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Tim, your links stink, you fink!
- John Bangsund's Threepenny Planet
- Broken Biro
- Poetry 24
- Superlative scribbles
- Kirstyn McD!
- Rorrim a tsomla almost a mirror
- More Sterne
- Sterne
- Cam the man from the Dan.
- Too hot to Raaaaaaandallllllll!
- Erin's Excellently Everlasting Effervescements!
- Slammy Infamy
- Hail Paco!
- Baron Blandwagon, purveyor of cyberbunnies, hawker of Roger Corman, and Misruler of the Multiverse
- The Bolta. Aiyeeeeee!!!!!
- Bad Apple Audrey
- The cartoon church
- Sir Martinkus
- A Zemblanian abroad and at home
- A hodge podge of hotzeplotz
- THE SLAMMA!
- Jottlesby's nottings, or should that be Nottlesby's jottings?
- The Snarking of the Hunt
- Jazzy Hands
- David of Metal City
- David the Barista
- The Blogger on the Cast Iron Balcony
- Be an Opinion Dominion Minion!
- Mel...
- ... and Fel
- His brilliant career - from whale sushi to crumbed prawn
- Jo Blogs
- Yet another Tim
- Croucherisms...
- Was two peas, now three peas
- Desciopolous!
- ... Still Life - now with extra rotating cats!
- Erin...
- An Amazingly Awesome Australian Ampersand!
- Blink and you'll miss 'er
- Red in the land of the tigers!
- Wire of Vibe
- Chase him, ladies, he's in the cavalry!
- The Non-palindromical Editrix in Germanium
- Old Sterne
- Gempiricalisations
- TonyT
- The briefs...
- ... and the brieflets
- The Purple Blog
- Blairville, lair of all that is wicked and perfidious
- The enticingly acronymical CSH
- EXTREEEEEEEME WYNTER!
- Mark of California
- Jellyfish
- Silent Speaking
- Lexicon the Mexican
Email: timhtrain - at - yahoo.com.au
Blog Archive
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2007
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June
(33)
- The Rants Pants
- A Suggested Cultural Activity
- How to not quite quit
- The Scent of Wet Office Worker
- Underpants of Mystery
- A provocative question
- A Meditation on Human Failings
- Teen Squeam
- A pointless post, in points
- Bottoms! Bottoms! Bottoms! Bottoms! Bottoms! Botto...
- Fat is unpatriotic
- The Weekly Fop #2: Duck Fops!
- Any Tense You've Got
- Footnote
- Fashion! Religion! Bad puns!
- Extra! Extra!
- Review: Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell
- History Segment!
- They Don't Write Books Like They Used To...
- The Weekly Fop #1: Cerealism
- Please Do Not Apply
- An Announcement...
- An Afterthought...
- Too Twee for Two
- If Magazine Subscribers Were Like Football Fanatics
- For my next trick...
- Tennis? It's All A Load of Balls, Really...
- Six Word Phrases You May Not Want To Hear
- Tales From Earthsea
- A Band Called Rubber
- Postmodernism Explained
- All About Cows
- The Daily Tele Graph
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June
(33)
15 comments:
All right, all right, I have no self-restraint.
Is that your foot? If so, can you play the piano with your toes too?
This reminds me that Alexis has not delivered on her promise to provide a photo of her Pre-Raphaelite feet!
No: it is not my foot. I do not know whose foot it is. One presumes that the foot wishes its identity to remain anonymous: it is, if you like, an Iconic Foot.
Now if only we could get some pictures of the LEXIconic feet!
It is reassuring to know that one only has to go off to wash out the teapot and there will be a fresh pun waiting in the meantime.
It does seem more like a woman's foot. I am very interested in feet, because I have such ugly ones. Bad hands too- too small for my arms. Hence I am always keen to coerce people into rubbing feet and hands.
You are in closer proximity to the lexiconic feet, so the technical side of the mission is your domain.
Ha! Thanks for reminding me. My feet are complete posers. I'll book them in for a session with my camera tonight, insh'allah y'allah.
I just noticed: "I am always keen to coerce people into rubbing feet and hands". Could you clarify a little. Rubbing their own feet and hands, rubbing yours, rubbing the feet and hands of a third party? Sounds like quite the party trick.
Goody. I thought I was going to have to ask Tim to sneak up on the lexiconic feet or employ some sort of subterfuge just so I can have a look- and I'm sure sneakiness and subterfuge are not like Tim at all!
I'm sorry to say that, very dully and as is consistent with my general selfishness in these matters, I was thinking of my own hands and feet being rubbed, although a tryst between multiple hands and feet does sound rather more interesting in hindsight, especially given recent weather conditions. It may also interest you to know that I have a rather complex theory of backrubs, which I will not detail, for it will only make the horribly Freudian moment worse!
But I don't understand. You think that your hands and feet aren't very fetching, and so you want people to rub them for you? What's the causal link?
Very keen to hear your backrub theory. If scruples and finances permitted, I'd pay for a full-time head scratcher.
Alexis, bugger the scruples,
Just threaten your pupils
To have a hairdo like Thatcher's:
Voila! Instant head scratchers!
But what if some young activist
Instead of offering scratches,
Feeling anti-capit'list
Promptly me dispatches?
Distract the young Stalin
With a frolicking Marlin.
Sadly I don't have a causal link, so I'll have to make one up on the spot. Perhaps having my unfetching hands and feet appreciated by another makes me feel better about them? I had warts on my fingers as a child, so maybe I'm covering up the phantom warts?
I'd have a full-time head scratcher too! And a hair brusher. It's best to have one's head scratched or one's hair brushed on public transport- it feels daring, but it technically isn't.
I probably shouldn't go into too much detail on the backrub theory, for it will no doubt unfold all my neuroses before you in one go and that may be a little terrifying. It is, in short, an alternate theory of evolution which I deploy in order to demonstrate to ganders that their acquiessence in the wishes of gooses to have their backs rubbed and heads scratched for extended periods of time is an inevitability.
Geese! Arghhhhhhhh!
Gosh, do I ever need another cup of tea!
All this talk about me recently has upset the Kremlin.
Expect me to send in my foot soldiers!
(I'll leave it to you to find a photo of a foot with little helmets on the toes)
P.S Love the Plumbing Anthem, we shall use it at the next May Day parade
I'll be no Soviet toe-rag or footling!
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