Weekend Roundup


The ANTI-Barney and El-Barbudo are still whining on about American foreign policy and its military conduct. They should get badges made. Bahjess? Bahjess? We don’ need no stinkin’ bahjess. In fairness to them both, Barney has a gumboil and El B lives in Belgium. I don’t know which I’d prefer.

Fatmammycat warmed our cockles. A bit too much actually. Thank goodness for baggy chinos.

This week Brewski has been mainly into games consoles, microwaving inappropriate things and ingesting unlicensed chemicals. That’s why I like him, he’s so retro, like nineties for goodness sake. Cool.

The Americans have been too busy with family recriminations over Thanksgiving for much blogging but;

The Safety Inspector is asking some very dangerous questions.
Thirsty Doctor Evil is on an H S Thompsonesque roller. Again.
Andraste is drunk……again. I mean. Really, it’s too bad.
LindyK is considering prostituting her talents with Hallmark. Do it girl. Go Lindy go! Work it baby!

Ms Redhead is turning out to be a classy broad with a lot to say.
HA HA HA has had his GSOH surgically removed. His jacket’s on a fucking shaky nail, the fuckbag.
I have a duality issue with Kim the bearded Scotsman this week. He made an utter cod with that wifey over that Barbie thing and he called a blackboard a CHALKBOARD. That is a racist crime in my book. But, he could end up a Technical Director (designate) for Interbottle, so what the hey.
Mr G Bananas issued a cowardly custard, total non-threat to Angus Fartwell vicariously over at Hutton’s.

FNGs

There are two FNGs this week; Binty McShae and justbreathe28.The 28 puzzles me.

AUTOCORRECT turns fuckbag into buckbean.

Pass the sickbag Alice.

Late breaking update : The picture above shows my Great Uncle Patrick Maroon working on his famous theory that Einstien stole and modified. This picture is always attributed to the great man himself but if you compare it to the one I posted before you can see there is no similarity at all.
Q E D Mr G. Bananas.


(with special thanks to Kim Ayres the Bearded Scotsman)


With Chef’s Selection of Seasonal Vegetables.

Twenty Major reminds us today that for all our modern affluence and 4x4 sophistication the best slap up dinner is still;

Prawn Cocktail
Sirloin Steak
Black Forrest Gateaux
Cheeseboard
The Worst Coffee in The World.

All washed down with lashings of house red served in a glass urine flask.
What could be better?
The phoney concern from the underpaid and badly trained staff
“Everything OK for you sir?”
“Yeah, bring more wine”
“I’ll send the wine waiter”
“How would you like your steak sir?”
“Just wipe its arse and plate it up”
“Shall I let this breathe sir?”
“No, pour it out”
“Bring more rolls and butter”
“And English mustard”
“Yeah an’ more wine an’ all”
“And an ashtray”
The jolly japes with the napkins
“Look, party hats!”
Peering into an empty carafe like Nelson
“I see no ships/wine snicker snicker”
The final torture over the tip
“That’s enough isn’t it? The service wasn’t THAT good”
“Thank you sir, and will sir be dining alone again tomorrow night?”

Update: I've just thought of a new business idea called "Interbottle" * It's like interflora but will link up off-licences ** instead of florists. Noone can use this idea except me from now on. Claim staked at 12.28 GMT on 24 November 2005.

* the name may change **Liquor stores.

It’s…..

Start the Week with Dr Maroon !

Sports News

Liver to sign for Glasgow Celtic FC!
In a shock move last night George Best’s Liver (22) resigned from the former Manchester United star claiming irreconcilable differences and a wish to end his playing days at the club he has supported since he was a spleen. Tight lipped Celtic boss Gordon Strachan was guarded in his comments saying only that the club were always on the lookout for match-winning offal.
“The Old Firm competition is so shite just now we could put out 11 men with consumption on dialysis and still beat the Huns” he added.



Morris Minor League.
Is there anything in this world more dejected looking at 4 in the morning in Newcastle town centre than eight clumsy men in full Morris gear with two unknown women in tow? I don’t think so. We were put out by Home Counties ‘B’ who had two openly gay members. Everyone knows they’re better at it than us, there’s no justice. Not only that, but at the “Round the Acorns” bit young Tommy was too busy looking at this piece on the panel and fetched Frank a beauty right on his hand with his wurzzel which made Frank drop his stick with a loud “fuck!” Our leader Sinkey (Sinclair) see picture, turned round and took an elbow in the eye for his trouble. Obviously it utterly fell apart from then on. It was a total fucking disgrace, truth be told. If it was a practice night we would have laughed but at the Regionals… We so wanted to beat the English in their own midden as well.
I don’t think Newcastle’s a good venue for it either, walking about like that’s asking for trouble, not that we were giving a damn by then. If you’re teamed up and carrying sticks, (bells and ribbons whether or not) it’s a foolhardy Geordie that’s going to have a go. Every pub and club let us in, which was fine. I think they thought we were a stag night or something and we even got an ironic cheer at Cinderella Rockerfellers!




100 years ago today
Today is the centenary of the publication of A. Einstein’s “Special Theory“.

In a nutshell;
Space is Time
Gravity is the thing
If you go fast you get younger and thinner


I don’t like MONDAYS:
7 Jobs that are worse than yours;
Internet Support Adviser
Salmon Head Slicer
Detergent Salesman
Christian Book Stacker
Cheese Factory Hand
Phone Sex Line Operator
Nit Nurse

Strange but True
Albania Wednesday: A 68 year old Carmelite Nun who had been blind for 27 years, regained her sight after a picture of the Virgin Mary fell on her head.

Weekly Roundup to follow…………

With a Hey Nonny Nonny!

I must go away till Monday dear readers (we’ve reached the area quarterfinals) but I shall return with a bigger better bumper updated Cape to Rio.

I know, you must be pissing your pants in anticipation, but don’t succumb to drink this weekend unless as agreed you;
Take notes at 20-minute intervals during the session.
Keep stool, vomit, bile and diarrhoea samples, especially if you get two or more simultaneously.
Record hangover impressions, preferably with audio/video equipment.

In the meantime feel free to visit the excellent sites on offer via the handy links on the left.

FMC a note. Italians only appear to have bigger willies. A triumph of presentation over content.

SafeTinspector’s mad brain story autopilot-of-damned
Miss Redhead has discovered OLIVIA

See ya Monday.

By the Hoary Hosts of Yog-Sogaroth!

I wasn’t going to mention this but now I must. Andraste's spidery-hangover convinces me.
Everyone in this sector of the Blogosphere got ratarsed drunk at the weekend and suffered a cataclysmic hangover as a result.
Don’t believe me? Look around you.
I’m thinking Haloscan subliminal advertising.
Now some of us drink at the weekend anyway, but to take till Tuesday night to climb out of a hangover is exceptional even for me.
A curse of the scientific mind is not being able to take things at face value.
To us, coincidence doesn’t exist, it’s all causal.

We must be careful here. There are genuine coincidences.
Example 1.
Your friend buys an odd foreign car you’ve never heard of, yet for the rest of the day you keep seeing them. (that IS weird.)
Example 2.
Everyone at work thinks it’s Friday.

Mass hysteria? Maybe or maybe not. In any event we should register our findings without delay at Andraste’s site and look for a pattern. There could be money in it.

Open the sky and let her come down!

Black void…coal black…desolate chasms …bible black…hell-pits…some people…abyss…shouldn’t drink…well fuck them!
AND fuck my weird Celtic anti-drinking genes….

It’s time for Monday Morning Roundup!
Due to unusual sunspot activity, which triggered a mass self-destructive drinking spree we are a day late. My apologies to all
As always, all the gals were on top form.
Fatmammycat brought some welcome quality to the debate not to mention her red-hot cyber-pheromones, which linger tantalisingly…ahem…oh no...
And warmed we were, to our very vitals by the most glamorous Sexy Beauty entrancing us with her sensual blog talk.
Before I go on, our best wishes to LindyK and Doctor Evil who are having employment difficulties. Lindy, tell me please it was nothing to do with the questionnaire you filled in.
LindyK has also been having public virtual-sex with a correspondent called Ghost or Schmeby or George. It’s like watching an x-rated Jumping Jack Flash, that film with Whoopi Goldberg. Most enlightening.
.
Andraste Rabbit Girl had difficulty finding denims to fit her strange-shaped butt. Fascinating I’m sure.

Brewski is, well all we can say for sure, is that he is. Nice one Brew Boy.

Next up Jokemail’s parrot joke punch line:
"WELL???" demands the frantic guy, "THEN WHAT HAPPENED?"
"Damned if I know. I got a hard-on and fell off my perch."

The Anti- Barney is recovering from a four-day roller, so we won’t see him till Christ knows when. UPDATE, he has surfaced.

EL Barbudo has not shagged an elf yet, and denied thrice, his Scotchness.

Gorilla Bananas is conducting a puzzlingly asexual flirtation with a mad redheaded girl.

The SafeTinspector has published a disturbing skit about sex and violence and a short story about using a dead girl’s brain to land a plane. I KNOW! That’s what I thought.

And as we speak, 13:30. Kim Ayres is having a lonely miserable lunch on his own in wet Dollar, looking suspiciously at everyone that comes in the door. He is bound to get into a fight.

SUDOKO Latest.
I’m having trouble with the first grid. I’ve checked my transposition and it’s OK, so I’m trying to check the original for a misprint but it’s pretty unlikely. Solutions SOON!

Silver horses run down moonbeams in your dark eyes.

As I write, (3.00pm Saturday) Maison Maroon is quiet as the cloister (except for the football commentary) as we go through our recovery procedures.
I have a theory (among many) that the crapulous state one enters while “in the horrors” is how it will be when one is old and feeble. If this IS the case, then I’m really in the shit.
We all have our strategies for hangovers, the pills, the comfort food, the keeping a low profile the next day. So far so good, what you can’t escape are the fucking flashbacks. Like a dying man, you see yourself from a distance, talking utter total and totally utter shite and bollocks and adopting mildly belligerent postures against the younger, happier, more carefree drinkers.
My picture today shows the villain of the piece.
Anyone, especially a thirsty Maroon can quaff pishy lager till the cows come home. All that happens is I get more intelligent, witty and charming. A couple of wee goldies though, and I become The King o the World.
Thus it was when I spotted the danger signs last night.
A young lady I’d seen somewhere before, caught my attention across the happy throng. She pointed at the door, then herself, clasped her hands as if in prayer then put them against her tilted head.
Aha! Universal sign language;
“Me go now home sleep”.
Points at ME (twice), door, sleep.
“What’s that doll?”
YOU, (points), COME (points at door, more urgent now) FUCKING HOME TOO YOU PRICK! (a complicated hand/facial combination).
For once in my life I took Mrs Maroon’s advice and here I am, trembling, to tell the tale. Another couple of drinks and I might have fallen over, scattering drinks in all directions, while still contriving to head butt the young lad at the end of the table who for some reason was starting to seriously get on my nerves. So far so good.
The plan as far as I’m aware, is to repeat everything yet again tonight (like a dog returning to its vomit).
Oh merciful Jove! Keep that mischievous little fucker Bacchus in tonight.
Ah fuck it, give us a drink!

HERE THEY ARE !
Your cut-out-n-keep SUDOKU Grids.







Rather than numbers, the first grid uses the NINE unique letters in the phrase:
OLIVIA THE POET , namely,
O L I V A T H E P

The second grid uses the NINE letters from
V A P O R I S E D
First grid quick, second grid TRICKSY!
Solutions tomorrow in WEEKEND ROUND UP.

Ps sorry for JPEG file size, working on that.

They’re taking the Hobbits to Isengard !



Am I alone in noticing that all the word verification words when added together spell out Sauron’s Ring Spell in the language of Mordor where the shadows are?
Or is it a flashback?
Or is it Polish for “we want your jobs”?

The angry swans.

It is axiomatic that the maxim for the writer such as I is “Write about things you know.”
This means fluid mechanics, the countryside and despair. Which to choose for Mastermind? I did this yesterday in my lunch break. It’s true, it just sort of comes out.

Schizoid Hiawatha

Way above, my windswept anguish
sheer white trail, in azure blue
gorging air, Jet-A devouring
triple bypass, turbine true.

Anus hot, with noisy vapours
screeching marvel, of ground-based man
permission granted, no need for favours
you soar clean o’er, this troubled land.

Far ahead, on your flight level
come the swans, for winter’s rest
in frigid air, in vee formation
their compass set, on south southwest.

As they bank, make slight adjustments
your four mouths gape, feast on the flock
with not one swan, left in the heavens
the glutton flies, on to New York.

Through ice-like glass, in pressure cabin
Hiawatha, sips gimlet gin
she felt no bump, nor leery tremor
Just one white feather, sticks to the fin.

O Hiawatha, my hope flies with you
not up in club-class, but back in coach
where they look out, not on cirrus
but on long blood streaks, on fuselage.


AHK Maroon

Update : Blisterin’ Barnacles. Maroon buggers up again!
I wrote this for a very special poetry site but hesitated to send it thinking not to swamp that special place with my public yearnings. I was wrong. Things are developing there, and hence forth I believe it to be the best platform for my poetic muse.
I know that you too have poetry in your souls trying to germinate. When it sends out its roots, please, take it to this wonderful word-garden.

TERROR SPECIAL !
The Homegrown Enemy

By our police state correspondent Ali Bi

The evidence is compelling. The dossier is growing. The net is closing. You’ll have to take our word for it. Get these villains out of circulation for ninety days and we might find more, maybe, perhaps something incriminating, God willing.

Our gut churning pictures this morning show two of the most dangerous violent con men operating in Britain today. On the right, Champagne socialist turned hanger and flogger, Charlie Clark. On no account should the public approach within earshot of this man.
Way out on the right : Anthony Blair. TV football pundit and master of vocal disguise. Experts warn he can turn on a phoney glottal stop like a tap in his sickening attempts to fool his thinning band of sycophants.
In a break with tradition the public are urged to have a go or face being locked up for looking funny.


The Met says: Point him out and we‘ll plug the bastard.

INTERMISSION

And now before we return to the hurley burley, we’ve time for a musical interlude.
These are excellent and are composed, played and improvised by The SafeTinspector.
The links are on his SafeTunes site and have descriptions.

AntiWaltz, What's Left, Week 2, Blind Jump Idle Hands

What I particularly like is knowing that at the other end of all the comments and photos and stuff there is a real person playing a piano. The titles are his. Start with Blind Jump.


Update: in case of download problems here’s the actual site. They play for me.
http://safetunes.blogspot.com/

Important Announcement

The androgynous but perfectly formed MUFF DIVER is leaving soon to carry out important work among the poor and ignorant for Medicines sans Frontier. How they undertake complicated medical procedures dressed like something from Macy’s Easter Parade is beyond me! The point is, Muffy’s departure date is the 9th (a school night) which means I propose that we all get drunk this afternoon and make a suitably emotional remark. In vino veritas and all that.
Because I’ve some residual booze in my blood stream, I will start.

Ting-a-ling!
“Muffy, from all of us I want you to take this top notch presentation box of shortbread, bottle of whisky, and artistic floral bouquet…you’re my…you’re my best fucking mate (FMC excepted) you are…sniff…takes out an onion…we’ll miss you something rotten…”

Now it’s time for Weekend Roundup, with this weeks guest presenter, Dr Carey the beardy Archbishop of Canterbury.
Gorilla Bananas is right! As keepers of the torch of knowledge, we bloggers have a duty…blah…blah
The Safety Inspector replied to a site commenter called “transience” thusly;
“Transience: Because they are all still nominally functional! Would you throw your Gramma in the incinerator before SHE died? (my apologies if your grandmother was killed in the holocaust) “
El Barbudo in a seemingly everlasting angst-ridden episode of site analysis is in clear and present danger of disappearing up his own ringpiece.
Andraste put razor blades and laxatives in her trick or treat candy. There’s always one isn’t there?
LindyK lost her pencil (a quiet week in Lake Woebegone)
Jokemail : 13. (of 30) “A common and enjoyable sexual practice for a man is to take his half-erect penis and slap it repeatedly on a woman's butt”
HA HA HA : “In a steel cage, two silent crouching clowns watched him with glittering, unblinking eyes.”
Doctor Evil did not go fishing this week but gave us ASSHATTERY, which he stole from Hungbunny, but possession IS nine tenths and all that.
Vaporise Barney must be punished for changing his name. His link will be altered to BARNEY THE BASTARD for seven days. I wonder if he will ever click “Edit-me” on his own site?
And Finally, Kim Ayres. Web designer? My hairy arse ! Lookit that award thing over there on the right, he is KAPUT!

We must keep MUFF in our thoughts.

Gunpowder, treason and plot !


NO RAIN! Cue the Dvorak! Cue the birds and Woodland Folk!

As I write my journal, morning Barney, (you bastard) I am surrounded by the clatter of full prep for this evenings Fire. It has reached a good size now and I will check it for any good items that might polish up prior to ignition ( T minus 8:10:15 and counting). If the weather holds I will set a picket of boy scouts to stop the local toughs from setting it off early. They will have my permission to use lethal force. I might let one of them borrow the 410. I say early but in any case, it will all be over by 19:30 in time for Inspector Morse or Ant and Dec’s Wankathon. This might be a good thing since it offers the possibility of après Fawkes tinctures in the front bar. Hurrah!
Oho! I heard crockery rattling significantly there which means I may be required soon to help with the vol-au-vents (the most impractical snack invented) and the more important arrangements. In an episode of total asshattery I bought some cracking looking rockets and mortars, which, according to the labels are dangerous and will “light up the sky”!! Magic.
I always buy the fireworks for St Andrews Night after bonfire night, you get all the best ones then and they’re usually much cheaper. Hey, I’m Scotch for Christ’s sake.
This year we have acquired some very flash disposable glasses and plates that can all be burnt ! I am very pleased with them and I wondered if they would survive the dishwasher for future events, but apparently I’m “not on”. I hate waste me.

Full roundup and updates tomorrow…where’s that clipboard?

And the ones that mother gives you don’t do anything at all.

Am I alone in believing that we are now in the grip of the longest sustained period of crap weather since records began? And why do kids wear their darkest clothes and put out their lights to go cycling on these dark evenings? Garn.

To warm us up here is some artwork from Grace Slick to celebrate her 66th birthday. Spot a theme?











When the




Beatles brought out some slushy love song, I can’t remember which now, the Jefferson Airplane countered with “(Don’t you want) Somebody to Love”

It starts off with Grace belting out;

When the truth is found to be lies
and all the joys within you dies

You don’t get a better opening than that.

When logic and proportion
Have fallen sloppy dead,

The author of the above words is one Grace Slick a rock singer and artist.
She turned 66 years old on Sunday past. Grace was held back by the lack of competent plastic surgery (see picture). She just had to write her songs and sing them with a rock band. She had only her talent to rely on. What a fucking nightmare!

God she was ugly !

I tug my beard at you

I wasn’t going to tell you this but yesterday in a loose moment over tea in the canteen I said “ I tug my beard at you”. I don’t have a beard and I compounded it by thinking

“did I say that out loud?” so that all who were involved in the initial conversation including me were thrown immediately into a puzzled silence. I normally get away with this kind of behaviour because I’m a doctor and quite senior and smarter than the average bear but you can see it’s wearing thin. I also laugh sometimes now when I'm working on the computer and therefore people know I’m not writing memos or caveats to service contracts. It’s like at home. If we’re in I don’t normally watch TV so if I’m not buggering about with beasts I’ll read a book or have a drink and keep out the way or someone will come in about something or whatever. But in this shitey weather noone’s moving so last night I was chuckling away to myself on the old web log and a woman can’t leave you at peace. If she can see what you’re up to and it’s ok with her then fair enough she’ll see to her own affairs but if you look like you might be enjoying yourself on your own well that’s a different story. The upshot is that the phone went and who was it but Mater. How are things Ack? Isn’t this weather awful? Heard any more about Namibia? You must give me your flight numbers Gillian’s mother was asking for you Your Father’s worried you might be stressed out (stressed out? my mother could out-snob Raine Spencer**) What’s up? Alison (Mrs Maroon) thought I should phone you’re on the computer so much Everything ok? Yes thank you splendid.

**Nothing but a McCorquodale before she jumped the broom with old Pop Spencer.

Divide and Rule.

Did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?

The prodigies return tomorrow and it’s me that will be pleased to see them. Over the past couple of days, I’ve been signing off all kinds of stuff without really looking at it. Too busy with this.

My plan is as follows;
I will take the one I don’t like aside and with as much air of conspiracy as I can muster, I will close the door, look him in the eye and in a soft voice, because it’s only meant for the two of us, I will say. “I’ve been watching you. The department heads are saying good things about your progress.”
Let it sink in
“I think you are ready.”
“I want you to start with all the month end stuff (October). The quality returns, maintenance reports, production figures, usage levels that sort of thing, highlight the anomalies, make suggestions, don’t reinvent the wheel but do your best. The supervisors will help you. Just ask. Take those files with you. I’ll need it all back on Monday.”

That will give him the weekend as well.

“That gives you the weekend as well.”

Stand up…“OK then?”…hand on elbow…conspiratory nod…subtle thumbs up, as out the door he goes.
There’s one every minute.


updates;
The safety inspector has kindly updated us on the candy fish debate. here and here: Swedish Fish

And (and I’ve been itching to tell you all this) I’ve posted my first poem over at OLIVIA’S A1 poetry site. It’s only for proper poets. She hasn’t commented yet but I’m hopeful. Mynah Bird put me on the right bus with this one!