Posts Tagged ‘meta’

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.


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


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:



(Rubbish Scottish accent)

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





The horror…the horror.

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


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 !!!



If your hard drive is currently bursting at the seams with all that downloaded pornography music,then it may be time to upgrade.

Gigabyte,shmigabyte–that’s so last century… want a Terabyte at least.

Below is a handy,cut-out-and-keep guide to the chuffing enormous data storage sizes we may be seeing in the future (sadly some of them are science fiction at the moment).

(I’ve rounded the figures out to 1000GB=1TB for simplicity,but it is in fact closer to 1024GB)

1000 GIGABYTES=1 TERABYTE.Could hold 1000 copies of the Encyclopedia Britannica,300 hours of good quality video,or 3.6 million 300 Kilobyte images.Currently available as external hard drives or on Apple Imacs–will soon be standard on all PCs I suppose.

1000 TERABYTES = 1 PETABYTE=1,000,000 GIGABYTES.Could store 500 billion pages of standard printed text.The same amount of data would fit on 500 million floppy disks.

1000 PETABYTES=1 EXABYTE=1,000,000,000 GIGABYTES.This is BIG….it has been said that 5 Exabytes would be equal to all of the words ever spoken by mankind….a billion gigs,for god’s sake….

Can you take a bit more?

1000 EXABYTES=1 ZETTABYTE=1,000,000,000,000 GIGABYTES.A trillion gigs…that’s a lot of Cliff Richard songs.In 2008, Americans consumed 3.6 zetabytes of information online.

1000 ZETTABYTES=1 YOTTABYTE=now we’re getting silly-1 QUADRILLION GIGABYTES-1,000,000,000,000,000.It would take approximately 11 trillion years to download a yottabyte file from the Internet using high-power broadband. You can compare it to the World Wide Web as the entire Internet almost takes up a Yottabyte.Also 50 times the number of red blood cells in the human body…

This is where we get a bit weird….

1000 YOTTABYTES=1 BRONTOBYTE…not a dinosaur’s dinner,but 1 QUINTILLION GIGABYTES,or 1,000,000,000,000,000,000 if you get turned on by zeros…

….and because someone obviously had too much time on their hands,they came up with this-

1000 BRONTOBYTES=1 GEOPBYTE-1 SEXTILION GIGABYTES…1,000,000,000,000,000,000,000.Apparently the number of grains of sand on the planet….


I used to think a 512 megabyte hard drive was a lot…

Eat your heart out,Torchwood!

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....

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.”




“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-






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...

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


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 ?”


I waited.

I waited some more.


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 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.” 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.”


“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…..


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.


“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.



(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!!!










Count Mephistopheles Von Tiddles.....yesterday.

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!!


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.)


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!”


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.”


“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!

Me totally rocking the tuxedo look....

Me totally rocking the tuxedo look....

The name’s Dog….Blog Dog.

Double OH-WOOF.

Licensed to-

(Lick your own privates?)


Now,as you might expect,a lot of famous people ask for my help,from Presidents to pop stars,from Ronald Reagan to Shakin’ Stevens….now there’s a young man with talent.

My tales of derring-do are well known…far be it for me to seek personal gain from constantly banging on about my adventures.Fame,fortune,totty…I crave not these things.

(That’s good because you never get any of those things.)

You’re just jealous.

Anyway,as I was saying,most of my escapades are the stuff of legend…but less well known are my little “jobs” for Her Majesty,The Queen (God Bless Her.)

The Queen (God Bless Her) has always been a keen fan of my adventures,and so it came as no surprise to me to be summoned into the presence of the old girl one crisp,autumn day,to help with a “little problem.”

I hopped in the Aston Martin BD-5 and zoomed towards Buck House,where I was ushered into the presence of HM The Queen (God Bless Her)

“It’s like this,Blog Dog.” said Lizzie as she rested the Royal Posterior on one of the servants.I did likewise.

“One has been and gone and had one’s copy of the Dreaded Necronomnomicon stolen from one’s Top Secret Library Of Very Scary Books,and one would rather like to have it back.”

The Necronomnomnomicon!!! The most dangerous-

“It’s just two “noms” actually,BD.” quipped Lizzie.

The Necronomnomicon!!! The most dangerous book ever written!!! Believed to have been inscribed in the living blood of a million virgins by the “Madder -Than- A -Blender- Full- Of- Elephants” Arab,Abdul Al-Jolson,a billion years ago on the planet Myopia!!! It contains dreadful invocations and unmentionable spells which deranged disciples of the Great Old Ones can use to summon up all kinds of spooky,blobby shit!!!

“Yes,that’s the one.We don’t want just any old deranged disciple of the Great Old Ones using it to summon up all kinds of spooky,blobby shit….”

I started to suspect that the Queen (GBH) had very great mental powers…pretty impressive for an old bird of 80-odd.

“I’ll give you “old bird” you bottom-chaser!” snapped The Madge,and smacked me a good ‘un round the ear with her Royal Smacking Stick.Gathering her composure, she fixed me with the Royal Stare.

“One,Lizzie The Queen (God Bless Me),hereby commands you to find the Necronomnomicon and right royally twat them what ‘alf-inched it.One suggests that one transports one’s doggy posterior down to the Top Secret Library to look for clues… will also meet your assistant,specially chosen by one.”

I took offense at this…Queen or no Queen (GBH),I always work alone.I can do more damage that way.

“With respect,Your Majesty,I don’t need an assistant,they always get in the way and need rescuing and all that while I’m trying to save the entire world and look cool in the process,so no thank you.”

“But it’s their first mission after graduating from the Secret Agent Academy….”

“Too inexperienced.”

“The agent may be only 19 years old,but….”

“Too young.”

“Ah well,she’ll be very disappointed.”

“I’ll give her a weeks’s trial.”

****INTERMISSION—Choc ices and albatrosses are available in the foyer****

She was waiting for me as I walked confidently into the Top Secret Library,bending over a computer and looking brainy,wearing a skirt that could double as a scarf.

I liked her immediately.The rest of her was pretty good too.

She turned to face me

“Ah,you must be…?”

“Dog…Blog Dog.And you are….?”

“Snockers…..Norma Snockers.Agent Double Oh-Phwoar.”

“But of course you are.” She did indeed resemble the proverbial “dead-heat in a Zeppelin race.”

“Let’s get to work.”  Ooh,all business…I like that in a woman.

Norma slinked off towards the bookshelves,gesturing me to follow.The movement of her lower portions was somewhat hypnotic.

She led me towards a suspiciously book-shaped hole in the Spooky Shit section.

“This is where the Necronomnomicon was kept.”

The Necronomnomicon!!!!

“Stop that.”


“And that had most definitely better be your paw on my leg.”

“Sorry again.”

“We believe the thief got in by using a laser to cut a hole in the 10 foot thick steel roof,abseiled down past the mini-gun emplacements,distracted the rabid Rottweilers with some sort of Rottweiler-distracting device,wrestled the alligator into unconsciousness,then casually came in here and stole the Necronomnomicon-”

The Necronomnomicon!!!!

“I thought I told you to stop that.Anyway,that was the easy part…actually being able to touch the book in the first place would have required a magical education far outside the abilities of normal men.”

I was beginning to have some very nasty suspicions.

“Do you have any suspects?”

“I have one clue,a single hair found in the mouth of the alligator,it must have taken a bite out of the culprit before it sparked out.” Agent Snockers produced a little bag out of her pocket,and squatted down close to show it to me.I could smell her perfume….Tweed,by Lentheric.

Classy bitch.

I trained my well-trained eye on the object in question…it didn’t look like human hair,or dog hair,which admittedly didn’t narrow it down much.

I asked Norma to come closer so I could have a good old sniff of it,and,after smacking me around the ear a few times,realised I meant the hair,and opened the bag.

My blood ran cold.

(It does that a lot,doesn’t it?)

Well,you see,I deal in horror on a daily basis…it’s how I roll.

“By the Gods!” I exclaimed.

“Have you seen this hair before?” asked Norma.

“Yes…it is a cat hair!”

“Not a cat hair!!!! ” gasped Norma.

“Yes…a cat hair!” I replied.

“Not a cat hair!!!! ” gasped Norma.

“That’s very annoying.”


“This is the work of only one cat,and one cat only…the Crown Prince of Feline Felony,that despoiler of virgins,avoider of taxes,pincher of bottoms…”

(Sounds like you.)

Be quiet.

“You don’t mean—?”

Norma clutched me tightly….things were looking up.

“Yes I do mean—–Count Mephistopheles Von Tiddles!!!”

My arch-enemy!!!

Norma fainted.Things were indeed looking up.

Next episode-Dr? NO WAY!

I'm totally rocking this outfit!

I'm totally rocking this outfit!

Salutations and felicitations to the world at large!!!

‘Tis I,Das Hund der Blog,with another pant-wettingly,rip-roaringly exciting escapade in space and time!

Today’s tale concerns my old friend,Sir Arblemarch Dyson-Hoover and the singular adventure we experienced in the Bide-A-Wee Rest Home for Those-Who-Are-Bonkers-In-The-Nut,where we faced the horror of–

The Thing!

From Another World!

It all began one evening while I was relaxing in The Reading Room with a nice glass of Chateau Picard and the latest Katie Price.One of the plebs rushed in with a telegram from old Dyson-Hoover,requesting my presence in the village of Mock Turtle.He’d heard whisperings of strange goings-on at the nut-house-…I mean the rest home for the terminally confused.

Reluctant to commit to such a potentially totty-free enterprise,I suddenly remembered that old Dyson-Hoover still owed me money from that wager we had at Mary,Queen of Scots’ execution.I bet him a tenner that her head would roll 20 feet…he said 15.Well,the fated day came,and the old haggis-muncher took the stand…and bugger me with a rolled-up Beano if it didn’t fly 30 feet.I tried to claim the spoils…Dyson-Hoover said it didn’t count.I said it did because I was closest to the number.He said the bet was void…I bit him on the bum.He started to cry and Lizzy The First put us in The Tower.

How we escaped using only our cunning and an egg-whisk is another story.I resolved to pack my Gladstone bag immediately…though the danger may be great,and the talent non-existent,a tenner is a tenner.

(Especially since the gas had been cut off.)

Be quiet.

The next day I powered up the Blogmobile and headed towards Mock Turtle and my possible demise…laughing in the face of certain doom.

It’s how I roll.

The Bide-A-Wee Rest Home

The Bide-A-Wee Rest Home

I hammered down the motorway without stopping…which was bad news for that hitch-hiker,but nothing must stand in the way of justice.I reached the rest home at midnight…the moon framed me in an heroic light as I stepped from the Blogmobile.A scream rent the air…a lady’s scream at that…things were looking up.I hurried to the epicentre of the trouble only to find a pretty young nurse in the demonic clutches of….some thing.With absolutely no thought for my own well-being,I leaped into action.

(I know what you were thinking about,mate.)

Doesn’t the roof need re-asbestos-ing?  Thank you.


Drawing my Walther PPK,I addressed the heinous abomination.

“Unhand the totty…I mean,let the young lady go or you will get it up you,and you will not like it!”

The hideous walking monstrosity let the unconscious girl drop.It turned to face me.

Now…my regular readers will know that I have the strength and moral fortitude of a hundred men,and have faced the most diabolical terrors this universe can produce…

( David Tennant joke today,then?)

but this….this was a big boiling puss-bag full of wrong.

(Ah,there you go.)

My back-legs quivered at this….whatever.It approached me,dropping slime and icky-bits as it came.

Weird thingy from another world!!!

Weird thingy from another world!!!

(As it what?)

Came…towards me.

(Well I hope you ducked.)


You worry me sometimes….anyway,the thing towered over me.I could smell its rank,mouldy,centuries old cabbage breath in my face…it reminded me of my ex-wife’s underwear.I kept a stiff upper in the face of my imminent deadage.

I fired the Walther,to no effect…it’s spongy wobbly bits just soaked up the bullets.It raised it’s fearsome-looking “hand”,preparing to twat me like a good ‘un.

I had only one bullet left…and I knew what to do with it.

As King Harold told me at the Battle of Hastings…”always keep the last bullet for yourself,and don’t be silly enough to get an arrow in the eyeeeeeeeeeeee!”

I was faced with a being from another world…and a death that would have broken the mind of normal men.

But….I am The Blog Dog…and the Blog Dog is not like normal men.

I had seconds to act…looking up I spied the weather vane on the roof of the rest home…I had one chance,and one chance only.

I fired.

My aim was true…the vane broke off and speared down through the air where it kebabed the thingy through its naughty bits…if it had any.Its innards glopped all over the place…smelling like a heatwave in a fish factory.

Very much like my ex-wife in fact….there was even a slight resemblance.I made a mental note to give the old bag a ring one day…just to check.

The End.

Phew…what a wild ride! That was a close shave,eh?


And what?

(What about the rest of the story?)

Umm…well…it transpired that the thingy from another world had eaten everyone in the rest home including poor old Arblemarch Dyson-Hoover so I never did get that tenner because he had been totally eaten all up,wallet and all,and ..umm..the pretty young nurse was VERY grateful to me for having saved her life..but sadly our love was never meant to be because the monster had already laid its eggs in her brain and during our romantic candlelit dinner,her head exploded…so I left the next day.

(The next day,you say?)


(Hmm…well you see that’s what’s puzzling me…because I read in the Mock Turtle Trumpeter (incorporating the Crinkly Bottom Bugle) ,and I quote,”Psycho Pup In Rest Home Rampage”)

Ha Ha…well you know how the papers exaggerate…

(“A sex-crazed pug-dog brought terror and mayhem to a sleepy rest-home last night as he ran through the corridors terrorising the nurses and sniffing their unmentionables.) must have been another rest home…there are a lot of them in England you know….

(“One pretty young nurse said ‘He pinned me to the ground and said he was The Bog Dog or something and he was going to protect me from the ‘monster’…the only monster there that night was him,I can tell you and no mistake.”)

Well you know how excitable young women can get….

(“The dog also caused damage to the rest home’s antique weather vane,and is wanted in connection with the flattening of a hitch-hiker on the M4.The barking mad barker is being held at the rest home in a nice comfy room in a four-armed jacket which does up at the back pending a psychiatric evaluation.”)



Well…someone in my position is bound to attract groupies,sad individuals who want to be me and copy everything I do…I cannot be held responsible for their looney-tune antics.

(Oh,of course…)

Now,go and clean the shark tank,you baboon.

Until next time,Scare Seekers….Farewell!!

Chilling on a street San Francisco...the other day.

Chilling on a street corner…in San Francisco…the other day.

Greetings readers!

Please allow me to introduce myself,I am a dog of wealth and taste.

I am…The Blog Dog!

Now, it has come to my attention that the dashingly handsome,young,virile and totally exceptional chap who types out my blogs for me has been treating Tropical Moments like it’s his own blog.

This kind of behaviour is a clear breach of his contract.His job is to type out whatever I say,not bang on about Cup-A-Soup and Darlicks.

(It’s Daleks,actually —Rizla)

See what I mean?

Give him a keyboard and he thinks he’s Dan Brown.

Now there’s a writer of integrity and style….almost as good as Katie Price.

NOT the Library Doors...

NOT the Library Doors…

Speaking of which,I was relaxing in my Fortress of Blogitude the other evening,pondering the universe and everything in it,when I heard a strange noise coming from the Lower Library.Setting down my copy of “Being Jordan”,which I was re-reading for the 13th time,I hot-pawed it down the marble staircase to investigate.

Upon reaching the 100ft tall solid ebony Library doors,(which I…ahem…”borrowed” from the Tower of Babel,back in the day) I was rather alarmed to discover that one of the doors was a jar.

And by this I don’t mean that it was half open…it actually had turned into a jar.Quite a nice one too….sort of orangey-black with a little stopper on the top,and a pleasant sort of zig-zaggy pattern around the middle.

Bit of a bummer about the door,though.It was irreplacable.And I absolutely hate MDF…

Peeking through the door-less doorway into the gloom,I could see what the French refer to as “sod-tout.” Steeling myself against whatever needed steeling against,I crept into the Library.

Passing my Katie Price first editions,I thought I heard the sound of laughter and running feet,just over there by my Thomas The Tank Engine collection.Pausing only to light a candle,which I placed in a holder and gripped with my teeth (just in case anyone wonders how a dog can carry a candle…accept it,I’ve got the skills),I set off to hunt down the intruder and bite their legs.

I turned the corner past Thomas The Tank,and headed into the Sherlock Holmes aisle.Some of the Strand Magazines,specifically the ones personally signed by the great detective himself,had been disturbed and were strewn across the rather dusty floor.Making a mental note to send one of the plebs down here to sweep up,I gave chase.Fortuitously,the dusty floor had retained the prints of the interloper’s feet…they were headed towards…surely not!!

The Holiest of Holies!!!

Their target was The Vault…it had to be!!

With a clenching,gnawing terror fisting my soul,I realised who the intruder was…it was her.

She had come to a halt outside the Vault (ooh that rhymes!),but I feared nowt.She was clever but would never be able to open the door.It was locked in time as well as space.

(pretentious woof-woof-Rizla)

Shush!! I’m coming to an exciting bit….go and have a Cup-A-Soup or something.

Now where was I? Oh yes…I tip-toed,terrified,down the last aisle to confront her,eebie jeebies playing a symphony of terror in my nether-regions.She was stood with her back to me,playing a stethoscope over the lock.Ha! She had no idea what she was getting herself into.I stepped into her personal space.She whirled around,startled,dropping the stethoscope.Hee hee…I so own her.

Marjorie Misnomer breaks the Fourth Wall...

Marjorie Misnomer breaks the Fourth Wall…

“So,you’ve come at last,Marjorie Misnomer.” I proclaimed.

Marjorie Misnomer (for it was she) quickly recovered her composure and fixed me with her sanity-blasting gaze.She smiled,and my back legs wobbled a bit,but I stood firm.I had battled the most heinous evils throughout history.I’d even watched a whole episode of Doctor Who starring that Tennant person,so I was no stranger to horrific sights.

“Give me the combination,dog.” she rasped “or it’s the rhubarb for you.”

I chuckled.Her eyes narrowed.

“You do realise that nobody thinks the running joke about the rhubarb is very funny,don’t you?”

“Well you certainly won’t be laughing when I stick it up your doggy arse!”

“Language,Marjorie,language!” I chided.I didn’t want to wind her up too much…she may be imaginary but she was still dangerous here in the Library,where reality and unreality copulate in an orgy of metaphysics.

(What the hell does that mean?)

Bugger off you wombat.


(And I assume that,with all this talking you’ve been doing,that the candle has disappeared?)

Ah…yes..I put it on a shelf,next to the Delia Smith Cookbook.Happy now?

(Fair enough)

Marjorie Misnomer penetrated me with her grave-robbing stare.I held fast.

“There’s no use trying that old trick…I created you and everything about you…I am immune to your power.Besides,you won’t find what you’re looking for in there.Sherlock Holmes certainly didn’t,and you are most definitely no Sherlock Holmes.”

“I am Marjorie Misnomer,The Ghoulish Goth,and I WILL find out what happens to me!” she roared,blowing the dust off my Twilight hardbacks.

Ha you foolish girl…if in fact you are a girl…even I don’t know what happens next…I haven’t written the next chapter yet.But I can tell you that your “twin” sisters feature prominently….I think they’re a very promising character…characters…whatever.”

A look of fear crossed her face.Ha!

“So I suggest you be a little more polite to me or I may introduce some sibling rivalry.”

“I could destroy you,dog!”

“But who would write you then?”

“Pshaw! Anybody could,the story isn’t that good anyway…I’m only a made-up person after all,I—-Oh shit!…”

Marjorie Misnomer vanished in a puff of alphabet.

(Oh very clever…getting her to admit she’s not real…the oldest trick in the book.)

Works every time, Rizla me old china.Did it when Sherlock came snooping…he wasn’t too keen on going into the fight with Moriarty at the Falls without knowing the outcome,and he knew I owned every single issue of The Strand,even the ones that hadn’t been printed yet.


Never mind…just go and get my nom-noms ready.And don’t just pour a few Cup-A-Soups in my bowl like last time…I don’t know,you just can’t get the staff…

Until next time,Meta Fans…farewell!

Me on webcam,yesterday...

Me on webcam,yesterday...

This blog is nearly a week old.

And this is the 11th update.Which is quite shocking…I never thought I’d get past the first one,or whether anyone would want to read my self-indulgent ramblings.

And that is what blogging is all about really…indulging yourself.After all,you’re going to be talking about yourself.I once described blogging on Twitter (not that anybody noticed) as being like masturbating in public.You get all the pleasure,and everybody else is embarrassed.

This was the thought going through my head when I decided to write a blog…(no not masturbating in Tesco,blogging.)

Would anybody even be interested enough to take time out to read it?

What do I even write about?

How much do I write?

Do I try to be funny…not that I know how to do that anyway,and if you do find anything funny while you read my blog,keep it to yourself otherwise everybody will want one.

In the end I decided to do what I’ve been doing all my life…making it up as I go along.I say what I’m thinking and keep writing until I can’t think of anything else to say.If it makes any kind of sense to someone then I’m happy.

If it doesn’t then I’m still happy.

Because in a funny way writing this blog has made me happy…and that takes some doing.The blog has been visited nearly 200 times,made some people laugh (don’t worry,they’re receiving treatment),confused others.I haven’t angered anyone yet but you can’t have everything.

Thank you for sticking by my literary lunacy this far,and I hope you tag along for the ride.

Next time-due to overwhelming popular demand…it’s…10 MORE THINGS I LOVE ABOUT DOCTOR WHO !!!