List I found in my notebook

Useful useless jobs

Maker of zips for fake pockets
Church gargoyle feeder
Umlaut weigher
Pre-ripper of invisible jeans
Snark breeder
Walker of trolls
Maker of pockets for fake zips
Reverse stripper

*Note: I heard the first two in various places, I'm not quite sure where. The rest I made up. 

A users guide to awkward hugs

Hugs are always awkward. In fact that's probably what hugs were invented for, cheap and efficient awkwardness on a global scale. There are some people who claim that hugs are for being comfy and feeling loved, but those people are in denial. How long is this comfy hug supposed to go on for? Is a feeling loved hug maximised if I place my arms here, or move them there? What if the second person in the comfy loving hug has entirely different feelings about the correct position and duration of the comfy loving hug than the first person in the comfy loving hug? There could be an argument about it. There could be a huge fight. Marriages have split up over less! It's all incredibly awkward, which takes us back to my initial point about hugs being always awkward. They just are, as I have just irrefutably proved.

But by far the most awkward hugs of all are awkward hugs. You might think this is tautological, and you'd be right. Awkwardly awkward hugs are the hugs that put the 'logical' into 'tautology'. You might argue that 'tautology' doesn't have 'logical' in it, and again it seems you would be right. It's all very awkward, and we're only *talking* about hugs, which really proves just how awkward they can be if we can come to such an embarrassing impasse without actually hugging.

So, it seems we need a users guide to awkward hugs. And here it is. Take it from me. I know about awkward hugs all right. I'm an expert. Nobody hugs more awkwardly than me.

1) Embarrassing embraces with people you've just met. 

2) Peremptory smooshes with people you'll never see again. 
If you do 1) right, it becomes 2) anyway.

3) Awkward hugs with awkward kisses. 
How do you do these things again? Peck on the cheek? Right hand cheek, left hand cheek? And quick, right? Just how quick?

4) Surprise hugs in the middle of a party from a drunk person. 
These are difficult. I find that awkward hugs works best if you really prepare for them, anticipate every aspect of their awkwardness for weeks, and then blunderingly get the whole thing wrong anyway, but surprise hugs in the middle of a party from a drunk person can be pretty awful too. Try and arrange for it to be a) in a surprisingly awkward location b) stationed in front of a large audience of people who will ask you awkward questions about it afterwards (eg your girlfriend/boyfriend/wife/husband) b) surprisingly, well, surprising.

5) Bear hugs from a bear. 
Very awkward, these.

6) Awkward hugs with awkward kisses from a bear. 
 You hardly even know one another, and already one of the party is bear. Ho ho ho ho ho.

7) Gawky side hugs.
Are you being not affectionate enough, or too affectionate? Should you be side hugging from the other side? These hugs create more questions than answers.

8) Manly manhugs with one of the participants being a dweeb and the dweeb is you. 

9) Cold emotionless distant formal hugs. 
Because emotion is evil and must be crushed.

10) Hugs for comfort where neither party is comfortable but maintain the illusion of comfort and safety to keep the other person feeling comfortable and safe. 
With a bear.

11) Awkwardly hugging someone with parasites. 

12) Passive aggressive hugging. 
I mean, often nobody's enjoying it. But sometimes it's got to be done.

SEE ALSO: Awkward sex hugs, awkward spooning where one of the partners is subtly out of position making the other spooner uncomfortable, awkward sex hugs with your partner, one cat, two dogs, and a goat. Not that I know anything about those ones. And the goats not talking either. 

Misinterpreted misinterpretations of words that do not mean what they mean

Oy you lot, drop what you're doing! I can't believe we didn't start talking about Robert Frost's poem The Road Not Taken five minutes ago! Is it up to me to start all the discussions about the completely random pointless trains of thought which I came up with for no reason at all and which I'm talking about no for even less reason? You're just lazy, that's what you are!

Anyway, everyone is wrong! This is a poem that has not just been misinterpreted, it's a poem where everyone's interpretation of the misinterpretation is a misinterpretation! (Except for me, of course.)

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

Got that?

- Okay, so ... it goes something like this. People commonly misinterpret this poem as if it was about a person choosing between two roads and then realising how that choice 'has made all the difference' later in their life. Seems simple enough, right?

- Ah, but, a second set of people claim. The poem's not really about that at all! It's about how there actually was no difference between the two choices! They point out how Frost describes the roads as being 'really about the same' and that 'both that morning equally lay'. There, you see, they claim, Frost is actually taking the piss out of this guy speaking, who says that the choice he made was actually important. The speaker is actually trying to make out a difference where there is none.

- Is not, say the first.

- Is too, say the second.

But - and here is the nub that the misinterpreters of the misinterpretation miss out on - it's not as if the speaker is relating the events as they happen to him. It's a past tense poem and could be relating events that happened years, even decades ago. So when the speaker says of his choice 'that has made all the difference', he may well be referring to knowledge he has gained since the events relayed in the poem. It is true that he says that 'I kept the first for another day/Yet knowing how way leads on to way,/I doubted if I should ever come back' - implying that he can't really know if taking the other track would have made a difference. But maybe he did? It doesn't say either way in the poem.

And it's not as if it's a purely physical poem, is it? The point the most first set of misinterpreters pick up on - sometimes - that the second set of misinterpreters don't is that it's a bit of a metaphor, really. The two roads mightn't even be real. They might just represent a choice the speaker made in their life. And though you can't ever return back to that point in your life where you were able to make that choice - 'knowing that way leads on to way', and all that - you might very well be able to discern the effects of those choices. And even if you make the simplest, most literal translation of all these lines - the poem actually is about a traveller in the woods making a choice that will affect his later life (and he is described as a 'traveller', and not just a 'sightseer' or something else, so it seems implicit he is making a journey of some import), it's pretty clear that making a choice between roads may make a difference in one's later life.

Wrong wrong wrong! You're all wrong! And citing the genesis of the poem - apparently Robert Frost wrote it for his friend, fellow poet Edward Thomas, who was apparently always regretting not taking certain roads in his walks with Frost - doesn't help much either, because it doesn't necessarily matter what the poet means to mean, since the poem means something entirely different from the meaning that poet means to mean anyway.

Right. Any objections? Good! Class dismissed!

Pub tongue twister....

Pub tongue twister - if you can recite it perfectly, then you clearly haven't had enough to drink.

The bald bard bawled

By the bad bard's bar

For the bald bard had brawled

With the bored bawd's bra*,

Til the big broad barman 

Barred the bard from the bar

So the bald bard bawled

By the.... blah blah blah blah. 

*Consensually. 

The most lamentable tragedy of Marcel Marceau

SCENE: A doctor's office. The DOCTOR is sitting at the desk going through his notes. In through the door comes MARCEL MARCEAU. 

DOCTOR: Yes. Good morning, Mr Marceau. I'm glad you've come to see me. I've been looking at your test results and they're not good. Not good at all, I'm afraid. 

MARCEL MARCEAU: (Says nothing). 

DOCTOR: And - yes, well. I think you'd better get comfortable and prepare yourself for what I've got to say. 

MARCEL MARCEAU: (Says nothing). 

DOCTOR: You see, Mr Marceau.... ahem.... I'm afraid you've got gesticular cancer. 

MARCEL MARCEAU: 

DOCTOR: Hm. Clearly it's already entered the terminal stage. 

FIN

Clearly learning about grammar in my German classes has driven me mad

Seeking for pluperfection

Had I the hat that I had had 

When I had had a hat 

Ah! Then the hat that I had had

Would have to have been that! 

And if the hat that I had had 

Had had a band of red

Then oft that hat that I had had

Had sat upon my head. 

Alas! The hat that I had had 

Had had a band although

The band the hat that I had had 

Had had had faded so. 

No more the hat I had to have 

Was mad to have and glad - 

I threw away that sad old hat 

The hat I had had had. 

If the reader so desires, they can find the right places to put the commas in amongst all those 'hads'. 

Not that I'm saying the world's going to explode if I don't answer this question, but you know, it probably will.

Right, world, listen up. You've kept us waiting too long and we all demand the answer to this question:

What on earth do homeschoolers who homeschool their kids call, you know, homework?

HOW CAN WE GO ON LIVING THIS EXISTENCE WITHOUT AN ANSWER TO THIS VITAL QUESTION?

An ohhhhhhhhhd

A few years ago the venerable institution going by the venerable name of Slamalamadingdong held an 'Anything Goes' poetry slam at their then venue of Trades Hall. Timing, as they say, is an indispensable element in many things - comedy, poetry, and outrageous distastefulness. So I hit on the idea of writing a love poem to the then Opposition Leader Tony Abbott and performing it at the slam. The worthy politician  who goes by that name has his advantages and disadvantages as a representative of Australia on the world stage, but his value in shocking and outraging people in the Melbourne Trades Hall is inestimable.

The years roll by. Tony Abbott is no longer Opposition Leader, no longer Prime Minister. The actual Prime Minister and Opposition Leader inspire nothing like the visceral shock and outrage and disgust that Mr Abbott seemingly was able to muster by simply turning to the camera and uttering a three syllable phrase - "Stop the boats!" Why, then, do I share with you now my Ode to Tony Abbott? For this very simple reason: I never actually got around to performing or writing it at the time of the Anything Goes slam. Timing is an indispensable element, in procrastination as in other things. 

An ode to Tony Abbott

Tony Abbott Tony Abbott 

Politician on a mission as you lead the coalition 

Pounding out the heaving bosom of the ocean 

While the water swells to meet you and the shoreline comes to greet you 

And the very planet shakes with the commotion. 

Tony Abbott Tony Abbott

With your roadways to tomorrow, pure, without sorrow, 

Clean cutting lines of asphalt and precision - 

And at night the luminescence of the neon fluorescence 

To sanctify your technocratic vision. 

Tony Abbott Tony Abbott

Warrior for the nation as we shout with acclamation 

And our voices mingle, passionate in praise - 

May our military munitions flower in perfervid fission 

And pay their tribute to you in a torrid blaze. 

Tony Abbott Tony Abbott 

Do you hear the metal ringing and the infrastructure singing

As the factories whisper out the Abbott story - 

And the smokestacks stand and shiver till with wonder they deliver

Clouds of radiant black effulgence for your glory! 

Tony Abbott Tony Abbott TONY ABBOTT. 

HIGHLY IMPORTANT POEM WITH NO WORDS AND ONLY THREE LETTERS

TFW

(FTW)

WTF!

A winning combination

Crocs. 

Crocs with socks. 

Crocs with socks and a box of chocs. 

Bojo made a booboo boohoo

Boris Johnson struggles in interview 
Boris Johnson seemed to struggle when asked by Eddie Mair on BBC Radio 4's PM to explain how plans laid out in the Queen's Speech would tackle "burning injustices" identified by Prime Minister Theresa May.

Has Bojo lost his mojo
Now that Corbyn's all a-gogo,
Have they conquered his blond conker
And driven him quite bonkers?
Has the polyphonic Pfefferneuse
Put his head in his own noose?
Is the boffin of the waffle
Lost in his own piffle-poffle?
The polls say yes, the polls say no,
The bottom line is, we don't know. 

Has the prime PM contender
Been marked return-to-sender?
Is the man they called Adonis
No longer due upon us?
Have his wingdings lost their zingzing,
Has his bikey lost its dingading?
Has he toddled off for wiff-waff?
Has the bofflin lost his boff?
The polls are up, the polls are down,
We go around, around, around. 

Furtive eggplant

I was in the garden this afternoon when, crouching down by the back of the beehives, I found a furtive eggplant. There is no eggplant, er, plant there. It was also not a very big eggplant, but it was an eggplant, so there you go.

I looked left. I looked right. I looked all around. One is occasionally accustomed to finding the odd egg in the garden (I've known a chicken or two with such nefarious thoughts in mind). But an eggplant?

There was a clunk or two over the other side of the fence. Could our 70 plus year old neighbour have thrown it over? Unlikely. The bees continued doing whatever it is bees do. Far off, on the other side of the garden, the chickens all stood around looking suitably suspicious. They certainly seemed they were up to something. But then, the chooks always seem like they're up to something.

I concluded my furtive eggplant investigations by creating the world's smallest eggplant parma. A coin is included for comparison.

It's not a very good mystery, but it's all I've got today. Thank you for reading my post about the furtive eggplant.

A pub poem

My chip has fallen to the floor.

The bar is crowded. I look down.

Sehnsucht. A lawless longing for

The unattainable. I frown.

STUDY: people who stay up late and are messy and get distracted easily and are five foot two and prefer dark chocolate and have a moustache but not a beard and who don't do the dishes often and who prefer dogs to cats and who live in Ringwood and who are called Brad are very intelligent

STUDY: people who stay up late and are messy and get distracted easily and are five foot two and prefer dark chocolate and have a moustache but not a beard and who don't do the dishes often and who prefer dogs to cats and who live in Ringwood and who are called Brad are very intelligent.

In breaking news, a new study confirms that people who stay up late and are messy and get distracted easily and are five foot two and prefer dark chocolate and have a moustache but not a beard and who don't do the dishes often and who prefer dogs to cats and who live in Ringwood and who are called Brad are very intelligent, according to a person called Brad.

Brad, who performed the intensive study in his offices in Ringwood, released this groundbreaking study to the international media this morning. The study had a sample size of one.

In other news, Brad is 28 years old, lives in his parent's cellar, and spends most of his time scratching his bum.

Poem composed on Mothers' Day 2017

I offer this poem to all: parents, aspiring parents and offspring alike.

Dear Mistress, dear Master, 

We render to thee

A morsel of mouse

Made tender for thee -

How pleasant a present 

For the household to see!

Now what shall thy gift

To thy parents be?

Gliterature

'Glittering' is a glittery word. 'Glistering' is a glittery word. 'Lustre' is a glittery word too. But combine them all and 'glustering' isn't very glittery at all. What the hell?

I have lost all my faith in the gliterary qualities of language.

Cat poetry

Anglo-Saxon Doge

Ēadig, þec tō mētenne, fréondléasta! Behealden! "Anglo-Saxon Doge". Georne!  

A poem in excellent taste

A poem in excellent taste

"Fair fa' your honest sonsie face" -

Ye carbo-gluto-great disgrace!

For years the Haggis set the standard

For horror foods, but I'll be candid,

Now other foods have come to try it,

To eat of which would cause a riot.

Would Sir prefer to rock the Casbah

With a slice of deep-fried Mars Bar,

Or would Sir rather rot his molar

With this deep-fried Coca Cola?

But Aussies can contend with these

With floater pies complete with peas -

To gaze within that Stygian grime,

The cow would die a second time.

Halal Snack Packs complete with cheese

Compete with this for extra quease.

A slice of fruit for those more pure -

It smells like foetid bogs and sewer.

A Parma can reward the senses

With its homely decadences,

But for sheer bloody What-The-Fucken-

Hell-Is-This at parties, try Turducken.

Lutefisk, Moose Nose, Bird-spit soups,

Stylised culinary poops -

Spit beer served in Mason jars

By suspect men in dingy bars;

Blue-green algae lattes (what the?

I'll go back to ol' Pigs Trotters).

This list of epicurean shame

Is long and everyone's to blame

And though I wish I'd not begun,

I'll just say this and then I'm done -

If you can eat it, please go nuts!

So long as you don't spill your guts.

Thursday morning deprecation of teapots

At a time when the whole art world was going wiggly-woggly and frilly-frolly with noblets and nodules and nipples galore, look at what one Christopher Dresser created. The world's most ridiculous teapot.

I mean, really! The bloody thing would overbalance as soon as you tried to pick it up. And you can't steady it with your hand either, because it's made out of metal, so you'd just burn your hand. Anticipating this problem (maybe), Dresser gave it an upturned spout, but then you've got to wonder how you'd pour the stupid tea out anyway. Maybe it goes something like 1) Pour the hot water over the tea leaves at the bottom of the pot 2) Get two strong men to grasp opposite sides of the handle, making sure not to overbalance it. 3) Carefully place a teacup (good Lord, did this monstrous Dresser ever make teacups as well? I DON'T WANT TO SEE THE RESULTS) in the middle of the sink. 4) Let one of the strong men dangle the teapot in his hand, swinging it to and fro until enough tea slops into the cup 4) Smash the bloody contraption up and get a Nescafe instead.

And it gets worse. In googling "Christopher Dresser Teapot" I found this. And this. The horror! Look upon these teapots, and revile them, all ye who enter here!

This concludes today's post, Thursday morning deprecation of teapots. I hope you all got what you came for.