Let me explain bagsies Kirk.
To 'bagsies', 'bagseye' or (presumably the progenitor term) 'bags I' something is to stake a claim on it, especially when choosing from a selection. Specifically used in English children's games of make-believe to choose your favourite character. Got that? Right, I can go on.
In the Shatner-era Star Trek episodes, he would frequently get into a fight with some saboteur, brain-washed compatriot or alien interloper. Even though there was apparently an inexhaustible supply of security officers there to prevent this kind of thing from happening. Regardless of how these mano-a-mano bouts came to be - they would always be settled with Kirk having a tear at the neckline of his tunic and a little bit of a cut on his face. No more injured than the average old lady wrestling for a cracked teapot with her best friend at a jumble sale.
In any fight, be it knife, gun or fisticuffs - I'd like to bagsies Kirk. The tailoring repairs may get a little costly, but you'll never see me on life-support weakly asking all the relatives I've pissed off over the years for that kidney they weren't using. If this works on the individual level then maybe, just maybe, we can scale it up.
Chess is apparently a symbolic representation of war. Well, if a lengthy game like chess can sit in place of horrific bloodshed and destruction, then why not Bagsies Kirk? I see all the members of the United Nations filing in to sit at their little desks, behind their little nameplates. They make sure their translator can be heard and then they - as one man - cry BAGSIES KIRK! - tear their necklines slightly and nick their cheeks with a pair of UN branded nail scissors. Plasters are on hand of course, and to speed things up they all have velcro fastenings on their clothing.
Hey Presto! The business of keeping the peace is concluded and it's still only ten past fucking nine in the morning.
Everyone can go and have some cakes or buy the wife a present or something.
[The only downside to this is that I may at some time have to engage in a disturbingly homoerotic duel with Ricardo Montalban. I suppose that's the price you pay for assured safety in today's angry, violent world.]
Nothing serious to stick in this bit this time around. Apparently there's been some sort of world financial collapse or something; and some little country is having an election. Well Great Grandpa Magnetite made sure we would all be taken care of when he installed hydroelectrics in 1899 - and I've never voted on anything more important than the names of the pets on Blue Peter. 'Fucking Cunt Cat' never got picked, to my eternal disappointment.
Anyway, I've noticed that almost everyone else links to shit on the Intertubeweb instead of coming up with their own crap to spout about - so I'm going to see just how good the suspension on that particular bandwagon is. Here's a link to an early Woody Allen stand-up routine in which he shoots a moose. This may even be topical in some twisted way. Don't expect it to fucking happen again.
[That's right - keep voting me down on Humor-blogs.com - it only fucking encourages me]
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7 comments:
Sorry you put all that effort into embedding a clip from youtube, as I can't bring myself to watch it, Mag. Woody Allen has always given me the creeps, not sure why, maybe it's similar to an irrational fear of clowns? I call it Cuntaphobia.
Rest of the post is top notch quality as always! I still try and 'bags' things, although after you hit 30, people just look at you like you're, erm....Woody Allen.
s'okay pablo. I think it's the only funny thing he's ever done anyway, but that's probably because I heard it on the same LP as the Parrot Sketch and I Like Trucking - many, many years ago when vinyl was king and I still had a full head of hair. Maybe the comedic power of the tracks before and after it leaked through. He did go to unfunny to dodgy to trite to dodgy again; and now every film he makes is basically him sucking his own cock.
Glad I could help otherwise, it helps fill the void inside me created by my continued lack of a flying car. ;)
Ah yes, the flying car. We was rodded.
Actually I meant to type we were robbed but rodded seems to work as well.
It's not just the failure to provide us all with a flying car; it's the absence of hotels on the Moon, day trips to Saturn and never, ever having to cook anything again because the machines would do it for us.
But returning, albeit briefly, to Kirk I can see that you must have mentally edited out the numerous episodes in which he did, indeed, lose almost all his shirt.
Spock, on the other hand, remained fully clothed throughout.
There's a lesson there somewhere but I'm buggered if I know what it is...
I...I...I must have? Must have...
ohmigodohmiogdmohmigod..
SHATNER'S BARE CHEST AND BARELY HELD IN MIDRIFF!
They say you can repress it for decades, run away from the memories locked in a room deep in your psyche - but I never thought...
Khaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan!
No wonder I fucking hated T.J. Hooker.
Great-grandpa Roosevelt invested us right heavily into hydroelectrics too, but I have to pay about $400 a month to get the benefit of my river pouring through "the man's" dam.
About Shatner, are you all civilized enough to have Boston Legal yet, or is your television still limited to DIY and Gordon Ramsay yelling fuck at people?
Boston Legal is not on terrestrial no, my anagrammatical friend. It is on SKY Satellite though, but as it is on a girl's channel(Living), men are only allowed to watch it while complaining about not being able to watch the futbol instead. To watch it alone a man must utilise the headphone socket lest a neighbour hears. It looks a bit like Ally McBeal, but without the eating disorderiness and constant fear that the lead character is going to snap in two at any moment. That too must be watched through a constant gush of futbol pleas - or alone with headphones, pink gin, fluffy slippers and the faint whiff of shame. He was okay as The Big Giant Head though.
A travesty! Boston Legal is the ultimate "man show".
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