What this blog isn't

It's not a Leeds-based exploration of the joys and challenges of shaping the mortar between house-bricks so that the rain runs off without undue damage.
Nor is it about looking at, achieving, or maintaining erections of the male variety. That's what the rest of the internet is for.
It's also not about drawing peoples' attention to the beauty of the Aurora Borealis by indicating it with an extended forefinger
It probably isn't SFW[Safe For Work] either (especially if you work in a church) thanks to the liberal sprinkling of profanities, heresies and blasphemies.

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

I just woke from a zombie nightmare. They're scary those things.

I know just what particular flavour of zombie is going to fuck us over. I mean ROYALLY. Really royally fuck us over. It's not going to be fast zombies (but thanks for making them seem soooo plausible Charlie Brooker). It's not going to be clever zombies, who can lead groups and work weaponry. They've got teeth and implacability - they don't need guns.

You know what it's going to be?

Zombie puppies and kittens.

Because you just KNOW you'd still stroke one if your mind wandered even for a second.

My nightmare featured no zombie puppies or kittens. I was overrun by normal (if you can say that) zombies because some idiot left the hospital outpatient doors open. If zombified versions of us keep any kind of horrific self-awareness, I'm going to hone it into revenge brain-eatin' plans just in case I'm back in the same nightmare when I drift off again. That won't be for at least two hours though, in the hopes of my next unconscious event being either a dream or a nocturnal emission. I'm not a fucking glutton for punishment.

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Reflections on my television screen

There's a sort of barely visible shifting
of minutely lighter patterns
in the phosphor of my television set.
Only when its on one of the digital radio channels,
mind you.
Not when it's off.
I am not crazy.

An Aurora Televisualis, writhing smokily away.
Is it the faint patter of the universe?
Bombarding silent radiation on our noisy population,
while we shout back and wave our fist in the radio spectrum.
Loud and wide,
all day and all night,
like neighbours from hell.

It's nothing like the bright spiky sparks
Of RF from a car's engine, passing by unseen.
Granting teeth-sparkles and snowflakes
to the unsuspecting,
undeserving, unresisting
characters on the screen.

It can't be the odd visual component
of the mobile's call - that's just straight lines.
Bands microwave across and jump about
and, temporarily,
you're watching Casualty
through horizontal blinds.

It's not poetry. It's not prose. I'm not sure what it is, but for some reason I can't stop doing it. Perhaps there's a helpline I can call?

Anyway, it's part of a twofer deal with the last post for anyone who missed me. Can't think why.

And, yep, I do indeed still have a CRT TV. And I wipe my arse with tree bark. That's how old-fashioned poor cheap retro I am.

Barak Obama now 44th US president. Would-be assassins lurk. I have a solution

Now that he's been sworn in - and afeared as I am about the rise in gun sales in the US when he was elected - I'm concerned that the poor chap will be dodging bullets all the way up until his second term in office (yeah, I want him to have a second term. That's if he doesn't screw up, of course).

There are obviously going to be a lot of disgruntled Americans wanting to take a pot shot at the lad. Right-wingers disgusted that their team lost. Most of the old Confederacy. Sarah Palin. Also Dick Cheney's going to have a lot of spare time on his hands now and that, if at all possible, might be worse than him being actively occupied in destroying humanity.

So why don't we declare Obama's first year in office a free-fire but president-safe assassination period.

Would-be assassins! Under my guidelines (shortly to be submitted to the Senate and Congress) until the 21st January 2010:

1) You MAY be permitted to legally take one shot at the president. PROVIDING that you ONLY use NERF weaponry. President Obama will, in turn, play fair and not wear a helmet or cup of any sort. He IS allowed to run about yelling "Ner-ner-ner-ner-ner. You can't hit me!". You MAY NOT step up close and aim directly at his goolies. That's a no-no. NOR MAY you hold him down to administer pink-bellies. You MAY NOT administer Chinese burns or wedgies - atomic or otherwise.

2) You MAY knock on the door of the Whitehouse, then run behind a pillar to wait with your water-bombs ready to throw. You MAY NOT use fizzy mineral water in the aforementioned water-bombs - that stuff stings the eyes like a bugger. You MAY NOT use a non-standard balloon size - I'm looking at you over there with the Sodastream and the Space Hopper. If Mrs. Obama answers the door, you MUST immediately run away yelling "Oh, crap! She's seen us!" President Obama IS permitted to make an armoured suit from taped-together cereal boxes, OR wear a Sou'wester, mac and galoshes to answer the door. You ARE NOT permitted to mock him for doing so. It costs a lot of money to clean those clothes, and your mums will only have to chip in for washing powder if you take it too far anyway.

3) You MAY launch an attack upon the Whitehouse - but ONLY with toilet roll. You MAY NOT use that industrial-sized blue stuff that's always just standing on the window-sill above the sinks in the toilets at work. You MAY NOT use that kitchen roll with pictures of bunnies or characters from Disney cartoons on it. You ABSOLUTELY MUST NOT use those moist toilet wipes for people with piles. Those things leave a slimy film that just makes you feel like your arse-cheeks are mounted on gimbals. This film makes you feel like you're running when you are merely walking after using them - and that's just wrong. Besides, I think moist wipes have been banned for use as weaponry under the Geneva Convention.

4) You ARE permitted to call the president the following names. President Doody-head. Barry Kerblammo. Commander-in-Chuff. Any other names MUST be submitted to the Federal Name-Calling Committee for approval five weeks in advance of your teasing/NERFsassination attempt.

A year of that should get the resentment over a black man in the most powerful job in the world out of the systems of even the thickest rednecks.

America, you may thank me later.

As I have stated (and proved here) before, I am not an artist (unless it's the piss variety) so a long-overdue site redesign will have to wait for a bit. I am researching the next instalment of the Kingly Spoon of Death, but I'll probably slap more of stuff like the above up long before it is finished. All hail writer's block! It's saving you from my fecklustre, ham-handed attempts at prose for a little longer! Yay!