Breakthrough in female mentalism

2/23/2007 10:49:00 pm / The truth was spoken by Rich / comments (0)

COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY, NEW YORK – Science boffins at Columbia University have identified the area of the female brain, which may cause their arbitrary, vicious mood swings that have baffled man since the evolution of socially monogamous relationships.

Dr Al B. Dammed, Ph.D (181), who has researched non-sequential female behaviour in social relationships for twenty years, has identified an area within the brains’ limbic system called the amentiaglobo, an appendage to the amygdala, which controls such emotional responses as jealousy, aggression and fear.

This appendage, not present in the limbic systems of Dr Dammeds male subjects, may be the cause for the irrationality exhibited universally by women regardless of age, race, nationality or menstruational flow.

“This is basically a ball of terror”, explained Dr Dammed, a native of Edmonton, Alberta and keen hunter and scrabble player. “We call it the "Lucy Blob"* in honour of the first woman on record to murder her spouse as a direct consequence of the kind of mood swings this thing causes.

“The amygdala are almond-shaped groups of neurons located within the medial temporal lobes of the brain. They control many emotional responses such as fear and aggression.

"The amentiaglobo is a kind of balloon attached to the amygdala, which inflates and disrupts all the signals the brain sends out, causing the kind of crazy shit your wife or girlfriend no doubt displays on a regular basis.


“If you think of a persons emotions as a classroom full of attentive kids who sit quietly awaiting instructions from the teacher; They ask the right questions, they get answers, they follow instructions and the work is done. But when the inflation of the amentiaglobo is triggered, holy cow! It’s like throwing a damn cougar through the window of that classroom. It’s pandemonium, total freaking chaos.

Dr Dammed is confident his research can produce a treatment that can at least regulate the triggering of the Lucy Blob, which would at least allow men to predict when those over-emotional, indecipherable bouts of lunacy that plague every relationship, may occur. He does, however, accept his research is still in it’s infancy, even after twenty years.

“We don’t yet know what triggers the inflation, or what maintains them. They can last hours or even days. I mean, we’re still not clear if the amentiaglobo does cause the non-sequential irrational behavioural patterns in women, rather than the other way around.

“If it’s the crazy behaviour that causes the inflation of the Lucy Blob, that is truly terrifying because it means science has no solution to this problem and it’s over to the head shrinkers. Once Psychiatrists and Psychologists get into this we’re all in for a world of hurt, cause they’ll just call it a syndrome and make it worse.

"I mean it used to be craziness needed curing or you locked the person up. Today it’s all alternative expression and none of the craziness get’s cured and now the whackos are everywhere. Our relationships will be doomed, they’re already a baffling ordeal because of this behaviour and will be forever if we don't find a cure and we still have hell to look forward to”!


*Virginia Charlotte Lucy murdered her husband William Jonathon Lucy in 1887 with a broken wooden spoon after he declined an offer of a freshly baked flapjack, preferring instead to wait until after supper so as not to ruin his appetite. Virginia Lucy skewered her husbands throat with the handle of the wooden spoon she had used to cook those flapjacks and he bled to death a hungry man. She confessed to an over-reaction blaming the heat and the sodding children, but was convicted of first degree murder and kicked to death over the course of the next few days by the man-folk of Poughkeepsie NY.

Tony Blair's war on teasing

2/22/2007 05:06:00 pm / The truth was spoken by Rich / comments (0)

LONDON – After taking a small nap while his son Leo drew pictures with a black marker pen, Prime Minister Tony Blair announced today plans to combat teasing in Primary schools using military force if necessary. In a typically passionate speech with lots of pregnant pauses and hand gestures and some sips of water he declared his Government would now begin taking the fight to the bullies.

“This cause of mild discomfort (CMD) exists today in our schools,” stated the Prime Minister. “We know they exist, we have detailed and growing intelligence which document clearly that CMD’s are a problem in all Primary schools in the UK and are affecting 5-10 year olds and in some cases children as young as 3.

“Bullies continue to use name calling and physical intimidation and also exploit the sexual naivety of classmates to tease, causing mild discomfort among many thousands of our children.

“Accusations of having poo breath, inflicting nipple cripples and causing confusion and embarrassment by asking if a child is a homo-sapien are all examples of teasing which can cause mild discomfort for up to 45 minutes. Further more, the proliferation of group pointing and ‘eeeeew-ing’ at a child accused of having nits leads us to the conclusion that no longer can we sit back and allow this to continue.

“But, you may ask, ‘why should we care?’ Simply because if we are to ignore this threat to our children then the confidence of the bully will grow and the propagation of his exploits will extend to adolescent and adult life.

“Finally, I say to those who doubt the existence of the threat, look at the regimes of Norman ‘Gripper’ Stebson, Imelda Davies, Francis ‘Mauler’ McCaul and others from Grange Hill and the ridiculous behaviour of Alan Sugar for a clear illustration of the historical and on-going threat of teasing.

“I say to you, we must not shirk our responsibilities. Those involved in teasing must understand that it is no longer to be tolerated. Should it continue, and diplomatic channels all exhausted, I hope this House, as it has in our history so many times before, will not shrink from doing what is necessary and right.


Prince Harry's Forsyth saga's

2/22/2007 01:19:00 pm / The truth was spoken by Rich / comments (0)

It has been confirmed that Prince Harry (29) will be deployed to Iraq with his Blues and Royals regiment making him the first Royal to serve on the front line since Prince Andrew 25 years ago during the Fawklands war.

A joint statement by the Ministry of Defence and Clarence House confirmed the deployment saying Cornet Wales (his Army rank and name) “will be leading 12 men in four Scimitar armoured reconnaissance vehicles, each with a crew of three.”

The statement continued, “of course it goes without saying that when we say he will be deployed and lead this troop, what we mean in actuality is that another chap will be doing the actual soldiering for him.

“We couldn’t possibly put someone of Prince Harry’s status in a war zone. I mean, it’s very dangerous. Who knows what may happen. He could get shot quite easily, or captured or injured and blown to pieces by the Americans. No no no, it’s quite preposterous to assume he could actually serve in a front line troop in person, so of course we have chosen to put a normal chap in his place, someone who won’t be missed if there’s an accident, well, not mourned by the nation I mean, I’m sure his wife and children would miss him.

“The chap chosen is a perfectly competent young officer called Danny from South Shields which I believe is in the North of the country, he will do the actual soldiering for the Prince and the being blown up should the worst come to the worst. One needs to look at the Princes “deployment” in it’s symbolic sense. It’s a marvellous gesture on the part of the Prince to symbolically serve in such a dangerous and unstable area and I think all those grandmothers up and down the country who are worrying about their grandsons will now be able to take great comfort in knowing that the Queen will now be symbolically sharing exactly the same concern.”


This symbolic deployment bears an uncanny resemblance to Prince Harry’s symbolic taking of exams during his time at Eton. On that occasion Harry symbolically took art exams; although the actual work was done by Art teacher Sarah Forsyth (121). Miss Forsyth was later accused of being a lesbian and Satan worshipper after she accused the Prince of cheating.

Iraq part of Maine land USA?

2/20/2007 02:09:00 pm / The truth was spoken by Rich / comments (0)

Somehow I managed to notice today how remarkably similar Iraq is geographically to the state of Maine. I say geographically, because that's where the similarity ends. Is it a coincidence that Maine looks like an appendage to the United States the way it's sorting of clinging to the northeastern mainland, like it's been added on recently ? Not that Iraq has been annexed by the USA or anything.

So yes, the irony here of course is that while Iraq remains the wild west, Maine remains quite possibly the most boring, law abiding place on earth. Only someone from Utah could describe Maine as a beautiful place to visit (click on the Maine link above for 5th grader Kathryn's report on Maine). The state motto of Maine is apparently "dirigo", which means "I Lead", another irony, I think you'll agree.

If you're stuck for something to do, why not try and find similar geographical, political and sociological ironies. I'm going to rest now, living life at 100mph as I do takes it's toll.

You don't need to know this, but i'll share it anyway

2/19/2007 02:00:00 pm / The truth was spoken by Rich / comments (1)

I don't place too much stock in those Heath Robinson spirometery lung function tests. All those numbers and percentages don't amount to a hill o' beans in practical terms. My lung function may have increased or decreased by a percentage point here and there, but that's not gonna tell me if I can walk to Argos from the car park now is it?

A year or two ago I devised a test which I consider to be a far better gauge of my current state of health and a far more reliable indicator of infections developing sneakily from within. I call it; Calculating Lung-function In Terms Of Repose In Supermarkets; or CLITORIS for short.

Essentially it's an aisle by aisle indicating system. For example, if I can make it all the way over to the Deli counter without a rest then I'm fine. If I have to stop by the dairy section, then I'm trouble as that is right by the entrance.


Today I found I was able to make it all the way to the Post-office at the back of the store with a package that weighed about the same as two cats and a pair of wellies and I felt ok. Although I did nearly piss myself on my way home laughing at something which we won't go into. This apparently may be down to a slack pelvic floor and I shall be doing some exercises later on to tighten it up.

So er...anyway, did you need to know any of this? Probably not, but do use this evaluation if you're ever concerned about your pulmonary capability. The End.

Poor everyone but me

2/17/2007 05:21:00 pm / The truth was spoken by Rich / comments (2)

















This is people queuing outside to get into McDonalds! I would find this ridiculous at any time of the day, but particularly on this occasion as it was pissing down with rain and there is a perfectly good Tesco's not 20 metres away to the east, which sells yummy sammiches that are far more nutritious and tasty than something cooked up an hour ago by a Polish man who claims absurdly, that his name really is Steve Wilson. And look at the poor little girl in the pink coat. You can't see her face, but to me, her body language is screaming, look at that nice warm Tesco's not 30 seconds walk away, my mummy must not love me.

I've got nothing against McDonalds per se. I think the level of criticism launched in their direction is disproportionate. I know one could do all kinds of damage to ones body if one were to eat at McDonalds every meal, but I think if I put my back into it, I could do the same level of damage eating at a posh la-de-dah type restaurant. The kind of place where a Rivita costs £75 and a little wrinkly guy sits on a stool in the toilets watching you piss and wants tipping for it. Michael Winner didn't need a triple heart by-pass operation and his leg amputating because he ate at McDonalds every evening.


Everything in moderation I say. No matter how much you enjoy a particular food, surely those cravings should never be so overwhelming that you become prepared to stand outside in the pissing rain (with your children) in order get at it. It's mildly depressing really. It's the kind of thing that makes me think, poor everyone but me.

It's a good picture incidentally, isn't it? I took it with my phone camera as I was driving by. I actually had to hold up traffic to take it. I think the gentleman behind me called me a tosser, but I felt I needed to draw this issue to your attention. I took one for the team as it were. So anyway, please don't do this. Think of the kids.

Noahs horses and zebras

2/16/2007 10:46:00 am / The truth was spoken by Rich / comments (0)

In medicine (in the USA anyway), they call the diagnosis of a ridiculously obscure disease a Zebra when it's much more likely that the patient has a common illness presenting uncommon symptoms. We see this a lot with religious folks too.



So, religious folks, to sum up; next time an archaeologist digs up something that ought not to be in it's immediate environment, try to think of a more rational explanation before you convince yourself it's a validating relic for whichever Biblical Chinese whisper you've associated it with. In other words, if you hear hoof beats, try to think horsey not zebra.

And you thought Watership down was funny

2/15/2007 11:06:00 pm / The truth was spoken by Rich / comments (0)

For those of you who are too busy these days to sit down and watch a movie, fear not. Most movies are too long anyway, and they're much funnier when you replace the actors with cartoon bunnies.


See "30 second movies" on my links for more.

The magic button for Dummies

2/15/2007 09:12:00 pm / The truth was spoken by Rich / comments (1)

No doubt many men will have made an extra effort to please their pardner last night and the vast majority I'll wager, will have failed. To be fair, the female genitalia can be a complex and baffling mystery. If this is just a once a year thing you don't really need to research the subject too heavily, and I would certainly not advocate attempting anything oral without further research, but next year when stimulating the "magic button" use a simple technique I've been teaching in my Tuesday night sex clinics. It's called the biro technique.

If you've ever written a phone number or something on the back of your hand in biro you'll have probably tried rubbing it off with your finger. This is basically the same technique one should employ when massaging the pearly treat I can only assume God gave to women as compensation for a lifetime of arduous hoovering. When striving for that holy grail involuntary leg kicking thing women do that looks so funny when you really hit the spot (as it were) simply image yourself rubbing the phone number of your secretary off your hand swiftly before the wife sees it. Watch the video below and good luck.


And now for something completely indifferent

2/15/2007 07:53:00 pm / The truth was spoken by Rich / comments (1)

Golly, isn't this an exciting present. This is for 10 year olds and older. What sort of parent buys a model Container Ship for his kid?

Oooooooh gee the MV Tampa, thanks Dad, now I can replicate international commerce, diplomatic incidents involving the Australian Government not wanting to allow grubby refugees entry into it's nice clean cities and cocaine smuggling investigations. Yay!!

What happened to the good old days when your Dad bought you Action Man and replica guns and knives and model tanks? It's no wonder kids are so weird these days that's what I always say.

If I were going to say it, I'd say it like this

2/14/2007 03:38:00 pm / The truth was spoken by Rich / comments (0)

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VD, the antithesis of romance. That's Valentines Day not Venereal Disease

2/14/2007 02:31:00 pm / The truth was spoken by Rich / comments (1)

Every February 14th Valentines Day sends millions of men into a blind panic as they rack their brains and comb the tabloids and the intraweb for ideas on how to be romantic. Unfortunately, those poor souls have already failed and if you are one of them, there is no hope for you because you see dear mongoloid, if you behaved any differently today towards your significant other today than you do the other 364 days of the year then you can never be romantic, you’re relationship is worthless, YOU are worthless from a romantic point of view anyhoo.

Those that actually need be told when and how to be romantic should ask themselves why they are even bothering with the relationship in the first place. Surely the point of affiliating yourself with a young miss is because you somehow see them as special and consequently ought to be treating them accordingly. My research and experience has shown that the essence of romance is something a man can’t ever truly define, but you don’t actually need to. Your woman (don’t ever call her this) understands that the entire concept of romance is alien to you and will afford you an awful lot of latitude with your attempts at being so. The key here is not the gesture, but the sincerity behind the gesture and your gesture whatever it may be, should be fun for both parties. Relationships are after all, meant to be enjoyable. They rarely are, but they should be.

Let’s look at some examples. Cooking a meal for her is not romantic. I don’t care what anyone says, it isn’t. Not if she cooks the other 364 days of the year. This would be like her mowing the lawn once a year (I mowed the lawn Richie. Gee, thanks). Also, if it is only an annual thing, you won’t be any good at it, and the meal will taste like shit and most importantly, you won’t want to do it. You’ll be doing it out of obligation; there is no sincerity behind the gesture. Remember romance should be fun for both parties. Also, you don’t want to feed your woman. Calories are the nemeses of the female figure and they should be your enemy too. A minute on the lips, a lifetime on the hips etc.

Which leads us nicely onto example number 2. Chocolates. Chocolate is a narcotic to a woman. You should no more give a woman chocolate than you should give her crystal meth. There is nothing good that can come from giving your woman chocolate. Not for you, not for her. A good alternative is warm custard, spread liberally over her abdomen, and delicately licked off …delicately..just lightly with the tongue, in the belly button, softly..,,,erm..cough…grrrr stop it FOCUS RICHIE!!

Example number 3. Flowers. Flowers are a cliché, but I’m a fan of the giving of flowers. Flowers are beautiful. Flowers are uplifting. The power of the flower is not in doubt; it’s how they are delivered which determines whether or not they are a romantic gesture. Do not buy flowers from a petrol station and dump them on the table when you get home from work. If I need to explain why you shouldn’t do this, you should stop reading now and just go away. I can’t help you.

Do not order flowers from an intraweb site and have a fat hairy man deliver them in much the same way as the previous example. Again, if you truly believe that nothing says I love you like a fat delivery man in a van forcing a bouquet of flowers into your girlfriends hands and asking her to “sign here treacle”, then you should also stop reading.

Intraweb flower delivery is no more romantic than a computer nerd knocking out a poem in binary. Actually, I like that (note to self, knock out a poem in binary later on). If you want to buy flowers, deliver them personally. If you don’t have time, do it when you do have time. Just because it’s Valentines Day, it doesn’t make the gift any more romantic…in fact, it makes it less so.

This brings me back to my original point. If you need to be told when and how to be romantic, you have no business being in a relationship at all. What you want is sex isn’t it? Sex and feeding. Fair enough, but at least be honest about it. Don’t try and pretend you care if you don’t, just be single and shag at the weekends. If you don’t really care about your woman she will realise this. She’ll either not care as she’s the desperately insecure type who just needs to be with someone, anyone, regardless of how healthy and loving the relationship is, or she will dump you, in which case you’ll be single anyway.

What I’m trying to say here is that Valentines Day, the whole frickin concept is a fallacy. By definition, any attempt to be romantic on this day is not romantic, precisely because it’s an attempt. It’s all out of obligation. The genuinely romantic people avoid this day like the plague. Pepe the Pew for example, saw Feburary 14th as a day of rest. Not once did he hound his unrequited love on this day as he did not want his gestures tainted with insincerity. Ok so Pepe Le Pew was essentially a stalking rapist, but you get my point.



Speaking of which, one final point on why Valentines Day ought to be avoided. It encourages stalking. Anonymous letters, gifts, cards etc are essentially the tools of the stalker. It’s the one day of the year where this is seen as romantic rather than how it should be viewed, which is both creepy and disturbing, an apt description for the day as a whole, that’s what I always say.

Romance is an expression of the love you have for someone. The way you choose to express it is really irrelevant. It just needs to be sincere. One should not be drawing schematic heath Robinson style diagrams on how to woo ones nearest and dearest. Valentines Day is to romance, what the Christmas period is to good will and if you’re like me, the scars of the last Christmas period will still not have healed.

I get like this when I'm convalescing, bear with me

2/14/2007 12:10:00 am / The truth was spoken by Rich / comments (1)

I like a good late night, made for TV movie. One of my favourites is the Langoliers, adapted from a Steven King novella. In the film, a small group of strangers travelling on a cross-country flight find themselves in a weird parallel universe where all the other people have disappeared. While everything around them looks real – it’s all curiously inert. Food tastes bad, matches don’t light and sounds don’t echo.

After a time, the passengers realise they have passed through the usual rip in the space-time continuum and are now trapped in a slice of time past. It seems that as time moves on, it leaves dead copies of reality in its wake and they are stranded in one such copy. Nature isn’t keen on leaving dead copies of reality lying about and deploys armies of piranha like creatures called the Langoliers whose job it is to gobble up all those dead copies of reality and everything in it. Can our heroes outrace the ravenous Langoliers? It's a good movie, and it's also a good metaphor for living with a grotty terminal disease.

Elementary mathematics can be employed if one wishes to determine whether life is worth living. Simply add up all the cool stuff and add up all the nasty stuff and if the cool stuff adds up to more than the nasty stuff then you’re good to carry on. How you value these things is up to you. The problem with something like Cystic Fibrosis, is that as it advances, it gobbles up all the good experiences Langolier stylee and you're left with a smaller and smaller port folio of goodies with which to justify the toleration of a harsh, sometimes painful, and always exhausting lifestyle.

Early on in ones CF life, things are relatively simple. Joy and mirth can be had from anything from playing scrabble and football, to rolling about in a graveyard with the girl from Boots. All of those things combined are more than commensurate to the relative inconvenience of the odd trip to hospital and the odd course of wicked strength drugs and perhaps a little teasing about ones wheezyness and slender build.

As CF progresses, scrabble, football and even the girl from Boots no longer become sufficient to compensate for the increasing burden of a decreasing lung function and the supplementary literal and metaphorical goo that comes with it. One then becomes dependant on the more inspirational experiences life has to offer as the Langolier effect continues to make previously joyous experiences redundant in our quality of life equation. Of course by definition, the more inspiring the experience the more infrequent it’s occurrence. And herein lies the real bastard element of a deteriorating body.

With CF at it’s most advanced state one has to start looking beyond personal experiences for motivation. Not even a first kiss, or a 95th minute winning goal in the Champions League final or a lottery win can produce the kind of life affirming pleasure one needs in order to, well, in order to affirm ones life.

One starts to feel that if you’ve kissed one girl, you’ve kissed them all. Football has by now become just a game. And what’s the point of having money if you’re too knackered to go out and spend it? By now, to gain the required level of motivation to keep going, we’re in the realms of meeting our soul mate (ha, nonsense), longing for world peace (I know, I know) or marvelling at the stars and the enormity of their beauty (can you spell tenuous?)

One also needs to draw inspiration from the lives of inspirational people, Socrates, Nelson Mandela, Mohammad Ali, Jonny Kennedy, Wile E. Coyote and perhaps given the hell that has been George W. Bush, Barack Hussein Obama (maybe).

This all sounds very gloomy, but bear with me, I haven't finished yet. Some dude once said, “The dead know only one thing, it is better to be alive”, I don’t think I’ll ever agree with that, but until you have found the grit to finish the last dram or passed out under the table I don't think you can call it quits. Only when you have realised all of your dreams and ambitions or been truely Langolied will you have earned the right to shuffle off to the blissful nothing from whence you came.

Which ever side of advantage you happen to sit, I’ve begun to think one almost has an obligation to remain alive and by alive I mean actually living life, not just sentient, out of respect for the lives of those from whom real inspiration is drawn and for those who were never afforded the opportunity to experience life one way or the other.














To the faithful departed

Soul searching?

2/13/2007 04:00:00 am / The truth was spoken by Rich / comments (0)







I've put my soul up for sale on Ebay. I cleverly transplanted it into a Smurf for easy delivery. I think it's a bargain. If you'd like to bid please do. You can find it here;

Ebay listing for Richies ever lasting soul

Happy bidding. At $1,500 it's a steal. I had to put it on the US version of Ebay to appeal to all the religious freaks over there. It's a case of knowing your market.

Jack O'Diamonds hard card to find my arse.

2/13/2007 12:06:00 am / The truth was spoken by Rich / comments (0)



Poker slang
Jacks = Johnnies, Jokers, fish hooks, knaves, hockey sticks.

She’s a cruel mistress, poker. When it’s not your night it’s not your night. I don’t think I really made a mistake this evening yet not even Jo Brand could make 5,000 chips disappear faster. Let me talk you through my hell as I need some closure.

Hand number one, the first nail in my coffin.













A nice enough hand and worth a pre-flop raise. Called by a farmer known to be a little loose with his calls. We head to the flop two handed.










Ooooh my. This gives me trips and I feel cheeky enough to slow play after Farmer Pickles checks before me. We head to the turn.








Farmer Pickles checks. I’m cautious now. I had him on a smaller ace, but with his check he may be drawing. I cannot now bet as he will come with me and if he hits his draw I shall lose more chips than I really need to thank you very much indeed. I check too and we go to the river.







Farmer Pickles goes all in for 1,800. Arses! I have to call, but I know I’m beat. Pickles turns over Jack Queen for a straight beating my trip aces. He also laughs, right in my face. I call him a cunt and the whole table laughs. I wasn’t joking though.

Hand number two and nail number two in my coffin.












A Psireeen of a poker hand if ever there was one. So seductive, yet so dangerous. I’m under the gun and I make a standard raise. Budha in middle position goes all in for about 6,000. Eeeek! Farmer Pickles also goes all-in for his remaining stack of about 2,500. Eeeeeek!! Damn you Psireeens, the temptation to call is great, but I’m stronger than that. I can fold. I have to fold. I fold. And it’s a good fold as Budha turns over pocket kings and Farmer Pickles shows Ace Ten. A good fold until the board shows…








Oh you heartless wench. A Jack on the turn would have given me trip Jacks and a huge pot. I’ve gone all wobbly. My focus has deserted me. I’m on my knees. War misery pain and desperation, please lord why have you forsaken me.

Hand number three and the final nail in my coffin.











In the big blind, two callers. I ponder a raise, but check. The flop comes down…









Top pair, decent kicker, I launch my remaining chips into the pot with gusto and authority to scare off the drawing hands. I know I’m beat however as my bet is called instantly and sure enough matey fella turns over King Jack. I’m dominated and not in a good way. The turn and river are of no help to me and I’m back in my car and home just in time before I start crying. A dreadful evenings work, the last time I saw so many useless Johnnies they were in a condom machine in the Vatican etc.

Kenny Rogers once sang you’ve got to know when to hold ‘em and when to fold ‘em, well I do and I did, and I still lost, so fuck off you grey haired old bastard, what the hell do you know about cards anyway?

And while we’re on the subject of the “Gambler”, according to him, the best you can hope for is to die in your sleep. Well call me over-ambitious, but I’m hoping for a little than that out of my life. And anyway, if you’re such a successful f*cking gambler, why are you bumming cigarettes and whiskey off of strangers? Buy your own you cheap old bastard. Oh you can’t now can you, cause you died in your sleep.

Ha! That’s what I call closure.


"Gets down to what it's all about, doesn't it? Making the wrong move at the right time." -- Lancey Howard, The Cincinatti Kid

“No shit Lancey, I didn’t think of that” – Me, just now.


Big Fat Sam Allardyce slams "fat, lazy nation"

2/11/2007 02:35:00 pm / The truth was spoken by Rich / comments (1)

"Big Fat" Sam Allardyce fears England could struggle in the coming years because the nation is becoming 'fat and lazy'. The Bolton boss believes the government must act quickly to provide children with better physical education if world class sporting champions are to be unearthed.

He believes all sports will suffer for a couple of generations, and feels the signs are already evident with the dearth of young English talent in the Premiership. "This is not a football problem - it's a massive problem for the country, caused by not getting the school curriculum right," he warned while polishing off a kebab.

"We are becoming a fat, lazy nation and our kids are the same. We simply don't grow top sportsmen and women from a young age.

"It's about identifying high quality young men and women and developing their talent before they are passed on to whatever sport they are going to be professionals in.

"The current England football team is fine but there are very few England Under 21 players playing regularly in the Premiership." continued Allardyce while stirring a fourth sugar into his mug of tea.

"Before we can get it right there will be two or three generations of English footballers that will not be good enough. If we don't change now it will get worse before it gets better."


Sky Sports - Fat Sam

IQ points are the vital statistic

2/10/2007 03:05:00 pm / The truth was spoken by Rich / comments (0)

Newspapers, magazines and the like have a tendency to append a number to people’s names when they’re first introduced into an article. Usually it’ll be their age, for example, Michael Magilacuddy 37, from Tackley etc. In tabloid newspapers and, I have heard tell, in porn magazines, they use a ladies vital statistics; Babs (34, 26, 32), from Essex and so on.

This information is in most examples, completely redundant. The exception maybe, being the porn magazine's use of vital statistics…although who cares about numbers when you’re cracking one off in the bathroom? The text is all just a blur isn’t it when you’re really going for it.

If there must be a numerical suffix, why not adopt IQ points? This to me is far more relevant, particularly if the person in question is giving an opinion on a tricky social issue, or commenting on something that requires intelligent reasoning.

You would be far more encouraged to read on if the person in question was John (IQ:134) than if it were George (IQ:58). And even in the case of the porn magazine it would be a relevant statistic. I may be in the minority here, but intelligence in a woman makes me incredibly randy. An opportunity to entertain an educated woman is in my opinion a very exciting prospect. If she’s wearing wellies and is a little bit muddy also, then these are additional bonuses.

I am in no doubt my man juices would begin flowing far more freely if the centrefold were introduced as Debbie (IQ:127) than Debbie (34, 26, 32). I’m a man after all. I don’t even know what those numbers mean anyway. If it means she has big tits and a narrow waist, well, I can see that already can’t I? I can’t tell by her hourglass figure and ocean blue eyes however, how should would fare with the Guardian cryptic crossword.

At this point I should like to remind you all that there are exceptions to every rule, and my fetish for IQ points does not encompass the Vorderman woman. Mans shoulders and mans voice. Awful, simply a dreadful creature. My sexual urges are no more aroused by her than my appetite is aroused by a plate of hospital macaroni cheese.


Anyway, I digress. Would the American electorate have been so enthusiastic about voting for George W. Bush had they listed his IQ score rather than his age? Yes granted, it was the same, 58 on both accounts, but the point is they would have stated his IQ as 58 and one would hope this would have given John Kerry (IQ: 134) a significant advantage. One would hope.

Would the concerns of 8 year old Johnny Parsons from Warwick regarding the proposed invasion of Iraq been so dismissed out of hand in 2003 had the Blue Peter website on which they were posted listed his IQ of 102 rather than his age? How many lives would have been spared if little Johnnys prophesies had been seen vicariously through the eyes of an IQ centurion rather than the eyes of an infant? Or something.

If it became common practice to list peoples IQ points, would this not encourage us all to improve our own scores? Would society not be a better place as people began to use their newfound intelligence in their day-to-day lives? Would this not in turn help us tackle tomorrow’s problems with imagination, a greater sense of purpose and optimism? Would this not mean the end of religion, tabloid journalism and the entire county of Essex? I see no flaw in this plan people. Let’s begin today.

“So far as I can remember, there is not one word in the Gospels in praise of intelligence.”

--Bertrand Russell (1872 - 1970)

I don't want to ruin anyones fun but....

2/10/2007 01:02:00 am / The truth was spoken by Rich / comments (1)

On the left we have a man. On the right we have typical snowmen.











Can you spot the difference? I can. It's that the snowman looks nothing like a fucking man. When did you last see a bloke walking down the street who looked like three spheres progressively smaller in size stacked on top of each other? When? NEVER!!

Your snow creations are of an insect form people, INSECT!! Have you any idea of the consequences of building cazillions of seven foot high snow insects?? HAVE YOU GOD DAMN YOU?? How big is an insect? Half a centimetre at most? Can you image how big a seven foot high snow insect would look to a fly?

How would you feel if you woke up one morning to find your town littered with enormous white human figures the size of the statue of liberty? What would you think? You'd think aliens or Gods is what you'd think. Either way the very fabric of our society would disintegrate in a matter of days as cult after cult induced suicide reduced the population to the bare bones and end of the world type anarchy reigned. Ironically, just long enough for the snow gods to last before melting.

Insects are vital people, we need them. I'm not really sure why cause I'm only on chapter one of the my Charles Darwin book, but I'm pretty sure we need them. The way I see it, they'd be all dead by now if they didn't serve some sort of vital role some how, to some one. What if they form cults and millions of them commit suicide? Worse, what if they don't serve a vital purpose and they become emboldened by the Gods and rise up against us? We'd be flapping about with our fly swatters only to have millions of them appear and remove from our hands those chaos grids and beat US with them instead. Who knows where it might end.

Please people, please, if you're going to build things in the snow, build in human form only. It's just too dangerous otherwise. We can't afford to take a chance. Think of the future, think of the kids.

Blair declares MRSA no longer an issue in undisclosed location

2/09/2007 05:31:00 pm / The truth was spoken by Rich / comments (1)

UNDISCLOSED LOCATION FEB 9 - Prime Minister Tony Blair declared triumphantly and with a typical shit eating grin, the MRSA 'superbug' was no longer a problem in an undisclosed NHS location early this afternoon, about 2-ish.

Reforms in hygiene and cazillions of pounds of investment in the NHS have seen off the infection, beamed the Prime Minister, who also took the opportunity to accuse Conservative leader David Cameron of being a nancy boy for no apparent reason.

Tony Blair also announced that the hospital, as well as seeing off the MRSA bug, also made an enormous profit in the last financial year and will now reinvest the money in a supplementary project which will further benefit a many number of people throughout the country over the coming decade, which we took to mean a new swimming pool for his £5million house.

It was then put to the Prime Minister in a brief question and no answer session, that the reason MRSA was no longer an 'issue' in the hospital was because actually, all the patients were now dead...and this in turn has lead to the hospital moving into the black as there was now no need for any medication, catering or staff (apart from a single cleaner, who may or may not be a ghost).

The Prime Minister responded by pointing at a window and shouting "Ooooh look a flying pig" and with the heads of the journalists turned then pelted down the hallway cackling manically shouting "suckers!!".





An undisclosed location early today, about 2-ish

Global warming my arse, it's f**king freezing outside

2/08/2007 03:58:00 pm / The truth was spoken by Rich / comments (0)

For a nation so obsessed with the weather we all seem so completely incapable of dealing with it. I've had to have a pot noodle for lunch today because every which way out of my street is blocked either by snow, or by car pile-ups caused by people who don't have the good sense to adjust their driving style according to the conditions.

In the summer when the temperature reaches 30c we’re quite happy to allow our pensioners to sit indoors with all the windows closed wearing a thick woolly cardigan and seem genuinely shocked that they decompose within days.

People go out jogging in a hurricanes and end up being swept under an eighteen-wheeler and again, people seem genuinely shocked. The only weather we can cope with is rain, and that’s because it rains eight days out of ten. We’re still under hosepipe ban conditions mind.

There are only four schools in the country open today, only three offices and a single pub in Taunton. We all should have known global warming was bollocks as soon as Tony Blair said there was unequivocal evidence of its existence.

The more forward thinking countries would now be looking ahead to a few days time when the snow melts, making provision for the inevitable flooding which will also close businesses and cost cazillions more in lost revenue. We on the other hand, will spend this time making snowmen.

I predict next Monday I still won’t have access to the shop selling the delicious taco’s I have come to love, because my town will be under four feet of water; water incidentally, that will be allowed to just dry up over the course of a week or two rather than be collected up with some sort of pumping gizmo and filtered and stored in half empty reservoirs to prevent a hose pipe ban in the summer.

Or it will be allowed to freeze creating more chaos as people again fail to incorporate even a snifter of common sense into their thinking as they Mario Andretti their way to work in 4x4s, killing children and lollipop ladies in equal measure.

I don’t actually care about the environment, or the hosepipe bans (I don’t even own a watering can) and I don’t even care about all the little fuckers who spray my windows (and me when I wave my fist at them) with snowballs when they should be at school learning how to not spell and I definitely couldn’t give a toss about lollipop ladies who firmly believe a car should be forced to screech to halt so a kid can get home 15 seconds faster.

I do however, care about my lunch. A man cannot live on Pot Noodles alone. Jesus Christ on roller-skates I’m not a fucking student. If I don’t have access to a Mexican chicken taco and a copy of the Racing Post on a daily basis I may as well just bally well give in. That’s what I always say.


Just the good ole boys - wouldn't change if they could

2/08/2007 02:23:00 pm / The truth was spoken by Rich / comments (0)














"You go to war with Uncle Sam and you will die" even if you're WITH Uncle Sam

2/06/2007 05:28:00 pm / The truth was spoken by Rich / comments (1)

WASHINGTON DC - The pilot of the A-10 Tankbuster responsible for bombing the hell out of a British Army convey of tanks killing Lance Corporal Matty Hull in the process has been identified as the President of the United States, George W. Bush.

In a sickeningly callous public relations stunt, the President was sent up in the warplane to win back the support of the American public who have lost faith in the Bush Administrations Iraq War "strategy".

A White House spokesman probably told me earlier today, "We figured if the President got up there himself and started wasting those insurgent som'bitches he would send a clear message to the American people that he is 100% committed to the fight. Unfortunately, he wasted those nice British folks who keep bailing us out of trouble."

A full transcript of the cockpit video the Pentagon did not want us to see is given below. The Presidents call sign is Barney. The US Marine Corps Forward Air Controllers call sign is Manilla Hotel.

BARNEY: Breaker breaker 1-9, this is Barney is anyone on my frequency, come back.

MANILLA HOTEL: Erm…Roger Barney, this is MANILLA HOTEL,

BARNEY: Well hello there good buddy, let’s have some fun on this here two way. Where are those commy som’bitches? Come back.

MANILLA HOTEL: Erm..your targets are marked 313322 and 313323, confirm? Over

BARNEY: Is that you Scooter? Roger

MANILLA HOTEL: Erm..negative Barney this er…this is er..we’re the guys in the room with all those flashy TV screens sir…the ones you said beep too loud. We spot the bad guys sir. Over

BARNEY: Where are the damn cup holders in this thing? I can’t find the damn cup holders. $613 billion dollars I give you guys in the last defence budget and there are no damn cup holders in the cockpit. Give me a second Scooter, I’m gonna need to down this bad boy in one.

MANILLA HOTEL: Erm…sir..er..Barney, can you confirm your targets at 313322 and 313323? Over.

BARNEY: Buuuuuuuurghhhhhhhhh. Aaaaah.

MANILLA HOTEL: Erm...repeat, can you confirm your targets are at 313322 and 313323. Over.

BARNEY: Break breaker, I got a bear in the air with a plane brown wrapper, I’m gonna turn and burn and fry these guys for supper. Hook em cook em and take em home to momma. Victor Roger Over

MANILLA HOTEL: Barney, what numbers do you have flashing in your green square in front of your eyes? over.

BARNEY: Let's see now...we got a 4 a 3 a 5 and a deuce deuce. These guys are so stoopid, they cover their veeee-hick-uls with bright orange covers. What the sam hell kinda camouflage is that? Hell, my Daddy could see that and he can't see the nose in front 'o his face. Roger.

MANILLA HOTEL: Erm..negative sir negative....those are friendlies, REPEAT, Those are friendly targets. Abort attack REPEAT, ABORT ATTACK

BARNEY: BORN IN THE USA I WAS BOOORN IN THE USAAAA. TRY AND KILL MY DAD WILL YA YOU RAG HEAD WEARING SOM’BITCHES, COME ON SCOOTER LET’S SMOKE THESE GOOKS

MANILLA HOTEL: OH JESUS CHRIST ON THREE WHEELS, SIR NO NO! THOSE ARE FRIENDLIES PLEASE GOD NO SIR THOSE ARE FRIENDLIES REPEAT FRIENDLIES….ABORT ATTACK….. ABORT ABORT ABORT…LARRY CALL SOMEONE, ERASE THOSE EMAILS, SHUT DOWN THOSE RECORDERS, DANNY, WHERE’S MY CIGARETTES, PETEY, WE WERE NEVER HERE, IF ANYONE ASKS WE WERE NEVER HERE, FRANKY, HOW ABOUT SOME COFFEE? NO THANKS.

BARNEY: BINGO!!! MISSION ACCOMPLISHED SUCKERS. You go to war with Uncle Sam and you will die!!






Bernard Manning furious over culled Turkeys

2/05/2007 02:54:00 pm / The truth was spoken by Rich / comments (1)

MANCHESTER - Comedian Bernard Manning was said to be furious last night as the culling of over one hundred thousand turkeys continued in order to prevent the spread of Avian flu, which threatens to do fuck all actually when you look at the facts.

"Look, just fuck off you lot, Manning (76) told reports at his Manchester home. It's got fuck all to do with me. It's Bernard Matthews you want."

Bernard Matthews was more philosophical. "Well you see, these there birds, they 'ave to be slaughtered so that they don't die, see" he told an American woman who was only in Suffolk cause she wanted to see where all the hookers were strangled.

Country folk with country ways. Despite the fact that Avian flu has only claimed 164 lives since it was first identified three years ago, and despite the fact that 135 people were blown to pieces in a single bomb attack in Iraq over the weekend, the discovery of a sick Turkey in Suffolk continues to dominate the 24 hour news channels who look for any excuse to add words like Pandemic, slaughter and cull and paint, Cassandra like picture of helpless doom and destruction.

Personally, I'd rather hear about how to prevent myself from drowning in the bath or being electrocuted at the hands of a pair of curling tongs, which statistically speaking, pose a greater threat to my life.

I long for a time when the general public can distinguish between a perceived risk and an actual risk. I'm made physically sick by FWWC's* who reach a state of blind hysteria whenever Sky News or the News of the World or any news media owned by Rupert Murdoch spots an opportunity to sensationalise an otherwise innocuous news story.

If the tabloid medias perception of the world was accurate, there really would be a paedophile on every street corner sporting a dirty cardigan, ready and waiting for our children, Werthers Originals in hand, and baby lotion in pocket. Every Muslim would have 20lbs of plastic explosives strapped to his waist and our Christmas dinner would bring about a plague the likes of which we haven't seen since THE plague. Boils in the armpits at breakfast, death by supper.

*FWWC (fat women with cats) is an acronym I'm hoping will become a colloquial term for members of the general public who aren't able to make reasonable judgments by themselves. I've found this demographic consists mostly of fat women who own more than three cats, but it is by no means restricted to them.



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