Bastard!

The Grand Whazzo is a shithead.

And why? 'Cos he done stole The Godfather of Soul, Mr James Brown. Right after I wrote about being visited by James Brown in a dream.

I wonder if I dream about George W Warmonger he'll pop his clogs and die?

Rest in Funk James.

It's that time of year again...

When goodwill to all comes streaming down from up on high and peace spreads throught the world...

Yeah, sure it does. And monkeys fly out my butt...

Anyhoo, if it's your gig I wish you the best of the season.

Ho Ho Humbug.

Last night I had the strangest dream...

♪♫ I sailed away to China, in a little row boat to find ya... ♪♫

Ho, ho. I didn't really dream that I sailed away to China, that's merely a small thing that popped into my head when I wrote the title of this post. (For your information those lines come from an old 80's song called "Break my stride" by Matthew Wilder.)

Nope, my dream was way stranger than that...

I was sitting on an old dry stane dyke next to an elderly man with a drunkards nose as he told me of his love for a Dover Sole that sat on the wall between us. The grey sea behind the old man was angry looking and every once in a while he turned to look at it with melancholy in his eyes.

Ocassionally he'd swing his head in the opposite direction and stare at an elderly woman, whom I assumed was his wife, and stared at her with a barely disguised contempt in his eyes. The woman was hanging over the top of a hinged door of a thatched roofed cottage that looked as weatherbeaten and dry as the rest of the wind blown surroundings.

The old man stood talking about how the Dover Sole had been his lover for many years. He'd steal out of the house during the night and he and the Dover sole would spend time frollicking in the surf. His passion for the Dover sole seemed to me to be heartfelt and I recall feeling sorry for him that his love now lay dead. (Though to be honest it looked great as it sat suggestively in garlic butter sprinkled with parsley.)

The old woman would occasionally sing "Isn't she lovely" by Stevie Wonder in a voice that sounded like it drank turpentine, smoked full strength Marlboro and ate brillo pads for breakfast. Whenever the old woman took to song, the old man would jump up and down, flash his dick at the old woman and yell "Look here at what you will never receive again woman! My love lies fried in garlic butter like some fancy french whore!"

A figure popped into existence behind the old man. To my surprise the figure that appeared was that of the Godfather of soul, Mr James Brown. "It's too funky in here!" He said. "Take it to the bridge!" He continued, as he danced and spun.

He began descending into James Brownian motion. (A method of singing and dancing that the version of James Brown I hold in my head does.)

"Can I count it off? Haaauugh, Good Gawd, Aaooow, Siddytang! Ahh one, ahh two, ahh won too tree fo! I! I! I! Git own the Siddytang, Siddytang!" The figure of James Brown sang, as the old man danced around flashing his dick at the old lady in the doorway. I looked down into the eyes of the Dover sole that sat in slowly congealing garlic butter and its mouth moved.

"Don't look at me." The Dover sole said, "I'm just a bit part in this little drama... And to think I've worked with Brando! I've taken direction from Hitchcock!" It continued, its voice rising as it made its feelings known to me.

Weird huh?

On a bus...

..."So I was like, naw. And she was like, Aye. And I was like, away and fuck off radge. And she was like, aye d'ye think so? And I was like, aye ah fucking know so. And she was like, Dinnae think so. And I was like, you'd better fuck off or I'll glass yeh ya fuckin whore. And she was like, calling me a whore aye? And I was like, aye ah um ya manky wee slag. And she was like, ootside then ya tart. And I was like, C'moan then bitch. And she was like, 'moan then. And I was like, 'moan then. And she was like, 'moan then. And I was like, right now then. And she was like, 'moan then. And I was like, ootside then radge. And she was like, 'moan then."

It was at this point in the conversation between the two teenage girls that I felt I should interject. I tapped the girl who was speaking on the shoulder and she turned her head around and said, "What?"

"If you insist on talking," I said, "Please, do everyone a favour and do it somewhere else. If I hear "And she was like" one more time I'll punch you in the back of the head so hard that the only thing "you'll be like" is a coma victim."

For the rest of the journey it was extremely quiet.

Something to while away a few minutes...

Do you have any old vinyl lp's lying around?

Feel like making something? Yes? Then maybe this guide is for you.

I'll be giving it a bash with a few of my old LP's at sometime in the future.

I'm an open human...

And so could you be if you pop along to openhuman and sign up.

Visit my openhuman page of facts by clicking here.

Looky Looky...

I have my own domain name now.

www.rossdouglas.co.uk is the address and it replaces the cnut.blogspot.com address so please remember to update your favorites.

Thanks must go to Simon for showing me how to do this.

Gaelic...

Language of the drunk...

Casuggleahey, cahuggleashah and welcome to this post. Which is coming to you partly in Gaelic. Well, not really, I'm making it up as I go but fuck it, when did you expect any different? Never; Or, as you'd say in Gaelic, Awooglyshoogledy.

Sheronykin andubist Ross and I will be your hiyost for the entire length of this piyost... Damn this language is easy. It really is a proggle of piss... Which will deal largely with the history of the Gaels and the evolution of the language.

Gaelic was originally a language that was spoken in the regions of the world now known as Indochina and was brought to Scotland by a man named Angus Hong in the year AD1800. Angus was thought to have been a missionary who left Indochina to teach the Scottish people how to make wicker baskets to hold cheese and other assorted dairy products.

(Some of these baskets can still be seen if you pay a visit to The Scottish Museum of Natural History which is located at 1 High Street, John O Groats. Just ask for Shuggie McNightwatchman at the pub and he'll give you the keys.)

After an arduous crossing, in a boat made entirely of wicker, Angus finally hit land in what is now the border town of Melrose.

According to ancient records the locals are said to have welcomed Angus by bringing him gifts of an early form of tupperware, a kilt made of nettles, a gallon of honey and a freshly captured Haggis which was then slaughtered for the feast of "making the tourist welcome." a tradition which is sadly no longer as the Haggis was hunted to extinction in 1944. (Due to war rations locals killed Haggi as an addition to the low rations given by the government.)

Angus is said to have introduced himself to the locals by speaking to them in Gaelic. (The locals spoke only Jockenese.) Over time Angus managed to teach the locals how to speak his language and in return the locals fed and housed him and brought him regular copies of Punch magazine and the Financial times.

Angus was a father of 15. (3 boys 9 girls 1 hermaphrodite and two sheep.) Most of whom took on the mission their father had set them on his deathbed that they should spread the Gaelic language to the two corners of the globe.

Thus over the next few hundred years the Scots adopted this language as their own, dropping the previous way of communicating which was a simple series of grunts, punches to different body parts and occasionally a roundhouse kick to the forehead. (The roundhouse kick to the forehead is thought to have meant "I wish to rape your sheep.")

Angus is thought to have died after an accident with a primitive version of a George Foreman grill and a faulty rewire in the year AD1847. (Some sources claim this is an impossibility as the local firm hired to do the rewire was a well established family company. Other sources claim that Angus was killed in a fit of jealousy by an enraged ram.)

Angus' language however lives on in Scotland during the hours of 1AM and 4:30AM every Saturday night in Wishaw.

Weird tales from many moons ago...

A blast from my past loomed out of the mists today.

My cousin Simon got in touch, after something like 15 years or so in the wilderness, following the random chance that his brother Lee fitted the cable at my Mothers new house. The reason for losing touch for so long is complicated so I'll not go into it. Besides, it had nothing much to do with either of us so I couldn't give a fuck. It's just good to hear from him.

Simon and I were a bit of a pair when we were younger and our mums were still talking to each other... Oops, I wasn't going to go into it, ahem, ermm... And I have many happy memories of us tearing up the areas of Westburn and Livingston in days long gone.

I'm sure everyone has cousin like Simon. If they don't then they should buy/rent/steal one. Someone who is more like a brother, or sister as he case may be, than a cousin. The kind of cousin that you click with, a kindred spirit, a blood brother all that spiritual shit... You got the idea.

Who'd have thought?

That 30,000 people would visit this blog. I certainly didn't.

When I first started this blog I intended it to be a diary of sorts, somewhere for me to put my thoughts, ideas, random snippets of my inner self, that kind of thing. Now, however, it has turned into something different.

What that thing is I don't know. Should you know please leave a comment.

It's the soundtrack to our lives.

Music I've been listening to this week...

Prince. Sign 'O' the Times. In my opinion this is the purple ones finest work. Replete with funky jams (Housequake, It's gonna be a beautiful night, I could never take the place of your man) and smooth ballads (Slow love, The Cross, Forever in my life) this album is highly recommended.

Cypress Hill. Black Sunday. Hip hop and Rap aren't usually high on my listening list but Cypress Hill are one of the exceptions. Turn it up loud, light a joint and bounce along to this album.

Placebo. Meds. (Click here to read my review on sixlinereviews.com.)

The Who. Live at Leeds. Possibly The Who's finest live gig ever recorded.

The Magic Numbers. The Magic Numbers. A modern classic.

My Chemical Romance. The Black Parade. Balls out rock and roll.

Israel Kamakawiwo'ole. Facing Future. This album will paint pictures in your mind of palm trees, long sandy beaches and grass skirted dancers.

David Bowie. Best of Bowie. Thirty-nine tracks of David Bowie at his best.

Jamiroquai. High Times: Singles 1992-2006. Who said white men can't play funk?

Depeche Mode. The Best of Depeche Mode, Vol. 1. Better than it sounds.

Bill Hicks. Rant in E-Minor. My favorite comedian lets loose and tells it how it is. If you do not own this album or have never heard Bill Hicks then get yourself a copy. Immediately, if not sooner.

Should you feel like expanding your music collection and want to purchase any of the above albums click the links and buy these albums.

Piss them off...

I've just had a small visit from a Scottish Gas representative who did his level best to get me to change suppliers.

I opened the door and knew what his gig was as soon as I saw the Scottish Gas identity card around his neck. The small voice in my head attempted to get me to say "Fuck off, not interested." and slam the door in his face but as I'm in a very charitable mood I didn't.

He began his pitch about how he could save me £1.70 a week on standard charges. I stopped him short. "Before you go any further I'll tell you straight away that I'm not interested." I said.
He bravely plunged on with the script. I listened to a little more and waited for him to ask a question. "Are you happy with your supplier?" He asked.

"I'm over the moon with them. There is always gas in the pipes and electricity in the sockets. It's almost perfect." I said. Thankfully he fell for the bait I had laid by saying it was almost perfect. "How could it be better?" He asked.
"Well, they could send cute women with big tits and loose morals around once a week to pleasure me in ways that even I can't imagine." I stated.

"I can see you really aren't interested." He said.
"You're very perceptive for a Scottish Gas worker." I said, struggling not to laugh.
He bravely plunged onwards. "What are your interests?" He asked.

I figured what his angle was straight away. He was attempting to use my interests to introduce me to the interest of saving money.

"Apathy." I replied, and closed the door.

Something I learned today...

Showering with your clothes on isn't quite as much fun as having a bath with them on.

It was with a sense of wild adventure...

That I got into the bath tonight.

Not only because I had never had a bath at such a late hour (midnight) but also because I had never had a bath whilst still fully clothed. And I'm not talking about getting into the bath wearing a pair of jeans to shrink them, no sir, I'm talking about getting into the bath whilst wearing underwear, socks, jeans, t-shirt and a sweatshirt.

(Fortunately I had the good sense to take of my shoes. I'm sure that there's some old wives tale that wearing shoes in the bath is bad luck. I remember my granny giving me a row for putting my shoes on a table once so you never know...)

And why did I do this? Well because in a moment of fuzzy logic I reasoned that the bathroom itself was quite chilly and I didn't want to have to put up with the cold before I got into the bath. So the clothes stayed on.

I must say that it was actually a rather pleasant experience. In fact I would recommend that you give it a try. You never know, you may enjoy it. I know I did.

Banned?

Ah well, it would appear that comments I made in this post got the goat of someone within the power structure of the club.

And how do I know this? Well, two days ago I received a letter from the club informing me that I am no longer welcome. Boo Hoo, my heart is broken... Is it fuck... I give less than a shit.

To end this post I'm going to make a small prediction by quoting Robert Plant.

Your time is gonna come...

Another part of the space story.

Once again, Stockton opened his eyes slowly. Outside the ship stars twinkled and suns shone brightly in the distance.

"Well, we're back inside space." Stockton said.
"It would appear so." Said Ali.

Ali ordered the computer to put the solar system on the screen in front of them and they stared at the map. The planet third from the sun was earth. Ali and Stock decided to head for it to see if any damage had been caused by the ship flying into the swirling cloud.

As they approached the planet Stockton told the computer to make contact with the USSC landing authorities. "They ain't answering the phone man." The computer told him.
"Then try again bitch." Stockton said.
The computer spoke again. "Motherfucker..." It said. "I got no goddamn answer. Ain't no motherfucker answering the phone!"
"Give me manual control bitch." Stockton said, taking the controls.

Stockton guided the ship into the upper atmosphere of the planet and stabilized the ship for a landing at the Hawaiian International Space Travel Terminal. He ordered the computer to attempt contact with the landing authorities. After being told, once again, that the authority was not receiving their signal, Stockton said, fuck it. And flew towards the landing island.

At an altitude of 1500feet he skimmed across the ocean and headed for landing pad 23. As the ship approached the place where the outer beacon should be he saw that the island looked different. The first thing that looked different to the Hawaii he knew was that it was no longer perfectly flat. It looked like it did centuries ago when the human race was at the beginning of the space race.

Ali noticed it too. "Stock, something's wrong." She said. "It's beautiful..." The mountains that rose in the center of the island were covered with a fine cloud and in the waves that swept towards the shore dolphins leapt and played.

Stockton flicked a switch on the control panel and they slowed down to a gentle halt. "Bitch, put on your red dress." He said.
"Excuse me?" Asked Ali.
"It's the custom command to engage the cloaking shield." Stockton said.

"Red dress engaged." Said the computer. "And damn do I look hot." It continued.
Stockton laughed and steered the ship towards a small cove ahead of them. As the ship drifted in over the inward bound surf Stockton looked at the crystal clear water below them and wondered where all the pollution had gone. Ali was also staring out at the scenery wondering where the residue from the space port waste dump was.

Stockton slid the ship into the cove, stopping just short of the shore and hovered above the breaking surf. "Maybe we should park out of view of anyone who walks along the beach." He said. "I don't think many people walk along this beach but if they do we don't want them seeing a UFO parked on it." He continued.

"Park here then, we can swim the last fifty yards." Ali said.

After a lot of swearing from the computer with regard to the fact that the ship was to lie on the seabed while Stockton and Ali went swimming they walked to the top hatch of the craft and jumped into the clear, warm water.

They reached the beach and walked onto the warm sand. Stockton looked around and spotted a small hut a few hundred yards up the beach. "Lets go and see if anyone is in, shall we?" He suggested.
"And what if there is and they ask who we are?" Ali asked.
"Then we'll tell them we're on our honeymoon." Stockton said, as he began to walk towards the hut.

When they reached the hut it was empty. There was a small cot in one corner, a cooler on the ground and a surfboard was propped up against the wall. An unopened bottle of rum sat on top of the cooler. Stockton picked it up and read the label. "According to the label on this bottle of rum it was bottled in the year 1995." He said.
"That would explain why there isn't a spaceport here. We've traveled through time." Ali said.

"I promised you an unforgettable honeymoon didn't I?" Stock said, as he gave consideration to having a drink of the rum. "According to this calendar we're in the year 1996." Ali said as she pointed to the calendar on the wall that featured a picture of a candy apple red convertible. Across the calendar someone had scrawled "Viva Las Vegas!" in what appeared to be dried ketchup.

Stockton and Ali walked out of the beach hut and sat in the warm sand. "So, what now?" Ali asked as Stockton eyed the bottle of rum he had taken out of the hut. "Drink?" He asked.
"No; Put it back where you found it." Ali said.
"But..." Stockton began.
"But nothing, it's not your rum. Put it back and try to think what we should to do."Ali said.
"But..." Stockton protested.
Ali whipped the bottle out of Stocktons hand and took it back to the hut.

Ali placed the bottle where Stockton had found it. As she turned to make his way back outside her eye caught a glimpse of something lying underneath the cot. She bent over and picked it up. It was a photograph. She turned it over and looked at it. When she got over the shock of what the picture showed she ran out of the hut.

Ali stood in front of Stockton who was writing his name in the sand between his feet. "Honey, I think we should leave." She said.
"But we just got here." Stockton replied. "Hey, what the hell?" He continued, as Ali used her foot to erase Stocktons name from the sand.
"We need to get out of here Stockton. Now!" Ali said, pulling Stockton up by his arm.
"What's the hurry?" Stockton queried.
"This is." Ali said as she showed Stockton the photograph.

"Holy fuck!" Stockton exclaimed. "That's me!"

The saga continues...

This post may be another story I never finish but I thought I'd post it anyway. If only to give you lot, my faithful readers, something to read. I'm more than willing to accept critisism if you think it deserves it. (It follows on from this story to allow you to see the continuity.)

Like I said, I have no idea if this will be completed. You should be used to that by now.

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

There was a bright flash...

Then nothing.

Stockton opened his eyes. Slowly... Just in case he saw something he didn't like. Everything was fine, the spaceship, his wife and the beertube stock level, was exactly the same as it was. "Pity." He said. Outside the ship there was deep, black, Space.

"Stock," Said Ali.
"Yes my sweet?" Stockton replied.
"What just happened?"
"Well, I steered the ship into a big purple swirly thing in space..."
"Why?"
"Because it's not everyday you get the chance?" He said, somewhat timidly.

It was then that they noticed something was missing. Outside the ship was just a huge expanse of dark space. No planets. No sun. No stars. Just space.

"Whoops!" Said Stockton.
"Computer, calculate space co-ordinates." Ali said.
"Space co-ordinates are... Go fuck yourself." The computer said.
"What the hell?" Ali and Stockton both said at the same time.
"Something is decidedly wrong about this." Stockton said. "It's swearing at us."
"I thought you got the modified language pack for it?" Ali asked.
"I did, but it didn't work when I asked what the fuck the big purple swirly thing was. It didn't recognize the command." Stockton replied.

The computer then introduced them to the whole new vocabulary of bad language that it had somehow gained since they had flown through the swirl. Ali's face turned bright red as the computer spat out tirade after tirade of abuse. Stockton sat on the pilot seat laughing as the computer strung together the longest, most vulgar insult he had ever witnessed. When the computer finally stopped swearing Stockton screamed, "Yeehaa! Jesus H Christos! My custom dictionary works! Praise be to the purple swirly gods!" He said, as he punched the arm of the pilots seat in joy.

"Hey bitch!" Stockton said.
"Who are you calling bitch?" Ali asked.
"It's the command I assigned to be the computers name." Stockton said. "Watch this... Hey Bitch!" He continued.
The computer spoke in the voice of Samuel L Jackson's character from Pulp Fiction, which was Stocktons favorite movie of all time. "Whassup my nigga?" It said.
"Very good, now find out where we are." Ali said.
"Bitch, where in the fuck are we?" Stockton asked the computer.
"We ain't nowhere man." The computer replied.

"What in the hell do you mean?" Stockton asked.
"Well, space should be full of stars and things, but there ain't none out there my man." The computer replied.
"What?" Stockton stated.
"Suns, stars, planets, asteroids, that kind of shit. There ain't any."
"What?" Stockton said again.
The computer yelled at him. "Say "What" again! C'mon, say "What" again! I dare ya, I double dare ya motherfucker, say "What" one more goddamn time!"

Ali sat watching him make the computer quote lines from Pulp Fiction and wondered if she should have listened to her mother. Her mother was never very fond of Stockton and his rough manner. According to her mother Stockton was a low life space bum. Ali loved him for exactly those reasons. Why settle down to a nice long boring life when you could grab the bull by the horns and live a short life filled with madness and adventure, she always thought.

Stockton interrupted her thoughts. "Babe. You Ok?" He asked.
"Just thinking." She said. "Are we any closer to finding out where we are?" She continued.
"Well, the computer thinks that we... I mean, I, may have slightly fucked up when I flew the ship into that purple swirly thing. It reckons it may have been an anomaly in space similar that caused us to slip outside of space." He said.
"Outside of space? Space doesn't have an outside." She stated.
"That what I said. The bitch still thinks we're outside space though." Stockton replied.

Ali asked for a full systems diagnostic and sat reading the readout while Stockton talked to the computer. Twenty minutes later she threw the readouts into the trashshute and told Stockton that they seemed to be outside space.

"Check out the big brain on Brett! You a smart mothafucka!" Said the computer.
"I beg your pardon?" She said to the computer.
"Big ol' cranium you got in there sweet thang." The computer replied.
"Shut up." Ali said to the computer and sat down.

"What are we going to do?" Ali asked Stockton.
"Open fire?" Stockton suggested.
"On what?" Ali questioned.
"I don't know." Stockton answered.
"Besides, what good would it do?" Ali asked.
"It'd make me feel better." Stockton said, he leaned over and pressed a panel on the controls.

The computer spoke. "Lllemme introduce you to my little friend." It said, in the voice of Tony Montoya. Stockton laughed. He leaned over to Ali and told her that this was his custom start up sound for arming the weapons. "I love it." She said, sarcastically.

Stockton pushed a button on the arm of the pilot seat and fired. Two luminescent balls shot out of the front of the ship and headed off into the distance. After a few seconds there was a bright flash. As the bright flash cleared it revealed a purple swirl in space ahead of them. "Stockton, look." Ali said.
"Holy shit... Computer, full speed ahead." Stockton shouted.
"Is that wise Stock?" Ali asked.
"It's either that or we sit outside space." Stockton said as they approached the swirling cloud.
"Any other reason?" She asked.
"It's not everyday you get the chance to fly into two purple swirly things in space?"

As the spaceship collided with the giant purple mass there was another bright flash and the ship vanished.

Laugh? I nearly shit myself.

I'm creative I am...

Today I spent most of my time sitting in front of the computer randomly surfing the internet, creating wallpapers for my phone and fucking around with my new MP3 editor Audacity, which is opensource software and can be got by clicking this link.

The wallpapers are available by clicking here.

And also for your entertainment I created a rather kinky ringtone for my phone which can be downloaded by clicking here.

(File hosted by Mediafire.com)
(Images hosted by Photobucket.com)

Sunday just isn't Sunday...

Without Moto GP.

The season came to a close a fortnight ago when Nicky Hayden became the first American champion in six years after Valentino Rossi slid along the track and out of contention on lap four of the Gran Premio De La Comunitat Valenciana. I was hoping that Valentino Rossi was going to pull off the comeback to end all comebacks after fighting his way back to the top of the leaderboard after a shaky start to the season.

Sadly though it wasn't to be and now I have to wait until next season, when the new 800cc engine size becomes the norm for Moto GP, for my fix of high speed hijinx.