2: A residential home for retired colonels.

3: A draught excluder for the Outer Hebrides.

4: A new headquarters for the Conservative Party.

5: An educational cruise ship visiting past colonial hotspots (Hong Kong, Gibraltar, Suez, Aden, the Falklands).

6: The site of the 2012 Olympics.

7: A mobile council estate to intimidate recalcitrant middle-class communities with lower house prices.

8: A floating prison for Ministry of Defence and Treasury officials.

9: The new National Theatre on Tour.

10: An offshore sweatshop (thereby reducing the transportation costs of imports and providing a home for illegal immigrants).

11: A mobile factory for the production of cars, ships, aircraft carriers, aircraft.

12: A cemetery for broken manifesto pledges.

13: A backdrop for Motorhead gigs.

14: A convention centre for Trekkies, Crufts, Ideal Home Exhibition, The Boat Show.

15: A combination church/synagogue/mosque/temple for all the nation's religious, allowing us to use their inland structures for libraries, schools, hospitals or other socially useful and non-divisive purposes.

16: A drag strip, just like in Rebel without a Cause.

17: Canal holidays on the Norfolk Broads.

18: A new comedy vehicle for Jim Davidson.

19: A catwalk for London Fashion Week.

20: A drive-in movie theatre.

21: A climbing frame.

22: A lifeboat on Roman Abramovich's yacht.

23: An Arms (and Legs) Bazaar, providing prosthetic limbs for war victims.

24: A replacement for Jeremy Clarkson on Top Gear.

25: A new roadbridge across the Tyne.

26: The Macclesfield bypass.

27: A mobile hairdressing salon-cum-icebreaker-cum-slum-clearance craft.

28: A barnacle farm.

29: A sun lounger for whales.

30: An aquarium.

31: A submarine.

32: A credit card swipe for the European Central Bank.

33: A percussion instrument for the Hallé Orchestra.

34: A walk-in wardrobe.

35: An ashtray.

36: A shoe for Godzilla.

37: A beermat.

38: A giant casserole dish.

39: A suitable topic for mid-term exams, a humourous blog post, or a Cambridge Entrance interview.

40: Curtains for the coalition government.

41: A nitelite.

42: The nation's ironing board.

43: Venue for the world Flight Deck championships.

44: The secret lair of the next Bond villain.

45: Blackpool illuminations.

46: As a decoy to deceive enemies trying to destroy our inflatable aircraft carriers.

47: Somewhere to keep the good crockery.

48: A table-top for life-size Escalado races.

49: A new home for Liverpool F.C.

and of course

50: A multi-storey carp Ark.

From the November issue of Modern Pacifist magazine.

Wronging Writes

2010-11-04T14:26:00.002Z

OUR CLIENT:

is an internationally known mass-media organization at the forefront of disseminating carefully selected pieces of data, on behalf of its customers, to the general public. It has both a traditional and longstanding outlook on the way the world is and the way it should be and is keen to both advocate for that worldview and ensure these traditions endure. As such, our client is currently on the lookout for someone possessing creative genius and no moral compass to fill their exciting vacancy for a

RUMOURMONGER

YOU:

are most likely a once-idealistic journalist with thwarted ambitions happy at this point in your career to shill for government departments, private commercial enterprises, or foreign warlords looking for a European passport. You will be adept at identifying nonexistent social trends and spinning spurious evidence into indubitable proof. You can, with a few well-chosen weasel words, turn a celebrity's chemotherapy into speculations about anorexia, anti-establishment and non-conformist behaviour into mental instability or possible paedophilia, state-sanctioned execution by police marksmen into self-defence or protection of the public, and flight from torture and persecution into malevolent pursuit of the good life. Cynicism is not an absolute necessity for this job but a clear-sighted awareness of how the mass media works today will be essential in our successful candidate.

WE:

are a leading PR and opinion-forming marketing agency that has been supplying press releases and staff to the global mass media for generations. We count among our successes such bold examples of disinformation as the Zinoviev letter, the lone-assassin theory, private-sector efficiency/public-sector waste, anti-semitism, England's world cup chances, and the forthcoming death of Cheryl Cole. If you believe you have what it takes to thrive in the ever-demanding, cut-throat dogging-dog world of rumourmongery, please send examples of your work, a list of ten plausibly undeniable rumours you'd like to see in the papers, and a full-biography résumé (with birth certificate and qualifications)* to

Marc Yavelly
Personnel Recruitment
Illuminati & Mason Creative and Marketing Resources
Trashbat House
Canary Wharf
London

*All ideas and certifications become the property of Illuminati & Mason.

Oh We of Little Faith

2010-10-28T16:26:00.012+01:00

An extract from The Sceptics Bible. Part 518 of 666.

The Gospel Purportedly According to

St. John

IN the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the word was God.

2 Even though Ludwig Wittgenstein has demonstrated the impossibility of a private language.

3 All things were made by Him; and without Him was not any thing made that was made.

4 Although that begs the question of where the matter came from that all the things that were made were made with.

5 Unless, that is, all things are also made of God. By God.

6 In Him was life; and the life was the light of men.

7 Life and light not being qualities separate or separable from God, you understand.

8¶ Anyway, there was a man sent from God, whose name was John (no relation).

9 At least, John claimed to have been sent by God. There was no objective way of verifying that he actually had been. Yes, the name "John" means "a gift from God," but that could just have been a coincidence.

10 Or because his mother, who had bestowed this name upon him, regarded him as a gift from God.

11 Or because his father often said of his son that he thought of himself as God's gift to humanity. His father being prone to sarcasm.

12 This man John came for a witness, to bear witness of the light, that all men through him might believe.

12 ½ Men being used in the old, sexist sense, referring to all humanity. Lest women imagine that there's nothing in this Christianity lark for them.

13 And John's claim to bear witness having attached to it the caveat aforementioned in verse 9.

14 He was not that Light, but was sent to bear witness of that Light.

15 Which yields all sorts of metaphysical and ontological conundrums in light of verse 7.

16 Forgive the pun.

17 That was the true Light, which lighteth every man that cometh into the world.

18 Presumably those born before the arrival of the Light being excluded.

19 It would have helped if John hadn't spoken in riddles, obviously.

20 He was in the world, and the world was made by him, and the world knew him not.

21 We're supposed to be talking about Jesus here, I think. John wasn't exactly a master of clarity.

22 He came unto his own, and his own received him not.

23 I'm not sure how they were expected to recognize him. It isn't every day you meet a bloke claiming to be the creator of the universe. I imagine they were just being polite and told one another to ignore him in the hope he'd go away. If he persisted, he'd only have himself to blame if they locked him up.

24 But as many as received him, to them he gave power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on his name.

25 Seriously, it was that easy. No tests, no questionnaires to fill out. No fine print. Believe he was the son of God and you'd receive eternal life.

26 Well. Okay. The promise of eternal life. Not actually eternal life. And not even The promise of eternal life. Just his promise of eternal life. A nutter's.

27 And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us (and we beheld his glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father,) full of grace and truth.

28 See above provisos 1 thru 26.

29¶ And this is the record of John the Baptizer, when the Jews sent priests and Levites to Jerusalem to ask him, Who art thou?

30 And he said, I am not the Christ. You've got the wrong bloke altogether. He's much swarthier than me and good with his hands.

31 They asked him, Art thou a prophet? and he said No. So they said, well, we've got to go back and tell the Jews something. Do you have a CV we can take with us?

32 And John said, I am the voice of the one crying in the wilderness, make straight the way of the Lord, as said the prophet Esaias.

33 Art thou the prophet Esaias? asked the slower ones amongst them.

34 No, he said. Haven't you been listening? Not really, they mumbled, and hid their faces out of shame.

35 Are you the one crying in the wilderness, then? asked another. No, he replied. I am the voice of the one crying in the wilderness. Do pay attention.

36 Are you sure you don't have a CV? they asked him again. And those who were sent by the Pharisees said

37 Why baptizest thou then, if thou art not the Christ, nor Elias, nor that other one. Esaias. Hmmmm? Explain that.

38 And John said, I baptize with water: but there standeth one amongst you, whom ye know not; he it is who coming after me is preferred before me and whose shoes I am not fit to lace.

39 And they said, That doesn't really answer our question.

40¶ The next day, John seeth Jesus coming unto him, and saith, Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world.

41 This is the one of whom I spoke of whom I said After me cometh a man which is preferred before me: for he was before me.

42 And the people there assembled said, When did you say that? For they were not the same people to whom John had been speaking the previous day.

43 Oh. Yesterday, said John. To somebody else.

44 Obviously, I was present on both occasions, otherwise this gospel would just be hearsay.

45 I thought I'd better clarify that.

46 And the people said, If this man is the Lamb of God and also His son, does this mean that God is a ram? Not an actual ram, but a Ram-God like the Egyptian god Auf, the ram-headed aspect of the Sun God. And his mother a sheep god?

47 No, said John. I was being metaphorical. I meant he will be slaughtered like a sacrificial lamb to take away the sins of the world.

48 Ah, they said. We were wondering. Although many of them still thought their interpretation made more sense. And then they said, Does he know about this?

49 He knows everything, said John. He is the Word made flesh.

50 So, then, what's the point? the people asked. If he knows it's going to happen, then it's destined to happen, so why bother? He could have spared himself a lot of pain and agony.

51 It's important, said John. God so loves mankind that he is willing to sacrifice his only son to take away their sins. And they will attain eternal life if they believe that he did so.

52 Wow, said the people. And also, Seriously? they said.

53 Yes, said John.

54 That is a massive sacrifice indeed, said the people. God must really love mankind very much. Tell us this, they said: This Lamb of God, Jesus, he will be sacrificed and die and take away all our sins and never be heard of again?

55 Yes indeed, said John. He will die, take away the sins of mankind, and then on the third day he will be resurrected and then sit at God's right hand in heaven for eternity.

56 Excuse me? said the people. Resurrected?

57 Yes, said John. To demonstrate that eternal life is genuine and that all who believe in him will receive it. Otherwise people would think it was some kind of scam.

58 And the people said, Whoa whoa whoa. Scroll back a minute, buddy boy. You said God so loved humanity he sacrificed his only son. Now you're saying he's going to bring him back from the dead and take him up to heaven for eternity. How's that a sacrifice? God hasn't given his son at all. This is a right crock.

59 ¶ Thereupon John bore witness and said, I saw the Spirit descending from heaven like a dove, and it abode upon Jesus.

60 And the people said, How did you know it wasn't just an ordinary dove? Was it wearing a halo? Did it crap gold?

61 And John said, Look, I just knew, right. You'll have to take my word for it.

62 And the people were sorely vexed.

Varnishing Point

2010-10-23T13:58:00.005+01:00

Just because the economy is on its death bed doesn't mean you have to forgo any part of your beauty routine. After all, when you look good, you feel good, and now more than ever the whole world is looking for reasons to feel good. And what's more, scientists have proven that at times of economic depression, those who look and act younger are more likely to come through unscathed than those who appear to be elderly, diseased, defective, and/or poor. The trick is to find cheap or free strategies that deliver the maximum impact. Whether it's hiding dark circles or boosting hair shine or demonstrating acrobatic sexual skills on the nether regions of a billionaire CEO, here are our experts' top tips on how how to look much much younger for much much less.

1: A quick and easy way to disguise old, tired eyes is to use a concealer. Such as sunglasses. They have the added advantage of making you look cool when you wear them indoors, like in a bar, restaurant, or pub. To add wealth and worldliness to your look, wear ski goggles instead.

2: The older you are, the more discoloured your teeth are likely to be. Avoid grinning or laughing in daylight. Replacing the bulbs at home with yellow or brown lighting will make your teeth look whiter.

3: Wear ear-rings with mirrors attached so that people are attracted to their own reflection rather than to your appearance.

4: The key to good skin is staying hydrated. Try to drink around 15 pints of beer a day. All the time spent inside dark pubs will protect your skin from the ageing effects of the sun, and the frequent urination will keep your plumbing fresh.

5: Glycerin is packed full of moisture and great for making tired-looking skin look young again. Dab a couple of drops under each eye and people will think you've been crying like a little girl.

6: The older you get, the wilder facial hair becomes: nostrils, ears and eyebrows seem to explode with random growth. A face mask of depilatory cream every evening will keep down the proliferation. Take Aspirin and coat your head in aloe vera gel the next morning to take down the swelling.

7: Beards and moustaches add years to your appearance, whether you're a man or a woman, so avoid them unless you're growing them to hide wrinkles, rosacea or other general ugliness. Consider dyeing your beard pink, green or purple to convey a fun, youthful disposition.

8: Smoke cigarettes. Only schoolkids smoke cigarettes these days.

9: Wear a school uniform when you go to the pub. And braces. On your teeth, not your trousers.

10: Before going out to a club, take anti-inflammatories, such as Nurofen, Cataflam, or Difene. Then, once you're there, choose the oldest member of the opposite sex to dance with, and fling yourself around the floor like a maniac. Your partner's pained and arthritic attempts to keep up will make you look spritely and full of youthful vigour. The internal bleeding caused by the anti-inflammatories and/or flinging yourself around are a small price to pay.

11: Wear your hair in a ponytail, pulling your facial skin taut. If you are a bloke, wear a headband instead. Blokes with ponytails are cunts.

12: Distract from wrinkles on your forehead by drawing arrows on your cheekbones pointing at your ears.

13: Everybody loves firm, pert buttocks. Keep yours hidden.

14: Nothing says "youthful" more than big doe eyes. You can dilate your pupils by using eyedrops, snorting cocaine or sexual arousal. Ideally, use a teat pipette to drip dilute cocaine into your eyeballs while masturbating. The effect will only be temporary but then so is life.

15: Getting plenty of sleep and lots of omega-3 fatty acids will help regenerate your body's cells. See your doctor for high-dosage sleeping tablets or ask an anaesthetist friend to knock you unconscious for a couple of days while wrapped in salmon slices.

16: On the other hand, when you're asleep, your muscles relax and your face sags, adding years to your appearance. Try to avoid sleeping.

17: Stop talking to your friends for no good reason and if they try to engage you in conversation, throw a strop. They'll soon begin to regard you as much more juvenile than before.

18: Nobody self-harms like teenagers. A few razor slices along each inner forearm will knock years off your apparent age. Try carving the name of a fictional vampire character.

19: If you have dark liver spots or blotches on your neck and chest, wear beige and brown jewelery that incorporates them into the design.

20: Get rid of any unwanted grey hairs by shaving your head. You'll look just like a newborn baby, and nobody looks younger than a newborn baby!

21: Bathe in asses' milk and drink virgins' blood OR bathe in virgins' blood and drink asses' milk. Where you live will determine which is the more plentiful commodity.

22: Plump "bee-sting" lips look younger and more enticing. If you cannot catch a bee, use a wasp.

23: Greasy, spotty skin is a sure sign of youth. Try smearing lard on your face before going to bed each evening. Eat lots of pizza and chocolate. Or smear pizza and chocolate on your face before going to bed each evening and eat lots of lard.

24: There's a well-known saying that it requires more muscles to frown than to smile. Give your face a good toning workout by frowning all day.

25: Another time when face muscles sag is when you look downwards. Make sure you're on the bottom during sex, or else do it doggy style, so your face is hidden from your partner. Do not incorporate mirrors into your lovemaking unless you are also using a gimp mask.

26: Tattoo over any unsightly neck wrinkles. A spider-web pattern along the wrinkles is a popular option.

27: Chew your fingernails down to the quick like a neurotic adolescent's.

28: Eating garlic, onions, and vast quantities of pulses will ensure that people keep their distance and thus miss those tell-tale details that give away your true age.

29: Standing and sitting erect place a lot of strain on the spine and back muscles. Slouch whenever possible or recline on a sofa. Just don't fall asleep (see 16, above).

30: Avoid losing weight. Your skin looks younger if it's stretched. Besides, saggy "bingo wings" and sallow heroin-addict cheekbones are fine on a mortuary slab, not on the dancefloor. Except the dancefloor of Stringfellow's.

31: A dab of Lanacane powder at each corner of your mouth will absorb any of the drooling that older people are prone to.

32: Generate a sprightly, youthful step in your gait by taking amphetamines. Avoid ginseng, which has not been approved by the BMA; evidence for its effects is purely anecdotal, and it's quite possibly dangerous.

33: Plump up your cheeks by keeping a snail in each side of your mouth. They don't have to be particularly big ones.

34: Spectacles add years to your appearance and draw attention to bloodshot, jaundiced, or just plain defective eyes. Consider replacing them with glass eyes that never lose their like-new shine. And if they do you can polish them.

35: Nothing makes your skin glow like pregnancy. Not that we recommend getting yourself knocked up just to look younger, and it won't work in any case for most of our male readers. But if you have a school reunion coming up in a couple of months, it's worth considering as an emergency solution. Just don't tell anyone.

36: Wear a polo neck sweater to hide a hideous saggy neck. Unroll it over your chin to hide hideous jowls.

37: Conceal drooping boobs by tucking them under each armpit.

38: Lift your eyelids to create more youthful contours using sellotape. The transparent kind.

39: Bags and dark circles under your eyes can be concealed using shimmer or glitter or gaffer tape. Rip the tape off quickly and it may take the bags with it.

40: Avoid any exercise that involves stretching; repetitive high-impact actions; eye or muscle strain; exposure to wind, water and/or sun; excessive twisting; strain on the heart and lungs; or stuffy indoor environments. Crown green bowls is ideal. In the snow.

41: A dab of haemorrhoid ointment under the eyes can treat morning-after bags. Conversely, Optrex, which contains soothing witchazel, can be used on sore piles. Just remember to thoroughly clean the eyebowl after use.

From the October 2010 issue of Prime of Life magazine.

Terms of Endearment

2010-10-11T20:40:00.004+01:00

FIFA, the international governing body of association football, today released its bi-annual update detailing changes to the nicknames officially assigned to the national football teams of its member states. While for the great majority of countries there was no need to introduce new sobriquets, for a significant majority it was felt that there was sufficient cause to produce more current epithets reflecting changes in the nations' circumstances, thereby continuing the governing body's policy of keeping abreast of events taking place in the world at large in order to guarantee the ongoing relevance of the sport of association football, or togger, as it is more generally known, to the lives of the ordinary idiot in the street. Highlights of the update include the following:

The Somali football team, formerly nicknamed The Ocean Stars, are henceforth to be known as The Pirates.

The Indian football team, formerly nicknamed The Bhangra Boys, are henceforth to be known as the Cowboys.

The French football team, formerly nicknamed Les Bleus, are henceforth to be known as The Cheetahs.

The Hungarian football team, formerly nicknamed The Magical Magyars, are henceforth to be known as Teem Red.

The Greek football team, formerly nicknamed The Blue-White, are henceforth to be known as The Copper Bullets.*

The Haitian football team, formerly nicknamed The Grenadiers, are henceforth to be known as The Shakers.

The Brazilian football team, formerly nicknamed The Little Canaries, are henceforth to be known as The Beavers.

The Colombian football team, formerly nicknamed The Coffee Growers, are henceforth to be known as The Mules.

The Dutch football team, formerly nicknamed The Flying Dutchmen, are henceforth to be known as The Cloggers.

The Swiss football team, formerly nicknamed The Nati, are henceforth to be known as The Terminators.

The Palestine football team, formerly nicknamed The Knights, are henceforth to be known as The Hammers.

The Nigerian football team, formerly nicknamed The Super Eagles, are henceforth to be known as The Super Phishes.

The Burmese football team, formerly nicknamed The White Knights, are henceforth to be known as The Gooners.

The Abu Dhabi football team, formerly nicknamed The Falcons, are henceforth to be known as The Screaming Ab-Dhabs.

The Congolese football team, formerly nicknamed The Leopards, are henceforth to be known as The Soldier Boys.

The German football team, formerly nicknamed The Steamroller, are henceforth to be known as The Seagulls.

The Botswana football team, formerly nicknamed The Zebras, are henceforth to be known as The Blood Diamonds.

The Australian football team, formerly nicknamed The Socceroos, are henceforth to be known as The Barbie Boys.

and

The Irish football team, formerly nicknamed The Boys in Green, are henceforth to be known as The Boys in the Red.

*This was previously the nickname of the Zambia football team, but given recent news events, FIFA felt that Greece was more deserving of it.

Don't Mock the Afflicted: Exploit Them for Literary Gain!

2010-09-23T15:42:00.005+01:00

In rather feeble attempts to demonstrate their erudition and unsuccessfully prove that they have a sense of humour, members of the medical profession have in recent years been generating articles for publication in which they diagnose the purported symptoms exhibited by the protagonists of well-known works of fiction. Thus, in the American Journal of Diseases of Children, D. W. Lewis argues that Tiny Tim from Charles Dickens's A Christmas Carol exhibits all the signs of Distal renal tubular acidosis (Type 1); in the Canadian Medical Association Journal, Claude Cyr argues that Tintin shows symptoms of hormone deficiency, hypogonadotropic hypogonadism, and repeated head trauma; and in the British Medical Journal, Professor Gareth Williams concludes that Squirrel Nutkin suffered from Tourette's.

At the same time, there has been a veritable explosion of novels featuring protagonists with illnesses or diseases hitherto considered exotic or rare. The protagonist of Mark Haddon's Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time is autistic, Clare Morrall's central character in Astonishing Splashes of Colour suffers from synesthesia, Lionel Essrog in Jonatham Lethem's Motherless Brooklyn has Tourette's, Lisbeth Salander in Stieg Larsson's novels has Asperger's syndrome, and it seems like every detective and every cop in every book and TV program is either terminally ill, already dead, hard of hearing or an awkward patronising cunt. Sometimes all of the above (yes, Morse, you).

In an effort to stem the flow of this truly appalling, exploitative, unimaginative and smug sub-literary effluence, we feel it our duty to point out to any prospective authors or poets intending to embark on any similar such venture that all the diseases known to humanity have already been covered by far better writers than you. So STOP IT! NOW! (Here's the evidence)

Agoraphobia: A Room of One's Own, by Virginia Woolf

Claustrophobia: The Night Before Christmas, by Clement Clarke Moore

Kleptomania: Rob Roy, by Walter Scott

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder: The Constant Gardener, by John le Carré

Voyeurism: King Lear, by William Shakespeare

Exhibitionism: Lord of the Flies, by William Golding

Clinical Depression: Doctor No, by Ian Fleming

Anorexia: Skinny Dip, by Carl Hiaasen

Multiple Personality Disorder: Dubliners, by James Joyce

Stuttering: Emma, by Jane Austen

Bipolar Disorder: To the Ends of the Earth, by William Golding

Nymphomania: The Water Babies, by Charles Kingsley

Satyriasis: Peter Pan, by J. M. Barrie

Dwarfism: Little Women, by Louisa May Alcott

Hypochondria: The Iliad, by Homer

Priapism: The Bone People, by Keri Hulme

Bubonic Plague: All's Well That Ends Well, by William Shakespeare

Down Syndrome: The Ugly Duckling, by Hans Christian Andersen

Echolalia: The History of Mister Polly, by H. G. Wells

Necrophilia: The Naked and the Dead, by Norman Mailer

Catatonia: Permanent Midnight, by Jerry Stahl

Narcissistic Personality Disorder: The Dandy annual

Vertigo: Wuthering Heights, by Emily Brontë

Coprophilia: The House at Pooh Corner, by A. A. Milne

Male Erectile Dysfunction: The Shape of Things to Come, by H. G. Wells

Halitosis: "The Lady of Shalott," by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Swine Flu: Pygmalion, by George Bernard Shaw

Peyronie's disease: The Turn of the Screw, by Henry James:

Syndactyly: Charlotte's Web, by E. B. White

Haemorrhoids: The Grapes of Wrath, by John Steinbeck

Macular Degeneration: Darkness at Noon, by Arthur Koestler

Incontinence: Gone with the Wind, by Margaret Mitchell

Priapism (again): Hard Times, by Charles Dickens

Leprosy: Things Fall Apart, by Chinua Achebe

Gonorrhea: Our Mutual Friend, by Charles Dickens

Self-Harming: Rip van Winkle, by Washington Irving

Necrotizing Fasciitis: Hitler, My Part In His Downfall, by Spike Milligan

Cystitis: Inferno, by Dante Alighieri

Obesity: The Life of Pi, by Yann Martell

and of course

Bulimia: Wolf Hall, by Hilary Mantel

If we've missed any, please let us know. Ta.

None of Your Fancy French Lickers

2010-09-09T17:00:00.005+01:00

Every June, the schoolchildren of the Greater Manchester area nominate and vote for their Lollipop Lady of the Year. Lollipop Ladies are a British institution, known abroad variously as Crossing Guards, School Crossing Supervisors, Crossing Patrol Operatives, Pediatric Pedestrian Transverse Street Enablers, Lollipop Men (in Muslim countries), and, in France, as Les Otaries Effrayantes. We here at MancTastic Magazine felt it was time we caught up with the lolly ladies of yore to find out what they've been up to and how their career trajectory progressed following the success they enjoyed as Lolly Lady of the year.

2010: Mella Motomel: Still a Lollipop Lady.

2009: Sookie Suzuki: Curator of the Tate Gallery Brighton.

2008: Hettie Zanetti: Internationally esteemed writer of literary fiction.

2007: Contessa Montesa: Emeritus professor of applied ethics at the University of Dunedin.

2006: Cathy Ducati: Joint winner of Nobel Prize for Physics.

2005: Ella Zanella: British Number 2 women's javelin.

2004: Susa Husaberg: British women's doubles tennis Number 4.

2003: Rhonda Honda: British women's Number 1 at table tennis.

2002: Aurelia Aprilia: British women's pole vault champion 2008.

2001: Ellie Benelli: British women's pole dancing champion.

2000: Bianca Bimota: British women's lap-dancing team member.

1999: Thomasina Triumph: "Best of British Burlesque" winner 2007.

1998: Davida-Harley Davidson: Body of the Year, Cabaret Magazine for the Older Gentleman, 2000.

1997: Fifi Fischer: Madam of Britain's Best Brothel (Bristol), 2003.

1996: Jeannie Lamborghini: Happy Hooker Award three years' running.

1995: Muriel Ariel: Winner of National Heroin Users Heroine of the Year, 1999.

1994: Biff Brough: "The Dealer to Watch," Drug-Pusher Magazine, October 1998.

1993: Buffy Clyno: Runs the largest paedophile ring in North-West England.

1992: Eve Greeves: Last woman to be lynched in Sweden. 1996.

1991: Sally Raleigh: Ireland's leading serial killer.

1990: Dot Scott: Went postal in 1997. Largest number of deaths at the hands of a lollipop lady in British history.

1989: Stephanie Stevens: CEO of Loansharks R Us.

1988: Hillary Villiers: Conservative Party MP.

1987: Veronica "The Shocker" Crocker: Back as a full-time student.

1986: Sue-Elle Buell: Unemployed.

1985: Fleurice Curtiss: Aspiring playwright. First short story published in the New Yorker recently.

1984: Marcia Marsh: Just completed Ph.D. in neo-Hegelianism. Thesis to be published by Blackwell next year.

1983: Mercuria Merkel: Writer-in-residence at Hollyrood House, Edinburgh.

1982: Persis Pierce: First female chairperson of the Qatari Communist Party (Marxist-Leninist-Mao Zedong Thought).

1981: Poppy Pope: World Subbuteo Champion, 2001.

1980: Cerise "Ears" Sears: Suicide.

1979: Hester Vespa: Currently president of the United Kingdom Sorority of Lollipop Ladies.

1978: Hester Vespa: See above.

1977: Hester Vespa: See above.

1976: Hester Vespa: See above.

1975: Hester Vespa: See above.

1974: Hester Vespa: See above.

1973: Dave Piaggio: Still a Lollipop Lady.

Article excerpted from MancTastic, the in-house magazine of Manchester City Council Events, Leisure & Public Services department.

The Reason Why Rabbits Hop

2010-07-27T14:41:00.002+01:00

Once upon a time, superstitions and rituals were the sole preserve of reactionaries, professional athletes, the alienated, children, and those suffering from obsessive-compulsive disorder. These days, however, it seems like everyone is aware of how little control they have over their lives and consequently feels the need to propitiate the gods of Fate and Fortune in whatever way seems to work. We here at Modern Astrology asked you, our readers, to tell us what methods you use to reclaim a sense of hope for the future and control over your destiny. And boy! did you have some ideas. Here, then, are your superstitions for the 21st century. Try them out, experiment, modify, report back. Remember: We rely on you to keep superstition scientific!

If you see a priest being beaten up, make a wish!
A. Symptote
Chelsham and Farleigh
Surrey

It's bad luck backstage at the X Factor to mention Susan Boyle. She is to be referred to as "The Scottish Singer."
B. Troote
Crowhurst
Surrey

If you press channel 13, 13 times, on your remote, whoever appears on the screen will be dead within the year. Unless they're already dead, in which case YOU will die.
C. Nillitee
Walton-on-the-Hill
Surrey

If your ears are burning, your iPod's on fire.
D. Lirryus
Felbridge
Surrey

Premature ejaculate should be flicked over your left shoulder.
E. Stereyeland
Dormansland
Surrey

It's bad luck to see 10 dogs and no owners.
F. R. Vessent
Caterham Valley
Surrey

If you have an itchy nose, it means you're going to have an argument. With your dealer.
G. Wizz
Bletchingley
Surrey

A webcam placed in a children's bedroom means you will soon have a visitor in uniform.
H. Aingeisgunnakumm
Woodmansterne
Surrey

Never open a packet of cigarettes indoors.
I. Fuhgivvew
Whitebushes
Surrey

On the first day of every month the first thing you should say is "sub me a tenner."
J. Louse-Rock
Tadworth
Surrey

Imbibing a sports drink before 12.00 noon is bad luck.
K. Bull-Teevee
Sidlow
Surrey

It's bad luck to use the same razor to shave your balls as you use for your face.
L. Onnearth
Reigate
Surrey

It's bad luck to let your kids eat two different flavours of Pringles on the same day.
M. Pathetic
Redhill
Surrey

It's bad luck to wear white at a wedding.
N. Deavour
Nork
Surrey

If a soldier's funeral cortege passes you in the street, it means bad luck and you must spit on the ground and turn your back.
O. Pful
Netherne-on-the-Hill
Surrey

Dropping a glove in a public place means you can soon expect a rude awakening.
P. Coyle
Merstham
Surrey

If two Jehovah's Witnesses come to your door and you manage to kill one but the other gets away, that's bad luck.
Q. Neiform
Meadvale
Surrey

Hear of a birth, hear of an abortion.
R. Tanlangwidge
Kingswood
Surrey

Tread on a crack, sue the council.
S. Timayshun
Horley
Surrey

Sign up for a iPhone on O2 and you'll have 18 months of bad luck.
T. Neidl
Hooley
Surrey

See a PIN and punch it in, take the cash, card in the bin.
U. Shitt
Epsom
Surrey

Don't do step aerobics on crack
V. Kneel-Sinn
Earlswood
Surrey

When your laptop crashes, somewhere in America a programmer dies.
X. Emplary
Chipstead
Surrey

To wish someone good luck before they play an online video game, you should say, "Break a wrist."
Y. Pfaff-Aboutt
Burgh Heath
Surrey

It's bad luck to find a horseshoe still attached to the hoof.
Z. Planeboss
Banstead
Surrey

From the June 2010 issue of Modern Astrology magazine.

Slimples!

2010-07-18T14:32:00.003+01:00

Losing weight doesn't have to be a major undertaking, providing you're willing to make the necessary tweaks to your everyday habits that mean the difference between oh-boy! and o-bese. The U.S. National Institutes of Health report that a net loss of a mere 231 calories every day for a month is enough to guarantee a drop in dress size or an inch off your waist. We discovered 30 easy ways to burn up PRECISELY 231 calories a day which you can incorporate into your routine so that after a month you'll be looking good and feeling great. After a year, you'll be unrecognizable!

1: Sit in a chair and stretch your legs out in front of you. Sellotape your legs together at the knees, binding them tightly. Then force your legs apart. Don't give in!

2: Put all your shopping in the wrong cupboards, then take them out and put them into the right ones.

3: Varnish, then strip, a fifth of the back fence.

4: Vacuum your living room ceiling (It's not as easy as it sounds!)

5: Lick your sofa clean.

6: Crush a whiskey glass in your left hand. Do not stanch the bleeding.

7: Chase (but do not catch) a bluebottle round your kitchen for 15 minutes.

8: Have a proper fight with a nine-year-old girl.

9: Defecate angrily.

10: Hide the remote control, turn the house upside down for 15 minutes, then find it.

11: Keep a wasp in your mouth for five minutes. Do not suck or swallow wasp.

12: During your office lunch-hour, strap a chihuahua or other similarly sized dog into a sling and carry it round your neck. Remember to take it off at the end of your lunch hour.

13: Recycle your own urine (for three days).

14: Buy a Wii and Wii Fit Board, take them out of the box, put back in. Repeat x50.

15: Instead of using low-fat spread with your croissants in the morning, use soap.

16: Scatter biscuit crumbs in your bed before retiring.

17: Stand on one leg for fourteen hours.

18: Climb 145 feet up a cliff.

19: Bend wire coathangers into a lifesize marmoset.

20: Take a brisk, refreshing walk through Wythenshawe Park after dark.

21: Go to a Salsacise class and stand outside laughing heart-healthily at the suckers going in.

22: Make passionate, dangerous love to your partner in a public place, but ejaculate/orgasm prematurely.

23: Walk to the gym. Buy some water. Walk home.

24: Find an ants nest and stamp on them individually.

25: Pretend you made it to the World Cup final. Show yellow cards to nine Dutch men.

26: Follow through.

27: Tie yourself to a chair and watch Top Gear.

28: Lose to an adult or beat a small child at badminton.

29: Go to a nightclub, boogie the night away, then insult the door staff on the way out of the club and the security staff on your way in to the hospital.

30: Wax a leg.

Dublin Psychogeographical Society: Bloomsday Special #3

2010-06-18T08:13:00.003+01:00

Sean O'Casey Bridge

It was a source of constant irritation to Joyce that Sean O'Casey had a bridge named after him when no writer had done more to integrate north and south sides of the Liffey into a cohesive and coherent lifeworld than Joyce had. Perhaps his irritation went deeper than that, though. After all, it was Casey who the kids loved; Joyce's atonal modernism couldn't compete with Casey's Stalinist sense of humour, his jaunty nostalgie de la boue, and adolescent sense of indignation. Even today, 300 years later, teenage buskers who should know better congregate on this highly unstable swing bridge to sing "The East Is Red," "Comandante Che Guevara," and "The Silver Tassie." Some of them even try to play the Uilleann pipes, as Casey did, but they tend to get moved on by the Gards as a danger to public safety. Casey also wrote "Red Roses for Me," the first Pogues album. A lot of people think Shane MacGowan got all his ideas about Irishness from going to Westminster public school, but in fact he did meet genuine Irish people, who told him about Casey and co. and whom he then parodied.

Casey, who was never one to bear a grudge, in spite of having loads, once said, "Joyce for all his devotion to his art, terrible in its austerity, was a lad born with a song on one side of him, a dance on the other. With neighbours like that it's a wonder he got anything written."

The bloke standing to the right of this scene in the casual beige jacket and trousers is about to nick that scooter.

International Financial Services Centre

Of course, the IFSC was not around in Joyce's time. This was just an urban wasteland of empty warehouses and docklands doing no harm to anyone while occasionally providing a backdrop for movies such as The Commitments, Michael Collins, On the Waterfront, and Moby-Dick. This all changed in 1987, before some of these films had even been made, when Charlie Haughey and Dermot Desmond realized that what Dublin really lacked was a conduit to enable multinationals to avoid paying tax through a combination of reincorporation and lax "light-touch" regulation.

As you can see from the photo above, with friends like that, Freedom in Ireland is always going to be a work in progress. Thus far, as with her American counterpart, only those who have money can get inside her. Yeah, Liberty's a bit of a whore, when it comes down to it. And she's fooling nobody with that book. Where's the second set of accounts, love?

The Ormond Hotel

Home to Honoré de Balzac from 1820 to 1825 and where he wrote his five-act tragedy Cromwell, the Ormond Hotel has seen better days. You'd hope it has, anyway. This is where Joyce both wrote and set Episode 11 of Ulysses, The Sirens, a scene dominated by music; to this very day, the Ormond echoes with the delights of the Terpsichorean muse, mostly from the radios of builders. The Sirens were creatures in ancient Greek mythology, part woman, part seagull, whose enchanting cawing lured sailors to their deaths on the rocky shores of the Sirens' island. The Sirens would then tie the sailors to the masts of their ships and eat their livers for eternity while shitting everywhere and making a right bloody mess, a metaphor used by Anton Chekhov for his play The Seagull and which Alfred Hitchcock more famously used for his movie Rear Window. In Ulysses, Bloom mixes his liver with mashed potatoes, to make it more palatable. And of course, it isn't his liver. It's a pig's. Or maybe a little lamb's.

Joyce wrote this episode in a "musical" style, to reflect the subject matter. A German opera called Martha is frequently referred to, echoing the previous scene set outside Davy Byrne's pub in that Guinness advert, and the episode ends with Bloom letting out a resounding fart as he passes a picture of Robert Emmet. Arse as wind instrument. Ironically, it was a resident setting light to a fart that gave the Ormond the distinctive appearance it has today.

Glasnevin Cemetery

From the top of the round tower over the tomb of Daniel O'Connell, it's possible to see all the way to Naas. And yet, oddly, the tower itself cannot be seen from Naas. This is due to the curvature of the earth or because the tower has four corners to hide round. Nobody knows for sure which.

Following the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 1945, Joyce wrote to Bertrand Russell that had Dublin been destroyed by an atom bomb, "it would be possible to rebuild the entire city, brick by brick, using Ulysses. Though God alone knows why anyone would want to. The place is a shithole." Russell replied, tersely, "There is no God." Dublin corporation rarely, if ever, used either letter to promote Dublin to tourists.

Ulysses is often cited as the culmination of the Modernist tradition. How fitting, then, that we should end here, at the cemetery, for Ulysses represented not just the culmination but the end point of Modernism. If what Joyce claimed for his novel is true, then it is not so much a work of art as a work of anthropology. Indeed, we might say it is the first "postmodern" anthropological text, combining high art, low culture, politics, religion, sport, working-class life, economics, sex and gender relations, and race in a wild, swirling vortex, just as they are in reality. And how fitting, too, that it was Bruno Latour, after whom Latour Eiffel is named, who observed in his book We Have Never Been Modern that a reflexive anthropology alone is capable of giving us an accurate depiction of our society, subverting the imperialist discourse that gave birth to the discipline in the first place. He clearly had Ulysses in mind. Or, if not, another book.

It is sometimes said that all those tossers celebrating Bloomsday are a secret sect of Joyce haters who are, metaphorically, dancing on his grave, making a mockery of him and his book, a work that managed to capture with incredible accuracy a living, breathing, thriving metropolis in all its complexity and subtlety. It is also said that there have been only three people in the world who have read Ulysses from cover to cover and actually understood it. Not one of them knew English. The debate rages on. It's what he would have wanted.

Dublin Psychogeographical Society: Bloomsday Special #2

2010-06-15T22:51:00.004+01:00

Westland Row

The birthplace of the playwright and essayist Oscar Wilde, Westland Row is now, as you can see, much grubbier than it was in Bloom's time, both graffitoed and vandalized. Built in 1776 by Jacob Epstein, it now appears to be the permanent home of unkempt students from Trinity College who congregate in indolent clusters hereabout smoking all manner of substances, taking photos of one another, and generally being a nuisance to both the living and the dead. In Ulysses, Bloom pays a visit to Sweny's chemist at the bottom of the street, where he buys some lemon soap, presumably to remove all the lipstick, and a packet of johnnies "in case Molly fancies a tumble when I get home." This is what is generally known to literary scholars as dramatic irony: The reader, unlike Bloom, knows that, at that very moment, Molly is being taken up the shitter by Blazes Boylan, using neither soap nor johnnies.

Sweny's can still be found at its old location. It is now a secondhand bookstore, but it still stocks lemon soap. If you require johnnies, there's another pharmacy a little further up Westland Row, but if you ask the Sweny's staff politely, they are only too happy to lend you johnnies from their own personal stash. The store is under new ownership, and they're trying to oblige all customers. Just say that you always used to get your johnnies there.

Davy Byrne's Pub

Davy Byrne's. The moral pub. The moral being, don't drink in Davy Byrne's. Bloom stops off here and consumes a glass of burgundy and a Gorgonzola sandwich, even though Gorgonzola was not invented until the First World War and anyone who has visited this pub knows that burgundy is only ever drunk out of the brain cavity of the original Davy Byrne, whose skull is kept behind the bar specifically for this purpose, as requested in his will. It has been suggested that this cheese reference is in fact a tribute to Émile Zola, the chronicler of Parisian working-class life on whom Joyce closely modeled his own career. Others have said that it was simply a mistake, one of the several thousand historical inaccuracies that have been spotted in the work to date. Experts in the field are now generally of the view that Joyce was "making it up as he went along."

It is interesting that, per Joyce, nobody drinks Guinness in Davy Byrne's, since the pub featured in a recent advertising campaign celebrating the 250th anniversary of the brewery's founding. In one television advert, drinkers are seen outside the pub offering a toast "To Arthur!" a reference to brewery founder Arthur Guinness, and in a semi-humorous relay of Chinese Whispers across Dublin pubs, the toast becomes increasingly distorted: "To Martha!" "To Hearth Rugs!" "To Bath Plugs!" "To Garth Brooks!" "To Garth Crooks!" and so on, until it has done the rounds of Dublin and gets back to Davy Byrne's, by which time the drinkers have actually sampled the brew. At that point, they shout, as one, "To Lager!" and spend the rest of the night drinking Stella.

But that bit was cut.

The bat motif that you can make out on the wall is the symbol of Bacardi rum. It is often asserted, mistakenly, that the Bass triangle was the first brand logo to appear in a work of art, in Manet's Bar at the Folies Bergere, but this sculpture predates it by 12 years. The motif is also a reminder of another Irish novelist, Bram Stoker, who used to come into Davy Byrne's and drink Bacardi by the gallon. The bar staff let him sleep off his appalling hangovers during the daytime in the cool of the cellars, because the slightest glimpse of sunlight caused him immense agony. Thus was the story of Dracula born.

The National Museum

There are some artifacts behind these doors that date back to the days of pre-history, when humans were little more than grasping, instinctual, selfish, animalistic monsters. Take a contemporary Dublin citizen and hand them one of these items, and they simply wouldn't know what to make of them. There are no clues to how they should be used or, indeed, to how they were used. They belong to an era that we can barely conceptualize, and the presence of these artifacts only compound our confusion. That we should even encounter them in the midst of our own, advanced civilization seems so anachronistic that one can only wonder what purpose could lie behind the act of displaying them to us other than to confront us with the Other which we once were, to disprove Montaigne's assertion, "I am a man. Nothing human is foreign to me."

Leopold Bloom visits the National Museum principally to contemplate the arses of the statues within. There were a number of arseholes in here when we dropped by, too, but we didn't find them arousing in the way Bloom did. Autres temps, autres mœurs.

Martello Tower, Sandycove

At this point in our dérive, we slipped into something long and uncomfortable, namely, the 5.13 DART from Pearse Station to Bray, alighting at Sandycove in order to visit the Martello Tower where Joyce opens his novel. The DART now runs underground, and the drivers are all French.

As you can see, Sandycove is, despite its name, one of Dublin's leafier suburbs. The Tower itself, in the distance, was built by the British to spot Napoleon's forces should he attempt anything so underhand as inciting the Irish to revolt. Joyce has Buck Mulligan and Stephen Dedalus play his modern-day "lookouts," although they fall out over the fact that Mulligan has invited an Englishman, Haines, to stop with them, thereby illustrating the tension between Irishmen of the time over their relationship to Empire. Also, there are only two beds.

There are 365 steps to the top of the Martello Tower, which is why Mulligan complains about his tea being cold when Dedalus brings it up to him. There are several witty puns about Dedalus taking years over breakfast that will escape readers unless they know this fact. Several other puns relating to cramps, caresses, and Crete cannot be fully appreciated without a full knowledge of the story of Daedalus and Icarus, who jumped off a high tower to escape King Minos. Interestingly, Paul McCartney got the name of his band Wings from this chapter of the book. The Beatles acquired their name from the Ladybird Book of Beetles.

Part the Third suivant.

Dublin Psychogeographical Society: Bloomsday Special #1

2010-06-13T18:55:00.001+01:00

In honour of Ireland's first flâneur après la lettre, Leopold Bloom, members of the Dublin Psychogeographical Society took it upon themselves this year to re-create his dérive, as described in James Joyce's remarkable novel Ulysses, and in our usual spirit of bloody-mindedness, to do it in Paris, source originaire de la flâneuristicisme and spiritual home of the Lettrist International and Situationism. The coach from Beauvais brought us, in the first acte gratuit of the day, to the portals of the James Joyce Pub, an omen, some of us imagined, a portending portal, if you will, a benevolent Delphic, nay, Homeric, augur signifying the Immortals' blessing on our adventure. Others amongst us pointed out that the bus always stops here.

The Guinness Brewery

Not, strictly speaking, the Ulyssean starting point, and thanks to the four Thermoses of room-temperature red wine we had packed and the ready availability of imbibing establishments for which Paris is renowned, Bloom's original path as described in the book soon became more of a drunkard's stagger, although we endeavoured to reach as many points of interest as we could, regardless of their chronological order in the text. Nonetheless, in many ways the Guinness Brewery constitutes a suitable starting point for our day out. "A Visit to Guinness' Brewery" is an essay topic suggested in Finnegans Wake, and as Joyce once observed, Dubh Linn, the uncorrupted name of Ireland's capital, means "black pool," identifying a subconscious motivation for the consumption of this darkest and foulest of beers by the unsuspecting natives. The brewery is thus an oneiric spring, the city's fount from which all life and death bubbles forth, dark and laden with original sin, much like Baudelaire's Fleurs du mal. Metaphorically, then, the Brewery evokes not just Dublin's alcohol-sodden Viking past but also Holles Street Hospital, setting for Joyce's Oxen and the Sun scene in Ulysses, and the place where modern-day Dubliners give birth to their own Fleurs du mal.

The tower you see in the picture gives visitors a 360-degree view of the entire city of Dublin. It also marks the precise location of the Marquis de Sade's liberation after the Brewery was stormed in 1789. In those days, the citizens of Dublin had the wit to make former inmates members of their parliament. Today's Dubliners can't even manage to do the reverse.

We were taken on a tour of the Brewery (you can see the building behind), but we were forcibly ejected at the end of the tour when we demanded our free pints of Guinness. So much for Irish hospitality.

The Phoenix Park

Ah yes, the phoenix, mythological bird ripe for all sorts of linguistic jiggery-pokery but never much good for cooking. We were surprised upon our arrival to see how literally the parks department has taken the name, the park's fields being liberally covered over with what at first sight looked to be ashes. Closer examination revealed it to be sand, however, much to the delight of our pro-Situ members always on the lookout for the beach beneath the cobbles. A couple of the capital's young bucks were engaged in what we took to be some kind of religious rite involving clubs and a round projectile. Could this be the fabled "hurling," the Irishman's national sport? If so where was the vomit and blood? Or polo, perhaps? Our map indicated that there were polo grounds around here somewhere. Or were they simply two strapping Irish lads revelling in their own strength and vigour, frolicking gamely in the sunshine on the ersatz beach, their own Sandymount Strand, while lusty onlookers furtively masturbated behind the rocks? Who can say? More than one of us on encountering this scene thought immediately of Albert Camus and his love of outdoor life on the beaches of Algeria. A Joycean link here too: So struck was he by the structure and plot of Ulysses that Camus sketched out the plan for a novel about Bloom's mother, culminating with her death at the hands of her son on June 15th, 1904. The fact that Bloom makes no reference in Ulysses to the murder of his mother for the entirety of the next day transforms this Everyman into the archetypal modern-day psychopath, an Outsider not merely by virtue of his Jewishness, but by virtue also of his lack of fellow-feeling, the affectless, blasé personality incarnate, to use Simmel's categorisation.

Of course, we know what happened next. Bloom became Meursault, the Outsider who kills an Arab for kicks. The opening line of that book?: "Mother died today. Or maybe yesterday, I don't know."

La Peste is better, anyway.

Mountjoy Prison

To inmates, "The Joy." To the screws, "The Mount." To the locals, "Mounters," "Joyo," "Priso," "Ountjoyp." Home to de Sade in his senility and madness, to Behan in his cups, to several popes (frocked, defrocked and unfrocked), and, a surprise to many, quite a few little old ladies, some of whom just love the place and keep coming back simply because they enjoy the company and the warmth, others amongst them who cannot help but come back because they are so thoroughly institutionalized they cannot cope with life on the outside. Sartre once said, ridiculously, that every man is free, even in prison. What he forgot to add is that even outside a prison's walls, a man can carry a prison inside his head. The former inmates of this particular asylum are frequently damaged in this way. Once the madness acquired in this particular building gets under your skin, it can require decades of re-education, beatings, and waterboarding to flush it out of you.

There is no truth to the rumour, incidentally, that the cells are so crowded that inmates develop hunchbacks. Though critics are yet to determine why Behan wrote about an old triangle instead of the bells, the bells.

Holles Street Hospital

The setting of the Oxen and the Sun portion of the novel and the site of the Guillotine during the Revolution, here it is that Ireland's monstrous beauties are born. As Baudelaire, described by Walter Benjamin as the master expositor of modernity, once said, "the unique and supreme pleasure of making love lies in the certitude of doing evil." Molly Bloom's "Yes, yes, I said, yes," thus becomes an affirmation of evil, a declaration of nihilism that encapsulates the modernist spirit. It is fucking that leads to creation, to birth. Baudelaire's evil flowers are his poems, while Joyce generates Ulysses by fucking with language. The Revolution itself gave birth to Modernity, to Saint-Simonism, Comtean Positivism, the ontological rupture between subject and object, knower and known, mind and body. It is no coincidence to those astute enough to notice that the executioner's tool of choice during the Revolution was the Guillotine, not because of its purported humaneness or its symbolic representation of progress, but because it enacted the literal separation of body and mind. The Guillotine is Descartes' Cogito put to the task of social cleansing. And, in the same stroke, it is a symbol of rebirth, a cutting of the umbilical cord between parent and child, the birth of a new nation, a new society, out of the death pangs of the old.

A happy confluence of birth and death, then, echoing not just the Guinness Brewery where we began our day's outing, but also Glasnevin Cemetery, where I fear we shall all end up, whether it be by accident or design or misreading of the map while langered.

Part the Second to Follow.

Different Croaks

2010-05-30T12:56:00.004+01:00

Following the sad, yet apt, demise of Different Strokes star Gary Coleman from an intercranial haemorrhage, we wondered what other deaths might be appropriate for the casts of American sitcoms. Here's what we came up with. You can join in too.

Scrubs: E. coli infection

Cheers: Cirrhosis of the liver

Keep It in the Family: Parricide

Two and a Half Men: Farm accident

Samantha Who?: Crushed by Tardis

Everyone Loves Raymond: AIDS

Everyone Hates Chris: Lynching

My Name Is Earl: Proletarian Revolution

Friends: Stalker

The Big Bang Theory: Act of God

Happy Days: Suicide

Third Rock from the Sun: Skin cancer

Soap: Slipped in the shower

Car 54, Where Are You?: Roadside IED

Flight of the Conchords: Plane crash

The Munsters: Potato famine

M*A*S*H: Potato famine

Arrested Development: Inexplicably, in a police cell.

Bewitched: Drowned in a duck pond, then burned at the stake.

I Dream of Jeannie: In his sleep. With an erection.

The Wild Wild West: Serial killer

How I Met Your Mother: Dismembered, in a river.

Now it's your turn. Remember, it's the show's title we're looking at, not the setting.

Was Born in Tiger Bay #13

2010-05-20T12:41:00.003+01:00

A baker's dozen of little-known facts about those giants of light entertainment The Muppets.

1: The original names for Statler and Waldorf were Heckler and Cock

2: The word "Muppet" has a Victorian origin. It was coined to refer to "musical pets" such as singing canaries, piano-playing dogs, and catskull maracas.

3: The gobbledygook-spouting, weird-looking cook Jamie Oliver is based on the Muppets' Swedish Chef character.

4: The only celebrities to have turned down a chance to appear as guests on the show are Danny Blanchflower, Flipper (the dolphin), Lenin, Flipper (the band), and Julie Andrews.

5: Pirate episodes were broadcast in North Korea in the mid-1990s under the title The Jesus of Nazareth Show.

6: A Florida court found that when the theme tune was played backwards, the words "Satan wants you to put on make-up" were clearly audible.

7: Later series of the show were filmed in London due to the casting of Roman Polanski as Gonzo.

8: The failure of the Columbia space shuttle is believed to be down to NASA using "Pigs in Space" as a blueprint for the mission.

9: The exorbitant price of Kermit puppets during the run-up to Xmas 1976 led to the nationwide vandalism of several thousand snooker tables.

10: The release of sword & sandals epic Troy in 2006 meant the shelving of the already-in-the-can Muppets: The Iliad (Book V)

11: Jim Henson suffered from multiple allergies, including foam, ping-pong balls, and sticks.

12: Frank Oz lost half his fortune when the Elephant Football World Cup he set up was cancelled due to logistical problems.

13: Fozzie Bear wrote all his own jokes.

Ouija Boards, by Kevin

2010-05-10T20:43:00.004+01:00

Ouija Boards are brilliant. Some people think that they are not brilliant, but they are wrong. What a Ouija Board is, is a special type of wooden board with writing on it that students use to roll spliffs on. However, Ouija Boards have many other uses beyond the obvious: They can also be used by teenagers to scare themselves shitless and by professional psychics, such as Derek Acorah, Shirley Ghostman, and Darren Brown, to fleece the emotionally vulnerable. This is because you can move a glass around the board and pretend you are spelling out words from the Dead. You don't need a Ouija board to do this, actually. You can write out the alphabet on pieces of paper, along with selected words that the Dead are likely to use—burning, dark, angels, intestate, and so on—and spread them around your mom's dining table. That way, you can confuse the Dead by putting letters in the wrong place, so that they say things like "The money is under the floorboarks." However, your mom is likely to complain about the glass scratching the polish off the top of an expensive heirloom, especially if you contact a particularly talkative ghost.

You can find Ouija Boards in all sorts of places. In auctions, on eBay, in Joke shops, in jumble sales. But mostly when the houses of dead people are being cleared out. This strikes me as quite ironic. Now, more than ever, you would think, the dead person could do with a Ouija Board. And what does their family do? Give it to the Church for a raffle. You'd think before donating it they'd have a go and try to contact Uncle Steven to see where he'd like to have what's left of his body buried and what they should do with the cats. But families generally are quite thoughtless in my experience, especially when someone's just died. They get so wrapped up in their own grief they don't step back and think things through properly. Which makes it a particularly good time for psychics to cash in or God botherers to take advantage while they're not thinking straight.

Not that there's anything to it, of course. There are no such things as ghosts. Nevertheless, I do like to keep an open mind about the phenomena associated with the paranormal, such as table wobbling, regression therapy, seances and the production of smegma, and of course, ESP. In the case of Ouija Boards, since there are no such things as ghosts and it is incumbent upon us to adopt a scientific approach to explaining associated phenomena, the apparent communing with the Dead must have some more rational explanation. My favourites are these:

(1) We are contacting the spirit or essence of past owners or users of the board, who have somehow left their psychic imprint on the board.

(2) Ouija Boards function as a portal to parallel universes. Since physics has now established the existence of infinite multiple parallel universes running alongside our own, the most likely explanation is that we are getting messages from people who have died in our universe but who are still alive in millions of other universes and who have an important message they want to get their loved ones, who are still alive in our universe but, perhaps, dead in theirs.

(3) Like (2), but we are in contact with a parallel universe in which the Dead can still talk and communicate with the living, and that universe comes into contact with ours at the point where the Ouija Board is being used, even if it's only being used to get Susan to not want to be alone tonight.

(4) We are contacting the spirit of the people who made the glass we're pushing around. Or all the people who have drunk from it. This would explain some of the bad language and filthy suggestions most ghosts seem to use.

(5) It was Michael Williams all the time pushing the glass, which is why the message from beyond the grave was "Kevin MacPherson will die next week of exploding goolies."

Whichever is the actual answer, I think it is important not to poo-poo that which we do not immediately understand. Important historical figures have resorted to Ouija Boards to guide them in major decisions. Napoleon Bonaparte based his decision to advance on Moscow on advice given to him from beyond the grave. Ronald Reagan based his entire Latin American strategy and his policy on Iran by consulting Russell Grant in the Daily Express every morning. Adolf Hitler, who was extremely superstitious, also decided to invade Russia on the basis of a recommendation from the other side, possibly from the same spirit who advised Napoleon. And Leon Trotsky was bent over the I Ching, trying to divine his future, when he got an ice pick in the back of his head. All of these examples demonstrate that we mock the paranormal at our peril.

What is more, when you have collected enough Ouija Boards, you will have enough psychic power concentrated in one place to make your house collapse in on itself like that one in Poltergeist. I keep all my Ouija Boards in my sister's bedroom. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I bang on the wall and make barking noises, so she thinks it's her dead dog, Shandy, trying to get in touch. Or a ghost with Tourette's.

Anyway, I hope you will collect Ouija Boards now I have shown you how brilliant they are.

And that is the end.

(Kevin MacPherson is Bishop of Bath and Wells)

The Genius of the English

2010-04-29T10:27:00.003+01:00

Original text here.

Pet Sounds

2010-04-28T16:46:00.002+01:00

CANTON GLE SERIES HOME THEATER SPEAKER SYSTEM ($3,046)

As tested, this system comprised a pair of GLE 490 floor-standing towers, a GLE 455 center speaker, a pair of GLE 420 surrounds, and an AS 85 SC powered subwoofer. The 1-inch soft-dome tweeter found in all the speakers employs a fabric dome, but this new-and-improved version also uses a finer silk material, and the satellites' midrange/bass drivers use the same aluminum cone material found in Canton's high-end speakers. The speakers sport a very gently curved front baffle, and the speakers all feature attractive punched-metal grilles. Each cabinet's back panel is finished as nicely as the sides. These are particularly handsome-looking speakers; with their aluminum cones clearly visible behind the silvery metal grilles, they'll fit in with the décor of any contemporary living room. Quick-release clips can be easily attached to the grilles in case of fights, but in testing this problem didn't arise. The insertion of a wheel was a simple matter of attaching it via the rear panel using a screw. Fans of wire enclosures may well be tempted by the easy wipe interior, and there's no danger of getting sawdust all over the carpet because the holes in the grille are too small. Customers report that the delivery service was very fast.

Pros:
Handsome, attractive appearance
Easy clean
Quick-release clips
Fast delivery

Cons:
Too small for rabbits

DEFINITIVE TECHNOLOGY MYTHOS SUPERTOWER HOME THEATER SPEAKER SYSTEM ($4,616)

While it might not rank as high on the innovation scale as its predecessors, the Mythos STS follows a similar trajectory by providing a sensible next step for the line. Def Tech has shrunk the ST's cabinet down to a 47½-inch height, and is offering the new speaker at a more affordable $3,000-a-pair price. To round out my test system, the company bundled the STS L/R pair with its brand-new Mythos Nine for a center channel and a pair of Mythos Gems for surrounds. Total cost for this package comes to $4,357 ($4,616 with Gem speaker stands), a very fair price when you consider that you get a pair of powered subwoofers thrown in free when you buy STS SuperTowers.

The STS's black aluminum cabinet has a svelte, stealthy, look, and the scale is friendlier than the company's more imposing ST model, which tops out at 51½ inches. The base is particularly elegant. Its compact footprint and beveled edges make for a seamless visual blend with the speaker, while the dark granite material offers sturdy support. The STS's top section, meanwhile, contains a pair of 4½-inch midrange drivers flanking a 1-inch aluminum-dome tweeter coated with a ceramic material to inhibit treble edginess. In testing, it was surprisingly simple to attach a plastic tank, which is great, because you can then add lots of digging material for your pet to enjoy, which helps provide a more natural environment. The cabinet itself has plenty of space for a stainless steel feeding bowl, tubes and a drinking bottle.

Pros:
Compact size, suitable for smaller rooms
Easily modified
Elegant appearance

Cons:
Some might find the design a little too conventional

DYNAUDIO EXCITE HOME THEATER SPEAKER SYSTEM ($4,650)

The Danish count among their national treasures really good speakers, including those from Dynaudio. The company's latest Excite line reached us in the form of the compact 5.1-channel system reviewed here. All four of the Dynaudio models in the system - the X16 front/left speakers, the X22 center, the X12 surrounds, and the Sub 250 subwoofer - are perfectly conventional in appearance but have quality materials and construction throughout. Two highlights are their unusual metal-finish baffles and the meticulously executed, lacquer-filled real-wood veneers (black, cherry, maple, and rosewood finishes are all available).

I put the X16s on my usual stands, which yielded a tweeter height of about 39 inches - pretty much ideal in my layout. The X22 center arrives with a simple bolt-up metal stand, and the small X12 surrounds went on my usual high sidewall shelves angled toward the rear wall, and I placed the Sub 250 in my proven location left of and behind the left front speaker. All of the Excites have single pairs of high-grade multiway binding posts (from WBT). The extra height placement makes these speakers particularly suitable for chinchillas, which like lots of space, and the wall mounts provide them with comfortable resting places, while the metal rims on the surrounds prevent them from being gnawed. Putting a safety lock on the X22 center prevents accidental opening, and the high quality metal finish ensures your speaker system will be around for a good while.

Pros:
High-quality materials and construction
Provision of extra resting space
Security issues easily resolved

Cons:
Does not come with chinchilla bath
No feeding bowl

SVS MTS HOME THEATER SPEAKER SYSTEM ($4,400)

SVS has gone up-market with its newest and highest-priced lineup to date, which consists of the MTS-01 towers, MCS-01 center, and MBS-01 surrounds. SVS is making a pretty big deal about the tweeter that's used in this system, a new soft-dome unit from Denmark's Scanspeak, and its leading-edge features include the use of an array of six small magnets in place of the single large one found in most tweeters. Of course, any customers worried about the effect of magnets on small pets will immediately want to remove them as soon as they get the system home and chuck them in the bin.

The MTS line's cabinet design is strictly conventional. This is the kind of construction that was standard 30 or 40 years ago, with solid, well-braced enclosures made from heavy wood-composite panels. Though biggish and boxy, these speakers are nonetheless handsome, nicely finished in real wood veneers and constructed with obvious care. The speakers also have some contemporary touches, like a cunning grille arrangement held in place by invisible magnets, which owners will also want to replace with ordinary hinges. The grille is very strong and much better than you'll find on most ordinary, conventional hutches that even the most placid rabbit gets through in a few days. There is loads of room for small hamsters, however, and a wheel is easy to install. However, the towers are potentially dangerous, and some users report that their hamsters have climbed right to the top and then fallen all the way to the bottom because there's no central support structure. It's a sensible idea to construct a ramp from top to bottom to avoid bumps and bruises.

Pros:
Solid, well-braced design
Handsome appearance with veneer finish
Strong, secure grille
Very roomy for smaller pets

Cons:
Rather boxy appearance. Customers might ask themselves why they aren't just getting a conventional hutch
Several pets plunged to their deaths

THIEL AUDIO SCS4 SPEAKERS AND SS1 SUBWOOFER ($5,380)

The SCS4, as its name suggests, is the fourth generation of Thiel's Small Coherent Source (SCS) line. The twist with this latest version is that by having most of the components made in China (only the final product assembly and testing are done in Lexington), the SCS4's $1,980-per-pair price undercuts that of the older, now-discontinued SCS3 by more than $800.

With a 6½-inch metal-cone woofer incorporating a coaxially mounted 1-inch metal-dome tweeter, the SCS4 is designed to work equally well whether it's positioned vertically on a stand, lying on its side, or mounted up high. Twin ports flanking the drivers continue the symmetrical layout, while a removable metal-mesh grille partially hides the drivers. The cabinet has a solid-aluminum baffle for rigidity, while the sides and back use 1-inch-thick medium-density fiberboard with an especially attractive real-wood veneer in natural or dark cherry, or black ash. The flexibility of this design means that it can be used for rabbits, rats, mice, gerbils, or hamsters, but cat owners may only want to use it for transportation purposes. A safety-door lock is easy to attach, and the metal-mesh grille should ensure the system lasts.

Pros:
Easy to clean
Flexible design
Attractive appearance

Cons:
No corner toilet, feeding bowl, or drinking bottle
Rather expensive, all things considered.

POLK AUDIO RTi A SERIES HOME THEATER SPEAKER SYSTEM ($1,750)

The Polks' basic appearance is simple but attractive, with nothing cheap-looking about their smoothly curving real-wood finishes (vinyl for the subwoofer) or knit grilles. The RTi A3 bookshelf speakers and the CSi A4 center channel are straightforward two-ways. Ditto the FXi A4 surrounds. The DSW Pro Series 500 sub is fairly large for a 10-incher, rather heavy, and surprisingly full-featured, given its modest price. All of the Polk satellites include wall-hanging facilities, and the dual-ported A3's rear vents incorporate a nifty wall-standoff that Polk calls a PowerPort.

This is what we call real value for money. Nothing fussy about the design, but softly shaped and a good, roomy size, with a large living area that can be shut off when it gets a bit cold. The grille provides plenty of fresh air that freshens up the living space, and the wood is of such good quality that there's no danger of splinters or conflagration. The speakers look like they've been painted with animal-friendly wood preserve, too, a really nice touch from Polk. Customers are advised to get a winter cover, however, so they don't come down one winter's morning and find their pets stuck to the metal.

Pros:
Great value for money
Healthy living environment for pets
Animal-friendly materials
Comes with PowerPort

Cons:
Requires extra expense on winter cover ($4,780)
Rather heavy. Squashed one gerbil.

Home Theater Speaker System reviews from the May 2010 issue of Animal Homes & Gardens.

Khmer Rouge Strippergram Brought to Life!

2010-04-23T20:51:00.004+01:00

Original text post here.

A Las Barricadas en Lippy

2010-04-02T08:43:00.028+01:00

The whole world is going through tough times right now, requiring women everywhere to demonstrate their grit, nerve, courage, flair, and determination. And just because we here at Gorgeo.us believe that it's every woman's right to look her best all the time, to do whatever she wants whenever she wants, to define for herself what fun really means, and to express her own individual personality through whatever clothes, hairstyle, shoes, bags, or other accessories she chooses to buy, that doesn't mean we aren't aware of the real difficulties facing people out there in the wider world. Past issues of our magazine have mentioned Natasha Walter's Living Dolls, Kat Banyard's The Equality Illusion, and Nina Power's One-Dimensional Woman—even as we type we can see them on the office bookshelves, right next to the Vogue Hair Care Manual. So we're clearly not here just to advocate irresponsible hedonism and crass conspicuous consumption to our vulnerable teenage readers. In fact, it's an insult to ALL women to even suggest that we are. On the contrary, we know that even when our readers are being Serio.us, that doesn't mean they can't still be Gorgeo.us.

Here, then, for YOU, are our top tips on how to look your best for the front line, the factory occupation, the guerrilla insurgency, and the final curtain. Do it all with attitude, sister!

On the Picket Line

The Gorgeo.us woman understands the importance of making a stand. You have to represent, girl!

The fabulous Minnie Driver showing how to be both militant and Gorgeo.us. Dolce & Gabbana shades ($469), Jean-Paul Gaultier sailor belt ($149.99), black denim jeans by Victoria Beckham ($199), Cartier watch ($2,899), black blouse from a skip (free).

On the Pro-Choice Rally

We here at Gorgeo.us believe fundamentally in a woman's right to choose, whether that means choice of eyeliner, nightcreme, handbag, or whether or not to terminate a pregnancy.

Solidarity is Gorgeo.us!

Marching all those miles on unforgiving concrete really takes its toll on your feet and your skin. Wear comfortable-fitting shoes with a low heel and make sure you've had a pedicure to avoid ingrown toenails, stubbed and bruised toes, and to prevent foot infections. Use a top-of-the-range moisturiser to combat both sun and wind. Crème de la Mer's Regenerating Serum ($350) contains stem cells from a hardy marine plant, eryngium maritinum, chosen for its ability to withstand stress. La Prairie's Cellular Serum Platinum Rare ($800) contains negatively charged platinum and the antioxidant Resveratrol, which has been shown in scientific studies to prolong the lives of rats.

On the Barricades

A Gorgeo.us woman is happy to muck in when the occasion demands it. She'd rather be shopping than fighting the pigs, but she has untapped resources that sometimes surprise even herself.

Now THAT'S what I call a Cocktail Party!

The street-fighting gal goes nowhere without her Hermès ($720) or Missoni ($235) scarf, which can be used to keep her hair in place while she levers up the paving stones and doubles up as a mask to conceal her identity or to protect her lungs from the CS gas canisters despatched by the forces of repression. What's more, it makes a marvelous sling, not the kind for supporting broken arms but the kind that allows her to propel cobbles all the way down the Boulevard. It's Paris 68 all over again, although in Paris 68 they didn't have polarized Bulgari sunglasses ($350), which let her throw Mollies into the sun with pinpoint accuracy and spot snatch squads before they're half-way down the road. And, of course, the Gorgeo.us girl is never without her classic Chanel quilted bag ($2,550). It's not just appropriate for both rioting and looting: it's essential!

The Factory Occupation

Common democratic ownership, control, and management of the means of production is the only way to prevent the economic exploitation of one class by another. Gorgeo.us women know that this in itself won't mean an end to the Patriarchy, but women's full participation in all production is a sine qua non of any free society.

Mujeres Libres: Because Free Women are Gorgeo.us Women!

Whether you're just occupying the factory strategically or planning on running it as an ongoing concern, you're going to need your Emergency Overnight Cosmetic Bag, containing all your beauty essentials. We suggest

Dermalogica Pre Cleanse ($50)

Dermalogica Special Cleansing Gel ($39.99)

Estée Lauder DayWear Plus ($62.95)

Chanel Viatalumière Satin Smoothing Fluid ($59.99)

Chanel Teint Innocence Compact Makeup ($70)

StriVectin-SD Eye Cream ($90)

Chanel Life Lumière Eye Concealer ($72.99)

Nars Eye Shadow in Abyssinia ($35)

Nars Eye Shadow in Ondine ($35)

Talika Lipocils Lash Conditioning Gel ($45)

MAC Pro Lash Mascara ($27.99)

Clinique City Block Sheer ($29.99)

Clarins Colour Quench Lip Balm ($24.99)

REN Neroli and Grapefruit Zest Body Wash ($29)

REN Grapeseed, Jojoba & Shea Body Cream ($39.95)

Life.NK Japanese Wash Cloth ($37.75)

Frédéric Fekkai Full Volume Shampoo ($39.95)

Frédéric Fekkai Protein RX Conditioner ($39.95)

Frédéric Fekkai Full Volume Mousse ($39.95)

Philip Kingsley Elasticizer ($42.50)

Tom Ford White Patchouli ($80 for 30 ml.)

Storming the Winter Palace

Burning down churches and turning convents into people's libraries don't sound much like fun to us—unless those nuns have secret stashes of chocolate!—but revolution is the festival of the oppressed, and if that doesn't sound like the party to end all parties, we don't know what does!

No Gods or Masters. Except Louboutin!

Preparation is the key to any battle. The Gorgeo.us woman will have visited the nail bar the day before, because she knows that everyone will be looking at her hands while she's touting that AK-47. Make sure your manicurist uses a non-chip overcoat, such as Revlon Extra Life No Chip Top Coat ($3) and choose a startling scarlet nail polish like OPI Off with Her Red ($7.50), the "tough, vibrant red that says she's in charge!" Don't forget to use Body Shop Almond Oil Intensive Hand Rescue Treatment ($18 for 3.4. oz.) afterwards. It provides "S.O.S. moisture for overexposed hands" and can be used on all skin types.

In the Jungle

A Gorgeo.us woman takes no prisoners, but she also knows when to retreat and wage a war of attrition.

Is it HOT out here, or is it just me?

Jungle humidity makes it difficult to look fresh and fabulous throughout the day, but using the right primer can save you the embarrassment of a melting face! Beyond improving the staying power of makeup, primers help to control oil and prevent creasing. A few of them even double up as anti-aging products or add extra hydration to skin. We recommend Laura Mercier Oil-Free Primer ($30). Use it after your moisturizer and before your makeup. For eye shadow, try Urban Decay's Eye Shadow Primer Potion ($23). It's the bizness. As for lipbalm, try MD Skincare's Powerful Sun Protection SPF 25 Lip Balm ($40). You'll want at least a factor 30 for your skin, too. Why not try Korres Watermelon Lightweight Tinted Moisturiser ($30 for 30 ml.). It has an SPF of 30 and smells divine. And the Body Shop's Sweet Lemon body range makes a great insect repellent.

The Interrogation

Just because you've been captured, this is no time to stop thinking about your appearance. Fascists like their women to be all woman, so this could really be your chance to shine and show off your true self. Just remember: You're only obliged to give your name, rank and phone number!

We doubt we'd be as brave as Sharon was!

The interrogation is all about seduction. That means your nails should be super-sexy and shiny (Lindsay Lohan swears by Chanel's Le Vernis Nail Color in Black Satin [$23]), with alluringly long lashes to complement them. There's no need to mess about with false lashes, which can look tarty, because there's a vast range of "party-time" mascaras coming out now. Try out Maybelline's The Falsies Mascara ($16), which delivers a lovely feathery look that's perfect for fluttering. And don't forget a perfume that reminds him you're a sassy, confident, modern woman: Daisy, by Marc Jacobs ($60 for eau de parfum), is a sunny, pure and free-spirited fragrance that just cries femininity. He'll be putty in your hands!

The Firing Squad

A Gorgeo.us woman is a defiant woman, who knows that while they may kill the revolutionary, they'll never kill the revolution.

Take Your Best Shot, Boys!

Once they've put on the blindfold, you won't have to worry about mascara or eyeliner, but you'll still want to go out in a blaze of glory. Be bold, using a fiery, bright lipstick, such as Revlon's ColorBurst in Coral ($9) or Estée Lauder's Cherry Kiss ($20), then do matching gloss on top, like Dior Addict UltraGloss in Red Stockings ($27). If the blindfold leaves the brows visible, you'll want them full to balance out the daring lips. Brush them upward, pluck strays, then lightly fill them in with a brow pencil. Those guys in the firing squad won't forget you in a hurry!

From the March online edition of Gorgeo.us magazine.

Bookworms

2010-03-31T04:41:00.003+01:00

Every year, to coincide with its national conference, the American Library Association names its American Librarian of the Year. To commemorate the 50th anniversary of this award, the in-house journal decided to locate the whereabouts of the first 25 winners:

1985: Keith Hingis. Died 1997. Froze to death on the Matterhorn.

1984: Lisa Jaeger. Died 1997. Poisoned by 5,000-year-old wine.

1983: Joanne Huber. Died 1996. Lost in rainforest.

1982: Victoria Hart. Died 1997. Savaged by lion.

1981: Sam Bueno. Died 1997. Malaria.

1980: Susan Turnbull. Died 1996. Starved to death in labyrinth.

1979: Marie Keothavong. Died 1996. Cave collapse.

1978: Charlotte Austin. Died 1996. Eaten by monkeys.

1977: Neal Davenport. Died 1997. Patronized Amazons.

1976: Lucinda Garrison. Died 1997. Sacrificed to volcano god.

1975: Catherine Mauresmo. Died 1997. Polar bears.

1974: Claire Ruzici. Died 1997. Trapped in giant spider web.

1973: Helen Jordan. Died 1997. Mummy's curse.

1972: Naomi Wade. Died 1995. Crushed by Mayan stele.

1971: Clifford Harper. Died 1997. Perfectly preserved in amber.

1970: Keith Fromholtz. Died 1997. Residing with the Immortals.

1969: Lisa Jacobs. Died 1995. Misinterpreted hieroglyphic.

1968: Joanne Schett. Died 1997. La Brea Tar Pits.

1967: Victoria King. Died 1997. Found lost tribe.

1966: Sam Baltacha. Died 1997. Roasted in hypocaust.

1965: Susan Williams. Died 1996. Tetanus from doubloon cut.

1964: Marie Hobbs. Died 1997. Cooked on spit by cannibals.

1963: Neal Wills Moody. Died 1997. Disaffected elephant.

1962: Charlotte Barker. Died 1999. Entombed with treasure.

1961: Mary "Butch" Nagelson. Died 1999. Of natural causes. In Shangri-La.

At Home, At Work, At Play.

2010-03-22T21:07:00.009Z

The intensification of the working day is familiar to anyone trying to keep their heads above water in the current cut-throat grind-teeth bump-knee chew-tongue finger-elbow climate brought on by head office's opportunistic trouser-slashing under the prepuce of the recession. There's nothing that any of us can do about it but smirk and bear it, but it is possible to soften the blow of those extra work hours and augmented productivity targets by incorporating strategies that don't involve a shotgun, taking a Swiss Army knife to the boss's tires, or hanging yourself and your family in the woods beside the lake, beneath the trees. Sherry Banting, CEO of MentalWorks Incorporated and author of Productive Screaming: How to Make the Best of the Worst Time of Your Life, offers these tips on rendering your working life as palatable as possible while contributing to the bottom line and keeping the suits at bay:

1: Always keep a spare pair of trousers in your drawer, Banting says, in case you get soaked on the way in to work or in case you've already used up the morning's toilet breaks.

2: Have a few stress-busting gadgets to hand so you can work out your repressed rage. Banting recommends a Squeezy Ball, a desktop mini-beach or guillotine, a back- or ball-scratcher, a gumshield, a catapult, a taser, and/or a whittling stick.

3: For the more ambitious cubicle-dweller, a small Primus stove will enable you to cook light snacks at your desk and so avoid needless lunchbreaks. To avoid looking too competitive, make light of your behaviour by keeping the stove under your desk and pretending you're camping. A Thermos of hot soup will reinforce the illusion. And dress up as a scout or girl guide.

4: Departmental heads shouldn't be afraid to introduce an element of levity into the office, says Banting. Fucking about has been shown to increase productivity, as long as it's only management that does it. Try masks of cartoon characters (but not those associated with any recent bank robberies). Avoid Venetian-style carnival masks unless you want to incite a full-blown orgy. Save them for Fridays. You should also keep joke books by the reception and require the receptionist to email a new joke every day to staff. They'll really appreciate it and often respond in kind.

5: Save time at home in the mornings by bringing your breakfast into the office. Keep cereal boxes in the kitchen. Keep milk in the fridge. Brush your teeth in the water fountain.

6: A mid-afternoon cocktail is no longer frowned on in most continental offices, according to Banting. She recommends keeping a vase of artificial flowers on your desk, and instead of filling it with water, use vodka.

7: Turn the brightness on your screen up to full so that you have an excuse to wear shades. Then sleep whenever and for as long as you like. If anyone queries you, say you have a migraine and they should be grateful you're in there at all. If they persist, says Banting, take a sickie.

8: Information technology has made it possible for everyone to communicate with one another without ever having to use their mouths. This is a saving that can be availed of by finding jobs for idle tongues, such as licking envelopes and stamps, taste tests, and washing desks/windows/PC screens. Such multitasking will reduce the workload in the long run, says Banting, no matter how unpalatable the work. We think she was trying to be funny.

9: Keep a pair of slippers for office use. Remove shoes and socks as soon as you get in to save unnecessary wear and tear. All static generated by walking around belongs to the company and can be used to power the delivery van or the hand dryer in the loos.

10: Some companies have already introduced manicures and pedicures for all staff, says Banting. The clippings are used to feed the Koi Carp in the foyer. Others employ hairdressers and barbers who will trim and style hair at the employee's desk, while they work. Although the cost is covered by the company, Banting points out that this generosity generates goodwill among staff. Except among the bald ones.

11: Office outings to the circus are great for team morale and generally prove to be a fertile source of ideas for improving the workplace. "It's surprising how much the two worlds overlap," observes Banting.

12: The handicapped toilets and the nappy-changing area are convenient places to unpack and eat takeaway food. If the kitchen's too crowded and you prefer peace and quiet anyway, why not invest in an "Out of Order" sign.

13: Don't forget your footspa! You can usually plug it into one of the outlets that would only be wasted on a printer or defibrillator. Fire extinguishers make handy coat hangers too.

14: Intercourse with a co-worker is a handy way to release tension, sexual or otherwise, says Banting, as well as providing the kind of office gossip that is pure gold to HR. Try to be discreet, she advises. Fellatio is better performed under the boss's desk rather than on top of it. And while the boss is somewhere else, such as the conference room.

15: Small whirring fans can be a constant irritation to some people, says Banting, but don't discount the job they do in both dissipating unwanted smells and covering up embarrassing noises. Some people might need bigger ones.

16: Video conferencing is a great way to cut out unnecessary journeys. They also mean you can hold that important meeting with the sales manager from your bed. Just don't distract him by masturbating while he's trying to drive. And masturbate.

17: Small pets provide amusement and entertainment, as well as topics for conversation. They can also be put to work in the mailroom.

18: Put your children's art works on the walls of the office, Banting says. They give the place a homely feel, save on decorating costs, and provide staff members with a source of impenetrable pride oblivious to their offsprings' visual incontinence.

19: A dartboard in the canteen is ten times better than a suggestion box. But make sure it's the Velcro kind. Some suggestions should not be acted upon.

20: Encourage staff to bring in cakes, sweets, biscuits, and other comestibles that they can share with colleagues. It's usually best if they're not home-made though, advises Banting. And individually wrapped portions are better for sharing. Nobody's going to touch that piece of peanut brittle Gordon just broke up with his bare hands when they know he was wiping his arse only five minutes earlier, she says. In fact, best avoid anything with peanuts and toffee in.

Taken from the March/April edition of Working Stiff magazine.

Your Ireland, Your Funeral

2010-03-04T08:00:00.004Z

In keeping with the spirit of the times, Khmer Rouge Strippergram is launching its annual Limerick for Ireland competition. Entrants must endeavour to produce works that accurately represent and reflect life in 21st-century Ireland. It is our fervent hope that the naturally good-hearted and instinctively cheerful people of this fine and proud land will respond with the grit and enthusiasm for which they are known around the world, rather than with the apathy and cynicism that they exhibit at home. First prize will be a (Bus Eireann) ticket to anywhere (including ferry ports).

Our entrants so far (all anonymous, for some reason):

The ghost of a young lad named Nate
Wandered all round his own ghost estate
He said "I don't think it's funny
To waste so much money
It's a shame that ghosts can't emigrate."

A car-accident victim who bled
On the Monaghan by-pass just said
Having had my crash here
With no hospital near
I'm a casualty twice over. And dead.

A young chemist in a job with Big Pharma
Got a 300% mortgage, no drama
But when the bankers got jittery
And her job went to shittery
She wished that she had her own NAMA.

A Dutch pirate who loved things for free
Said stealing trinkets is no good to me
A gas pipeline's the way
And the culchies can pay
A word, please, in your Shell-like, TD.

In opposition but still making demands
Enda Kenny hopes the government disbands
He says,"this dead tiger they're screwing
Well, of course, that needs doing,
But I'd be fisting the corpse with my hands."

Suffer children to come unto me
Said the priest while he patted his knee
It'll be thirty years
Before I shed crocodile tears
And then whitewash my sins in the See.

He who once went on cheap flights with mates
And returned here, he now emigrates.
But it's no long-term solution
The country needs revolution
O'Leary, your hanger awaits!

Downhill All the Way

2010-02-23T15:27:00.007Z

Treating injuries miles from the ER is an essential skill, but you don't need to be a doctor, surgeon, nurse, paediatrician, obstetric gynaecologist, or even a plain old voyeur to learn what it takes to survive in the wild. Brad Chilterns is the founder of Outdoor Medicine, which specializes in teaching underedumacated back-country folk and overeducated city types how to cope with a medical emergency. Usually his courses cost more than a couple of grand, but he's distilled a lifetime's experience (he's now 109) into the tips we present here as all you need to know. Read it, memorize it, swallow it, and shit it out later.

MINOR WOUNDS

We'll start with the easy stuff. Blisters. Everyone gets blisters, but not everyone knows how to deal with them. What you have to do is clean the blister first with an antiseptic wipe. Then get a long, sharp pin or needle. A Swiss Army knife is too blunt. Heat your needle over a log fire or a candle until it's sterile. Then pierce the skin and massage the fluid till it's all come out or until you want to puke with the pain. Then get hold of a thick book and press it down hard on the skin until you're totally sure there's no fluid left. Once you've done that, drive the pin further into the skin, until the blood is running freely. Wrap a sock round the wound and wait for a scab to form. After a couple of days, rip off the sock, taking the scab with it, and the blister will be healed underneath. Magic!

Abrasions: Scrub the wound with soap and a gauze pad or bandanna, making sure to remove all debris. This will hurt. Add salt. It'll hurt some more. Rinse off all the soap and then pour bleach liberally into the wound. Put a plaster on it. Take a swig of the bleach as well, just to be on the safe side.

Burns: Jump into the nearest lake, river, stream, bath, shower, waterfall, cascade, or cataract. If none of these are available, have all your colleagues urinate on the burn. The colder their urine, the better. Failing that, put some soothing 100% aloe vera gel with tea tree oil and camomile on a silk or satin scarf and gently wrap the burn site. Do not be tempted to put peanut butter, Marmite, Nutella, or Activia on the burn. These will achieve nothing. If blisters form, see above for treatment.

ANIMAL AND INSECT BITES

Bees and wasps: If the stinger remains in the skin, take a sharp hunting knife and cut deep into the flesh so that you cut right underneath the stinger, thereby preventing it from taking root. Bury the excised flesh so that the stinger doesn't try to come back again. Then suck the poison from the knife wound. Be careful to use a clean knife and a clean mouth so as not to give the patient tetanus/rabies/gonorrhea. If the patient has an allergic reaction, give them an antihistamine or let them run it off.

Ticks: These bloodsuckers can transmit disease if allowed inside you, and it only takes them a few minutes to scale your legs, climbing up the hairs, and sneak their way into your most intimate nooks and crannies. So make sure you shave your legs before every hiking and camping trip. Yes, all the way up. Get a back, sack and crack wax to be extra safe. And don't grow a moustache. They'll swing off it up your nose while you sleep. If you're fortunate enough to find one before it makes your innards its home, torture it to find out where its mates are. Then squish it with that book you've got.

Venomous spiders: Although they're called venomous, these spiders aren't really poisonous. I mean, they won't kill you. A coma is the worst you'll experience, and then only if you've eaten a bowl of the fuckers. Look for vomiting, diarrhoea, and a sore throat as signs that you have indeed eaten a bowl of the fuckers. Take a dispirin or two and some laxatives. You may not need the laxatives.

Venomous Snakes are another thing entirely. They can dissolve your hand just by breathing on it. It's like snogging an Australian call girl. If one of your group does get bitten by a snake, keep the victim calm, then take off all their jewelry, watches, and anything else of value or which might offer clues as to their identity. Back away from them slowly and pretend you're going to get help. Put the bitten limb in a splint if they need further convincing

Mammals: The old wives' tale about the hair of the dog applies to all mammals. Catch the animal responsible, skin it, and wrap its fur around the wound until the bleeding stops. The natural antiseptic action of the animal pelt and the fact that animals are immune to their own saliva will render any further treatment unnecessary.

GASTROINTESTINAL ILLNESS

Diarrhea: Keep the patient away from your clothes, from the tent, and from all cooking utensils. Giving the patient fluids just encourages the diarrhea, so avoid giving the patient any liquids or food for several days, until his asshole dries up. Then you might consider giving him a banana or some nuts. Providing he behaves.

Vomiting: See Diarrhea, above.

DENTAL EMERGENCIES

Toothache: Use a toothpaste for sensitive teeth from the age of 5 up. If you notice any pain or bleeding in the gums, rush to a hospital. It could be cancer. Bring your dentist on hikes with you in future.

Broken Tooth: Rinse the tooth thoroughly with drinking water, then wrap it in a handkerchief, take it home, and put it under your pillow before you go to sleep. You may not get the full value of the tooth, since it's broken, but there's no arbitration board you can appeal to. That's monopolies for you.

HEAVY BLEEDING

If the blood is gushing, make a tourniquet using a stout stick, a pair of children's trousers, and your muscles. Keep pressure on the wound until the bleeding stops or the patient passes out. Do not apply tourniquets to neck wounds. Once bleeding has stopped, pack the wound with mud and cloth. If blood continues to seep through, keep packing on the mud until you can't tell blood from mud. For a gaping wound, press the edges together and stick them in place with sellotape or brown paper and spittle. If you have string and a tent peg handy, you might be able to stitch the wound temporarily. Then apply Germolene or Sudocrem, sit quietly, and wait for the patient to die. Check all wounds regularly for signs of infection.

ENVIRONMENTAL THREATS

Snowblindness: Redness, teary eyes, and a rough, sandpapery pain when opening or moving the eyes are all signs of sunburned corneas. Put the patient immediately in a dark tent and get them to think of dark things, such as cellars, Darth Vader, nighttime, and a cool dark bar on a hot Arizona summer's day. Don't let them rub their eyes, because they'll discover they're blind, and the discovery could lead to flailing panic, jeopardizing the safety of the whole group, especially if the mountain is particularly slippery or inhabited by venomous snakes or Serbian death squads. Give the patient strong opiates, then try hitting him across the eyes with a wet fish, the way Jesus did, and see what happens. If nothing else, you'll get a laugh out of it.

Hypothermia: The first sign of hypothermia is that the patient complains of being "bloody freezing." After that, they say very little. More advanced hypothermia patients exhibit what are commonly referred to as "the umbles": stumbling, fumbling, mumbling, tumbling, jumbling, bumbling, grumbling, and qumbling. Get the patient into warm, dry clothes and place him in a sheltered area, such as inside of a tent. Don't have a tent? You should have thought of that, shouldn't you? Give the patient water and simple sugars, such as chocolate or hot rum butter cinnamon cocktails, to generate quick body heat. For more advanced cases, a group cuddle can't do any harm. Then set fire to him so he won't tell.

Altitude Sickness: Feeling hungover? Don't climb mountains pissed then. But if you haven't had a drink, and if you've got a headache, nausea, insomnia, lack of appetite, and fatigue, it could be Acute Mountain Sickness. The best thing to do under the circumstances is to take ibuprofen for the headache, drink lots of water, and do some light exercise around camp, such as sprints, jumping jacks, or naked wrestling. If these fail to work or if you get an erection while naked wrestling, head down the mountain immediately to avoid possible brain damage.

Attitude Problem: Tell them to shape up or ship out. It's highly unlikely they'll have a ship with them.

Frostbite: Cold, pale, numb, and rigid skin means that tissue has frozen. Rapidly warm the area in a container of water heated up to between 99° and 102° Celsius, monitoring and adding more hot water as needed to make sure the temperature is constant. Give Ibuprofen for the pain. If blisters form, treat as above. Note: If you notice the tissue refreezing, scrub all of the above. Do NOT, I repeat, Do NOT warm the injury. Instead, keep it frozen until you can get the patient to a doctor. But it'll probably be too late.

REMEMBER: WASH YOUR HANDS!

A 2006 Journal of Handwashing report found that 61 percent of six Adirondack Trail hikers who "rarely or never" washed their hands after a bathroom break got diarrhea, compared to just .000007 percent of those who did scrub. When you're planning on doing any form of outdoor surgery, hygiene has to be your priority. Here's how to wash up right:

(a) Wet hands (water is best) and add a drop of nontoxic soap.
(b) Work up a lather and scrub for 30 minutes, paying particular attention to the between-the-fingers and the fingerprints, where the sneakiest germs try to hide.
(c) Rinse, repeat three times, then dry hands on leaves, trousers, dishcloth, whatever else you have to hand.

FINALLY: BE PREPARED.

Here's what you need to pack (suitable for four to six people on a weekend trip).

24 sterile, 3- by 3-inch or 2- by 2-inch gauze pads to clean and cover wounds
5 1- by 3-inch adhesive strips to cover cleaned wounds
1 roll of duct tape to silence sentries
1 pair tweezers for removing splinters and ticks
1 pair medical gloves, cleanroom protective suit, autonomous breathing apparatus, and portable isolation chamber to protect you and the patient from contamination
1 pair of pliers for recalcitrant locals
1 roll tape (1/2 inch by 5 yards) to hold dressings on wounds
1 ball of string one mile long to measure miles
36 200mg tablets ibuprofen for pain, inflammation, and fever
2 packets antibiotic ointment to cover wounds before dressings
1 set of jump leads in case of cardiac arrest
1 swab tincture of benzoin to make adhesive bandages stickier or hold wound closure strips in place
1 panda
3 antimicrobial hand wipes to clean hands and around wounds
1 safety pin
1 hairpin
1 bowling pin
1 table tennis table, 4 table tennis bats and 1 table tennis net. For morale.

From the February 2010 issue of Amateur Hiker magazine.

Potty Training

2010-02-15T22:14:00.004Z

"Swallow my luminous cack!" When Swindon mom Debbie Flobb heard her four-year-old son, Robert, use this phrase in conversation with a telecoms engineer on the phone one Monday morning, her first response was utter horror. "I can't imagine where he might have picked up language like that," said the 63-year-old mother of three from Didsbury. "My husband and I are both fully qualified Buddhists, so it wasn't from either of us or any of our dinner-party friends. The only other alternative was our maid, but she's a Kikuyu and doesn't have a word of English. I confess I was completely flummoxed."

Debbie's experience isn't unique (although it later transpired that Robert was the reincarnation of the 33rd Panchen Lama, a notorious coprophage). According to Elizabeth Pfister, well-known paedolingue and author of Tiny Minds: What Goes on Inside Your Child's Head and Why You Shouldn't Give a Damn, not only do all children harbour malevolent thoughts towards adults, but once they find out that their attitudes are shared by other children, it reinforces their beliefs in a cycle of escalating contempt until the typical crèche is a pressure cooker of barely suppressed infantile scorn and hostility, seething with the most primitive and barbaric fantasies of violence that can be conceived by incompletely formed minds. "It's an evolutionary mechanism by means of which the children of each generation bond with one another," Pfister explains, "and nothing to worry about in the least. It isn't like they can lift weapons or anything. They're just establishing their own personal identity."

In reality, the problem is the parents', concerned that discussions about prophylactics on the subway or questions about vaginal juices in the bus queue will give the wrong impression to strangers. Says Pfister: "I remember one time, I was giving a talk to a school assembly, and my own son shouted out that I had a chicken twat. Of course, he didn't know what the words meant. He was just trying to impress his pupils."

But for Pfister, the experience was like a light switch being turned on in a cupboard filled with decomposing vegetable matter and unidentifiable mammalian effluvia. It was then, and over the subsequent 30 years, that she developed her seven-point strategy for putting the lid down on toilet talk for good, a strategy that all parents can now use thanks to her extensive research. So long as they buy her book.

1: Animal Noises

Kids don't like to be told they're no better than animals, but point out that not even the monkeys in the zoo call one another "minge tits," whether it's meant to be a term of affection or not. You can reinforce this point, says Pfister, by taking them to the zoo itself and arranging with the vets there for your kids to see one or two of the animals being put down. If they still don't get the message, try locking them in the back garden and throw fish at them.

2: Face to Faece

A well-known technique to dissuade pets from crapping in the house is to rub their nose in it. It works a treat every time. "Not that I could conceivably recommend in a public forum that parents adopt a similar approach," says Pfister. "But I remember the time my brother Tommy was due to visit, and my daughter, Louise, said, 'Oh no, not that vomiting shit pisser.' Well, that was the whole trifecta. I couldn't let that pass, could I, not unless I wanted to give the green light to a complete breakdown of discipline. Fortunately, Tommy was an incontinent bulimic, so we had all the equipment we needed to ensure Louise kept her opinions to herself after that."

3: Behold Your Master

Children tend to think they're really great, and modern parenting has a lot to do with that, says Pfister. "We don't teach them often enough how much they still have to learn." This is especially true when it comes to linguistic skills. "Take them to see Frankie Boyle perform, or Gerry Sadowitz," she advises. The sheer range of inventive invective will intimidate them to the point of introspection. And if that doesn't work, take them to an Ipswich match and get seats by the dug-out. Roy Keane's florid explosions of rage will give them nightmares they won't be rid of until the horrors of puberty overtake them.

4: Booze Blues

Every time your child swears, make them drink a treble vodka. "It isn't illegal if you do it at home," says Pfister. "Besides, it's a cure that rapidly pays off, because the more they drink the more they swear." It'll only take a dozen or so benders before your child comes to associate swearing with hangovers. "Make sure he doesn't stop off on the way to school for a hair of the dog, and I can guarantee you that the shame of copious retching during Story Time will mean you'll never hear the word 'spermacist' ever again."

5: Fashion is Key

"Like lots of moms, I thought that 5-year-olds with pierced tongues was an outrageous caving in to pressure," said Terri Pampers of Walthamstow, "but then it was explained to me that you can get small padlocks that pass through the tongue and attach to a bar that you can strap round your child's head to keep them quiet during Jeremy Kyle. Apparently the idea came from a medieval device called the Scold's Bridle, which was used by men to pacify nagging wives. It's a good thing we've moved on from those days, that's all I can say." Pampers had all ten of her children's tongues pierced at birth.

6: What You Say is What You Are

Leslie Arbuckle of Tranent got so fed up with her son Clive shouting the word Syphilis at the top of his voice in the supermarket that she changed his name by deed poll to the very word that had become a mantra for him. "Now, when his teacher calls the register he has to answer to Syphilis," she says. "When he's playing in the park and I want to call him in for tea, I get to shout it out loud, and he's the one who feels embarrassed. It's not so fucking funny any more. Just wait till he goes to boarding school."

7: God is Watching

The fact that children are using bad language to bond with one another doesn't mean they are immune to social disapproval. "In the school where I teach," says Neil Fringe, "any child caught swearing is forced to repeat what they said in front of a nun. She's employed full-time purely for this purpose." Some schools that can't afford nuns use volunteer sour-faced old women from the local old people's home who come in just to hear the filth that kids come out with these days. "It suits some of them to be appalled and have their worst prejudices confirmed," says Pfister. "Of course, I am concerned that ten years down the road some adolescent boys will only be able to become sexually aroused if there's a disapproving nun present, but if it stops them cursing in their formative years, well then I think it's a small price for society to pay."

From the December 2009 issue of Nurture magazine.

Top Trip Tips

2010-01-27T10:00:00.004Z

More useful holiday advice from the readers of Arthur Frantic's Budget Travel magazine:

Flight crews know the best hotels and places to eat in any town. When you leave the airport, have your taxi driver tail anyone in a uniform to their final destination.
Harold Quant, Kissimmee

Save time writing your holiday diary while you're away by completing it before you go. When you get home, you can make any amendments that might be required.
Suzanne Schlong, Boise

Take suction cups with you. Bedrooms rarely have the necessary pulleys or hoists for sex games, but carefully placed suction cups on the ceiling and walls will take the weight of two, sometimes three, fully grown Spaniards.
Lilian Capacious, Buffalo

When you park your hire car, leave the local fascist newspaper visible on the passenger seat and the local police will make sure that nothing happens to it.
Czeslaw Jones, Omaha

When you go up to the breakfast buffet, leave a large, bloodied ax on your table so that nobody dare steal your toast.
Winifred Goatee, Miami

When abroad, wipe your ass using those wet wipes that you can't use at home because they clog up the drains. After all, you're on holiday!
Jim Underling, Braintree

Rather than carry dozens of pill bottles, just carry one, with all of your different pills individually labelled.
Casper Wheeze, Madison

Get a seat at the back of the plane so that if it crashes the bodies of all the people in front of you will soften the impact. Ask to sit behind a particularly fat person.
Celeste Placematte, Phoenix

Conceal your valuable jewelry in your food—sandwiches, soup, donuts—and keep them in a Tupperware box locked and sealed tight with superglue. No one will know.
Albert Kerkey, Albuequerque

Rather than take entire travel books with you, avoid excess luggage penalties by visiting your local public library and tearing out the relevant pages for the area you're going to.
William Minger, Abilene

Bungee cords around the bottom of your shorts stop mosquitoes getting in and works as a handy adult diaper if you get the runs while on holiday in Egypt. Be careful not to make them too tight, or you'll get gangrene.
Cheryl Snafu, Carson City

According to the police in Rome, the police in Genoa are pickpocketing bastards.
Giuseppe O'Toole, Punxatawney

If the plane hits turbulence and the flight becomes very bumpy, don't get scared. Just pretend you're on a boat sailing in choppy waters 35,000 feet up in the air.
Lisa Imperialist, Corpus Christi

Don't book into an expensive hotel. A few weeks before you go away, befriend people from your destination on Facebook so that you'll have somewhere cheap to stay when you get there.
The late Gertrude Cartwright, Seattle

If you're in coach, talk pompously, swear profusely, and tell everyone about all the restaurants you own, and there's a good chance you'll get upgraded to first.
Michael Chancer, Boston

If you have difficulty understanding what a foreigner is telling you, escort them to the nearest Internet cafe, log on to Babelfish, and it will guess whatever it is they are saying and put it into a version of English for you.
Earl Pastille, Mobile

I always iron my sandwiches before I go away so that they take up less space in my case. If I'm bringing rolls rather than sandwiches, I put them in my socks then tuck them in my hiking boots.
Lance Casualty, Raleigh

Wearing a pedometer will tell you precisely how many miles you've walked around fucking Paris.
Stanley Althusser, Reno

If you want to change currency, ask one of the local pimps. They always have plenty of spare cash on them and give a better exchange rate than the thieving banks.
Buster Mullins, New Albany

The faucets in airplane toilets always spray everywhere, leaving embarrassing stains on your trousers. As soon as I enter the toilet, I strip naked to avoid any calamity.
Bryce Lee, Oakland

I hate having to write postcards while I'm away, and I know the recipients really just want the exotic stamps, so I just buy the stamps, put them in envelopes, and post them off instead. I usually enclose a short note so that they'll know who the stamps are from.
Gerry Invincible, Williamsburg

I put my wallet, passport and airline tickets in my hat and then put my hat in the hotel room safe so that there's no danger of my leaving without them.
Bobby Spivak, Poughkeepsie

Before heading off every morning in our hire car, I masturbated in the motel bathroom so that I wouldn't get distracted while driving and miss all the sights.
Robbie Punjab, Saratoga

Rather than go away, I find videos of exotic places on YouTube, then place my face really close to the computer screen. It's just like being there!
Vivian Costermonger, Pittsburgh

Leave behind any books you take with you. If they cannot read English, foreigners will want to learn it so that they can find out the meaning of the strange hieroglyphics. The sooner they all know English the better it will be for everyone.
Shaun Blatant, Austin

Rather than insult my friends by bringing home the cheap tat sold abroad as souvenirs, I just tell them the place I visited was shit.
Montague Barry, Des Moines

Any Dream Will Do

2010-01-12T20:33:00.003Z

Professor Žigmund Phunfár is probably Slovakia's leading authority on the human unconscious, with particular expertise in the area of dream interpretation and momomancy, the capacity to divine the future by means of communing with the Universal Mind in its nocturnal subjective manifestations. To our immense and eternal gratitude, he took half an hour away from his ongoing collegiate dispute with the notorious Jungian Pedomants to offer some startling insights into what the year ahead has in store for several of our readers and for the world at large.

Dear Professor Phunfár
I have had a recurring dream recently in which I am enjoying the sunshine on the grass esplanade by Brighton beach with my mother, when all of a sudden three massive crocodiles crawl out of the sea and up the pebble beach in our direction. The vacationing crowds are generally indifferent, and I alone turn to flee, but the crocodiles ignore both my mother and me and instead bite the heads off three girls sunbathing topless nearby listening to Lady Gaga. Can you tell me what this signifies please?

Antonio
Mantua

Dear Antonio
This is a classic change of government dream. The grass esplanade signifies a turning of the corner, and Brighton, naturally, represents a celebration of some sort, usually a party or a high tea with scones. The crocodiles are indicative of the uncertainty that comes with the democratic process—subjects of dictatorships rarely dream of crocodiles, preferring the gnu—and the three sunbathing girls listening to music clearly stand for the complacency of an emasculated incumbent power. The fact that they are topless means that this will be a hung parliament, however. You may want to consider voting tactically.

Dear Professor Phunfár
In my dream my mother, who died on the operating table six months ago, appears to me in her hospital gown, gliding towards me with a mysterious smile on her face and handing me a shiny green apple to eat. I take a bite and it is filled with blood. I look down at the apple again, and it has sprouted legs that are kicking to break free of my grasp. My mother laughs and tells me she has "got me," so I throw the apple at her and it hits her in the throat and kills her stone dead. Instead of feeling shame or horror I bend down and pick up the apple and take another bite. Please tell me what this means and how I can be rid of this awful dream.

Edwina
Brazil

Dear Edwina
Dreamwork is frequently complex and circuitous, involving massive leaps of creative imagination, what Freud referred to as zydecopoiesis. What you have here is clearly a moving house dream. Your mother represents apple pie, the kind of apple pie that people receive traditionally when they move into a new house. The apple, surprisingly, represents not an apple pie but a change of routine. Perhaps after your move you will take breakfast later than normal, have a fairy cake for elevenses, start each evening meal with a donut. Do not rule out the possibility.

Dear Professor Phunfár
I constantly have a dream in which I am running naked down the local high street pursued by bears. The bears are dressed as Prussians. They never catch me but each time I try to hide I give my location away by sneezing until I wake myself up. I currently get two hours sleep a night.

Sinbad
Coventry

Dear Sinbad
It never ceases to amaze me how the human mind conceals from itself the most blatant of truths. There is a clue, of course, in the fact that you spend much of your dream hiding. A second dissimulation is to be found in your state of undress. This is what we psychoanalysts call a Freudian Slit. You have represented yourself to yourself as Naked but in fact what you really are is Caked. Why are you naked? Because you have no cakes. The cakes you are carrying in reality have been transmuted into nakedness, which is why you are empty-handed. Do you see? You are, in effect, telling yourself to make sure you buy cakes this weekend, specifically a nice Dobos torte, as represented by the Prussian bears.

I hope this helps.

Dear Professor Phunfár
I frequently dream that all my teeth are falling out. I understand Freud said that such dreams expressed anxieties about sex. What say the momomancers?

Jackie
Saint Petersburg

Dear Jackie
This is quite clearly nothing to do with sex. It is symptomatic of a perfectly natural fear that you won't be able to eat any more yummy Plundergebäcken. I suggest you stock up and see if the dream goes away.

Dear Professor Phunfár
I am standing in the middle of a field wearing a jet pack, surrounded by a large crowd. I turn on the pack to take off, but I immediately lose control and fly headfirst into a massive cake that has appeared from nowhere. Everybody laughs and then goes home, leaving me to lick my pack.

Jenny
Newtownmountkennedy

Dear Jenny
This is a wonderfully uplifting dream which tells us that you will be representing Ireland in swimming at the Olympic Games in 2016. However, you have not specified what kind of cake was involved. FYI

Layer Cake = 4 x 400m freestyle
Coffee Cake = 4 x 100m butterfly
Battenburg = the crawl

I am afraid you do not win, however.

Dear Professor Phunfár
I have a very intense dream in which I am walking through the woods with my best friend and two black Labrador dogs. Suddenly it begins to rain and without any explanation we are both naked and the dogs are licking us. Next thing I know we are climbing up a spiral staircase with no handrail and a drop of several hundred feet down the centre of it. We keep climbing. "We must see the Saracen!" my friend insists. Then everything goes pitch black and I am drowning in a lake of bitumen. I attend my own funeral where loving speeches are made by my parents and then everyone goes back to the community centre and eats Weichselstrudel, Zwetschkenröster, Linzertorte, and Salzburger Nocken, even though we live in Tibet. What does this mean?

Narayan
Shigatse

Dear Narayan
I can't help you, mate. That dream stumps me completely.

Dear Professor Phunfár
I dream most nights that I am having sex with Adolf Hitler. He is short and wiry and hairy but incredibly well-endowed, his phallus resembling a heavily veined aubergine with a chimp's head on the end. Any chance this could give me the lottery numbers?

Ian
Colchester

Dear Ian
Freud used to say, "Sometimes a pen is just a pen." Of course, what he neglected to mention was that he managed to say "penis" in that very sentence. But his point still holds. Not all dreams are predictive of the future. Often they are indicative of repressed memories or secret desires. The fact that Hitler died over six decades ago should alert you to this. You do not specify how old you are, but this dream means either that you had sex with Hitler or else that you fantasize about having sex than Hitler. It's as simple as that.

Glad to be of assistance.

Do you have any dreams you'd like Professor Phunfár to interpret? They don't even have to be particularly pastry-based. Just send your dream in a white cardboard box along with some chocolate eclairs to

Professor Žigmund Phunfár
Knodelstrasse 3
Der Graben
Vienna

Was Born in Tiger Bay #12

2010-01-10T14:17:00.003Z

A baker's dozen of little-known facts about comedian Ken Dodd:

1: His full name is Kenneth Anger Lottie Dodd.

2: He has a house in Surrey made entirely out of television sets.

3: He appears on the covers of four Beatles albums: Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, Revolver, Rubber Soul and The White Album.

4: According to embryologist Sir Ian Wilmut, the idea of cloning Dolly the Sheep first occurred to him while watching a video of Doddy on stage with the Diddymen at Leeds City Varieties Hall in 1981.

5: The only things Doddy inherited from his late mother in her will were 20 cats and 10 tins of dogfood.

6: He was the first person to perform an anal-sex joke in front of the Queen. And the first person to perform anal sex in front of The Duchess of Argyll.

7: He is in the Guinness Book of Records for having the longest penis of any European male. It was measured on a transatlantic flight, and during the time the tape was unfurled the plane had travelled 2.4 miles.

8: Before adopting the Tickling Stick, Doddy used to come onstage wielding a cattleprod, but shows frequently descended into chaos because he kept forgetting the extension lead.

9: In 1969, Doddy insured his teeth for a then world-record of £5. He stopped paying the premiums in 1971.

10: His signature exclamation of "Tattifelarious!" was actually stolen from Marcel Marceau during the war.

11: Doddy is well known for performing shows of up to five hours in length. This is because, once he gets on stage, he can't remember how he got there.

12: Although Doddy's stage persona is directly taken from 16th-century Venetian commedia dell'arte, the Tickling Stick first appears in 12th-century (Heian period) Japanese military literature, where it features as an instrument for euthanizing crippled horses.

13: Doddy cuts his own hair. With his teeth.

Foulman's Almanacker

2010-01-04T20:39:00.003Z

The top ten sexual positions for the next 12 months, in reverse order of preference:

10: The Dry Heave

9: The Charity Bike Ride (not to be confused with . . .)

8: The Pithy Fuck (choice of citrus fruit according to taste)

7: The Wolf-Ram Alpha

6: The Spotifyst

5: The Strictly Come Dancing

4: The Obamacaress

3: The Jedward (identical twins optional)

2: The Kindlestick

and of course, the ever popular

1: up the Twitter.

Coin Collecting, by Kevin

2009-12-18T12:12:00.003Z

Money is brilliant. Some people think that it is not brilliant, but they are wrong. It is. If you think about it, money can be used to buy anything. Darts, newspapers, Matlow’s Refreshers, season tickets for the MK Dons, blowjobs, cheesecake, pints of lager, shoes, forests, cars, Whitesnake DVDs, after-shave, knee-pads, haircuts, Ph.D.’s, Swiss army knives, passports, drugs, and Windolene. And that is just a made-up list I invented from looking around my bedroom. There are several more things you could buy as well if you really needed to, such as, I don’t know, cows and stuff. There’s even a book you can buy by the 19th-century German sociologist Georg Simmel entitled The Philosophy of Money. If you have too much money, you could buy that. But if you have a copy of The Philosophy of Money, you can’t buy anything with it at all. It's totally useless. Unless you exchange it for money.

This is a metaphor that proves my point. Philosophy gets you nothing. Money gets you whatever you want.

However, those of us who are really smart know that some money is better than others, and it is by collecting those monies that we distinguish ourselves from the idiots. I don’t mean the trivial point that £100 is better than £1, although obviously it is, but in order to get £100 you normally have to pay £100. That is how the exchange process operates. No. What I am referring to is the skill of Numismatism, not, incidentally, to be confused with Pneumismatism, which is the science of inflatables and a whole other different way of making money.

What Numismatism is, is collecting coins that are worth more than their face value. I had a 1940 farthing once that was worth £2! That is an appreciation of 16,000 percent over a period of 70 years, which no investment portfolio could ever match. Unless there’s a war. And bear in mind that I wasn’t even born in 1940. No. I got if off my grandfather for nothing before he died. He used to give his grandchildren money every time we went to visit, and he thought he was being generous because when he was a boy you could buy 10 Capstan Full Strength for a farthing. We didn’t have the courage to say anything at the time because we were small and he believed in corporal punishment. Besides, he wasn’t to know that they didn’t make Capstan Full Strength any more, nor than farthings were no longer legal tender. It was a shame, really that I put all those useless farthings in the tray at church. It was only several years later that I looked them up in a book and found out their value. The Church is probably laughing up its sleeve now at all the money I gave it. It must be worth a small fortune.

Old people are a good source of money, and not just when they die. Every year, the Queen gives out bags of coins to the deserving poor in a ceremony of ritual humiliation on Maundy Thursday, the Thursday before Easter. This is to remind them of the time they took the king’s shilling and fought in the war for king and country instead of having a revolution like the Russians did. It is also an act of gratitude on behalf of the Queen for her subjects’ continued deference, obedience, and subservience. This Maundy money is not hugely valuable but does have some special healing powers, having been touched by the monarch herself, so if you have some in your home you never get ill, which is why the recipients are reluctant to part with it, and most Maundy money on the market is stolen or counterfeit. You can tell if it is counterfeit because it doesn’t glow orange in the dark. If it glows blue, it is because someone has coated an ordinary 50 pence piece in luminous paint and tried to trick you because he knows you are now a Numismatist. And anyway, Michael Williams, I saw that pot of luminous paint in your Dad’s garage ages ago, so I knew it was fake.

My Dad reckons Maundy money will be going up in value in the next few years. With the recession and everything, he says, the Queen will be tightening her belt, so the deserving poor will be getting less from her, and the concomitant scarcity of Maundy money will raise its value. This is a simple example of the law of supply and demand. If you are thinking of investing your money in the near future, make sure the investment portfolio you choose includes stocks in Maundy money. That’s not just me saying that. That’s my Dad too.

You can also collect foreign money, if you are looking for a way to improve your language skills, but remember that foreign currency is of no use whatsoever and is frequently more expensive than English money because of the exchange rate and German duplicity. Indeed, collecting foreign money could almost be seen as a form of conspicuous consumption, like throwing money onto the fire. It’s just showing off. It isn’t serious Numismatism, and in the long run won’t earn you any friends. Maybe a few pen pals in Antwerp, but nothing that will endure. I advise against it.

My final observation about money is that even though money has its own aesthetic attraction, especially for people who like looking at the Queen, money in itself has no intrinsic value of its own. In the old days, when doubloons, sovereigns, quadroons, and mulattoes were the currency, the coins themselves were made of gold, so that a guinea coin was made of a guinea’s worth of gold. However, this tradition didn’t last very long because people used to clip the edge off the coins and keep the gold for themselves and melt it down to make into ear-rings or ploughs. So the Mint, who make all the money, decided instead to make money from cheap metals that cost next to nothing but which nobody else has access to, such as lead, copper, brass, uranium, and plantagenet. This soon put an end to coin clipping, especially because copper is radioactive and will kill you if you put a coin in your mouth. This is where Freud got his ideas from.

In fact, anything could be used as currency. On the Isle of Man they used to use conch shells, until they realized that everyone was just going down to the beach and picking them up for free without doing any work. That’s why the Isle of Man is a tax haven. My dad used to say the government should make dog shit the national currency. That way there’d never be any left lying around on the street. Someone would always pick it up. I pointed out, however, that everyone would be following him into the park when he takes Gnasher for the evening walk. Gnasher is our dog. She is a miniature schnauzer. My dad said men follow him already.

There. I hope that you will become a Numismatist now that I have shown you how brilliant it is.

And that is the end.

Kevin MacPherson is governor of the Bank of England.

Why Wait?

2009-12-10T08:01:00.002Z

The Special Christmas issue of Glutton magazine presents insider information detailing

30 Things Your Waiter Will Never Tell You

1. Your crab cakes take so long because we're all round the back gambling on the outcome of a fight to the death. You'll get the loser.

2. The meat in that lobster shell may not necessarily be the meat from that lobster. Nor necessarily lobster meat.

3. You might spot the lipstick on your wine glass, but you won't see it on your tomatoes.

4. When we say a dish is "home-made," we mean "carehome-made".

5. "Sourced locally" means the freezer is a couple of yards away. Or means anything living that passes the back door.

6. The correct pronunciation of the main course changes every hour on the hour.

7. The word "chateau" on a bottle of French wine translates not as "castle" but "cat water."  

 8. Any food on the menu labeled organic has been in contact with one or more of the chef's organs.

9. A bad tipper is an unhappy customer who won't be coming back. That's why we have to follow them home to take revenge.

10. If you send your soup back because it's cold we'll just turn the heating off in the dining room for ten minutes. You'll be grateful for it then.

11. We put sugar in the kids' food so they'll enjoy it. Unfortunately it also makes them hyper, so we put sedatives in as well.

12. We are hovering near your table to try to hear personal information that we can use with your credit card details.

13. We've doubled the service charge because that's not your wife and you won't cause a scene. Well your wife didn't last night.

14. The reasons the toilets are cleaner than the kitchen is because we don't like our drugs to be contaminated with bacteria when we snort them. Also, that's where we butcher the pigs.

15. If you want your fiancée to find a ring in her meal, specify the starters. Anything in the kitchen worth more than 10 bucks will be in the pawnshop before you've ordered your wine.

16. We will always recommend the strongest booze. That way you'll be too pissed to read the check properly at the end of the night.

17. We uncork the bottle at your table so that you can see that the bottle has not been opened before. What you don't see is us putting the labels on.    

18. The badger is an endangered species because it can be made to taste like pork, beef, chicken, and lamb.  

 19. It can also be made to taste like fish, but it's very fiddly for us to put all the bones in.

20. If you're having cucumber and you don't ask for the rind to be removed, you've only yourself to blame if you get ill.

21. You might think you're in a better class of restaurant because the condiments don't come in sachets, but that only makes it easier for us to recycle them.

22. Don't worry about getting really drunk and puking up your food at the end of the night. The chef will have beaten you by at least two hours.

23. If you're on a date and are abrupt with me in order to impress her, the next time I'm near you I'll drop one surreptitiously.

24. If you want service with a smile, stand on your head.

25. The blowtorch we use on the creme brulée is actually kept in the kitchen for customers who try to do a runner.

26. Just because that lump in the seafood platter looks like phlegm, it doesn't mean it is. It could just be slime.

27. If you expect me to change that dirty knife for you, you can also expect me to visit the loo on the way back from the kitchen.

28. Any meat that is on the floor for more than 10 seconds will get a thorough cleaning by the kitchen cat before being covered in sauce and returned to your table.

29. Only the freshest ingredients and the best-quality products are used in our meals. Usually we eat them at home before coming to work to serve you.

30. The chef may not have laid the eggs, but he almost certainly laid the chicken.

Kudos to Manuel.

Nobody Likes a Crybaby

2009-11-30T20:54:00.002Z

The December issue of American Parenting magazine presents the American Parent's Pledge, which it asks all of its readers to sign, stick on their fridge, post online, and notify their neighbors and relatives about, so that the next generation might be instilled with the principles of character that made the country great:

To keep my children healthy, alive, and on the straight and narrow, I (insert your name) pledge to make the following important promises a priority:

1: I will not let my children smoke or drink or take drugs until they're no longer my responsibility.

2: I will always wash my hands after touching my children.

3: I will teach my child CPR.

4: I will play outdoors with my kids every day, whether that means sunshine, snow, or rain, in the backyard, on the rooftop, or on the road. All kids need fresh air and a bit of excitement in their lives.

5: I shall ensure that my kids never need glasses, so that they don't get picked on at school.

6: I shall teach my child respect for guns and for those who point guns at them.

7: I shall serve my children meat at every meal to ensure they become true-blooded Americans. To maintain dietary balance, I shall teach them to recognize vegetables in case they see them in books or accidentally visit abroad.

8: We will practice evacuating the house at least twice a day and make sure that all the children, of whatever age, know how to use a fire extinguisher and a flame-retardant mat, and how to tell the difference between an incendiary fire and an electrical fire.

9: No cartoons, Sesame Street, or Nickelodeon until they've watched the news and I've watched Judge Judy.

10. I pledge never to lie to my children just to make my life easier. I shall explain about the nonexistence of Santa, fairies, and Harry Potter and point out that dinosaurs disappeared millions of years ago. It's better for them in the long run.

11: I shall keep my child hydrated and fed and clothed.

12: I promise never to wash out my child's mouth with soap nor to beat him with anything thicker than a garden cane.

13: I shall ensure that my child's tiny brain is protected at all times with a helmet: In the back seat of the car, on her skateboard, in the bath, skydiving, in her high chair, on the potty. You can never be too safe. I shall be the proudest mother alive if her first word is "helmet."

14: I will not yield to pressure and give my child a pet until she is of an age to fully comprehend the extensive obligations and responsibilities that ownership of another of God's creatures entails.

15: I promise not to spoil my child. Toothpicks, safety pins, matches, and glue are all a child needs for a rainy day's fun.

16: I shall ensure that my child has a healthy fear of strangers, foreigners, the outside world, and Satan.

17: I shall ensure that my children get a full night's sleep and that I have time to de-stress. Mommy's medicine cabinet will never be without hot milk, Benylin, brandy, chocolates, and rampant rabbit.

18: I shall love my child unconditionally and teach it the importance of paying its way in life by doing chores, getting a part-time job, cleaning the bath and toilet, chopping wood and so on. Life is not one long holiday and the sooner it learns this truth the better.

19: Candy will be reserved for those occasions when he deserves it.

20. This mighty country was made great by self-sufficiency, self-reliance, and self-education. I promise to ensure that my child acquires all three.

Signed

on this day of Our Lord
__/12/2009

This Much I Know

2009-11-21T05:33:00.009Z

Thierry Henry, 32
FIFA Footballer of the Year 2010

What is Va-Va-Voom? Va-Va-Voom is doing things with style, with flair, panache, a certain je ne sais quoi. Who can say? Not me. I am not the ref.

Gillette Mach 4 Turbo: Now that's what I call a close shave.

I do a lot of work for charity, you know. UNICEF, Cystic Fibrosis, AIDS. I think it's important to give something back.

"I am What I am": That was the name of the Reebok campaign I signed up for a few years back. That says it all, really.

I'm a huge fan of the NBA. I've been to the finals on many occasions, and even did the commentary for French TV once, back in 2001. Would I have liked to have been a basketball player? I never had the height, so it's a moot question, but I like to think I'd have had the touch.

It's tough being a soccer player in a country where rugby is the national sport. Sometimes you'd like a little more respect from your own countrymen. It's almost enough to make you want to pick the ball up and run with it. That's how rugby began, you know.

I grew up in a very rough part of Paris, surrounded by poverty and crime. That leaves an impression on you. Motivates you. You look at the people left behind and think, "there but for the hand of God go I."

We French invented philosophy, you know. Not the Greeks. We are a very philosophical people. Like to keep things in perspective. It isn't called the Hellenic Shrug. It's called the Gallic Shrug.

Do I feel a certain responsibility knowing that millions of children around the world look up to me to as a role model? No. Not really.

I'd like to think that I'll always be remembered as the best striker in the world in one-on-one situations against the keeper. When it's just you against him with nothing but your skill, guile, and intelligence. You're forever trying to think up new ways to outwit them, to guarantee that the ball ends up in the back of the net.

Where is home? Home is where the heart is. It used to be Monaco, then Arsenal, and now Barcelona. That is not to say that I didn't, don't, treasure the times I had there, but I think that in life you've always got to move on.

My biggest fear is fear of injury. Doing the Gillette ads and talking to Roger and Tiger, I realized how much we have in common across all sports. They are always concerned about not sustaining damage to their wrist during a game. I'm the same.

I've never been great with my head. Anyone can tell you that. The majority of my goals and assists have been with my feet.

I think racism is a disgrace, a terrible thing. People shouldn't be judged by the colour of their skin. They should be judged purely on the basis of their character.

Non. Je ne regrette rien.

(Answers to the forthcoming "This Much I Know" column in L'Équipe, November 28th 2009)

And Now a Message from Our Sponsor

2009-11-13T07:13:00.006Z

From Advertising Age magazine, an update as to the current whereabouts and activities of past winners of the U.K.'s Advertising Executive of the Year award.

2008: Gareth Dailly: Liver failure brought about by excessive consumption of Jack Daniel’s™ bourbon. Currently in intensive care, Luton.

2007: Brett Kenna: Died 2008. Trampled underfoot during crowd trouble at the Reebok™ Stadium.

2006: John Hector: Died 2008. Slipped in the shower on Dove™ soap.

2005: Kenneth James: Drowned (2009) in a vat of Lenor™ concentrate.

2004: Penelope Zumzum: Died 2008. Wrapped her Mazda MX3™ around a tree.

2003: Francesco Hodge: Died 2007. Choked on Scrabble™ tile.

2002: John Kinkladze: Killed in drive-by shooting at drive-thru McDonald’s™, Baltimore, Maryland, 2004.

2001: Alan McGovern: Flattened beneath collapsed pyramid of Pedigree Chum™ tins, 2003, Harpenden.

2000: Anthony McFarland: Starved to death in 2002 after being trapped for 6 weeks in a Glasgow warehouse full of Pringles™.

1999: Paul Osgood: Killed outright by runaway Coca-Cola™ tanker, Christmas 2005, Vermont.

1998: Daniel George: Dismembered during Hovis™ Bread Riots, Keighley, Yorkshire, 2006.

1997: Archibald Harford: Died of KFC™ chicken flu, 2006.

1996: Charlene Duncan: Epileptic fit brought on by flash photography during launch of Windows 98™. Died 1998.

1995: Christian Ablett: Murdered in 1999 by strike-breakers at the Coors™ beer plant, high in the Rocky Mountains.

1994: Roger Hales: Died 1997. Third-degree burns from Thermos® of Bovril™.

1993: Lars Burridge: Blood loss after paper cut, opening Visa™ statement, 1995. Died two years later.

1992: Derek Bohinen: Washing out mouth to remove taste of Doritos™. Official cause of death, Listerine™ allergy. 1996.

1991: Kevin Baiano: Burst appendix in 1998 brought about by swallowing Wrigley’s™ chewing gum.

1990: Michael O’Hare: Probably killed by Carlsberg™ bottle thrown at Morrissey™, Liverpool, 2009.

1989: Daniel Mackay: Died of Ready-Brek™ radiation poisoning in 1996.

1988: Gordon Dickov: Knocked down by a Mercedes-Benz™ in 1990 while listening to his Sony Walkman™ and jogging.

1987: Frances Burns: Died 1989. Toxic shock from her Tampax™.

1986: David Davies: Ritually slaughtered in 1991 as a human sacrifice by Los Angeles teens anxious to appease the goddess Nike™.

1985: Jane Hennessey: Died in 1990 of sneezing fit caused by fold-out perfume sampler in Cosmopolitan™ magazine.

1984: Ian Higginbotham: Flew American Airlines™, September 11, 2001.

1983: Keith Durban: Found dead in his apartment in 2005 after repeatedly voicing concerns over L’Oréal™’s connections with fascism.

1982: Leighton Angel: Suffocated in lake of Vaseline™ at Playboy™ Mansion.

1980: Roy Hill: Stabbed himself to death in 2005 with Bic™ pen during Starbucks™ caffeine jag, 2002.

1979: John Ormondroyd: Struck by lightning while holding his Callaway™ Big Bertha™ 460 on a golf course in Malaga, Spain, during a thunder storm, 2001.

1978: Jeffrey Dichio: Engulfed by flames lighting a christmas pudding soaked in Martell™ cognac, 1982.

1977: Georgi Gemmill: Clubbed to death with iPhone™, London underground, 2008.

1976: Terence Dorigo: Strangled by rival competitors after being crowned Finland’s Burger King™ of 1997.

1975: Peter Shilton: Anaphylactic shock from KP™ dry roast peanuts, inserted rectally, 1987.

1974: Steven Lee: Died 1978. Lung cancer. Marlboro™ cigarettes. Manufacturers said he "got off lightly."

More Money Than Scents

2009-11-08T10:53:00.003Z

Sometimes a fragrance will conjure up magical worlds and moments you could never possibly have dreamed of. Other times it will take you back to the most secret, intimate, hidden chambers of your past. Here's a roundup of the best-selling perfumes that will make perfect gifts this Christmas for friends, family, loved ones, colleagues, strangers, enemies, or that woman you stare at on the bus. Just be careful what you wish for.

Apple Bottom Fragrance (£50 for 1.7 oz.)

Base Notes: Citrus

Key Notes: Coconut, Cotton Candy

Top Notes: Apples, Caramel

Magical World: Lying in a hammock on a deserted island in the Indian Ocean.

Secret Chamber: The night you shagged that drunken carney round the back of the ghost train at Bridgend Fun Fair.

Chanel Cristal Eau Verte Eau de Toilette Concentrée (£103 for 3.4 oz.)

Base Notes: Magnolia

Key Notes: Bergamot

Top Notes: Lemon

Magical World: Waking up on a chilly fall morning to greet the sunshine with an exuberant leap of delight.

Secret Chamber: Limoncello cocktails repeating on you after a workmate's leaving do ended in a fist fight.

Euphoria Calvin Klein Eau de Toilette Spray (£80 for 5.3 oz.)

Base Notes: Musk

Key Notes: Sandalwood

Top Notes: Orchids

Magical World: Riding on horseback through the Appalachians with him wrapped tightly round you on a hot autumn afternoon.

Secret Chamber: That farm holiday in Wales when you caught the stable boy pulling off your pony.

A Scent by Issey Miyake (£130 for 3.0875 oz.)

Base Notes: Grass

Key Notes: Hyacinth, Magnolia

Top Notes: Jasmine

Magical World: Falling asleep on the blue grass of a Kentucky country hillside.

Secret Chamber: That dream you had about being in the Klan and committing racial genocide.

StellaNude by Stella McCartney (£25 for 0.0000027 oz.)

Base Notes: Peony

Key Notes: Rose

Top Notes: Grapefruit

Magical World: A refreshing, head-clearing combination intended to let you focus intently on each other's needs.

Secret Chamber: That Sunday lunch at the old people's home in 1976 where that bloke stuck a dirty finger up your skirt and tried to suffocate you with Glade.

Tocca Acqua Profumata Amalfi (£100 for 0.98 oz.)

Base Notes: Lavender

Key Notes: Violet, Rosemary

Top Notes: Mint

Magical World: Light spring rain, a field of blossoms, first romance, a gentle sirocco.

Secret Chamber: Burnt lamb chops on a beach barbecue during a Club 18-30 holiday in Morocco.

Prada L'Eau Ambree Deluxe (£973.94 for 973.94 oz.)

Base Notes: Amber

Key Notes: Rose

Top Notes: Citron

Magical World: An electric chill meant to recall that heart-stopping moment when he first smiled at you.

Secret Chamber: The rictus grin of an electrocuted child murderer you saw in Texas.

Miss Dior Chérie L'Eau (£398 for 6 oz.)

Base Notes: White Musk

Key Notes: Ozone

Top Notes: Orange

Magical World: Lying beneath an orange blossom tree, your dress covered in flowers.

Secret Chamber: The time after gym class when Liz Ryan sprayed you with Fanta as you came out of the showers.

Bath & Body Works P.S. I Love You Eau de Parfum (£25 for 7 oz.)

Base Notes: Lilies

Key Notes: Cotton

Top Notes: Roses

Magical World: The joy of a surprise bouquet from an unknown admirer that knocks you off your feet.

Secret Chamber: The flowers at your grandmother's funeral after she was knocked off her feet by an unknown joy rider.

Burberry The Beat (£10 for 15 lb.)

Base Notes: Pepper

Key Notes: Limes, Ozone

Top Notes: Mandarin

Magical World: Deep-sea diving off the Australian coast.

Secret Chamber: Muff-diving a duck, then eating it with toast.

Lola Marc Jacobs (£60 for 3 oz.)

Base Notes: Pear

Key Notes: Red Grapefruit, Fig

Top Notes: Carrot

Magical World: Flirting with him for the first time at a friend's party.

Secret Chamber: Farting on him for the first time after a friend's bet that you couldn't eat pear, figs, red grapefruit, and carrot at the same time.

Victoria's Secret Velvet Amber Blackberry (£95 for 8 oz.)

Base Notes: Licorice

Key Notes: Musk

Top Notes: Wood

Magical World: Picking out his favourite sweatshirt from the wash and wearing it in bed on a lazy Sunday.

Secret Chamber: Picking out splinters from your gash after falling drunk out of bed on a hazy Monday.

Circus Fantasy Britney Spears (£12 for 16 oz.)

Base Notes: Sugar

Key Notes: Raspberry

Top Notes: Vanilla

Magical World: Your happy, carefree youth, when the possibilities seemed endless and the future looked sweet.

Secret Chamber: Scary clowns.

Forever by Mariah Carey (£2.50 for 8 oz.)

Base Notes: White Musk

Key Notes: Leather

Top Notes: Green Apple

Magical World: The sweet familiar sensation of nestling in his embrace and counting all his charms.

Secret Chamber: The sickly sweet nest containing families of bacteria under his sweaty arms.

Parisienne Yves Saint Laurent (£75 for 6 oz.)

Base Notes: Cranberry

Key Notes: Citrus

Top Notes: Rose

Magical World: Striding confidently in those sexy high heels into a room of total strangers.

Secret Chamber: Standing astride a total stranger in a hotel room wearing nothing but your high heels.

Couture Couture by Juicy Couture (£40 for 4 oz.)

Base Notes: Honeysuckle

Key Notes: Chocolate

Top Notes: Plum

Magical World: That night you were the first one on the dancefloor and the life and soul of a party everyone will always remember.

Secret Chamber: That night you were so arseholed they couldn't pick you up off the dancefloor and you bought drinks for every British National Party member.

Avril Lavigne Black Star (£whatever we can get away with)

Base Notes: Pink hibiscus

Key Notes: Dark Chocolate

Top Notes: Caramel

Magical World: That unplanned night out with your dearest friends on Leeson Street when they fixed up a surprise date with your childhood love.

Secret Chamber: That unplanned pregnancy that the dearest doctor on Harley Street fixed so that you have no surprise love child. To date.

What a Clever Idea

2009-11-07T16:02:00.002Z

100 Facts About Pandas, as featured in the Irish Times magazine today.

Rather than camels or giraffes or Andrew Lloyd Webber, say.

Rude Health

2009-11-04T17:48:00.002Z

More free advice from Doctor Whippet, Men's Health magazine's resident consultant.

To Colin in Jimdale:

Raspberry cordial will undoubtedly restore unwanted hair, but it would be immoral to apply it while she's still in a coma.

To Karl in Michaeljacksonsbad:

Massaging the buttocks three times a day before meals will eventually get him to sign the waiver. The overhead mirrors are an unnecessary extravagance in my opinion, however.

To Gerrard in Brents Cross:

Singing at it may make you feel better, but it won't make it any less dead.

To Jimmy in Clitheroe:

God made it that way. You can dismantle and reconfigure it so that it goes slower and leaves less residue, but you risk not just eternal damnation and hellfire but also voiding the warranty.

To O in Rayban:

Because I said so.

To Brent in Harolds Cross:

Soak them in linseed oil the morning of your court appearance and I guarantee that no jury on earth will convict you.

To Harold in Gerrards Cross:

You can remove the shards of pottery using gravy and an enthusiastic chihuahua, but the gang as whole will have to decide on the slave's punishment.

To Charles in Darwen:

Don't encourage any more footbaths or throw cushions. The muscles will just atrophy and you'll end up with a pet that no one could take to heart.

To Bartholomew in Morecambe:

Blue is unacceptable. I suspect her liver is overwhelmed by the amount of custard you've been giving her. It's a wonder she can still climb into the harness.

To Clyde in Hyde:

Buy him a new pair of shoes. It won't make up for the loss of the other senses, but it might encourage him to get out more.

To Harper in Bryansferry

You're right. Blood really shouldn't spurt out like that. Try shoving a hairbrush up it.

To Kirby in Lonsdale

If it has acquired a distinctive bend in one direction, switch to using your other hand exclusively for the second half of your life.

To Lulu in Fife:

You can use an ordinary coatstand to retrieve it rather than a boathook, which would cause far more trauma. Ideally, though, you should call in someone from UEFA to deal with it.

You can get a private consultation with Doctor Whippet by mailing him at dubiousremedies@gmail.com.

Please note that Doctor Whippet is not an actual whippet.

Wheelie Free

2009-10-26T09:14:00.006Z

The September issue of Cycling World magazine identifies 55 Momentous Events in the Life of a Cyclist:

1. Getting a flat tire and knowing what to do about it.

2. Sharing that first kiss with a fellow cyclist.

3. You’re left for dead by a woman . . . on rollerskates.

4. You can't understand why the local kids throw stones at you even though you're in a racing strip while riding a girl's bike with a bell and a wicker basket on it through Crumlin.

5. Your speedometer passes 25 m.p.h. for the first time and you know you’re ready to start cycling on the road.

6. You get clotheslined for cycling through a shopping centre.

7. People start to assume you’re interested in the Tour de France.

8. You go into work stinking of embrocation and nobody bothers to mention it anymore.

9. Forgetting you have no mudguard on the rear wheel and spraying dogshit all the way up your back.

10. You start wearing a helmet instead of looking like one.

11. Your first accident while wearing a helmet: Two broken wrists and a punctured lung.

12. You start hanging around the bike shop and nobody calls the police.

13. Taking pride in your haemorrhoids and comparing them with other cyclists’.

14. Your first flat hedgehog.

15. You begin to discover all the sexual possibilities offered by a bicycle pump.

16. Your son borrows your bicycle pump to blow up his football, but you say nothing.

17. Down the pub you realize that you prefer to drink everything through a straw.

18. You blow your nose onto other racers instead of your own shoulder.

19. You learn that traffic lights don’t apply to you.

20. You fly through a red light, hit the side of an Eddie Stobart truck, and get dragged 30 yards down the street when the clasp of your helmet gets caught.

21. You stay with the peloton long enough to appear on Channel 4 before being dragged off the road by marshalls.

22. Your partner spanks you and it no longer feels erotic because of all the calluses on your buttocks.

23. Some cunt opens his car door as you overtake.

24. You master keying Jags en passant.

25. Wearing out your first pair of nipple protectors.

26. You get such a thrill from shaving your legs that you nick the tip of your cock.

27. You ride through a big, congested city and feel smarter than everyone else because you're moving and they're not.

28. Washing your hair five times a day.

29. Lead poisoning.

30. Instead of finding the sheets stuck to the knee grazes you got from fucking on the carpet, it's stuck to your thighs where you fell off on gravel.

31. You're surrounded by heaving, sweaty men pumping their legs up and down with their arses stuck up in the air and you find nothing homoerotic about it.

32. You fix up your old bike to get someone into the sport.

33. You fix someone else's bike so they'll slide into traffic.

34. You pimp your ride.

35. Your ride cheats on you.

36. You sign a petition against an increase in the price of Immac.

37. You discover that a little whiskey in your water stops it from freezing. A lot of it stops you from freezing.

38. You ride through a pothole, and it's no big deal.

39. You courier for potheads and get burned on the big deal.

40. You go out riding in the freezing fog.

41. You find out why only idiots go out cycling in the freezing fog.

42. You wrap tape round your handlebars for better grip.

43. You can't let go of the handlebars to wave to your kids.

44. You outsprint a rabid dog.

45. Witnesses call for sharpshooters after seeing you foaming at the mouth during a 50k in July.

46. You find out you've been mispronouncing Eddy Merckx for the last 25 years.

47. You sneer at Top Gear viewers.

48. You're caught masturbating over fold-out pictures of a Giant Avail Advanced 1 Women’s Bike.

49. You claim you were sniffing the saddle, even though it's a photo.

50. Your first Glasgow kiss from a fellow cyclist.

51. Your first positive dope test.

52. You take pride in your testicular cancer diagnosis.

53. You appear in the national papers for first-degree murder of a traffic warden.

54. Your first life sentence.

55. You develop an unrivalled reputation as the prison bike.

Appy Daze

2009-10-19T21:02:00.004+01:00

The Top 30 Apps for the iPhone for the week ending October 17th, 2009:

1: Ubisim: A GPS app that locates the nearest monkey.

2: Fangora: Start times and release dates of all vampire-related TV shows, films, books, and church deconsecrations.

3: JisSum: Popular sperm count app. Just knock one out over the touchscreen.

4: Speciiii: Lost or broken your glasses? Enter the speckifications and dimensions into this app and place your phone on the bridge of your nose.

5: Tishoo: The latest swine flu stats and details of movements of recent victims, not that you ever have human contact now you've got an iPhone.

6: NutTeller: Indispensable journey planner that takes into account the movements of local weirdos so you don't have to cross the road or get on the wrong bus.

7: Gaydoh: Have all the homophobic jokes from the Simpsons ready to hand.

8: CuntBusters: Details of the venues, dates, and times of all showings of movies featuring Phil Collins, so you can avoid them.

9: MapMap: Provides directions to the nearest town centre map. Map included.

10: Arseolé: Tells you the current whereabouts of all of Arsenal's current and former players born in Spain.

11: Arseole: Tells you the current whereabouts of Emanuel Adebayor.

12: Bunkum: Details of backstreet bakeries that offer eclairs and handjobs.

13: BodyCount: Enables you to use your iPhone as a rectal thermometer.

14: Podcast: Gives off a high-pitched scream when hoodies lob your iPhone into the canal.

15: Sticky: Pictures of twigs.

16: Crossword: Invent new swearwords for any occasion, you ferominal spuntjucker.

17: BlackFace: Organizes your Facebook friends in ascending order of skin pigmentation.

18: URule: Turns your iPhone into a 4½-inch ruler.

19: Cappit: A virtual lens cap app for your iPhone's camera. Don't forget to remove it before taking any photos.

20: Kartoonize: Turn your life into a caricaturish parody of the real thing just by using your iPhone all day.

21: Doctor Where: Regular updates of the location of abortion providers. A boon to pro-life activists.

22: Status Quo: A GPS-based app that tells you precisely where you are without enabling you to get anywhere else.

23: Bomballurina: Updates on the latest attempts on the life of Timmy Mallett.

24: Momus: Set it when you go to bed, this alarm app will go off at random intervals during the night and tell you how long you've been asleep.

25: Hot Stuff: Overheats your iPhone so you can use it to keep your hands warm in cold weather.

26: Wanted: Turns your iPhone into a 4½-inch-long black strip that you can place across your eyes to avoid being recognized on CCTV cameras.

27: Scofflaw: Updates on any forthcoming funerals of individuals employed in the legal profession.

28: Ghost: Hide your iPhone in your kids' bedroom and it will emit eerie whispers and the occasional moan during the night. Upgrade promises to knock over lamps.

29: Hangman: Directory of state executioners (Tehran only).

30: YELP: Locates the nearest copy of the Yellow Pages.

No No Nobel

2009-10-09T07:23:00.003+01:00

Excerpts from works by novelists who didn't even get a look-in at this year's Nobel Prize for Literature, won by Romanian-born German novelist and poet Herta Müller.

Eric thought nothing of knocking out a couple of dozen portraits a day. Lenin. Bruce Lee. Archbishop Makarios. JFK. Rolf Harris. What frustrated him was how easily it came to him. It wasn't like he was autistic and so had some compensating social ineptitude to redeem his talent. On the contrary, he was socially ept. More ept than most, truth be told. That was one of the reasons why he received so many commissions: People loved him and they loved to buy his paintings. It had reached the stage where he could do them with his eyes closed, just name a celebrity, even a fictional one: Lolita, Oblomov, James Bond, Mister Darcy. He could come up with a convincing portrait in half an hour and not only would the buyer gratefully cough up the dosh but she'd practically insist that the likeness was uncanny, swear that this indeed was how the subject looked, even in the absence of a description in the text.
It like a form of alchemy. He was producing gold from base metal, giving flesh where before there wasn't even the Word. And they adored him for it.

Why, then, did they continue to keep him in the cage with all the other chimps? That was what he wanted to know. Somehow it felt so . . . demeaning.

(From Lady Chatterley's Hoover, by R. Goss-Kattallogg)

As she trod on it, it emitted a high-pitched whine and oozed a lilac-coloured gel. She recoiled instinctively and resumed her hectoring.

"And you expected me to eat THAT?!"

"Not at first, no," he said. "The idea only suggested itself to me after I saw the lecture you gave to those Bedouin kids smashing the wing mirrors of your truck. Something you said to them about Aristotle's Golden Mean."

"Not, 'Do as you would be done to'?"

"Well, yes, that too, obviously." Was he beginning to have second thoughts about her? "It was more your manner. Given that you knew they couldn't understand a word you were saying, you still refused to use universal gestures or concede any ground to their otherness. Although I did see you give them the finger behind their backs as they wandered off. Whose benefit was that for?"

She shrugged.

"Who can say? God's? He made the fuckers foreign in the first place. He should see how I feel about all His works."

"Ah! So you would have eaten it!"

He clapped, delighted.

(from Christ Stopped by Ebola, by Lasse Viren)

Few are the times I've needed better English than German when conversing with royalty, but the dragomans were bearing kettles on their heads of such consequence and design that I simply had to pass comment on them to the field marshall.

"I can't imagine the caliph taking this sort of humiliation lying down."

His response astounded me. Maybe it was the heat, but what he said for all the world sounded just like

"Swallae alla mae come."

I wasn't entirely sure what he meant. Was this an instruction? An order? An account of his morning's activities? Or perhaps just a simple observation. I felt it best to interpret it as the last. We were already on rocky ground.

"Yes. Yes. I think he probably will," I said.

He scowled.

"I wasnae speaking to you, Idiot!" he snarled.

The caliph was standing right behind me. My nads were his, for certain.

(From Welcome to My Nightmare, by Robert Fisk)

In despair she tore out her fingernails and cast them into the cold, unwelcoming hearth. The cats scrambled after them.

"Stop saying that!" she cried. "You aren't making any sense."

She reached for the molten candlewax and tried to fill her ears with it, but if anything it only made things worse. She resorted instead to inserting the candles themselves, which afforded her some slight relief, but still not enough.

"Stop it! Stop it!"

But there was no stopping him. Even after she took a nutcracker to the mirror in the hall and used the broken shards to slice down her arms, the proper way to do it, she'd been told, as she lay in a lake of her own blood, life ebbing from her body, she could still hear him

" . . . and after all, you're my wonderwall."

(From The Devil Rides Nowt, by Harley Davidson)

Non-Running Man

2009-10-07T20:22:00.006+01:00

Excerpts from some of this year's most imaginative new novels that didn't even make the longlist of the Man Booker Prize, which was won by Hilary Mantel's Wolf Hall.

Cuntley! The name alone conjured up all manner of fantastic and fabled notions, stories passed down almost telepathically from father to daughter to daughter's Barbie. Iridescent, shimmering tales of bareback clowns riding inflatable goats through fields of cherry jam in the face of skin-scorching sciroccos. Muscular butterflies abseiling down cheese cliffs. Watergirls catapulting etiolated pomegranates across peninsulas of curved space onto canvases of glass. The ashtrays of good sense. Fighter planes with manic depression. Phil Collins devoured and regurgitated by the sailors on the raft of the Medusa. O! The calcium of it!

The wizened but cheerful old lady sitting in the seat opposite leaned forward conspiratorially.

"This train doesn't stop at Cuntley," she said. "You just missed it."

(from Miss Smilla's Addiction to Snow, by William Burroughs)

The sourd-muet looked at me admiringly but also with some suspicion, the way Christians look at Jews, envying them their good fortune but never entirely without the feeling that they themselves had something to do with it. Arrogance of the first order.

"Buy one of her trinkets," said Claire.

"What? These?" I toyed with them the way one pets a diseased animal. "They're tawdry gewgaws, probably made by some 6-year-old Filipino spastic in a sweatshop doubling as a brothel for his mother."

"Do it for me. To make me happy."

I'd already done more for her than she deserved and got nothing in return. She hadn't so much as licked my balls, and look how much I'd spent on booze that night just to get her pissed enough.

"What do I get in return?"

"My eternal gratitude."

She gave me that puke-inducing smile that all women imagine is endearing but in reality just increases your contempt for them.

"Not from you," I said. "From the mong."

"Shut up!" she squealed with mock horror. "He's NOT a mong. He's a deaf-mute. There's a difference."

"Like he can hear me," I said. "Or that it matters. We're all dead in the long run. Some of us sooner than others."

I handed over a five euro note knowing that it was gone forever. Five fucking euros!"

"Go play in traffic," I said. The sourd-muet bowed gracious thanks and stepped under a bus. Hilarious.

Claire gave me that look again.

"What?!" I said, affronted.

(from I Was a Teenage Nazi, by V. S. Naipaul)

"More a weapon of masturbation than mass destruction," the professor quipped, still holding the used teabag to his forehead.

"Does that explain how he managed to get them through customs, then?" Davidoff was in the process of catching up. The wind outside was still knocking over the Greek dancers tied to the chicken run, their pitiful howling drowning out that of the wind itself. The professor was too engrossed in MacArthur's ingenious technique to care.

"More than likely, Danielle, yes. A classic case of misdirection accompanied by blackmail and, quite probably, telekinesis."

"Telekinesis?" I said. "But Professor. You're a man of science. Surely you don't believe in all that daft mumbo-jumbo."

He brushed back his hair to reveal a brow furrowed by confusion.

"Science, dear boy? Good grief. Whatever gave you that idea? Why, my doctoral thesis was on swimw—"

At that very moment the pickled onions exploded.

(from Hiroshima, Mon Oncle, by Alain Resnais and Jacques Tati)

Giselle licked her lips, parting them suggestively.

"Get thee behind me, Stan," she said.

He had no choice but to obey her. She knelt down and raised her arse into the air, looking at him over her shoulder with a steady gaze all the while. Leaning on her elbows she pulled her buttocks apart for better access. The ruby asterisk of her anus smelled of Amarige by Givenchy. Stan couldn't help but think of that old joke about being pulled off at half-time.

"But Boss," he said. "What about the Ramifications?"

"Fuck 'em," she replied. "When I took over this club, it didn't even have a supporters' association."

"No. I mean, for me. My career. Does this mean I'll be the starting Number Two?"

The unfortunate turn of phrase sparked an idea in Giselle's already overheated brain. She winked at him and reached for her strap-on.

"Let's just say, if you can't perform for the boss in a squeeze, I can make your time on the bench extremely uncomfortable indeed."

Stan gulped and tried to remember which shinpad he always put on first.

"Don't worry, boss. You can rely on me when things get tight. I'm famous throughout the Conference for my sliding tackle."

(from Balls! by Martin Amis)

Tools of the Trade

2009-09-18T07:00:00.001+01:00

The October issue of Reader's Digest magazine lists Twenty Things Your Burglar Won't Tell You:

1: I'm the reason your dog squints.

2: Most of my income comes from the police, security firms, and burglar alarm manufacturers. The stuff I steal from your house usually gets chucked straight into a skip. Unless the lads down the station see something they like.

3: While walking between your various rooms, I invariably have your vibrator up my arse.

4: That's us in the TV detector van. If you've got an aerial and your telly isn't on, we're coming in.

5: Yes, I do look familiar. Like child molestors, most burglars are stepfathers.

6: CDs and DVDs are easy to shift. I left yours because you have the taste of a coma victim.

7: We have a deal with the local circus to lease their spider monkeys and dwarves to break in through open windows upstairs. The circus thinks they're doing voluntary work for paraplegics.

8: If I haven't crapped on your carpet, don't think you got off scot-free. Check out the curtains in the kids' bedroom.

9: Leave your TV or radio on if you're going out, just so I know that you've got one.

10: You know that nice man who "found" your lost cat and wouldn't take any reward money? Yeah.

11: I'm usually under the bed masturbating when the police arrive, but no one thinks to look there.

12: One of your windows is now only held in by sellotape.

13: The reason I nicked the photo of your grandparents is because I'm the designer for SAGA's inhouse magazine.

14: We look out for houses with ornate and well-kept gardens. Someone with a lot of spare time on their hands is either retired or runs a business. Either way they deserve it.

15: Don't think just because it's raining that I'll take a day off. I'll shelter in your shed for days if needs be.

16: If you keep all your valuables in a safe, there's a very good chance that I'll wait till you come home and beat the code out of you.

17: Do you really think I won't look in your sock drawer? I've got one of your socks on my cock right now.

18: Sometimes I'll dress up like a marketing researcher, sometimes a Jehovah's Witness, sometimes a trick-or-treater. Not to see if there's anyone home; just to be an annoying cunt.

19: If you want to deter burglars, don't get infrared motion detectors. Get a satellite dish.

20: You'd save everyone a lot of time and trouble by announcing your holidays on Facebook.

Gone with the Wind Section

2009-09-15T09:55:00.002+01:00

MOJO magazine has just announced the line-up for January's Wouldntstock Festival for tribute acts in Nottingham:

Thin Lizznt

Not Chocolate

Aint Etienne

Not Was Not Was

The False Alarm

Fake Jackeray

The Replacement Killers (Killers tribute band)

The Replacements Killers (Replacements tribute band)

The No-Gos

Can't (Can tribute band)

Yeah Yeah Not

Whim!

The Bootles (Bootleg Beatles tribute band)

The Others of Invention

and headlining

The Real Ono Band

Any additions?

Dublin Psychogeographical Society Report 2009: Part Three

2009-09-03T17:46:00.001+01:00

The River Liffey

A menagerie lion running through the middle of Dublin, the Liffey is an arbitrarily imposed U.N.-blue demarcation intended to promulgate false dichotomies among the urban proletariat to imbue them with a consciousness not just false but pantomimic in its theatricality. Have a good look at imperial practices in the construction of nation-states, the malicious separation of Rwandans into Tutsi and Hutu, and you will recognize once again the pernicious influence of the hand of Empire. The struggle between Northsider and Southsider is presented as eternal, immutable, a fight between two irreconcilable essences, forced together like mutually repelling poles of a magnet: the verb "to cleave" means both to divide in two and also to unite. The Liffey is a cleaver through the heart of Dublin, wielded by a bourgeoisie determined to pit Dub against Dub in a perpetual war of "Dubbier Than Thou" meant to guarantee their continued and mutual subservience to their regional oppressors. Is it any wonder there are so many corpses floating on the river's scummy surface? Who would not want to drown themselves when faced with such a depressing mise-en-seine?

Davey Byrne's Pub

Queue up to be moral at Davey Byrne's along with all the other sheep. You can arrange yourself in a group outside on the pavement and recline nonchalantly while sipping your Burgundy and savouring your Gorgonzola, or you can feign sophistication by quaffing lager by the bucket until the world tilts on its axis. Either way, you end up looking at things askew, imagining that this qualifies as civilized behaviour in a consumer paradise quickly turning as limp and rubbery as the Gorgonzola on your tongue, or maybe turning aimlessly like the rubber tyres of a rental cycle not even the French would want to steal. On long summer evenings, wannabe senior executives hang around on the streets outside this place, talking loudly and comparing Blackberries and cocks. They would even make Joyce into a revolutionary, if he isn't already spinning in his grave.

Leinster House

A kerfuffle. A scene. A lot of shouting and arguing. And then nothing at all. That's Leinster House, home to poseurs and statues, a place where fainéance has become an art, and statecraft synonymous with handicraft, most notably fiddling the books while Rome burns or knitting at the foot of an underused guillotine. It would be facile to draw attention to this crumbling edifice's foundational flaws and make a comparison with the nation's finances and the fiasco of a parliamentary system that sees the bourgeois parties engage in playground spats in the absence of a revolutionary force that could lay waste the entire landscape, but facile metaphors sometimes need venting as a form of social catharsis, a way of saying the unsaid, giving shape to an entire people's dreamwork. Off with his head!

Shelbourne Dogs

And in the absence of revolution we sleep the eternal sleep of the damned, making do with fantasies of wealth. Who knows, It Could Be You who wins the joblottery, but in the meantime use your good money to chase after bad. The spent bookies' slips seen here littering the concrete after a night at the dogs are testimony to the persistent optimism of the Irish working class, the survival of hope in the face of overwhelming odds stacked against them. All men are mortal, they say to one another, and so we must die no matter how much we will it otherwise. But if that be so, let us at least try to beat the system, if not collectively, then at least en masse, as a crowd of spectators on life, each of us hoping that he might be plucked from the crowd and rewarded arbitrarily. It's a thoroughly absurd and desperate hope, given that together they could be dancing on the graves of their exploiters. It's a dog-eat-dog world, but some of those handlers are looking mighty tasty right now.

Further reports to follow, imagination permitting.

Was Born in Tiger Bay #11

2009-08-20T12:30:00.000+01:00

A baker's dozen of little-known facts about actress, socialite and former beauty queen Zsa Zsa Gabor.

1: Gabor sang the backing vocals on Thomas Edison's recording of “Mary Had A Little Lamb.”

2: She was the inventor of the turban.

3: Gabor claimed that while she was filming Moulin Rouge in 1952, she was possessed by the spirit of Toulouse Lautrec. But only up to her waist.

4: She owns a robot that cries.

5: The Duke of Saxony proposed to her after seeing her shaving her knees at a party. She was 8 at the time.

6: For the location shoots of Queen of Outer Space, she had a trailer constructed in the shape of the house in which she was born in Hungary, manufactured entirely from cheese.

7: It was Gabor who recommended Eric Gates to Ipswich Town.

8: She is scared of sugar mice, but not real mice.

9: At the age of 77, she could still shoot ping-pong balls from her anus into audience members’ drinks, as was memorably demonstrated on An Evening with Zsa Zsa Gabor (London Weekend Television, 1994).

10: Her father, a cousin of Marcel Bich, invented the spiral notebook.

11: She was Clive Barker's inspiration for the female Cenobite in the movie Hellraiser.

12: She fell out with love interest Steve Coogan for several years because of a misunderstanding relating to the item “Chubby Brown Teapot” on the list of suitable presents for her 70th birthday.

13: Saint Zsa Zsa is the patron saint of paedophiles.

Dublin Psychogeographical Society Report 2009: Part Two

2009-08-13T10:22:00.004+01:00

Trinity College: Made famous by the rowdiness and wanton irrational prejudices of its fellows in the 17th century, Trinity College has in more recent years declined into a sad, dilapidated caricature of its former self, like an Ian Paisley with Alzheimer's. It is now famous for its illuminated manuscripts and for being the location of a pathetic movie that sees Michael Caine stumbling around drunk quoting Baudelaire while Julie Walters sits gurning on the steps outside pining for Alan Bennett. Needless to say, you'll never find a real Irishman or woman inside this place. It's all American tourists, ex-pat Brits trying to conceal their nationality out of shame and in the hope of shifting Spanish exchange students who don't know any better, and swollen pompous homosexual academics with low self-esteem in the search of oblivion, the spirit of Wilde, and the chance to give a tawdry blowjob in the toilets to an African boy without a word of English.

The Mater Private Hospital: Mute testimony to the country's debt to the United States for its economic policies, the Mater is the apogee of the denial of choice for the country's poor. It stands here in mockery close to the inner city, flaunting its exclusivity in the faces of those not allowed to avail of its privileges. Of course, like all such monuments to freedom, the liberties it speaks of are a sham: The same surgeons carry out the same procedures next door in the Mater public. What differentiates the two is the level of comfort—it is not for nothing that it is known as the Mater Private Hotel—and the chance to skip the queues for the lifeboat, which can make all the difference on the lumbering Titanic that is the Irish health service. Those who have the money to buy their way on board have Mary Harney to thank for the chance to exercise that "choice" about whether or not to live or die. For the rest, the best option is emigration, maybe to some place that welcomes huddled masses yearning to breathe free. I dunno. Spain or somewhere.

Nora: My Wrinkly Sustainer: Our dérive at this point had lasted four hours and I was yet to eat or drink any of the comestibles brought along to facilitate an extension of our investigations, with the result that, just as I was about to shoot an outstanding example of Medieval Dublin erotica, the hypoglaecemia kicked in and I fainted clean away, snapping, it would now seem, the merest glimpse of said Medieval erotica, namely, Nora, my wrinkly sustainer. It was she, the craggy-faced harridan, who rushed to my aid, identifying the cause of my incapacitation and unscrewing the Thermos of hot mulligatawny soup, which she then proceeded to splash all over my face and the crotch of my trousers to stimulate my senses. The strong aroma of Beef Madras and burning scrotal agony immediately aroused me, in more ways than one, and drew masses of concerned citizens to my side, some of them concerned for my well-being, others concerned not to miss out on free food. They were all taking away my oxygen, the inconsiderate idiots, but Nora quick-wittedly lobbed a couple of chunks of Kendall Mint Cake and our saved-up Harvest Crunch Bars over their heads like hand grenades, which had the effect of dispersing the crowd like a David McSavage song. This gave me the opportunity to revive and clear my head, after which I asked Nora to give me the kiss of life and copped a feel of her ancient dugs.

Croke Park: Home to the money-spinning circus of corruption, nepotism and all things Oirish that is the . . . no, wait. That's Leinster House. This is Croke Park, home to everything in Ireland that is upright, decent, Catholic, and rural. For years the GAA has lacked a suitable cynosure, a stadium that might perfectly reflect and encapsulate the pomp, the colourfulness, and the dedication of its followers and participants, for Gaelic games are truly the lifeblood of ordinary communities across the nation. Now, as you can see, it finally has a suitable home.

Of course, the elephant in the room that nobody mentions is that this home is in the northside of a capital city known for its Jackeens, West Brits, foreign nationals, cosmopolitanism, sophistry, sophistication, tolerance, religious scepticism, and liberal values that rest uncomfortably even in the contemporary Irish psyche like a squatter they fantasize about evicting using hurleys. There will always remain a suspicion that the Dublin-based GAA hierarchy can't be trusted, that its members will be influenced by soft living and the proximity of all those temptations generated so unnaturally by the modern-day metropolis. Going up there every other year for the semis of the football is bad enough, for Pete's sake.

Part Three to follow.

Pot . . . Kettle. . . Black

2009-08-07T01:31:00.002+01:00

Please go see.

Dublin Psychogeographical Society Report 2009: Part One

2009-08-06T12:59:00.002+01:00

Following on from the unalloyed success of the 2006 convention, the member of the Dublin Psychogeographical Society unanimously agreed that no further meetings should take place until all temptation to build on that success had been extinguished in full. The call to hubris thus went unheeded for two entire years, even though demand was such that the member had to go into hiding rather than yield to the urge to compromise. Purity is all.

Thus it is only now that a second derive could have been considered and carried off with the requisite panache and respect for anonymity that the true psychogeopomp holds most dear. This year's action took place, suitably enough, in the heart, or more aptly the belly, of the Beast, Paris, the home of flans, flâneurs, gourmets, gourmands, gourds, sourds-muets, Moëts, Flos, fleuves, Fauves, and flans again. I assembled this time in the Marais, with a stout pair of walking boots, a monocle, a cape, a Thermos of mulligatawny soup, a two-thousand-Franc note for bribing snipers who don't know the war's over, and Nora, my faithful native guide, wily, courageous and bereft of both malice and morals but with the eyesight of a hawk with an infrared telescopic array. In the absence of a common language between us, I resorted to my handy Ordnance Survey Map of Dublin, which I showed to Nora while making pointing gestures and whining noises to indicate the sights I wished most to avoid.

Connolly Station: Emblematic of the engine that drove a once-mighty empire, bringing coffee from Portadown, spices from Balbriggan, rickets from Longford, and the ideologies and hegemonies of oppression from Maynooth, Connolly Station remains an exciting and demanding mistress, albeit bed-ridden, her gaping maw always open, insisting that it be fed with Arrows, Darts, and the occasional Belfast Enterprise, some of them even on time. From her other end she shits forth commuters, lost Sligovians, winos, lost winos from Sligo, tracksuit-and-runner-bedecked gurriers, U2 fans, one-legged pigeons, and tea. Eight hours later, the process is reversed, and in an obscene and diabolical ritual that encapsulates the unnatural deformities that late capitalism twists life into, she takes all that shit back up inside her cloaca and spews it all out through her mouth, spraying the country with her human-laced vomit.

I was surprised to see Frank Sidebottom hanging around by the glass-fronted entry. He too comes here for the anonymity, although when I expressed surprise that he would need to come this far, he told me to fuck off.

O'Connell Street: Even upgraded and updated, this thoroughfare's pretensions to grandeur are transparent. Once the widest road in the world, it now can never be wide enough to separate shopper from Euro. The items on display are frankly trite and evoke only a simulacrum of a simulacrum of desire, a degree of cynicism several strata below even the naivest of natives. Who buys such showiness today? There may be queues outside the cinema and Clery's department store, but they come to gawp not in awe or wonder but in disbelief that this system still manages to churn out so much dross on its deathbed. Nevertheless, I curtailed my bemusement long enough to purchase some postcards and used them to send death threats to James Joyce. It was both a profoundly cathartic and depressing experience.

The General Post Office: When the GPO was redesigned after independence, there was a great deal of concern that it would not adequately reflect the glorious blood sacrifice made by the nation's warrior heroes and instead hold the country up to ridicule or draw attention to James Connolly's Scottish nationality or, worse, his anarchist beliefs and membership of the Wobblies. Fortunately, those concerns were unfounded, and the GPO possesses the bland, statement-free decor that enables visitors to forget the uncomfortable aspects of the struggle for independence while at the same time paying their TV licence in the knowledge that RTE belongs to them and their descendants thanks to what took place on that very spot.

The only brave thing about this building today is this fabulous sculpture of Cú Chulainn. Sadly, Setanta is now in administration.

Jervis Street Shopping Centre: If I was a Dub I'd be insulted by the cheap imitation for a leisure complex that this place represents. It's as though they just threw a load of concrete and mud into a mixer, dumped a few chairs around the place for the sake of appearance, even though the last thing they want you to do is sit down, and then forgot about any other amenities until the unemployment register started to shoot through the roof and the government decided to recognise "masseuse" as a job description and not a euphemism for the commodification of sexual relations. The air is always fetid here, the toilets foul, and one's fellow shoppers tense to the point of suicidal. A treasure palace only in the Freudian sense, i.e. a shithouse. Who in their right mind would pause here to take in the scene? You can see how many strollers are eager to get through the place and out the other side with as little inhalation as possible. They're all most likely heading for Saint Mary's Church, which is now a pub. At least one building in Dublin has been put to good use.

Part Two to Follow.

The League of Almost Geographical Superheroes

2009-07-27T07:03:00.002+01:00

Legend has it that whenever he needed inspiration to create new superheroes, Stan Lee reached for his trusty copy of the Aberdeen Bestiary. If only he hadn't been such a lazy cunt and had got up out of his armchair, he could have crossed the room and used his atlas instead. Then we might all have been delighted by the amazing adventures of

Tiger Boy: He patrols the docks of Cardiff on the lookout for trouble and trade in his leather diamanté catsuit, false claws, and filed-down teeth.

Montego Boy: The Caribbean superkid who harnesses the power of family saloons in a series of predominantly rum-based escapades.

Botany Boy: He might be descended from criminals but he's the master of everything phylem-, xylem-, and phloem-related. The phenomenal powers of the world's plants are forever at his fingertips.

Guantánamo Boy: An innocent and naive idealist whose scary orange jumpsuit and special sense-deprivation goggles induce irrational and disproportionate fear and paranoia in anyone who sees him.

Count Everest: The Himalayan vampire with a penchant for dipping Kendall Mint Cake in his victims' blood.

Weston the Supermare: The pierless steed from Somerset with a mane of cotton candy and ice cream snorted through its nostrils. Just don't ask for a 99.

Yo! Semite: A hero for our eco-conscious times, he calls upon the powers of his wilderness friends through the medium of Jewish rap.

O Man: The entirely useless superhero. He does nothing at all, unless extracting oil from a barren wasteland helps in some way.

The Dead Seal: He drowns his enemies in the salty tears of faded movie stars.

Firm Anna: The feisty, busty Enniskillen killer with buttocks of steel and a cruiser on Lough Erne.

Niall Delta Force: An ex-Irish army sergeant trained in Egyptian martial arts.

The Needler: The south coast marksman who overwhelms villains by pelting them with sticks of chalk.

Snake Lass: A windswept demeanour and the obedience of all Derbyshire's adders at her command!

Foulmouth: The Cornish swear artist. Renders his enemies helpless with stunning volleys of intolerable and highly original abuse.

The Halifox: Cunning, dour, and with breath that smells like your bins.

Marlin Head: A Donegal accent and a nose that could take your eye out.

The Boyne Valet: Descended from the High Kings of Ireland, but now just a lowly waiter. His principal powers are obsequiousness and sarcasm.

The Old Faithful Geezer: Yo! Semite's reliable and much-loved Cockney sidekick.

Herring Guy: The oily, silver-skinned North London marvel with a penchant for smoking and leaving villains in a pickle.

and of course

DR CONGA: Despite losing most of his powers in a recent setback, the good doctor still has his superhuman kick left. And there's nothing more powerful than a superhuman kick right?

Libertarianism, by Kevin

2009-07-16T09:09:00.004+01:00

Libertarianism is brilliant. Some people think that it is not brilliant, but they are wrong. It is.

What Libertarianism is, is this: It is a philosophy of the world which holds that everyone should be allowed to do what they like without any interference from anyone else and so long as they do not hurt anyone else. Libertarianism should not be confused with Libertinism, which is what the Marquis de Sade, Bernie Ecclestone, and Silvio Berlusconi believe in. Libertinism is doing what you want regardless of the consequences to others. Look where that gets you.

Libertarianism also is not anarchism, which believes in the abolition of private property. That is just stupid. Libertarianism believes that everything without exception should be made into private property. That way, in a free market, all commodities will accurately reflect their true value and we will know what everything is really worth.

There have been lots of well-known Libertarians throughout history, ever since Adam Smith’s brilliant book The Wealth of Nations, in which he explained how free markets and the division of labour guarantee freedom and happiness for everyone. He also wrote the Theory of Moral Sentiments, but that was rubbish. Other Libertarians have included Mary Harney, Margaret Thatcher, and the beautiful Virginia Postrel, but not all Libertarians are women. There are also male Libertarians, although I cannot think of any at the moment. Adam Smith was one. Sometimes. Men who are definitely NOT Libertarians but who some people think are, are Bernie Madoff, Ken Lay, Jeffrey Skilling, Allen Stanford, and Alan Greenspan. They are definitely NOT Libertarians. They are just sociopaths who give Libertarianism a bad name.

Also, it needs to be made clear, not all women are Libertarians. Some people make the mistake of thinking that Ayn Rand was a Libertarian, but she was not. She was an Objectivist. There is a huge difference. Libertarians believe in freedom whereas Objectivists believe in Ayn Rand. And money.

Also you do not have to be a person to be a Libertarian. For instance, the Monsanto Corporation is a Libertarian. You can tell by the way it is trying to privatize Nature. And they are right, too. Only when the patents to the DNA of all the species on the planet are in the hands of private individuals and corporations will a perfect free market finally emerge, and if this means tinkering with their genome because governments won’t allow “naturally occurring” species to be privately owned (kuh!), then so be it.

Libertarians hate government.

Government is bad because it distorts the market and prevents us from knowing what things are really worth. This is a bad thing because it also applies to people, and this means that people are not priced according to their worth. For example, members of parliament and bureaucrats and civil servants and members of the public service industries such as teachers, nurses, soldiers, and so on are paid far more than they are worth because the government has a stranglehold over society and can bend the market in its favour. Because we have no choice whether we pay taxes or not (the government will use its monopoly over the courts and prisons and police to put us in prison if we do not pay), it means they can demand whatever they like from us and pay themselves huge sums of money while we still have to live at home and my Dad has to top up his income as a quality control supervisor for the gas board with cash-in-hand transactions involving stolen car parts and selling the odd bit of blow to schoolchildren. He is an extremely valuable member of society but he is not allowed to reach his potential because the private sector is deliberately discriminated against by government. Especially in a democracy.

Other things that Libertarians are against are trade unions, the professions, such as lawyers and doctors and surgeons, and cartels, which is when huge corporations combine to fix the price of their goods. This doesn’t happen very often, however, which is why you rarely hear Libertarians talk about it. Also they are opposed to monopoly. Not the boardgame. A monopoly is when an organization, such as the government, has control over an entire sector of the market and can therefore charge whatever it likes for its products. Have you seen how much prescription charges are now? If the health service was totally privatized, everyone could choose to pay as much as they wanted for their drugs, and drugs would be priced according to their effectiveness and not because the government had decided it needs more taxes to build more prisons to keep the Prison Officers Association happy.

The Prison Officers Association is a very bad thing.

There. I hope that you will all be Libertarians now that I have shown you how brilliant it is. And that is the end.

(Kevin MacPherson was chief economic adviser to Dr. François "Papa Doc" Duvalier between 1967 and 1971 and was the founder of so-called Voodoo Economics. He is currently in hiding at his mom and dad's.)

What's the Rash?

2009-07-08T09:46:00.017+01:00

More useful advice from Health Canada:

It's frequently difficult to know whether that mouldy, disfigured skin complaint is something that can be just covered over with makeup, can be treated with talc, or requires surgical intervention. Learning to distinguish between the various kinds of skin disorder can mean the difference between getting to third base on a first date and losing vital organs. Here's a handy guide to help you recognize the most common rashes in Canada.

Ringworm

A red raised circular rash on your limbs looking a bit like a target or like you've dipped your arm in a murder victim's blood then tried unsuccessfully to scrub it off, leading to scaliness, discomfort, and references to Lady Macbeth. This rash isn't caused by a worm at all, despite the name, but from eating too many Hula-Hoops or Spaghetti-O's. You can also catch it off towels, turbans, and tennis balls.

Treatment: You will need to take prescription vermicides just to keep your mother happy and some cosmetic moisturizing cream to satisfy nosey parkers. Other than that, sleep in a hot bath for three days and you'll be right as rain.

Rabies

Not to be confused with Scabies, which is a fatal illness contracted from a bite or scratch from a contaminated animal or person, rabies is characterized by a vacant expression, dark rings around the eyes, and Hello Kitty-shaped discoloration in the middle of the forehead. There's a lot of scratching, but not on the site of the discoloration; sufferers tend to scratch their groin, their buttocks, and their armpits. They also sleep until well after noon.

Treatment: Everyone in the family will require prescription medication to deal with a case like this.

Diaper Rash

Common in babies and members of the English aristocracy, diaper rash is caused by weeing in your pants.

Treatment: No treatment. They've got to learn. And the English aristocracy actually revel in it.

Buboes

Not so common in Canada these days, except for Quebec. Buboes are usually black swellings that occur in the armpits and groin but also in other glandular areas. They are frequently accompanied by coughing, sneezing, profuse bleeding from running sores, and a general feeling of being rundown and stressed out.

Treatment: A couple of Aspirin three times a day for a week should be enough. If you have any concern that the illness is getting worse rather than better, just pop down to your local surgery or clinic and ask about.

Rosacea

Rosacea is common among women of a certain age and background. It's typified by colorful blemishes and some swelling of the skin, initially, but after a while the colors lose their luster and the blemish turns into a dark blue mush that won't go away. It is usually the result of heavy drinking: One night can sometimes be enough to cause an outbreak.

Treatment: Laser surgery is normally required to get rid of rosacea. Very painful, but no more painful than the experience of contracting it in the first place.

Shingles

A large constellation of small, itchy red bumps that can be several inches wide, across the back or one side of the torso, shingles is a viral disease caused by a dissolute lifestyle that includes copious amounts of hard drugs and frequent bouts of bestiality. I wouldn't be surprised if cats had been sacrificed on the very bed they sleep in.

Treatment: Church, three times a week, and lots of praying for forgiveness.

Piles

If it's piles, you should see a doctor. As in this case.

Shark Bite

Don't be confused by the name. This rash isn't actually caused by being bitten by a shark. It receives its name because of the unusual discoloration pattern that vaguely resembles the bite marks of a shark and its black, soulless, yet ecstatic eye. Shark Bite is typically caused by an allergy, such as brushing up too close against manmade fibers like spandex, leather, or wool. It is also usually accompanied by itching in limbs that you don't have. Women sometimes find they have an itchy penis.

Treatment: Take a wire brush to the discoloration and rub vigorously. If this fails to remove the blemish, pour bleach onto the bleeding skin and hope for the best. Expose to the air and swim in the sea regularly. Eat lots of fresh fruit and read a good book now and then.

Katie's Revenge

Much as the dysentery suffered by American tourists in South America is referred to as Montezuma's Revenge, so this rash suffered by British and Commonwealth tourists to Ireland, especially Cork, is known as Katie's Revenge. Sufferers usually go to sleep feeling fine then wake up three days later on the outskirts of the city with their wallets empty, a pounding headache, and this random discoloration across their brow.

Treatment: Leave Ireland and don't go back. Your sort aren't wanted.

Students

This isn't a rash at all but caused by an attack of students. It'll wash off.

Mens Rea

If you wake up to find this on your arm, it isn't a doctor you need. It's a lawyer.

Mount Every Climber

2009-07-02T12:23:00.008+01:00

Recently discovered papers in the archives of Oscar Hammerstein II suggest that if the lyricist had had his way, the hit musical The Sound of Music would have had a very different plotline and tone to the one we all know and . . . know.

INTRO:

The hills are alive, I can hear them screaming
The drugs I have done, give me a thousand ears
Black blood fills my eyes, and I think I'm dreaming,
My heart slams against my cheeks and sneers.

My heart wants to grab the hinds legs of the cows
that fly from the lake into space
My heart wants to sigh like Chinese flies
and slap Winston Churchill's face
To laugh like a drain when he trips and falls over
pissed in the dark
To crawl through the night like a blindman learning to park

I go to the pub when my heart is lonely
I know I will drink like never before
My liver will be blessed with the joy of boozing
And I'll sing once more.

MY FAVORITE THINGS

Seafood in plastic and frostbite on kittens,
Small stupid children in bed wearing mittens,
Brown diseased parakeets clipped of their wings,
These are a few of my favorite things.

Boxes of crayons for making rude doodles,
Dormice and headlice snuck into Pot Noodles.
Wild geese that bounce off propellers with pings.
These are a few of my favorite things.

Girls in white knickers with pink silky gashes,
Snowploughs that slice off your nose and eyelashes,
Silver white powders that give you a zing,
These are a few of my favorite things.

When your dog dies, when your pee stings,
When you're feeling sad,
Just simply remember your favorite things,
And then you won't feel so bad.

IDLE VICE

Idle vice, Idle vice, every morning you beat me
Warm and white,
Hand held tight,
Polish your helmet so sweetly
Blossom of snow
May your fluids flow,
Pump out and flow forever
Idle vice, idle vice, bless my right hand forever

SIXTY GOING ON SEVENTY

(Rolf:)
You're size sixty, going on seventy
Baby, it's time to think
Staple your stomach, cut out the brisket
Baby, you're on the brink

You're size sixty, going on seventy
Fellows will laugh with glee
Eager young lads and rogues and cads
Will joke about BSE.

Totally unprepared are you
To face the world's contempt
Skinny and shallow and hateful they are
Of all things fat and unkempt

You need someone bigger and wider
Someone to shield behind
I'm size seventy, going on eighty
I'll bear your weight in mind

[Liesl:]
I'm size sixty, going on seventy
I know that I'm not svelte
But fellows I meet may want me to eat
And their hearts I'll surely melt

I'm size sixty, going on seventy
Corpulent as a whale
Old chubby chasers, feeders, embracers,
Will all fuck me without fail

Totally unprepared they'll be
I'm all woman, every bit
Gasping for air and ecstatic they'll be
When on their faces I sit

I don't need someone filled with self-hatred
Telling me what to do
You're size seventy, going on eighty
I bet they'd fuck you too.

DO-RE-MI SONG

Let's start at the very beginning
It's a very good place to start
When you first got the dough you thought "lucky me"
Then you gave it to Ray and now you're un-hap-py

Dough-Ray-Me, Dough-Ray-Me
The first three notes just happen to be
Dough-Ray-Me, Dough-Ray-Me

[Maria:]
Dough-Ray-Me-Far-So-La-He-Dough
[spoken]
Let's see if I can make it easy

Dough, is dosh, is wads of dosh,
Ray, the bloke you gave it to
Me, the nob, who saw him go
Far, where Ray is thanks to you
So, you've got to track him down
La, a Scouser who you know,
He will shoot Ray in the head
And will bring you back the dough, dough, dough, dough etc.

(Children join in, mime shooting Ray and so on).

Not shown here: "How Do You Solve a Problem Like Chlamydia?" "So Long, Farewell (The Cattle-Truck Song)", and "The Lonely Goatboy."

Scofflore

2009-06-26T21:09:00.004+01:00

Useful and well-known weather-related sayings from around the world to help you plan your days without needing recourse to expensive alternatives like the radio or the freesheets.

Blue mould on swallows, humidity follows. Blue mould on cheese, Cream crackers please.

Girls wearing nowt, old men's cocks out. Old men's cocks in, rain soon again.

Trees wave their branches, Creating the wind, Make a blood sacrifice, Because you have sinned. (popular Macclesfield saying)

Metal bird in the sky, great roaring noise, kill first-born daughter, screw all your boys. (another popular Macclesfield saying)

When it rains it pours, when it snows there's no other word for it.

Kites in the sky, dancing with ease, you can expect lots of Chinese.

Sausage-shaped objects flying really fast; you'll lose two days' memory and have a sore ass. (Old Nevada saying)

If the cloud is mushroom round, there'll be shadows on the ground (Old Japanese saying)

Early to bed and early to rise, a good chance your day will feature meat pies.

Squirrels playing happily with their nuts, means hot dry days with small puddles of indeterminate fluids.

If you're seeing lots of beaver, you're in Denmark in hot weather.

Cricket still chirrups after you stamp, grass is long and grass is damp.

Dogs in the river, trying not to freeze, keep your eyes open, avoid the Frisbees.

Check the pavement, if it's wet, it's been raining, may rain yet.

When morning grass is pearly white, it's been snowing overnight.

If your children can't be found, tornado took them off the ground.

Red sky at night, shepherd's delight. Red in the morning, global warming.

Rain on St. Manc's Day, the forecast is clear, rain every day for over a year (Old Mancunian saying. St. Manc's Day is each Wednesday)

Birds flying high, they're in the sky, birds flying low, means sun, rain, or snow.

If the cock crows three times on going to bed, you'll wake to find, your Messiah is dead.

Lots of admissions to A&E, ice, rain and fog, on the M50.

Where dogs drag their arses over the ground, don't plan a picnic anywhere round.

When canals and rivers really hum, look for signs saying Welcome to Brum

When the barometer forecasts rain, there's a chance that it will rain.

Mice in the garden, if you please, can only mean that it's rained cheese.

Polar bears broke your fence down, cold weather or the circus is coming to town.

A tomcat washes his face and paws, kick his hole and run indoors.

If your hat is soaking wet, it could be rain, it could be sweat.

If the moon is brown and white, stay in bed, tomorrow's shite.

If the moon is red like wine, get up early, tomorrow's fine.

If the moon is deepest yellow, stay in bed, you've jaundice, fellow.

If the sun dances in the sky, soon Our Lady will fly by.

Zombies rise from the earth in swarms, hell is full but the forecast's warm.

If your house has caught on fire, lightning or arson caused the pyre.

Toads are falling from the sky, convert to Judaism before you die.

Barking sheep and singing slugs, stay indoors, take fewer drugs.

Coddlepot.com

2009-06-22T22:12:00.001+01:00

Tasty

Was Born in Tiger Bay #10

2009-06-16T20:23:00.004+01:00

A baker's dozen of little-known facts about all-round entertainer David Bowie:

1. He was traumatised at the age of 8 when he saw his Polish schoolmate Zbigniew Tsardosk get hit by lightning.

2. He is the owner of the second-largest collection of ornamental garden figurines in Hollywood. Danny DeVito is the largest.

3. He can change the colour of his eyes at will.

4. Until he appeared in Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence, he had never seen a real cat.

5. He cuts his hair with butterfly knives.

6. His role as “The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie” was cut from the final edit of the movie Fahrenheit 451.

7. Bowie was given the soubriquet of the “Thin White Duke” thanks to his uncanny resemblance in his upper register to Duke Ellington.

8. His fancy dress of choice is Prince Harry.

9. His band the Tin Machine was named in honour of the robot hero of the 80’s TV show Metal Mickey, a programme directed by his favourite Monkee, Mickey Dolenz.

10. For two weeks in 1975, he stood in for Charlie Brown in the Peanuts cartoon strip while Brown had his tonsils removed.

11. He was the original model for the Subbuteo goalkeeper.

12. In the same falling-out-of-a-tree incident in which Duncan Goodhew lost his hair, Bowie’s turned pink overnight.

13. Brian Eno hasn’t spoken to him since Bowie’s wedding gift to Eno was a pair of underpants bearing the slogan “Here Jets The Warm Come.”

Hold On Tight!!

2009-06-12T11:16:00.001+01:00

If you live alone or if your spouse, partner or significant other is frequently away, anything that requires more than one pair of hands becomes an impossible task. And that's why engineers invented clamps. There are clamps for all occasions and every possible eventuality. You may need to experiment to find the one that's right for you, but here's a quick guide that will point you in the right direction, and soon you'll learn why DIYers or every orientation say you can never have too many clamps.

POWERFUL PIPE CLAMPS
A piece of plumbing pipe and an inexpensive set of clamp heads are all you need to make a clamp long enough to span any tabletop, office desk, or coffin. Versions with an aluminum bar offer heavy-duty clamping for multiple fixtures in case you have guests round or if you enjoy simultaneous penetration of multiple orifices but your better half is down at Asda. Pipe clamps are perfect for anything you want to hold in place lengthways while you remove the skin, such as a cucumber, an aubergine, or a courgette, but you can also remove your item and reclamp it so that it protrudes magnificently into the air, proud and ready for use.

QUICKTRIGGER CLAMP
Rapid-action clamps are a great solution when you don't have a free hand. Just pull the trigger, and the same hand that holds the clamp can bring the jaws closed with ease. Newer models offer lots of clamping power, and you'll find them in sizes from miniscule to monstrous. If you're using one hand to support you, say if you're leaning back or squatting over a mirror, the quicktrigger clamp will enable you to keep a firm grip on your vegetable or fruit without you having to worry about toppling over and impaling yourself or suffering a sudden sphincter contraction that could leave you prematurely covered in mush and juice. I like to use mine while watching Newsnight.

BURLY BAR CLAMP
Often called an"F"clamp because of what it's mostly used for, the bar clamp is an essential workhorse for almost every orifice-widening task. Very popular with teenagers and sales reps who are on the road for weeks at a time and have to entertain themselves in motel rooms, this clamp will exert a lot of force thanks to the rigid bar and castjaws. Plus, those jaws have depth to give the clamp good reach. You'll find bar clamps with capacity ranging from a few Inches to several feet, perfect when you fancy an onion, a pomegranate, or maybe a bunch of grapes. Use them to secure one buttcheek to the bedpost or a chair leg and you're guranteed an evening or bliss. Gives the word "bedspread" a whole new meaning.

BRAWNY BAND CLAMP
Odd shapes such as pineapples, pears, and strawberries aren't easy to grab with conventional clamps, but a band clamp grips them, securely and ratchets shut to give you great holding power. Since one size fits all, a pair of these should cater to all your band clamping needs. Be careful that you use a lubricant that isn't going to compromise the purchase you're likely to need when thrusting, and make sure that any nick-nacks and valuables have been safely stored away.

HANDY HAND SCREW
Clamps may have evolved, but the hand screw, unchanged and much loved across the eons, remains as versatile as ever. It's great for carrots, the original love vegetable (regardless of what the Bible says!), but also for holding small (and not so small!) anatomical parts to one side while you drill, cut or otherwise punish them. Grab yourself a few of these in different sizes and you'll be amazed at the things you'll find to screw with them.

SUPER SPRING CLAMP
These clamps spring into action any time you need an extra hand to hold something in place, such as a recalcitrant piece of melon or a slippery grapefruit. You'll find them made from metal and plastic and in a wide range of sizes that will ensure you can have your fingers just where you want them. Don't be tempted to use spring clamps on your nipples. That's just perverse.

CAN-DO "C" CLAMP
When you need to hold Part A to Part B, there's no simpler way than with a "C" clamp. Tomato lovers would be lost without them, of course, but these clamps are handy with a wide variety of seed-filled fruits, and we've even heard of nut lovers and vegans who have found the "C" clamp's versatility a boon to their Sunday nights in after the Antiques Roadshow. "C" clamp sizes start tiny and grow large, but the mid-size 4" to 6" varieties are sure to be favorites, especially with the elderly.

From the April/May 2009 issue of Organic Lovemaking magazine.

Animal Corrective

2009-06-07T10:30:00.003+01:00

Each month, Readers' Digest magazine reports on pets who have saved, rescued, or otherwise helped their owners. Omitted from their pages are cases of pets who have failed to keep their side of the bargain.

Eleven-year-old Mikey Theremin loved taking his 4-year-old golden labrador retriever, Snooch, for walks around the abandoned open cast mine near to their home a few miles outside the town of Tallaght, Montana, even though his stay-at-home mom and unemployed father, Lou and Derek, had expressly forbidden him from going anywhere near the place for fear of unexploded dynamite sticks and the toxic runoff that had never been cleared away from the site after it shut down. But try keeping a young boy away from somewhere as exciting to explore when his nearest friends are in the next state or only available online. So it came as no surprise that the old mine was where state police found Mikey's remains, trapped by his leg under a pile of skree that must have been disturbed when Snooch ran up the side of the pit in pursuit of some now forgotten and long-lost ball or stick. Police say they were lucky to identify Mikey at all. Even though he'd only been missing for six days and dead for four, most of the flesh off his body had gone, consumed by a ravenous Snooch either unable, unwilling, or too lazy to abandon his master and go get help or find sustenance beyond the confines of the vast pit. Lou and Derek still look after Snooch, "because it's what Mikey would have wanted," but they cannot help, when they look into his eyes, but think of their beloved son lost forever, and wonder which of them might be next.

Morgan Chesthair of Donacarney, Illinois, loved the company of Charlie, the professionally trained spider monkey provided to him by the local social services to provide him not just with companionship but also to work as a helpmeet around the home, turning on and off lights, the heating, the TV set, and anything else that the severely physically challenged Chesthair pointed at with the laser pen attached to his headband. Thus it was Charley who, one November morning, opened the front door to several agents of the FBI investigating a series of racist emails sent using Chesthair's email address and from his PC threatening violence and abuse against a number of prominent figures in the African-American community, including the family of President Obama. "I had no idea," pleaded Chesthair. "I can only think that while I was in bed asleep Charley was turning on the PC himself and sending out these abusive messages in my name. Some of the language was truly appalling." This isn't the first time Mr. Chesthair has had bad luck with pets. A German Shepherd he owned five years earlier had to be put down after savaging an Hispanic postal worker.

Sheila Merryface of Ballymun, Idaho, was similarly disappointed by her pet, Peter the Cockatoo, a parakeet given to her by neighbors after they expressed some concerns that it was looking at their children oddly. Sheila was happy to take in the bird but was disappointed that Peter said so little, having been led to believe that parakeets were garrulous birds and could be trained to utter expressions of an apparently congenial nature, such as "Good morning, Sheila" or "You're looking pretty today." On reflection, she now says, she should have asked the neighbors where they had acquired the bird from since it was clear with the benefit of hindsight that Peter had merely been biding his time, accustoming himself to Sheila's habits and learning her daily routine and secrets. When Sheila's house was broken into four months later and she was tied to a chair in the kitchen by unknown assailants, it was Peter who told his accomplices exactly where all of Sheila's savings were hidden, which paintings were valuable, where her jewelry was, and where to find the keys to the Lexus and to the front door of her vacation home in Florida. "They didn't hurt me physically," said Merryface. "The real hurt is inside. When you know you've been betrayed by someone you trusted. And also outwitted by a bird."

At least Merryface can console herself that birds have legs. Business entrepreneur Frank Scratchings of Phibsboro, New Jersey, awoke the day of his daughter's wedding to find that the hugely expensive Koi carp he had purchased only a month earlier had somehow managed to pull the tablecloths off all the trestle tables in the marquee set up in the grounds and had dragged the wedding cake, the champagne bottles placed on each table, and all the disposable cameras placed for guests' enjoyment across the garden and back into their pond. "When I went over to look, I half-expected to find them all drunk and taking photos of one another gorged on cake and laughing it up," said Scratchings, "But instead there was no sign of them. Not even a note. Seven hundred bucks each, they were. You'd think they'd have some manners." To this day, Scratchings has no idea where his carp fled to, but he is willing to forgive and forget, if only they'd come home. "Even just a ring to let me know they're okay," he says. "The real worry is not knowing."