MISSING-PRESUMED TENNANT !!!

The Blog Kitten—MISSING!!

‘Tis I-The Blog Dog!

I speak to you today,Constant Reader,in a state of some agitation,and not a little preturbation.

(Is that a word?)

This very morn,upon waking from a shit-hot dream involving Bettany Hughes,Eva Mendes and a tub of swarfega,I rolled over in my 5-poster bed to greet the dawn and my beloved,Deidre, with a snuggle and a kiss,and to possibly try a few things I’d worked out in my dream.

(Eww)

Imagine,then,my horror as I beheld my beloved,who was conspicuous by her absence.

Gone.

Now this was not really that unusual,as it is part of our pre-nuptial agreement that Deidre should be up before I wake in order to get the tea on,so I was not unduly alarmed.I slipped on my yeti-skin dressing gown and griffin-hide slippers and sauntered into the kitchenette,to be greeted with a sight of abject,screaming horror,the like of which I had never before encountered,and no married man should have to endure….

…the teapot wasn’t even on the hob.

Searching around for Deidre in order to remonstrate with her and to extract a reason as to why my morning cup of  Earl Grey was,as yet,merely theoretical,I came swiftly to the conclusion that she was,as my Latin teacher used to say,non adest.

To whit,buggered off.

Not a soul in sight.

This was,as the Ameriyanks say,an “issue.”

Not only would I have to make my own tea AND breakfast,I’d have to most likely feed the piranhas AND go and whip the students in the dungeon.

This was not on.

The Blog Dog,as you know,has no time for the trivial matters of existence….for the Blog Dog is a roisterer,a rodgerer,a puker and a gorger-a shafter of time and space.

The Blog Dog cannot save the universe twice over whilst making his own cornflakes.Simple as that.

I trotted,stressed,onto the platform of my secret London Underground lair,cunningly disguised as Mornington Crescent,to see if maybe Deidre was polishing the third rail or something;it was possible that she had got her chore shcedule arse-backwards.

I was about to enter that state of mind known as the “hissy fit” when I spotted it…although how such an abomination came to be in my residence,I knew not,nor dared to wonder.

Plastered to the far wall was a poster of…..David Tennant.

You will know,Constant Reader,that normally I would not even debase myself to cleanse my lower extremities with such a tawdry piece of stationery,so how it came to be here was a mystery,wrapped up in an enigma,then sodomised by a “what the fuck?”

The third-rate actor who got lucky was gurning horrifically from the poster,but this was not the worst thing assaulting my retinas at this moment…there was more.

Someone had added a speech bubble which emanated from the vicintiy of his gruesome visage…these very words of horror chilled me to the bone:

HOOTS MON,YE WEE DOGGY BASTARD!!!

YE WEE WIFEY AND I ARE VERY MUCH IN LOVE,AND WE HAVE ELOPED TO GRETNA GREEN WHERE WE GAN GET MARRIED!

(Rubbish Scottish accent)

I know…bless him he hasn’t worked in ages,it’s probably affected his mind.Anyway back to the action…

DEIDRE SAYS YE CAN CLEAN YOUR OWN THIRD RAIL,YE WEE SASSENACH BUM-SNIFFER !!

P.S I’M THE BEST DOCTOR WHO EVER!!!!

P.P.S SO THERE !!!

P.P.P.S TOM BAKER IS RUBBISH!!!

The horror…the horror.

Dumped for Doctor Who…and not even one of the good ones.

Mother-appreciator.

So this is how you now find The Blog Dog,my Constant Reader…Deidre-less,tea-less and very possibly custard-cream-less.And even worse than that…I’ve got a fucking David Tennant poster on my wall.

What will my guests think ??

I suppose I’ll have to take it down myself ,too.

(Aw bless)

I’ve still got you,dear Rizla, my faithful retainer…my wife has left me for a has-been,my reputation is in tatters….and I haven’t had a cuppa for hours,put the kettle on would you-

-OI! Come back you sod !!!

Shit.

Station to Station!

Eat your heart out,Torchwood!

Salutations and felicitations,oh seekers of the truth and collectors of the pure!

I am…

…..The Blog Dog!

But of course,you already knew that,otherwise you would not be here,seeking my wisdom….and dripping on my welcome mat.

Anyhoo,come yourself in and I’ll spin you a wee tale of adventure & derring-do.

That’s it,park your sit-upon down there,mind the cannibal,they’re everywhere,harmless really…just keep an eye on your extremities.

What’s that? Oh yes,I’ve moved my centre of operations into Mornington Crescent tube station…nobody ever gets on or off here,so I can do what I like…..welcome to the Fortress Of Blogitude,2.0!! It’s spacious,secret and has tea & coffee making facilities.It was closed for “repairs” during much of the 1990s,which was when I took the opportunity to make a few “structural alterations”.

Cuppa? Help yourself,there’s some in the pot.Will you pour one for me too…milk and four lumps,please…no sugar.

Now…let me tell you about the “little problem” I had when I moved in to Mornington Crescent.I had only that day returned from the 1960s,where I had been “filling in” in the gynaecology department at St.Bartholomew’s Hospital…they were short staffed you see,the other doctors had disappeared but they found them later,bound and gagged and stuffed in a broom cupboard.

I reckon it was medical students,or something,sniffing ether.

This station does not exist....

Anyway,I landed the Invisible Plane in the concourse of the station,and alighted.I had no trouble from the ticket collector on duty as I jumped the barrier,because Raffles is “on the staff” as it were,and helps keep real people out who may have wandered in thinking Mornington Crescent is a genuine tube station and want to go to Cockfosters.Eh? Yes it is,isn’t it? Most amusing.

I trotted down the escalator which doesn’t work,for appearances sake,and went to inspect the work that was being carried out.Several art students were hard at it,a-hammering and a-nailing and a-trying desperately to break their chains–no chance,those chains were made of case-hardened Dynastrene,the hardest substance known to man.

Deidre was busy polishing the third rail….her hair was somewhat “on end.”

“That’s it,babes” I said as I scuttled past,”I want to be able to see my face in those rails.And sort your hair out,you look a right state…and watch those arcs of electricity emanating from your extremities,you could hurt someone.”

Professor Bernardo Whiplash-Prebendary was installing the secret door to my lair,cunningly disguised as the Mornington Crescent tube roundel on the wall of the platform.She turned to greet me.

“Ah Bloggers,you complete and utter waster in time and space,there you are! Not bad this,eh…you just touch the second “O” in “Mornington” and the wall slides back to allow access to the Fortress.” She demonstrated,the wall slid back silently to reveal a dark,velvet-lined corridor; a distant light indicated the door to the inner sanctum,secured with a 21-tumbler lock.

“Good work,Prof.Fancy a cuppa and a bourbon?”

“Yes please,after you.” We crossed the threshold into the Fortress of Blogitude,and walked down the corridor towards the door.I produced my key to open the Triponic Lock.

“By the way,Bloggers,can you smell burning?”

“Oh that’s just Deidre.”

“Oh,that’s all right then.”

********************************************************************************

INTERMISSION

THE BLOG DOG RETURNS AFTER A WORD FROM OUR SPONSORS! STAY TUNED!!

“Do you have any unwanted gold jewellery lying around the house? Then send it to me,and I’ll send you a cheque by return of post for their full market value!!! Just pop your baubles in a jiffy bag and send them to this address-

THE BLOG DOG,

THIRD CUBICLE ALONG,

GENTS TOILETS,

ST.PANCRAS STATION,

LONDON.

Unlock the potential value of your valuables today!!!

(Terms and conditions apply,cheques will not be honoured.)

*********************************************************************************

Look,that's my TARDIS !!! The brown,cupboardy thing...

***BACK TO THE ACTION***

I was just drifting off to sleep in my King-sized bed,Deidre quietly simmering and still sparking a bit next to me,when I was startled by a curious sound issuing from the general vicinity of the platform.Slipping on my slippers,I crept out of the boudoir,through the study,across the piranha pool,around the aerodrome,crossed the kitchen,stopping only for a cuppa and a garibaldi,took the monorail to the main living quarters,and tiptoed to the front entrance.I opened the door,just a crack,and had a look.

I did some lookings,and thanked the Gods above or wherever they hang out,that I had taken the shortcut from the boudoir,for there,acting as if he owned the ruddy place,was a Suit!

The Suits had found my secret headquarters!!!

I was immobile with shock and fear….and worse than that,I couldn’t move either.I thought I had seen it all in my long,exciting life….I had battled the Flesh-eating Fish of Fantabulus 5 in the Wombat galaxy,arm-wrestled with Genghis Khan in the snug of the Dog & Duck…even skinny-dipped with Osama bin Laden….

But there are corners of the universe that have bred the most evil unspeakable things,and l was looking at one of them now.

It was beyond description…the words needed to do justice to its appalling appallingness have yet to be invented by some mad,deranged dictionary compiler who has recently looked up the arsehole of Hell whilst wearing a thong.

 My very soul shat its pants.

The Suit was wearing a tweed suit.

The tweed suit wasn’t too happy about that,and was desperately trying to escape the thing’s vile slimy blobbiness.

The Suit was studying what looked like a map.

Summoning every last inch of my iron will (and I have a very big iron will…just ask the missus) I opened the door wider and strode out to meet my doom.The oily pen-pusher turned to “face” me,an unctuous smile birthing,suffering a short but painful life,then dying on his noisome visage.

“Ah good evening,sir.” he smarmed “are you the owner of this umm…hee hee….secret underground lair?”

His voice chilled my very being.

“Yes I am,you hideous horror from Harrogate.How did you get in here?” I feared he may have done Raffles a damage.

“The ticket collector was in his little hut watching Doctor Who..hee hee..a David Tennant episode I think.”

He smiled a soul-fisting smile…he was enjoying himself….how did he know of my utter hatred of….”The Tennant?”

“I stopped for a cuppa and a French Fancy and had a chat while we watched the programme.Tennant is much better than that awful Tom Baker person,I think.”

!!!!!!

“He said I could go down and,as it were,”knock the mad bugger up”,so here I am…ha ha….and quite frankly,it’s a good job I came,because this whole place is just downright dangerous.Did you know there are piranha fish in your swimming pool?”

“Yes,it’s a piranha pool.”

“But someone could fall in and get eaten!”

“That’s the whole bloody point,you knob!”

“Fair enough….oh and by the way,I’ve err…ha ha…come here to twat you.Twattage should take no longer than 30 of your Earth seconds.Twattage is completely painless and lovely.Your experience of Twattage may vary.”

“Begone from my Fortress,you muppetry salesman! Don’t you know who I am ?”

“Yes.”

I waited.

I waited some more.

“Well?”

He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his waistcoat pocket,unscrewed it and consulted its contents.There was a Werther’s Original stuck to it.

“You are the Blog Dog.” he announced,and returned the paper to his pocket.

“Ah.”

“Ah indeed,you canine clod.” said a velvety voice from the void.

I turned towards the sound-a small girl was erupting from the blackness of the tunnel which led to Edgware on the Northern Line,calling at Camden Town,Chalk Farm and Belsize Park,among others.

I recognised “her” instantly,even though it had been some time since we had spent any time together.

“Marjorie Misnomer….we meet again.”

“Indeed we do.” She sidled towards me…she gave good sidle.”Umm..one seems to have been neglecting one’s children recently,hasn’t one?”

She kebabbed me with her gory gaze.

“Well…umm..I’ve been busy.”

“Busy?”

“Yes…moving house,saving the world,you know how it is,all kinds of things cropping up.Ummm how have you been,Marjorie?”

Marjorie Misnomer stared at me.Hard.

“Well you see,that’s the funny thing-I don’t know how I’ve been because you haven’t written me for bloody ages !!!!” She grabbed me by my tartan collar and hoisted me up level with with her eyes.

” I want more life….father.”

(You nicked that from Blade Runner.)

Oh hello,you’ve been quiet tonight…Deidre keeping you busy…good…that coal won’t clean itself…..

Anyhoo…

I felt something give in my nether regions,but I kept a stiff upper.”But…but…Deidre doesn’t like your stories,she prefers it when I blog about real life stuff….but I do have one of your stories in the archive,I just need to finish it…it’s a good ‘un too.” I lied.

“How is Deidre by the way?” asked Marjorie.

“AC/DC.”

“Really? How interesting.Where was I…oh yes,Tarquin was going to Twat you.” She motioned to The Suit,who had taken to picking his nose.”Tarquin,please be so kind as to bring the Twattage.”

The abomination in tweed slobbered towards me…I was going to be Marmite.My mind raced…..actually it raced quite quickly,so quickly in fact that it left my body and made a run for it-I couldn’t in all honesty blame it….it was the end of The Blog Dog.

If Tarquin didn’t get me,then Marjorie would–why had I written her so evil? She was only ever meant to be a bit of fun because I couldn’t think of anything good to blog about one evening.

Curse my boundless talent!!

“Wait!” I yelled,as Tarquin loomed over me,poised to Twat me with his Twatter.”I promise I’ll finish the third chapter of Marjorie Misnomer & The Impossible Fish!”

Marjorie halted Tarquin’s arm.”Promise on your signed photograph of Katie Price.”

The bitch!

“Alright I promise on my signed photo of Katie Price.”

“Very well,dog.I shall give you until this time next week to finish and publish it.Make sure I get all the best lines.Come along,Tarquin.”

They ambled off in the general direction of Golders Green,holding hands.

Ewww.

THE END

(Bit of a crap ending,that.)

It’s one of them “To be continued” jobbies.

(I simply cannot wait for the next part.)

Of course you can’t…now,it’s time to feed the piranhas…I think one art student will be enough,don’t want them to get too fat.

Until next time,thrill-junkies!!!

Farewell!!!

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mind The Doors

At the weekend,I had the opportunity to revisit one of my favourite places on Earth…

The London Underground.

I was first exposed to its labyrinthine loveliness at a very young age,on a family trip to London…(a caravan was involved,but that’s another story)…and I have been hooked ever since.

And now,I have the chance to really gorge on its tunnel-based temptations thanks to my London Lovely,my gorgeous girlfriend. 🙂 (Although I would like to point out that being able to travel by Tube isn’t the main reason I visit her,honestly.)

I love it….I have no solid idea why.

Maybe it’s the way that it represents the veins and arteries of the great city of London…a city within a city,if you like.

Maybe it’s the mystery of the disused stations and tunnels….the rumours of a race of cannibals living in the darkest,forgotten corners,preying on the unsuspecting commuters who missed the last train to Cockfosters.

Cockfosters….never fails to get a laugh that one,so I’ll be repeating it at various intervals throughout this blog when I run out of jokes….which brings me on to another wonderful thing that makes the London Underground special….the station names.

Even though there has been much modernisation of the entire tube system in the last decade,the station names evoke a much older world….Mornington Crescent….Elephant & Castle….Blackfriars….Gallions Reach….Holborn.

Old London town…

Thankfully,the powers to be have resisted the temptation to update the names…taking the Bakerloo line to Katie Price Park via Posh & Becks doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.

It’s always fun to people-watch on the Tube,if you’re discreet about it.Passengers go into a kind of trance state where they’re not looking at anyone or anything in particular…you don’t want to be caught eyeing anyone up.I like to imagine what they’re thinking about,what kind of life they lead…whether they’re happy or not.

One of my ambitions is to walk down the tunnels,when the trains have stopped running for the day obviously,to look for abandoned stations,said to be still manned by corpse-like conductors and translucent ticket collectors.Because I’m funny like that,I like to imagine that disused stations lead to hidden,underground (well,obviously they’re underground,but a bit more underground) nerve-centres where the government conduct secret and unholy experiments into time-travel and all that,and strange societies meet to discuss their dastardly plans for mankind.

But it’s not just me…

In the Doctor Who story,The Web Of Fear,featuring the Second Doctor played by Patrick Troughton,the Great Intelligence uses robot Yeti to try and take over the world,starting with London–one Tube station at a time.Doctor Who monsters thought small in the 60s.

The (rather excellent and highly recommended) novels of Robert Rankin feature the shadowy Ministry Of Serendipity,the entrance to which is concealed within Mornington Crescent station…and let’s face it,when was the last time anyone got off at Mornington Crescent?

There could be anything down them tunnels….anything.

You may get eaten,but it’s cheaper than a taxi.

The Tube is a great setting for horror films,too…it’s underground,claustrophobic,dark and a bit smelly….like my sock drawer.

I’m sure you’ve all seen the film “Creep”…not the best advert for Transport For London,that,but a great film….if you’re reading this on the Piccadilly Line,someone like that could be watching you right now….hunting for fresh meat to feed his family of savage,feral cannibals.An earlier film called “Deathline”,made in the 70s,actually features such a race-they live in the tunnels in complete darkness and filth,preying on commuters,unable to talk except for one chilling sentence,which echoes through the pitch-black tunnels…

“Mind the doors.”

Have a safe journey home!! 😉

Cockfosters!

The Necronomnomicon Part 2-Thunderballs!!!

Count Mephistopheles Von Tiddles.....yesterday.

The story so far:

I,Blog Dog,Agent Double Oh-Woof,undertook a mission on behalf of HM The Queen (God Bless Her) to recover the lost book,The Necronomnomicon,for England and all that.In cahoots with Agent Norma Snockers,we discovered our first clue in the bowels of the Top Secret Library Of Very Scary Books,from whence the book was half-inched….a cat hair that could only belong to my old nemesis,that Malfeasant Moggy—Count Mephistopheles Von Tiddles!!!

Now read on!!

Scene-EXT

Aston Martin BD-5,speeding towards the British Museum

I gripped the wheel of the Aston and sped towards The British Museum…..I wanted to see my old friend Professor Bernardo Whiplash-Prebendary,an expert on spooky books and all that Dan Brown,Lawrence Da Vinci secret society bollocks.

Norma was still out cold in the passenger seat,her blouse loosened so she could breathe easily,and so I could have a look at her-

-so I could make sure she was alright.

I came to a screeching stop outside the museum,narrowly missing a group of students….so I reversed and made sure I flattened the scruffy bastards.

I stepped from the Aston,scuttling over the twitching bodies of the unwashed,workshy,cup-a-soup guzzling,long-haired wasters-

(Not too keen on students,then?)

-and trotted into the museum,the unconscious Norma slung over my shoulder.I stepped into the lift and rode it to the thirteenth floor,where the professor’s office was located.

Professor Whiplash-Prebendary’s office was disguised as a mop cupboard,but was far bigger on the inside than outside,like that thing off the telly…you know,Doctor What,with that Scottish bloke,whatsisname….Derek Tenement.

(Hah…I could show him a thing or two about time-travelling…I’ve battled the dreaded Garleks throughout space and time,and I didn’t continually over-act while doing it.

And you should have seen my scarf-it was epic.)

Anyhoo…

But this was the real thing…the trick was all to do with books.

Just as second-hand bookshops and libraries will increase their interior size to accommodate the books within (shops selling NEW books don’t do this),any room with sufficient reading matter within it will also extend it’s inner volume out  through our dimension and into the higher non-Euclidean dimensions,stretching it’s very atoms to fill the dreadful,unknowable void of the Etherverse.

All you need is enough secondhand books…and Prof.Whiplash-Prebendary sure loved books.

If you’ve never seen half a million well-thumbed Mills&Boon paperbacks stacked floor-to-ceiling before,I recommend you pay the Professor a visit.

It is quite a sight.

Mind you,so is the Professor….6ft 6 inches tall,white hair like an explosion in a sherbet factory and built like a brick convenience.

Quite a woman,is Bernardo Whiplash-Prebendary.

The Prof was sat at her desk,bent over a book…I crept up behind and read over her shoulder-

“Percy gazed longingly at Deidre….her glass eye glinted in the moonlight….her heaving bosom heaved rhythmically in time with the tossing cruise liner.She pressed her firm yet yielding body up against Percy…Deidre could feel his growing passion poking into her nether regions.Deidre looked at Percy lustily,and said “Oi,put that away-you’re half decent-”

“My girlfriend’s called Deidre.” I remarked.

The Prof. swung round,startled.

“Ah there you effing well are Blog Dog,you old sod! Who’s the totty?” she asked,indicating the still asleep Norma.

“Agent Norma Snockers.”

“Hmm….named after her father,no doubt.Anyway,what the bloody hell can I do you for?”

“It’s Von Tiddles…he’s stolen the Necronomnomicon!”

“Jesus H.Tennant!! Not the chuffing Necronomnomnomicon!!”

“It’s just two noms,actually,Prof.”

“Sorry,I’ll try again……………..Not the chuffing Necronomnomicon!!”

“The very same!”

“Not the Necronomnomicon!” cried Norma,then went back to sleep.

(You’re only keeping her asleep because you can’t think of any funny lines for her…or for anyone else for that matter.)

“What a bastard!”

(Charming!)

Not you…

“Quite….and he’s going to use it to summon up all kinds of spooky,blobby shit to lay waste to dear old Blighty and have the streets run with blood,dogs and cats living together,and things of that nature generally.”

“So now you’re going after him to right royally twat him and get the book back?”

“Not ‘arf.”

“Fecking great! Will there be gratuitous sex and violence along the way?”

“Oh yes!”

“Funting marvellous!! Although I read in The Times that you’d recently jumped the broomstick…to the divine Deidre Macbeth?

“Ah yes,but a secret agent on Her Majesty’s (God Bless Her) official secret service is sometimes required to give in and of himself in the line of duty….that often includes nailing any nice piece of crackling that comes his way.”

(By the way,are you still carrying Norma on your shoulder?)

Yes…she was pressing against me in a way that suggested she more than lived up to her name…anyway,shush,there’s an exciting bit coming up.

(Thank god for that…I’m sure you’re getting paid by the letter,or something…oh,and Deidre said to tell you the dinner is ready.)

Tell her I’ll be right there.

Just then,there was an almighty crash from the corridor…the door of the office was rent asunder…and there,framed in the doorway was an abomination….a creature of such horrific countenance,of such awful visage,of such…suchness….that even I was speechless…

The Professor stood firm…she squared up to the monster.

It towered over her…no mean feat.

The horror stared balefully at the Prof,and opened it’s hideous mouth….inside was a Hell of teeth,worthy of some monster piranha….

A “voice” from the deepest pit of Hades spewed forth-

“Would you and your friend like a cup of tea,dear?”,it said.

“For chuff’s sake,Mum that’s the third door you’ve knackered this week….yes,we would like a cup of tea,please.Bloggers,you knob,you can come out now it’s only me old Mum.”

“Ah…ha ha I wasn’t hiding,I was umm….ummm…”

“Milk and sugar?”

“Yes please.”

“How many lumps?”

“Three please.”

“Sugar?”

“Yes….hurry up and pour,I’ve got a book to find-The Necronomnomicon!”

“The Necronomnomicon!” cried the Professor.

“The Necronomnomicon!” cried the Professor’s Mum.

“The Necronomnomicon!” cried Norma Snockers,who hadn’t had many lines in this episode.

“The very same…I don’t have a moment to lose……any custard creams?”

Next Episode-The Man With The Golden Bun!

More tea,vicar? (and other stuff)

I do like a nice cuppa.

Preferably with a few biscuits…and then a few more biscuits.

In fact,I get most of my nutrition from biscuits….you just can’t beat a custard cream dunked in a fresh cup of  Typhoo.

They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach….this is perfectly true.

I’m anybody’s for a chocolate hobnob….especially if it’s accompanied by a cuppa.

But my particular poison is custard creams….oh yes.

Oh yes....

TEA.

That is all.

You see,I am not a coffee person.Tried it once,hated it…although funnily enough there was a time when I didn’t even like tea,just drank squash or whatever all the time.Then one fateful day I tried a cuppa….and haven’t looked back since.

It is the cup that cheers…where would Eastenders be without someone making “a pot of tea” every five minutes when there’s some kind of family crisis?

The best cup of the day?—-The first one in the morning…I cannot function without it.I am supping on a particularly fine cuppa crafted by myself as I write this bloggage…tea is the perfect brain lubricant.* (*Tea should NOT be used as an actual lubricant as you might burn your bits)

I am trying to make an effort to eat healthier,and am soon to invest in a blender,for the fabrication of smoothies thereof.All this 5-a-day business…I don’t even get 5-a-week. The Mother Unit has got one knocking around the house doing nothing so I shall inspect the object when i’m over there next.

Who knows I might even start exercising….and I will need to look my best soon….first impressions are so important 😉

————————————————————————————————————————————————————-

It’s that time of the month again….no,not that time,or that one….well obviously not that one.

I speak of course about the delivery of the greatest magazine currently in publication….

Fortean Times!

The self-styled “journal of strange phenomena.”

Some of you may know it….I have been reading it for flipping years and have every issue since 1992.

I never throw a copy away….it’s a man thing.

Conspiracy theories,strange thingies,weird happenings,bizarre coincidences and nasty blobby whatsits…they’re all in there.

This month’s issue features the story of a girl who was brained by a falling tortoise,and a man who over the years has filed more than 4000 lawsuits against various people,entities,objects and concepts,including Plato,Nostradamus,the Lincoln Memorial and the Eiffel Tower.Well,you’ve got to have a hobby….his latest legal action is against the Guinness Book of Records to stop it from naming him the world’s most litiginous man in the next edition.

There’s no pleasing some people.

I highly recommend you pick up a copy….it’s better for you than OK! or Heat.

Katie Price is never featured.

Feed your head.

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————-

“That really grinds my gears…”

10 THINGS THAT ARE CURRENTLY “GETTING ON MY GOAT”

1.MY LOCAL COUNCIL

Today,I received through my letter-hole a leaflet from my friendly neighbourhood council,informing me of a special day where you can get rid of any unwanted rubbish you’ve got lying about the place.Maybe the baffling new rules about waste disposal have confused you and you haven’t been able to put out all your rubbish.

And what have they called this wonderful,fun day?

WASTE AMNESTY.

F***ING AMNESTY.

Just like the chance to hand in all your guns & knives is an amnesty,where you won’t get prosecuted for giving up your AK-47….but this is for rubbish.This isn’t going to be like taking stuff to the local dump…there’ll probably be coppers watching and taking notes on those people who haven’t separated their cardboard and paper.

George Orwell was right.

2.PILLOCKS WEARING SHORTS & T-SHIRTS WHEN IT’S PISSING DOWN

We’ve all seen them…that strange breed of gentleman who insists on wearing summer clothes even when it’s a “traditional” British summer….namely,chucking it down.I may have missed an episode,but I don’t think there’s anything cool about arriving somewhere looking like you swam there.Yesterday was a lovely Welsh summer’s day,it rained all day…that didn’t stop one chap from venturing forth in his t-shirt and shorts.

Did I miss something….are umbrellas banned?

3.INK CARTRIDGES

All I want for Christmas is an everlasting ink river,so I can charge people £30 a pop to come and fill their empty cartridges up……money for nothing.

Come to think of it,anything you have to buy for an office is more expensive than sense.There are office chairs in the Staples catalogue for £200+…it’s only a bloody chair.

4.BANKS

There is a growing trend in banks these days to install machines that allow you to deposit money and pay bills etc so you don’t have to queue up at the counter.This is not to reduce the workload of the staff….because a) This is what they’re paid to do so they should bloody well do it and b) In my local bank having the machine appears to give the staff the opportunity to chat.

If they want us to use the machine then why have staff at all? Luckily,as I’m with the Alliance & Leicester,I can pay in money at the Post Office….a longer wait but at least you see a human being eventually….just don’t go in on pension or giro day.

5.FOOTBALL

I could write an entire blog about the things I hate about football…I like it,but there are a few aspects of it that I can’t stand-

1. “That’s a big ask”…….WTF?
2. Footballers,people in the crowd,absolutely every-bloody-body putting their hands to their heads when a a goal is missed…fair enough when it’s close but when Rooney has kicked it 20 miles wide of the goal and still clutches his head as if to say “Oh that was so close,but it’s OK I’m still brilliant even though I look like the missing link” it’s pushing it a bit.
3. Shakespeare in the penalty box-

Eduardo from Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends

Eduardo from Arsene's Home For Imaginary Injuries

6.PEOPLE WHO STOP TO CHAT IN BUSY STREETS/TESCO AISLES

My hatred of Tesco is well known,but on the last trip I encountered a woman who had stopped to talk to someone while completely jamming up the entrance to the aisle with her wine-filled trolley.I loudly proclaimed,”I hate it when people stand around and talk.”

And her reaction?

Sod all…she didn’t even hear me…just carried on talking.She’s probably still there.Eventually I just forced past her with my trolley…she didn’t notice that either.

7.THE WAY AMERICANS SAY DATES

BRITISH-2009 —-TWO THOUSAND AND NINE

AMERICAN -2009—-TWO THOUSAND NINE.

For some unaccountable reason this really drives me insane…it would be OK if it was just the Yanks doing it,but it is slowly but surely creeping into British use as well.

Which leads me nicely into-

8.THE METRIC SYSTEM

NON NON NON NON NON !!!!!

This is Britain…we are ne pas wanting your Frenchy metres and kilometres.

But this hasn’t stopped the widespread adoption of this completely imaginary and unnatural system of measurement.If you watch Mythbusters,the English narrator constantly translates every distance given in miles into kilometres as if “mile” is a foreign word.

I have no idea what a kilometre is.Admittedly in school I always referred to my ruler as a 20cm one,but only because saying “i’ve got a 12 inch one” was likely to be taken the wrong way and leave you open to ridicule…especially if you couldn’t actually back it up.

Just think of all the innocent market traders who have been arrested for selling their fruit & veg in pounds and ounces…obviously this is a more serious crime than murder.

9.SPIDERS

Just no need for them….AT ALL.

WHY???

10.WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE!!!

That’s what our government would have us believe…be it terrorists,killer diseases or Daleks….our days are numbered.The latest thing,of course,is “swine flu”….apparently there is a “pandemic” on it’s way,and the only way mankind can survive is by having a swine flu jab.

Trouble is,they’ve been going on about the “pandemic” for months…and it still hasn’t happened.

That’s because it never is going to happen….so there have been some deaths from swine flu….you’re more likely to die slipping in the shower or falling downstairs.You never hear of people who’ve had swine flu and recovered….that wouldn’t “fit in” with the government’s doom-mongering.I may have even had it myself…it was a very mild case of flu that was gone in a few days…it just came out of the blue in the middle of summer.

On a related note,scientists who’s views on global warming don’t “chime” with the government’s views on it are not being allowed to put their point across at climate change summits…..but DO NOT get me started on this subject.

That’s for another day.

Toodle-pip!!

Wanna be startin’ a conspiracy….

Elvis Presley's new flatmate

It’s the 9/11 of pop….these are some of the conspiracies theories surrounding the “death” of Michael Jackson-

HE FAKED HIS DEATH

As is well known,he was £200 million in debt and realised he would be worth much more dead than alive.By faking his own demise,he could enjoy the the royalties from the inevitable boom in sales of his music.Meanwhile,he shacks up with Elvis in his underground complex deep within wherever.

HE WAS DEAD ALREADY

Jacko’s been dead for years….this became obvious to many after his “appearance” in London to promote his tour-this was in fact an unconvincing double who was too tall and walked funny.Was he too ill to turn up or had he been found dead at Neverland 2 years ago and been played by doubles ever since.?

MURDERED BY IRANIAN SECRET POLICE

President Ahmadinejad had him killed in order to shift global attention away from his over-enthusiastic clampdown on post-election unrest. (Has he even heard of Michael Jackson?)

ASSASSINATED BY OBAMA

President Obama had him bumped off,either because Jackson refused to perform at his inauguration,or to distract media attention away from his inability to intervene in Iran and North Korea.

CAP & TRADE CONSPIRACY

The US congress had him murdered to sneak through a controversial law restricting greenhouse emissions.The old “good day to bury bad news” ploy obviously worked because the vote went ahead when the whole world was still gobsmacked at Jacko’s pegging off.

And did you know that the letters “M” and “J”,when typed in the Wingdings 2 font,produce a black hand and a white glove?

Of course you did.

Next post-Britain’s Best Churches by Richard Dawkins.