Electroconvulsive Sheikh Treatment!
The Sheikh went sub-molecular for this one! As soon as anyone in the mainstream media takes the Sheikh's words 'out of context', the Sheikh Conductor Coil, pictured here, will operate, and deliver a small, but noticeable, Electric Sheikh to the wearer. Now, if only he could convince members of the media to wear the coil...
The Sheikh went sub-molecular for this one! As soon as anyone in the mainstream media takes the Sheikh's words 'out of context', the Sheikh Conductor Coil, pictured here, will operate, and deliver a small, but noticeable, Electric Sheikh to the wearer. Now, if only he could convince members of the media to wear the coil...
An entry for Catallaxy.
16 comments:
And then there's the Sheikh's Latin American popstar daughter, Sheikhira. And the B-52's famous hymn to the Sheikh:
The Love Sheikh is a little old place Where we can get together,
Love Sheikh, baby,
Loke Sheikh, bay-beee
(Now downloadable to your mobile as polyphonic ring tone.)
Not to mention the world's first halal superhero: Akhmed Bond, Sheiken, not schtirred!
This is very good.
"Let them eat Sheikh" - Marie Antoinette.
That's Hilalrious!
Sheik Sheik Sheik,
Sheik Sheik Sheik...
Sheik Your Booty.... Tim!!
Among other things!
It's Sheikh-down time! Pater Pundemonium's Palace o' Puns (NOW RECRUITING!!) provides plentifully for his flock:
From pulp novels:
Sheikhlock Holmes and the Case of the Man in Mufti ("Elementary my dear al-Watsoni, it was, as it always is, the Christian Hounds of the Baskervilles!")
To pithy bon mots:
"Verily do I say, Sheikh and ye shall find"
To Exciting and Modern songs for the Younger Set, such as "Super Sheikh" by James Rick. It features such great lines as:
Ohhhhh
Super Shiekh, super Sheikh
That dude's a super Sheikh
Ohhhhh
What a howler! I meant of course, to type Rick James, not James Rick. I've been shackled to this dashed horrid desk for too long. It's turned me into Enid Blyton.
Blundering blitherskins, Nottlesby! Turning into Enid Blyton? It sounds like someone has been surreptitiously filling your tea-cup full of oestrogen!
But by an interesting coincidence, I am reading a Famous Five book right at the moment, and enjoying it thoroughly. Five go to Smuggler's Top! An ancient hill, surrounded by a sinister, misty moor, and governed by a wicked patriarch who has undoubtedly been engaging in nefarious activities. But hark! What is that sound I hear in the next room? Quick, Timmy, into the secret chamber! And don't make a sound!
'Tis most enjoyable.
I rather fancy you may be right, Tymnus. There's something horrid in the water supply, and Five Go To The Reservoir might be my next title. I shall start dictating it to Miss Wotherspoon as soon as I've thrashed my beastly children soundly and locked them, manacled upside-down in the broom cupboard.
... and I'd like a guinea for every time a woman has whispered to you "Quick Timmy, into the secret chamber, and don't make a sound"!
You have children? Allow me to be the first person to congratulate you for this happy event, and give them a good thrash for me, will you?
It is fascinating how such punitive measures carry down over the generations. One such punishment by my father was to threaten us with large pots of boiling oil. He stood firmly by the maxim, "Spare the stick, and boil the child!" A fine saying, and I stick by it Right Unto This Very Day.
Well, writing as Enid Blyton I do. I thought it was a widely-known fact that she treated her own progeny abysmally while banging away at her typewriter every day to give other people's children hours of delight, entertainment and Sound British Moral Instruction (to wit: don't trust black people, gypsies, fishermen, or anyone whose Pater earns less than 75 thousand per annum).
And also, one presumes, courage, camaraderie, Team Spirit, imagination, inventiveness, and independence. It is interesting to note from the Wikipedia entry on Enid Blyton that:
"In a survey of adults between the ages of 25 and 54 conducted by Cartoon Network in England in 2004, The Famous Five was named as the top children's book."
Considering that there was no children's book called 'The Famous Five' (Those three words don't appear together in any of the titles), I suppose this proves the idiocy of such surveys.
Gosh I loved the Famous Five books when I was a little tacker Tim.
I had all 21 books (in hardcover)
Unfortunately, I did not keep them all.
Still have one though,
Five Have Plenty Of Fun.
Always thought they were better than " The Secret Seven."
"Five Have Plenty of Fun", eh? That sounds like an invitation to some kind of appalling Continental Debauch (involving, perhaps a Frenchman, a couple of dancing girls, an innocent Curate, and the proprietor of a provincial Hôtel). Not the Enid I read as a lad!
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