When a bloke with a clipboard stopped me and said "Can I ask you a question."
"You just did." I replied.
"I don't understand." He said.
"You just asked me a question by asking if you could ask me a question." I stated.
"Ahh, err..." He stammered.
"You should have said; Can I ask you a couple of questions." I said, reeling him in like a fish.
"OK then. Can I ask you a couple of questions?" He said.
"You just have." I said.
"I don't get your meaning." He replied.
"Well, you asked me if you could ask me a question and then you asked me if you could ask me a couple of questions. A couple is generally accepted to be two of something so by rights you've asked me a couple of questions. You should have said; Can I ask you a few questions." I said.
"OK, can I ask you a few questions?" He said.
"You just have." I replied, struggling not to laugh.
"I'm confused." He said.
"Well, firstly you asked me if you could ask me a question, then you asked me if you could ask me a couple of questions and you've just asked me if you could ask me a few questions. A few is generally accepted as three so by rights you've already asked me a few questions." I stated.
"Aha! Can I ask you some questions." He said, thinking he had figured out a way to ask me whatever the hell it was he wanted to know in the first place.
"No." I said. And walked away.
It's an answering machine. That's all. Just a wee machine that answers my phone when I'm not here so whomever is calling can leave a message saying that they called and could I get back in touch whenever I have a chance on whatever phone number.
So, having established these facts can someone explain to me why the hell no-one seems to be able to grasp the concept?
I got in tonight to find "You Have 16 messages" flashing on my machine and not one message to go with aforementioned messages.
Do me a favour, if you call me and get my answering machine, LEAVE A MESSAGE!
This place is doing my head in. More than usual. And that's quite an achievement when you consider how much I hate this place.
In all honesty I would be more productive at home job hunting than I am here. If it's not the computers running so slow that they make a Sinclair ZX Spectrum look like Deep Blue it's the broadband not being able to handle the amount of people checking their Bebo, Facespace or Mybook sites.
"Ho, Sandra, I've just messaged you on facespace! Gonnae check it and reply to me!"
I shrug my shoulders and shake my head wondering why it is that Coco The Cunt thinks that the Internet should be used to send someone a message when she can easily write it on a piece of paper, make a paper airplane and whip it across the room with more ease. Perhaps it's because Coco the Cunt can't spell worth a fuck and the computer does a spell check...
At the moment I'm sitting in the corridor typing away as all the chairs in the Positive Moves room are taken and this is the only place where I am relatively undisturbed. That is if you don't count the talking heads who are skiving off by claiming they need a piss or are stocking up on tea and coffee.
But that's cool, I can put up with the occasional distraction as long as I don't have to listen to Coco the Cunt telling her friend she's just filled in a Facespace application that rates her looks and she needs a friend to rate her as gorgeous.
Which, if I'm being honest, is a blatant lie. She's as attractive as a bulldog licking piss of a nettle.
If you have always had a hankering to see the Sydney Harbour Bridge and the Sydney Opera House from a few thousand feet above the harbour or have wanted to see what Niagara Falls looks like I'd recommend that you do.
*The technology behind these stunning images was invented by a bloke from Edinburgh. How cool is that?
So I ran away, again. Like a little girl who's had her pigtails pulled one too many times and gets the fuck out so Johnny Bully can't haul her head down and hang spit balls over her. Or something like that but with a male perspective. You know what I mean so stop picking holes.
I sat for about an hour or so, basking in the reek of piss, checking for possible employers who may be looking for a highly intelligent, laid back worker to destroy their business quick style but for some strange reason I couldn't find any.
The decision to flee came when I went outside for a cigarette. The rain was tonking down good style and a couple of hundred yards away was the warmth of my sister in laws barber shop. Fuck it, I thought, I'm off to get my hair cut.
After killing a half hour or so while my sister in law cut my hair I pondered whether or not I should go back to the piss stinking hole or do one down to a coffee shop where I can surf the net without having a websense filter kick every site worth reading into touch. The coffee shop won hands down needless to say.
I groped for the switch to the angle poise lamp at the side of my bed but found that it was missing. Not the lamp. Just the switch. “What the…” I thought, for a fraction of a second but it slid quickly from my mind. I was somewhat confused. The normal thought process was somehow liquid in its composition. My thoughts seemed to be like eels, hard to get a grip on.
My attention was dragged back to the digital readout of the alarm clock. The numbers were still unsure of what time it was supposed to be. Had I been drinking? I thought, looking around for an empty bottle. No evidence was immediately visible.
Drugs then? Once more nothing lead me to believe that I’d been on a chemical adventure. Sure, the bottle of apple juice spiked with codeine based pain killers was at my bedside where it always was but I could see I hadn’t drank any of it.
A cigarette was sitting smoking in the ashtray next to the small plastic bottle so I reached out and got a hold of it. I dragged the smoke deep into my lungs and wondered what was going on.
Had there been a power outage of some kind? A black out perhaps? Caused by the awful weather I could hear shaking the windows and buffeting the trees in the back of the house. That seemed logical, the high winds and driving rain had caused a substation somewhere to POP a fuse and the result was a TV jammed between channels and an alarm clock that didn’t know what time it was.
The walls looked strange. The flickering static beaming from the TV made them seem like they were having problems deciding what they were made of. I got the impression that if I were to reach out and try to touch them my hand would melt into the solid mass and become part of the bricks and mortar.
The TV suddenly stopped broadcasting static and instead filled the room with images of important political figures.
Jimmy Carter appeared saying something about change and progress. Maggie Thatcher appeared and said something about the future. Ronald Reagan replaced the picture of the Iron Lady and I laughed as he blew chunks onto the poor unfortunate soul at some lavish bash thrown in honour of some long forgotten cause he had been championing.
JFK appeared, with his winning smile, waving to a small crowd of onlookers, just before his head snapped backwards as a bullet smashed into his skull. The picture rewound in slow motion. The shot came again. JFK took the hit and I could smell cordite hanging in the air.
Nixon appeared chiming the word “Sacrifice” over and over and over again until I finally snapped and shouted “STOP IT!”
At which point the TV shut down with a flash of white and a phwoop noise.
The room was plunged into darkness and I reached for the lamp switch and found it was back in its usual place. I flicked it upwards and jumped as it illuminated a figure sitting on the small table in the opposite corner of the room.
“Who the fuck are you?” I demanded.
The figure, a young looking man with a bald head, a Hawaiian shirt, Converse shoes and shorts made from an American flag, said nothing.
“I said who the fuck are you!” I questioned again.
The figure smiled a broad smile and said nothing. Reaching into a pocket he withdrew a pack of Dunhill’s, popped a cigarette into a small plastic holder and lit it with a Zippo.
“Answer me goddamn it.” I said.
The figure laughed. “Jesus man, you really ought to calm down. You’re safe enough. I’m not here to hurt you. If I was you’d be a rapidly cooling corpse on a blood soaked bed by now.” The figure said, still smiling.
“Answer me then, who are you?” I asked.
“That depends.” The figure replied.
“On what?” I asked.
“On whether you want my real name, my pseudonym or the name that most people liked to call me.” The figure replied, cryptically.
“Any and all would be good.” I said.
The figure laughed again. “Well, my real name was Hunter, my pseudonym was Duke but most people liked to call me Dr.” He said flicking his eyebrows upwards.
I realised what the figure was trying to claim. “Is that right?” I said.
“Sure is man.” The figure replied.
“I happen to know that the person you claim to be is dead.” I replied, wondering if I could find something to use as a weapon against the interloper.
“That’s true, to a certain extent.” The figure said. “But that’s not a problem in here.” He continued, motioning around with his hand.
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.
“You’re not too quick on the uptake are you? You’re dreaming. I may well be dead but dreams are different.” The figure said, matter of factly.
“And how can I be sure I’m dreaming?” I asked.
“Well, you could punch yourself in the face and see if it hurts.” The figure said with a chuckle. “Or easier still you could try to tell me what time it is.” He said pointing at the digital alarm clock.
The figures on the clock were still skipping around. 03:45, 20:06, 00:00, 09:18.
“The clock is fucked.” I said.
“This is harder than I thought it would be… OK, remember what you learned about lucid dreaming? Numbers are hard to read, things are slightly different to normal, light switches for example, thoughts are harder to grasp, reality is no longer a constant.” The figure said.
I closed my eyes and focused my mind. If this was a lucid dream I could concentrate and conjure up whatever I wanted. I felt my thoughts begin to become more solid. Opening my eyes I saw what it was I had focused my thoughts upon.
A sleek black MV Augusta F4 Senna sat where my TV was a second ago.
“Nice bike. It’s not a Vincent Black Shadow but it’s still nice.” He said.
“Man, that bike makes a Vincent look like a Vespa. That thing has more poke than a Vegas hooker, it’d leave a Vincent for dead.” I replied.
The bike popped out of existence and the figure spoke. “Listen kid, you’ve been given a chance to do something you love, grab the fucker by the throat and give it a shake. You’ll be surprised where it can take you. Don’t let them down.” He said, beginning to fade.
“Let who down?” I asked, as the figure faded totally.
“Them…” Said the disembodied voice.
I expected whomever they were to pop into existence but they didn’t.
They didn’t have to. I knew who he meant.
Takk - Sigur Ros.
Let Sigur Ros take your hand and guide you to where the mock turtles live, where The Mad Hatter has tea with the sleepy dormouse and where Alice found that sometimes all is not as it seems. This album conjures up images in your mind of flight across barren Icelandic wastelands where deep fissures scar the earth, sulphurous pools form and molten rock bubbles to the surface. An ambient dreamscape made real, this album is a joy to listen to and should be in everyone's collection.
Grace. Jeff Buckley.
Possibly one of the best albums ever made. Containing lapel grabbing hard rock and mind blowing moments of melodic musemanship, Grace encapsulates the dichotomy of being human and makes it into music for the soul. Anger, joy, peace, hatred and love all play their part in this album. Leaves you feeling like you have been through the whole of human expression in a second spanning a lifetime. Gone too soon, like so many who deserved to live, Jeff Buckley lives on in this album.
Smile. Brian Wilson.
Supposedly thirty years ahead of his time, Brian Wilson seems to encapsulate the sixties when surfing went global, peace and love threatened the establishment and youth threatened to take charge from the order of old an oppressive. Full of melodies similar to the beach boys, this album is better than it should ever have been. Pull on a Hawaiian shirt, buy a VW Beetle, grow your hair long and take up surfing. Brian Wilson has finally arrived in the here and now. Welcome back Brian.
The Amazing Charlatans. The Charlatans. (USA)
Acid was certainly an influence in the making of this album. And it's great that it was. Without the influence of Lysergic acid diethylamide it's easy to imagine this group singing about moonshine, chewin' tobacco, dungarees, and inter-family marriages. Thanks to Albert Hoffmann however, this album isn't a tribute to troglodytes and instead is an album that has a similar sound to early Neil Young albums tinged with a little Jefferson Airplane. Well worth listening to.
Cho, an apprentice wizzard sat in his favourite chair watching the sunrise over the mountaintops and wondered about the big things in life. "Why does the sun always rise over the mountain in the same place and set in the same place at the other side of the valley?", "Why are the unicorns disappearing from the magic forest?", and "What ever is that noise?"
Cho stood up and walked in the direction of the noise that had disturbed his train of thought. As he rounded the corner and entered the small square at the centre of the village, instead of the usual sight of the market place, Cho saw a large crowd gathered around a strange looking contraption that was pinging, plonking and gurgling.
"Make way for the Wizzard!" Shouted Cho, pushing through the crowd of onlookers.
"Apprentice Wizzard!" Shouted a person from the crowd. Reminding Cho that, since the tragic death of his master, his Wizzardly had training came to a halt and would never be resumed due to the laws governing the training of a wizzard.
(Royal Lore five; [subsection three, special clause two, amendment one] clearly states "Should a master Wizzard die; Be killed, accidentally scatter his particles, or be dispatched to the dungeon dimensions through the error of not knowing the difference between a teaspoon and a tablespoon; his apprentice shall not be trained by any other Wizzard, mage or witch.)
"I'm the best you've got..." Cho replied, with considerably more than a teaspoon of sarcasm.
"Only until you make a mistake with one of your spells!" Said another voice in the crowd. Reminding Cho, once again, that his Wizzardly training had lasted exactly four hours, fifteen minutes and twenty-three seconds when his master had mixed considerably more than a teaspoon of sulphur with the rest of the ingredients in the large cauldron and had vanished in a puff of smoke accompanied by a squelching noise.
Cho walked over to the contraption that was clanking and grinding and saw that the local blacksmith had his head inside the machine. Cho quickly grabbed the back of the blacksmith’s heavy apron and pulled him clear.
"Careful Mr Smith, that thing could have had your head off." Said Cho as he dragged Mr Smith the blacksmith backwards.
Mr Smith the blacksmith pulled off the safety glasses he was wearing and revealed two soot stained rings around his eyes. "I doubt that very much Cho, I built this machine and there is absolutely no danger whatsoever." Said Mr Smith.
Just as Mr Smith finished his sentence the contraption made a pinging noise and a large piece of metal sprung out of the machine at exactly the place where Mr Smiths head had been a few seconds previously. Had his head still been in the same place Mr Smith would have very quickly found he no longer had a need for a hat stand.
"What is it?" Cho asked.
"I call it a Carambulator." Mr Smith replied.
"And what does it do?" Cho posed.
"It's a device that allows people to go from one place to another." Mr Smith answered.
"Are legs being banned by Royal order?" Cho asked, wondering if the king had had another one of his turns and was in the process of banning something people really needed.
Mr Smith wandered off in the direction that the piece of metal that had flew out of the car had shot off in and Cho decided that as the noise had now gone he could go home and get back to his deep thinking.
Later that evening Cho was sat beside the fire when there came a knock at the door. Cho got up and walked to the door, pulled it open and found a royal messenger standing there with a scroll of paper in his hand. "A message from His Royal Highness for you Wizzard." The messenger said, handing the scroll to Cho.
Cho opened the message and read it.
"By Royal proclamation it is decided that the Wizzard Cho Senwan shall be made Royal champion and as such shall deal with the problem of the Dragon M'eye O'Laydy attacking Castle Ahnuddaman and the village N'at Aindookool. Failure shall result in the Wizzard Cho Senwan being burnt at the stake, or eaten, whichever should come first."
The Royal messenger bowed gracefully to Cho and walked backwards to where his horse had been tied to a small tree stump a few feet away. Cho sighed, knowing that the Dragon M'eye O'Laydy was trouble with a capital TROUBLE and knowing that he had only four hours, fifteen minutes and twenty-three seconds of Wizzard training to go on.
The rest of that evening Cho sat thinking how exactly he was going to kill a large and fearsome Dragons who could breathe fire and could bite a fully grown oak tree in half like it was nothing more than a matchstick. No ideas came to Cho and the more he thought the more he worried that he was going to die very soon.
The next day Cho read as many of the Wizzard books that his former master had collected before his squelchy ending. None of the books made any sense to him at all. The lack of Wizzardly knowledge was a decided handicap when it came to reading Wizzard books as they contained Wizzard words and Cho had no idea of what they meant.
The only spell that his former master had begun to teach Cho was the spell that had resulted in his masters’ squelchy demise. Fortunately Cho remembered every ingredient. Unfortunately Cho also remembered the outcome of mixing those same ingredients.
Later in the night Cho fell sleep on top of the pile of books. And dreamed.
He awoke several hours later with an idea. The spell his master had begun to teach him was the perfect thing to deal with the Dragon M'eye O'Laydy if he could find some way to get the dragon to mix together the right chemicals and add too much sulphur. And that was where the idea fell short. Dragons were not known for their ability as chemists, they were more known for their ability to breathe fire and eat people.
As Cho thought of how he could use the only spell he knew to its full potential another idea struck him. He could mix the chemicals together, with the exception of the sulphur and somehow add the sulphur later. But how?
In the end he realised that if the chemical compound was premixed and stored in a container and the sulphur was kept separate in a glass globe he could throw the container into the dragons lair. When the container struck something hard enough to break the glass globe the device would explode and the dragon would disappear as quickly as his master had.
A few weeks later Cho had managed to source all the different materials he needed for the magical container and had carefully put the device together. The next day he took his device and carried it towards the dragons’ lair. As he walked through the Town Square Mr Smith the blacksmith saw Cho and asked him what it was that he was carrying very carefully. "I call it a gone." Cho replied, "It makes things disappear very quickly."
Legend has it that Cho was successful in dispatching the evil dragon and that the king made him Wizzard to the Royal court for life. Cho married the kings’ daughter, they had many children and everyone lived happily ever after. A song was written about Cho and the dragon and to this day it is still sung...
I said hey Cho, where you goin with that gone in your hand?
I'm going to down to shoo M'eye O'Laydy
You know I caught it messing aroun with Ahnuddaman
I said I'm going down to shoo M'eye O'Laydy
You know I caught it messing aroun with Ahnuddaman
And N'at Aindookool.
In the US constitution it states something like "You have the right to bear arms." Which is fair enough until you look into exactly what constitutes "Arms" and give at least some consideration to exactly how high up on the evolutionary scale YOU are.
The trigger happy troupe will more than happily tell you that they have a "God given right" to buy, own and use guns. From small, sleek and sexy fit-in-your-gucci firearms to huge and horrendous handguns like Harry's favorite fucker-upper the .357 Magnum and yet more will argue that they have the right to purchase automatic armalite assassin apparatus like the type used by the military.
The problem with this is that there is no test to see if you should be allowed to own any of these highly dangerous deadly weapons. And this is sadly where the whole house of cards comes a'tumbling down.
As has been stated by many a person, some quite rational as well as the downright nuttier-than-squirrel-shit insane types, guns do not kill people, people kill people. And this is true. But on occasion people need to be protected from their own stupidity.
Take Bubba-Joe Inbred as an example. If Bubba answers the question "What's the square root of 12." with the answer "Pickle." Bubba-Joe should not be allowed a gun. And the same goes for the rest of the Our-Gene-pool-is-a-puddle-our-family-tree-is-a-stump types. These people should not be given the power over life and death.
Another group of people who should not be given any access to firearms are people who have a hatred for other races. And yes, I'm talking about the Aryan army types here, and more specifically the KKK. A deeply ingrained prejudice against anyone because of their skin colour and firearms does not a good combination make.
Yet another group of people who should be prevented from owning weapons of any kind are the fundamentalist Christians of a certain political bent... I'm looking in your direction Mr Bush... Allowing the "What God meant to say was..." lunatic fringe access to weapons capable of melting the skin from your skeleton at 100 miles is yet another recipe for disaster.
So, who in the states should have access to guns? Well, in my opinion it should be trained police officers and members of the armed forces who have proven beyond any shadow of a doubt that they are not inbred hicks, racists, God botherers or idiots. In short, none of them.
The question is; "When did we start pandering to namby pamby arseholes?"
The reason I ask is that I stumbled across this story in the online edition of the Guardian newspaper today...
A TV ad for a shoot-em-up video game has been banned for "encouraging and condoning violence".
The ad for the Stranglehold game, which is rated 18+, had been cleared for broadcast after 7.30pm by Clearcast, the former Broadcast Advertising Clearance Centre.
The ad showed a prolonged shoot-out between four men and the voiceover stated: "Honour is his code. Vengeance is his mission. Violence is his only option."
The ad attracted two complaints to the Advertising Standards Authority, one from the parent of a three-year-old boy who viewed it before the 9pm watershed. The other viewer complained that the ad glorified violence and gun crime.
The producer of the ad, the Picture Production Company, argued that it had edited the footage to ensure bullets were fired into mid-air and did not result in anyone being shot.
The agency said it was clear to viewers that the footage was animated gameplay and not real-life violence.
Clearcast said it approved the ad despite the violent content because the violence was stylised, unrealistic and had a fantasy quality.
Bearing in mind the lack of contact violence and absence of blood and gore, the organisation believed it was suitable for older children and could be shown after 7.30pm.
However, the ASA noted that the shooting was almost continuous and the violence, although computer-generated, appeared realistic.
The watchdog also objected to the voiceover, which it said suggested that it was honourable to seek revenge, and could therefore be seen as encouraging and condoning violence.
The ad breached the ASA's code on the clauses covering violence and cruelty as well as health and safety. The ASA ruled that the ad must be withdrawn entirely.
Last year the ASA banned an Internet ad for PlayStation 3 featuring a character armed with a knife and a gun and an ad for Electronic Arts computer game Burnout Dominator, which carried the slogan "inner peace through outer violence" and appeared on posters throughout the London Underground.
Now the thing that strikes me as being a bit reactionary is the paragraph... "The ad attracted two complaints to the Advertising Standards Authority, one from the parent of a three-year-old boy who viewed it before the 9pm watershed. The other viewer complained that the ad glorified violence and gun crime."
What I'd like to know is what the fuck is a three year old doing up after 7.30? (This we know to be a fact as the story also states... "The ad for the Stranglehold game, which is rated 18+, had been cleared for broadcast after 7.30pm by Clearcast, the former Broadcast Advertising Clearance Centre." Surely junior should be in the land of nod at that time and not sitting watching Satan's squawkbox.
More to the point what kind of moron is willing to complain an ad "Glorified violence and gun crime" but, and I'm guessing here, is more than likely the type to watch footage of British and American soldiers in Iraq and Afghanistan shooting people on the evening news and think that that doesn't glorify violence and gun crime.
A fucking idiot that's who.
And to point out how this country has now descended into farce on a grand scale when it comes to pandering to morons I'd like to state that there are roughly 60 MILLION people in the UK.
This would mean that TWO people represents 0.0000033333333333333333 of the population.
That's not even a whole person!
As regular readers of this blog I expect you all to show your support for me by winging your way to here and having a read at my spoof stories.
So today I took a wander along to the local chemist where I bought a bottle of the strongest linctus I could lay my hands on without a prescription from a Doctor. After a few questions from the pharmacist about what kind of cough I had, (My answer; Cough, Hack, Cough, Hack, Wheeze, Turn red in the face, Curse loudly, "That kind.") I was sold a bottle of Meltus for chesty coughs.
I staggered homeward and retired back to the bosom of my warm bed to attempt to knock this chest infection into touch. As I perused the directions on the box I noticed that it didn't say anything about not exceeding the dose. This I took to mean "Drink the whole damn thing."
So I popped the box open, unscrewed the cap of the bottle and knocked back the contents in one feel swoop, despite the fact that it tasted exactly like I would expect if I were to suck the toes of someone who has a very bad case of athletes foot.
Within seconds I felt the guff in my chest loosen and I hacked up a lump of grey phlegm that I could have played with like a lump of silly putty if I felt so inclined. A few minutes later, as I settled into my bed, I felt the familiar drowsy feeling normally associated with having had a couple of stiff rums.
I reread the box and noticed that the ingredients contained alcohol. "Even better, not only will this stuff knock my chest infection on the head, it'll get me tipsy." I thought as my vision began to blur slightly.
Within half an hour later I was sleeping the sleep of a baby and didn't awake until 12 hours later.
Green lumps of phlegm are lodged in the top of my lungs, my chest begins to feel like someone has set about it with a brillo pad and industrial bleach, the hair on my head hurts, I daren't shave, my head pounds like I'd been out on the randan and I'm sweating like an inexperienced drug mule on his way through customs with enough illegal drugs up his jacksie to make Amy Winehouse, Pete Docherty and Courtney Love pass out through sheer joy.
At these times it is best for all if I do not venture out the house as my patience is seriously limited and I am easily annoyed. So for today, and the rest of the weekend, I shall be taking to my bed with a bottle of cough mixture and a bucket to hawk my lugies into.
It's now a good twelve hours later... My joints have begun to ache like I am a 70 year old man, my voice is starting to sound like I have no voicebox and the normally amazing Dr Solpadeine isn't having the effect I had hoped for.
So, you're born as free as the birds, without prejudice or any preconceived notions about life. Then one day you realise that you, for no good reason, are pwned.
Sure, you deny it with the core of your being, you rail against this statement, but one day you'll wake up and realise that you, my friend are being bought and sold down the river day after day after day after day after day.
"But I'm not a slave!" You shout into the void, but, like it or not you are...
A commodity to the collective consciousness of corporations;
Owned by the overlords of oppression;
A national insurance number;
A social security number;
A bank account;
A credit card;
And a wage slave.
In short you are nothing more than a bag of blood to the leeches who suck you dry day by day by day...
So, what do you do? Do you bow down to the boss? Or do you take arms and fight? Well, generally you do neither. You do what we all do, you find your comfort level & fit in. You swallow your pride and get along.
And why do you do this? Because it is the easy way. Like lightning, seeking to ground itself, you take the path of least resistance because to go by any other way would be too much trouble.
And you can bet your last banana that Trouble with a capital T would rain upon you lie a force ten hurricane if you try to fight it...
Some people, however, will not take the path more travelled. Why? Because their soul; Their Spirit; Their Essence; Their Sotto Voce; Their God; Their Grand Whazoo will not allow them to.
Should they try to ignore The Guiding Voice it will ensure the noise gets;
Until ALL they can hear is The Voice...
Few people manage to listen to The Voice for long. And those who think they can ignore it for any length of time invariably SNAP and find themselves shunned by the very society they seek to change.
The ones who have fine timing, and accept The Voice at the time when it needs to be heard, become Gods amongst men.
Their Image is Icon;
Their Memory is Monument;
Their Spirit is Statue;
And their words become weapons in the war against oppression.
"The ultimate tragedy is not the oppression and cruelty by the bad people but the silence over that by the good people.” - Martin Luther King Jr.
"The worst government is the most moral. One composed of cynics is often very tolerant and humane. But when fanatics are on top there is no limit to oppression." - H. L. Mencken.
"Power in defense of freedom is greater than power in behalf of tyranny and oppression.”- Malcolm X.
"If a man wishes to rid himself of a feeling of unbearable oppression, he may have to take hashish." - Friedrich Nietzsche.
"Anger Is An Energy." - John Lydon.
"You gotta fight, for your right, To PARTY!" - The Beastie Boys.
I woke up after about three hours sleep and decided that I'd slept enough, that my life was being wasted in the land of nod and that I should venture out into the chill of the morning air and go into town where I could people watch for a few hours before going to A4E in the afternoon.
After a quick shower and getting dressed I got my shit together and headed for the bus-stop at the top of my road.
About ten minutes later I stepped of the bus at Lothian Road and headed for somewhere warm to pass the time. There was many choices but the one that I selected was a coffee house where I know the manager. I walked in, ordered a coffee and sat down to take in the atmosphere around me.
Despite being the place I take the piss out the most I realised that Edinburgh is actually quite a metrosexual city. The people in the coffee house were having lively conversations about world affairs, music and the arts and were also very well informed on the subjects.
"These are the kind of people I want to hang out with." I thought as I took a mouthful of my coffee. "Not one of them has used bad language during their conversations and they all seem reasonable and rational." My train of thought continued.
It was then that a passing barista asked if I needed a refill as my coffee was dropping low in the mug before me.
"You know what, I think I'd like a different coffee. I said handing her the half empty mug in front of me."
"Sure thing." She replied with a happy tone in her voice. "What'll you have?" She continued, as i noticed her slight accent.
"I'll have a boomshanka I think." I said, forgetting that this is my own personal name for my own variation on the theme of coffee.
"I'm afraid I don't know what that is." She replied.
"Sorry, it's a large latte with five extra shots of espresso in it. But use cold milk not heated." I said.
"So that's a large latte with five shots of espresso then? No problem, if you'll give me a minute I'll bring it over to you." She replied, and began to turn away.
"No, wait, hang on." I said as it dawned on me what she had said. "It's not a large latte with five shots, it's a large latte with five extra shots." I repeated.
"You do know there are already two shots in our large latte's?" She asked.
"Yes." I replied.
"So that's a large latte with seven shots then?" She said.
"Yes, and cold milk not warm milk." I said, making sure that she understood.
"Is that semi skimmed, skimmed or full fat milk?" She questioned.
"Full fat." I replied.
"So that's a cold full fat seven shot large latte then?" She said.
"No, that's a boomshanka." I replied.
Who knows, one day I may be credited for the invention of the boomshanka and my name will become as synonymous with it as Hemingway is to the Mojito. Then again, the kind of people who would think the boomshanka is a good idea will not be around for long as their arteries will be badly constricted from drinking something so disastrously unhealthy. And good for them!
Doing this will allow me to reinstall the operating system and hopefully speed up this dinosaur of a thing that I use. I'm not kidding when I say that if it was any slower it'd be considered retarded and could qualify for the computer version of the special Olympics.
The only bad thing about doing this is that I'm still connecting using dial-up and it takes an age to upload anything. But, I'm nothing if not persistent and will get it done somehow.
Water on a leaf.
Water on glass.
Bart Simpson does Nevermind.
The MV Augusta F4 Senna.
Lamborghini Gallardo Superleggera.
Hi Def Art.
Ice covered spider web.
Image courtesy www.onlyhereforthecricket.com
1. Coach travel is the safest form of road transport in the country.
* Unless you are in the UK in which case it's quicker to walk.
2. Saddam Hussein's codename while in US custody in 2004/5 was "Victor".
* The guards assigned to him made him say "I don't bloody believe it." on a regular basis.
3. Adding milk to tea negates the health-giving effects of a hot brew.
* Pissing in it makes it taste worse also.
4. The word "jaywalking" came from the US slang "jay", a term popular in the early 20th Century meaning a rustic newcomer unfamiliar with city ways.
* These days rustic newcomers are called "Hippies"
5. Cloudy apple juice is healthier than clear, containing almost double the antioxidants which protect against heart disease and cancer.
* Most apples never get heart disease.
6. Dishcloths are purged of 99% of their bacteria during two minutes in a microwave.
* It's the 1% you need to worry about.
7. A haddock's mating call starts as a slow knocking sound, before turning into a quicker hum similar to a small motorcycle revving its engine.
* A cod's mating call is indistinguishable from the Bee Gee's song Massachusetts.
8. Newcastle is the noisiest place in England.
* It also has the highest number of idiots.
9. The people who built Stonehenge lived at an ancient village in Durrington Walls.
* They were bad neighbours and were the first people ever to be issued with an ASBO.
10. Brazil nuts are seeds encased in an outer shell that weighs more than 1kg.
* American nuts are encased in fat.
11. Astronauts wear nappies during launch and re-entry because they can't stop what they're
doing should they need to urinate.
* They wear them at home for fun too.
12. Georgic is a punishment dished out to Eton pupils which involves the copying out of hundreds of lines of Latin.
* This is the second most popular form of punishment, most public schoolboys prefer being buggered by the games master.
13. Tony Blair does not keep a personal diary.
* Alistair Campbell keeps it for him.
14. Antony and Cleopatra were ugly.
* But they still fucked like pigs on heat.
15. 10% of university work from across the UK is plagiarised.
* 90% of statistics are made up including this one.
16. Chimpanzees make their own spears for hunting.
* Gorillas make Ipods.
17. Two cups of spearmint tea a day is thought to control excessive hair growth for women.
* Welsh people are thought to fuck sheep. This doesn't mean it's true.
18. Burglar alarms, traffic wardens and crowded buses are good news for home owners, signalling an area is on the up.
* Unfortunately they also mean burglars are going to rob them while their car is being clamped and they'll be late for work because they can't get on the bus.
19. Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez hosts a daily radio phone-in show.
* The "callers" are in the studio beside him and all have guns to their heads to make sure they say nothing but good things about him.
20. More than half (52%) of smokers haven't told their parents about their habit.
* More than half of these smokers parents were also smokers and died years ago.
21. Only about half of China's population can speak the national language, Mandarin.
* The rest speak satsuma, clementine or orangina.
22. The brief flowering of the cherry blossom tree is taken so seriously in Japan that forecasts are used to plan festivals, and travel agents use them to plan tours.
* The Japanese really should get out more.
23. To be found attractive, women should sway their hips and men their shoulders (although researchers call this a "shoulder swagger").
* Or have lots of cash.
24. The are 30,000 wild parakeets in London.
* And they're planning on overthrowing the government.
25. Martina Navratilova has spent four years secretly working as an artist.
* And thirty odd years secretly being a woman.
26. Harvesting rhubarb in candlelight helps preserve its flavour.
* Shoving it up your arse makes it taste better.
27. Drinking, drug-taking teenagers are in the decline, according to a survey by the Information Centre.
* Said a coke addicted spokesman from the local public house.
28. Designer discount retailer TK Maxx is called TJ Maxx in the US.
* Well, whoop-de-fuckin-doo.
29. The average duvet is home to 20,000 live dust mites.
* And enough skin cells to recreate John Lennon.
30. Serving anything more than tea and biscuits at a political meeting is an offence called "treating" and punishable by a year in prison or an unlimited fine, under the the Representation of the People Act 1893.
* So keep your Jaffa Cakes out of politics.
31. There is mobile phone reception from the summit of Mount Everest.
* But none in Swindon. Go figure.
32. Anti-Americanism began in Paris in the 18th Century.
* Who said the French never done anything good.
33. Female civil servants in India are questioned about their menstrual cycle as part of their appraisal.
* Male civil servants are bloody cunts.
34. Kryptonite exists.
* Superman doesn't so what's the use of it?
35. Denmark is the happiest country in Europe; Italy the unhappiest. (The UK was 9th out of 15.)
* Britain was rated as the country that couldn't care less.
36. A water-tight denial by a politician – as opposed to one that leaves room for later manoeuvre - is known as a Sherman pledge. The other sort is called a non-denial denial.
* Politicians are all lying bastards.
37. Spiralling obesity rates are forcing councils to upgrade their crematoria, to take wider coffins.
* Pavarotti is still ablaze.
38. Gerry Adams doesn't own a credit card, so gets a friend to download songs from the Internet.
* He also gets his friends to blow things up for him. (He can't figure out photoshop.)
39. The secret to happiness is accepting misery.
* And marrying it.
40. A new three-bedroom house must have at least 38 plug sockets.
* And be wired by a fool.
41. There are 1,200 exhumations every year in the UK, but not all of those are part of criminal cases.
* Some are done just for fun.
42. Nearly seven out of 10 (69%) of adults are still in touch with at least one childhood friend.
* No matter how hard they try to alienate them.
43. Bernard Manning worked as an armed guard watching over senior Nazis locked up in Berlin’s Spandau prison.
* The Nazi's thought he was a bit tough on the Jews.
44. Europe has a vodka belt comprising Poland, Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, Finland, Denmark and Sweden, although the drink is also made in countries such as Britain, France, Italy and Spain.
* South America has a cocaine belt.
45. Domestic cats can trace their descent to the Middle East.
* Cats reunited is the second most popular website ever.
46. Peanuts can be made into diamonds.
* And boy is Charlie Brown pissed.
47. The prime ministerial Jaguar is called Pegasus.
* The prime minister is called a fat cunt.
48. You can be arrested for using someones wi-fi network without permission.
* And you can sue the owner for not knowing how to secure his network causing you to be arrested.
49. CDs were nearly called mini-racks.
* Cliff Richard was nearly called a pop star.
50. Left-handed people are called sinistral.
* And they used to be killed for being possessed by Satan.
51. Nick Clegg, the Lib Dems' new leader, once took a road trip across the US with his friend Louis Theroux.
* And yet he still claims he isn't gay.
52. There are 17 surviving versions of the Magna Carta - or 17 Magnae Cartae.
* During the 1970's they had fifteen consecutive number one hits in the charts.
53. Renowned atheist Professor Richard Dawkins likes singing Christmas carols.
* I like singing Nessun Dorma but I'm not Pavarotti.
54. The Australian town of Eucla has its own time zone.
* It's called the dark ages.
55. Books used to be bound in human skin.
* Paris Hilton couldn't bind the little book of calm.
56. Eddie Irvine is Britain's wealthiest sports star – beating the Beckhams into second place by £30m.
* Could he be allowed to beat them with a stick?
57. Sleeping on the job is tolerated in Japanese work culture, as long as you remain upright and obey certain other rules.
* Such as no snoring or talking in your sleep.
58. The Romans had roadmaps.
* Their GPS worked fine though so they had no need for them.
59. The word Blighty comes from "bilayti", the Urdu for homeland.
* The Urdu word for Vindaloo is translated into English as "For stupid drunks."
60. The Queen took her corgi on honeymoon.
* This explains Prince Charles's looks.
61. Janet and John were named Alice and Jerry in the United States.
* Who the fuck are Janet and John? And more to the point why do we care?
62. Until the late 1990s, the RAF's nuclear bombs could be activated using a bicycle lock key.
* Now they can activated by anyone with a home PC.
63. Cats can be police constables.
* But the uniform looks silly.
64. King Tut had buck teeth.
* He was also Ray Ban's first celebrity spokesman.
65. The Italian Mafia have commandments.
* Don't fuck with us.
66. Gun ownership per person in Finland is the third highest in the world.
* Guess who comes top?
67. The brain can turn down its ability to see in order to listen to complex sounds like music.
* And can distinguish between something worth listening to and the Spice Girls within a quarter of a millisecond.
68. Of the waste in UK landfills, 0.1% is plastic carrier bags.
* The rest is made up of mislaid government records.
69. Dogs occasionally shoot their owners in the US.
* Clever boy!
70. IP addresses will run out in 2010.
* And windows still won't work properly.
71. An ai is a three-toed sloth from South America (and the word that clinched Paul Allan the title of national Scrabble champion).
* He has no friends.
72. Dumbledore is gay.
* And Harry Potter is a short sighted little cunt.
73. UN population projections go as far as 2300.
* UN resolutions last as long as the USA decides to pay attention to them.
74. Sheffield FC is the world’s oldest football club.
* And still can't win anything.
75. CO2 emissions from shipping are twice the level of aviation.
* Fish contribute to this by riding Harley Davidsons.
76. George Clooney and Pierce Brosnan have had Bell's Palsy - a nerve condition that can result in paralysis on one side of the face.
* This never stopped Roger Moore either.
77. Leeches are used as treatment for cauliflower ears.
* Salmon are used to treat arachnophobia.
78. A bdelloid rotifer is a pond-dwelling organism that has survived 80 million years without sex.
* But as soon as it meets the right girl that's going to be one hell of a cloudy pond.
79. Woodwork lessons are known as "resistant materials" in schools.
* Only by the teachers. Students call it a waste of time.
80. Adults use maths skills 14 times daily on average and literacy skills 23 times a day.
* Unless you are in Texas.
81. The opening bars to the theme tune of Some Mothers Do 'Ave 'Em spelt the title of the series in Morse code.
* The closing bars to the theme spelled out "Thank fuck that's finished" in Morse code.
82. The children who sang on Pink Floyd's number one hit Another Brick in the Wall (Pt 2) couldn't appear in the video because they didn't hold Equity cards.
* Bill Wyman still managed to marry them all.
83. Jack Straw has intervened in alleged crimes four times, apprehending a person on three occasions.
* He also lost them soon afterwards.
84. On average a UK commuter travels the equivalent of two-and-a-half times around the globe over a full working career.
* And spends fifteen years stuck on a train because of leaves on the line.
85. A 23.8lb baby was born in the US in 1879, but it only survived 11 hours.
* The mother ate it.
86. There is a monastery in every village in Burma.
* And two Mcdonalds restaurants.
87. Relocating crocodiles doesn't work - they come back.
* Via local transport disguised as ticket inspectors.
88. Deep-voiced men have more children.
* The exception to the rule is Michael Jackson, he's had lots of kids too.
89. Being born without an ear is called microtia.
* Try telling the poor bugger that.
90. Chickens can be diagnosed with depression.
* Reindeer can be diagnosed as schizophrenic.
91. In Iceland, 96% of women go to university.
* 4% know what's right.
92. Zsa Zsa Gabor is related to Paris Hilton.
* And both have had more pricks than a second hand pub dartboard.
93. Dinosaurs had creches.
* And far superior shopping malls.
94. Osama Bin Laden is known to fellow jihadists as Abu Abdullah.
* His mother still calls him Pooky.
95. In Ethiopia the start of the year 2000 was celebrated in September.
* In Pennsylvania the year 2000 will be celebrated in fifty years time.
96. Bees can detect explosives.
* But still aren't considered for work in the bomb squad.
97. There have been at least two children given the name "Superman" in the UK since 1984.
* They both think their parents are bastards.
98. Prison officers are on average assaulted eight times a day.
* But get revenge twice as often.
99. Each slug eats twice its body weight a day.
* As did Pavarotti.
100. Dogs can have two noses.
* How do they smell? Twice as bad.
"Sure man." I said, digging into my pocket and getting my zippo out. He lit his cigarette and handed me my lighter back. "Are ya from Edinburgh like?" He enquired, obviously seeking some form of reply.
"Aye man." I said, my accent thickening the way it does when you're talking to someone who isn't a resident of your country.
"It's a nice place like. Bit fookin hilly though." He said, drawing deep on his cigarette.
"That's probably due to the fact that Edinburgh is built on seven hills. It's called geography." I said, trying desperately not to let loose on the poor guy.
I've had a deep hatred of all people with a Geordie accent ever since one of their number attempted to kill me. Strange that...
Despite my terse reply to his question he plunged onwards.
"Ah divvent na how youse lot put up with it." He said.
"To be honest mate it's not something we have much of a choice about, for some reason the council refuses to bulldoze it so it's like the Netherlands." I said, losing my patience.
"Yew should move somewhere flattah." He said, just as I flicked my cigarette but into the slushy melting snow in front of the bookstore.
"I don't know about flatter, I'd just be happy to be anywhere you aren't right now." I said, walking away.
Personally my resolution is not to make any resolutions that I'll break quicker than Michael Jackson when he promised not to fuck children after that whole Geordy Chandler thing.
I'll not be giving up smoking, despite my mother pleading that I do, I'll stick to the diet plan that has kept me going for 36 years, and the only exercise I'll engage in is the "where's the remote control" hunt.
Scientists tell us that the planet is getting warmer by the minute and to be fair they're probably right. They are, after all, scientists and are on the whole more informed on the subject than yours truly. And that's to be expected when you consider that I left school with an "O" level in art, a BCG and the recommendation that I prepare myself for a life of enquiring "Do you want fries with that?"
However I'd like to let you all in on something that the scientists, or more specifically the global media machine, fails to let you in on. The planet is doing just fine.
During the many millions of years it has been sliding through space, at speeds the normal human mind can't grasp, the planet has survived through ice ages that were nothing more to it than a cold is to man, and warm periods that were nothing more to it than a hot flush brought on by the menopause is to a woman.
It has survived asteroid impacts, on land and at sea which caused fallout that would make a ten megaton nuclear explosion look like a fart in the bathtub, on a fairly regular basis and has time and time again shook it off and bounced back to normal in a relatively short space of time.
Humans, by comparison, are nothing more than a minor bug akin to a small dose of the runs caused by a piece of undercooked chicken from your local KFC restaurant. And the planet will deal with us in pretty much the same way as we deal with a case of the shits. It'll fart a couple of times, squirt us down the toilet of history and continue as per usual.
 Though it's more than likely that the planet never gave consideration to calling in sick.
 The sex of the planet is uncertain so I have made comparisons to both sexes in the name of fairness.