All 8 entries tagged Humour
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May 16, 2007
After Top B yesterday, next to the Hot Chocolate stall, some guy kept calling me Jesus. I totally missed the opportunity for an “I’m Jesus? LOL!” joke. Other comments I wasn’t sober enough to think of include the fact that I was wearing all black rather than the traditional messianic plain white of forgiveness, and anything involving the idea that Cliché Jesus and Jesus are different people (one talks about peace and forgiveness and is unlikely to have been a white caucasian, the other travels the world appearing in toast and befriending lepers).
If I were Jesus, I probably wouldn’t spend my time thinking of names for the chat-shows I’d almost inevitably be invited to host when the news got out. “Face to face with Faith’s true face” (subtitle “We’re going one-on-one with the One”) has the benefit of annoying the continuity announcers, while “Allah-bout Allah” is simple, but implies the wrong religion. “Al is I Am” or “Al-eluia” could work, but only if I keep my current name to some extent. There’s also probably something you could do with “Yahweh-t”, and “Logos” is simple enough that I feel I ought to be able to find a title it fits into.
Just for the record, I’m fairly sure I’m not actually Jesus. But on the off chance that I’m wrong, and I am in fact destined to herald in the End of Days, you should all repent from your sins and start a new relationship with me. Reading my blog is probably a good way to start. It’s quite hard to sin while reading blogs (although I’m sure the more dedicated sinners among you could manage to do so), and it could definitely be the start of a relationship if you don’t already know me. So in summary: sin is bad; the Apocalypse is potentially coming.
September 19, 2006
That Hennell be a more untrustworthy swine than a thievin’ monkey covered in ale an’ set on fire! When I said ter him that me cracker be gone, he acted all helpful like, even makin’ me this here image fer me ter use. Course, I went and forgot it when I were writin’ me report, but I don’t be the slimey privateer o’ a weasel we be talkin’ about here. Tha’ lowdown dirty deceiver knew where me cracker was all along!
Serves ‘im right that he missed out on all the fun on the Monday, when a couple o’ mates o’ mine came round ter me cabin. He were off somewhere jumpin’ into water an’ stoppin’ people from drownin’, as if that be a useful skill fer a pirate! I be thinkin’ tha’ since his captain has only got the one eye, he be makin’ all the wrong people walk the plank. An’ then he be needin’ them ter be saved so he pushes Hennell in ter do tha’ fer him.
The rest o’ us, we spent our night takin’ over the world on a map. What were more suprisin’ than screamin’ crabs fallin’ from the sky was when Cabin Boy Pete won twice over (with the help o’ Stupid Fool o’ a Deckhand Chris). Then we played some kind o’ game runnin’ around London with paper dubloons, an’ I won it nicely. By this point it were gettin’ early, so we decided ter go visit the hummock fer dawn in Stupid Fool o’ a Deckhand Chris’s dinghy o’ the roads.
A hummock is sommat like a sand dune on an island yer might get marooned on, ‘cepting that it be bigger, and it ain’t made o’ sand, and it ain’t on an island. Alas, this particular hummock be badly placed ter see the dawn, so it weren’t so grand a sight as I were expectin’. We played a couple o’ games o’ Cheat while we were there, which Storesmaster Mairead the Bloody were mighty confused by. I took some photos, but most weren’t good enough ter show even ter the rat-infested corpse o’ a person.
When I got back ter me cabin, I slept fer a couple o’ hours an’ later went ter work me final shift at the Orpheus. Some say the place be haunted, but that be more ridiculous than a five-legged goat dressed up as a man an’ made ter dance. The ghosts people sometimes think they see, they be nothin’ more than customers! An’ customers be a lot better than ghosts, ‘cause if ye can persuade them ter see one o’ our god-awful films, then they pay yer fer it too!
On the Thursday, we met up fer various reasons, many of which were scuppered by Cabin Boy Pete not comin’ along. Stupid Fool o’ a Deckhand Chris scarpered later, wi’out even a goodbye. This left meself, Storesmaster Mairead the Bloody an’ Cracker Thievin’ Mutineer Hennell ter entertain ourselves by hopin’ fer a goat. When no goats appeared, we decided the next best thing would be ter see a film, but we disagreed about how god-awful it should be.
After much debate and no agreement, we went ter see Right at Yer Door rather than Little Man. Storesmaster Mairead the Bloody disliked it, but what do she know? I still be deciding whether I liked the endin’ or not, but it were mainly good.
More recently, I been workin’ on the Lord o’ the Hoops game. It be shapin’ up ter be an ARRR-some game, despite the lack o’ any pirates in it at all.
This be a fine entry, ter be sure, but I can’t be helpin’ the feelin’ that no matter the number o’ pirate entries I write, they’ll forever be in the shadow o’ sommat better. ‘Tis a sad thing, usin’ up all yer genius too soon. There be nowhere ter go but down, an’ down is where the water be.
September 10, 2006
Mairead, in her deluded fashion, has decided that a cracker, if left outside of a cracker jar, will eventually go mouldy.
Rather than pat her on the head and say, “Yes, deary,” (followed by running away quickly), I decided to prove her wrong in the greatest scientific experiment ever performed on a cracker.
And so began the arduous task of photographing the cracker. These photos were provided to the scientific community to examine and verify my results. So far, no scientist has found a trace of mould in these images.
However, before the project had even reached the two month mark, disaster struck. The cracker was missing from its fortified storage location. The guards, after extensive questioning, realised that they had not necessarily seen the cracker since its last test, two weeks prior.
Someone was a cracker-thief.
Someone who probably also answered my phone so that I wouldn’t find out that my juggling balls had arrived. That’s just the type of thing that a cracker-thief would do.
Look at that grin on his face. If that’s not the grin of a cracker-thief, I don’t know what is.
Ian has unparalleled access to the storage room, often wandering in for the sole purpose of annoying me. I am confident that he would happily eat the cracker, even if not particularly hungry. Ian was aware of the experiment, but this would not have stopped him from eating the cracker, and might even encourage him to do so.
Look at that ugly grimace on her face.
If that’s not the grimace of a cracker-thief, I don’t know what is.
Mairead has the most to lose from the cracker experiment’s conclusions. Disrupting it would keep herself from being proved wrong once again. She also bears several violent grudges against me, the most recent of which being when I completely destroyed her while playing Risk.
On at least two occasions, she has had easy access to the storage room.
Like Mairead, Chris had recently been humiliated in a game of Risk. However, he is unlikely to have taken this personally.
Being unaware of the cracker experiment, it is possible that he may have seen a tasty-looking (and non-mouldy) cracker lying about, and simply decided to eat it. This would not be out of character.
Since he left to go to work when everyone else stayed sleeping in the tent, he had fewer opportunities to eat the cracker than Mairead.
Hennell was at least aware that there was something going on with the cracker, so is unlikely to have eaten it accidentally.
However, he might have eaten it in the hope that it would cure whatever illness he was suffering from on the trip to Hay-on-Wye. In this case, he might ignore the scientific value of the experiment for his own benefit.
This is not very likely, since to the best of my knowledge, crackers have no restorative healing powers.
Pete probably didn’t eat or steal the cracker.
September 03, 2006
August 20, 2006
So, my update–once–a–week plan lasted 3 weeks, followed by 6 weeks of not doing so. In that time, I have done little. Certainly, there is no reason I could not have worked through my "stupid crap to eventually write about" list (currently containing 6 items).
What went wrong?
For starters, I picked myself to implement this update plan. A rookie mistake, really – don't rely on anyone who couldn't motivate his way out of a paper bag.
Additionally, I have just enough distractions to get me through any given day without having to do anything important or even interesting.
And thirdly, everything I have to write about is either uninteresting or outdated (or probably both).
What to do now?
Plan A: Stop writing anything. The uninteresting stuff remains uninteresting and the outdated stuff becomes outdated to the point of uninterestingness. This solves everything, but I remain incapable of remembering anything from further in the past than a couple of months. My memories of university become a mushy green goo smelling vaguely of peanuts.
Plan B: Train myself to update every day by whipping myself for every day that is missed. Problem: I don't think I'm physically capable of whipping myself without dislocating my shoulder. I'd have to build some kind of robot whipping machine, and I'd just end up delaying that as well.
Plan C: Write some kind of wacky Perl script that would update for me. Geekiness levels would rise and relevance levels would fall, but other than that, a good enough script could be indistinguishable from the real me. Problem: I'd have to tread a thin line between making something that sounds like me and making something that becomes sentient and tries to kill me.
Plan D: Continue trying and failing to update regularly with interesting and amusing posts about my life. Only update sporadically, when the peanut smell gets too strong.