Friday, February 29, 2008

State of the notion speech

Heard on radio last night:

"The state and territory Labor Parties..."

Kind of obvious, really.

Thursday, February 28, 2008

Inappropriate job applications

Well, if you've been listening to commercial or ABC radio stations in Melbourne, Sydney, Perth, Adelaide, Darwin, Hobart, Canberra, or Brisbane, or anywhere else across Australia, or even if you've been reading the paper, you might have heard the news that Chiko Roll - that most disgusting of all Australian snack foods - is looking for a new model.

For those who are enlightened enough to be unenlightened about this subject, here's what Wikipedia has to say about Chiko:

The Chiko Roll or CHIKO Roll is an Australian savoury snack developed by Francis McEnroe, a boilermaker from Bendigo ... Since the 1940s, Chiko rolls have been advertised by an iconic "girl on a motorbike" (also known as the "Chicko Roll Chick"[citation needed]) theme. The girl is usually photographed straddling a large motorcycle, holding the Chiko roll near her crotch in a phallic gesture. The accompanying slogan is "Couldn't you go a Chiko Roll?".

Naturally, I have decided to do the right thing, and bravely volunteer myself for this position:

Dear Chiko Roll makers,

I would like to apply for the position of Chiko Roll girl. I am a 30 year old heterosexual male with stubble. I have not had any previous modelling experience. I have only ever eaten one Chiko Roll. I cannot ride a motorcycle. In addition to this, I have skills in computing and writing, and a Bachelor of Arts and Master of Arts from Sydney University.

However, I believe I can learn on the job.

Tim 'Next Chiko Roll Girl' Train.

With an application like that, how can I fail? Here's hoping my qualifications don't disqualify me for this important job.

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

Your malaprop is apropos, sir...

I really have to curb my habit of making basic mistakes in blog comments.* It can lead to no end of trouble...

On Orange Juice Snobbery:
Weeeeeeell, I suppose it would boost sales to have a Fedora that pays plays tennis, but really! Why would anyone want to?

On the Cartoon Church:
“And the earth was without form and void… and God said “let there be by a gradual process of natural selection involving the combing combining of organic elements, that will lead over the course of time to the evolution of plants and animals… LIFE!”

And on LIP:
My guess is ‘ass’ would have been one of those words Americans started spelling differently, and it was formalised around the beginning of the 20th century as part of the changes that happened under Teddy Roosevelt’s watch. (He was apparently a fan of a linguistician who advocated ’spelling reform’.)

(See Wikipedia for why that last one is wrong.)

*Or, as some people would have it, I really have to curb my habit of making basic mistakes in blog comments. It can lead to no end of trouble ... at work. Or at all.

Monday, February 25, 2008

Criticising a grain of dust on the Mona Lisa's nose

I went to see Tartuffe last night, and while it was generally speaking alright, it was also All Wrong. Or, to put it another way, the production was finely acted, with an excellent set design, decent music and sound effects, and clever casting, and I came away from the whole thing sniffing and harrumphing fit to burst. Of course, with me, you have to remember that I like arguing and criticising so much that if I ever see the Mona Lisa in France, I'll probably end up talking about the grain of dust on her nose that ruins the whole effect. Still...

Like most modern adaptations of plays by the great dramatists (Moliere shares this position with Shakespeare), it was set in an entirely different period and place to the one which Moliere himself would have envisaged for his play (ie, the actual period and place he was writing in - seventeenth century France). Basically, I'm an outrageous pedant, so this is just the sort of thing that gets stuck in my craw (whatever a craw is). Why can't we ever have a Shakespearean play set in Shakespearean times? I'd probably go to the lengths of criticising Shakespeare himself for not being Shakespearean enough in a production he puts on of his own plays. You might argue with this, saying that Shakespeare himself probably didn't have any set rules for costumes and sets in his plays, but really! I ask you! He certainly had no excuse for doing so.

So, anyway. Tartuffe was set in modern-day Melbourne, in a large expensive Toorak house, with the roles being played variously as a decrepit old Melbourne stockbroker, a GPS school boy, a Jewish-Russian maid, and a falsely-pious Hillsong-style conman (that's Tartuffe.) Like most period dramas plucked out of their own period and set in another, there were a lot of odd or incongruous lines - so you have dumb private schoolboys referring to themselves as, 'the anointed one', modern-day Australian characters making 'ardent' prayers, and frequent vows to 'the King' (not 'The Premier' or 'The Prime Minister' or even 'The Queen'!) This, alongside frequent references to the Gaza Strip and Facebook. (A pretty basic problem in re-setting the play in modern Australia, obviously, is that these jarring, contradictory period references will immediately leap out at their audience in a way that they wouldn't have done if the play was set, oh, maybe a decade ago.)

In my lust for authentically historical and historically authentic dramas, I got thinking afterwards about what the perfect staging of a Moliere play would look like. I decided that not only would such a production be set in the time that Moliere wrote, it would be more realistic than the reality experienced by Moliere himself. Stay with me here: one imagines that the original play would have been accompanied by music on the viols by Lully. Well, not only would this production have viols, but it would be played by the vilest viol players ever to have set foot on this earth - I mean, real freaking ugly ones. The original production would probably have had wigs: well, not only would this production have wigs, but it would have the biggest, shapeliest wigs in all of creation. Maybe with three wigs for each character, (each carved into the shape of some authentic 17th-century French scene, like peasants working joyously in the fields, or a popular Pope, or perhaps a minor war against the English dogs.)

To get the audience into the general feel of authentic 17th-century realism, a chamber pot would be emptied over each of their heads at the start of the production. (The contents would, of course, have been evacuated by a French nobleman from the 1600s, or, if this is not possible, lovingly crafted for the production by a modern-day artisan specialising in the craft of period micturation and evacuation.) And of course, all members of the audience would be lovingly selected throughout an audition process, and prepared for the production by a trial period of famine and/or black plague. (On the other hand, they would be equipped with bricks and rotten apples before the beginning of the show, just to even things up.)

The Palace of Versailles would of course be shipped to Australia for the production. Though I wouldn't be fussy about it; the French could of course keep some of it. As long as I ended up with a hall and a few pools, I'd be happy. All the characters would of course travel about the stage on warhorses, and of course bathe every day in an authentic 17th-century French bath of rose-water, wine, and honey, after which they would roll themselves in a gigantic vat of pomade (placed in the centre of the stage.) And of course, there would be no skimping on the final scene, where Tartuffe is dragged down into hell by the votaries and potentates of Satan. Beelzebub, or, at the very least, Mephistopheles would be recruited into the cast for this role, and instructed on pain of - well, on pain of life to furnish the scene with more than enough sulfur and brimstone.

I suppose you might object that the demons would only work for the price of one soul, and you could be right (though I do think we could get the unions to strike up an agreeable contract with them). But I told you it was a fantasy, didn't I? Of course, failing Lully as a composer, a palace for the set, and the absence of wigs and pomade, the least I reckon the producers could do is not resort to cheap jokes about Facebook, or karaoke song contests.

Anyway - I like where I'm going with this, so I'm off now to petition the Australian Council of the Arts to lend me the billion dollars or so to get this whole thing in the initial stages of production. Huzzah!

Sunday, February 24, 2008

Dangling modifier of the day!

There was a man in a fedora that was running down the street!

It's true, it's all true. I saw it. The fedora was just out for its morning jog and the man was along for the ride.

Bad advice, it's better than no advice

NEVER use the zebra crossing. Why would you want to cross a zebra? They might get angry!

UPDATE! - I have had some experience in these matters, you know. In my younger days, I once tried to cross a zebra with a horizontally-striped shirt to breed a race of tartan horses, but it never worked out.

Reflections on the vanity of human wishes

Hello everyone! I like cheezels! How about you?

Well, I came across a website the other day that seemed to be suggesting the makers of cheezels, in order to increase the value of their product, were making the size of the hole in the cheezels bigger.

As marketing strategies go, I've seen worse - but not many. Increasing the size of the hole in the cheezels means, basically, less cheezel. So what's the point? It's like putting another hole in your donut because you like donuts. It's like increasing the size of your glass because you like a glass of beer. It's like decreasing the amount of bang for your buck to get more bang for your buck, basically.

Then I found out that I had misinterpreted what they were saying on the website. They were merely releasing a new range of cheezels instead of increasing the size of the hole. Hmm, silly me...

I still like cheezels!

Thursday, February 21, 2008

Doctor Who for the blue-rinse set

- "Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Leela?"

- "I think I am, Doctor. We're going to start PRUNING like we've NEVER PRUNED BEFORE! Isn't that right, K9?"

- "Affirmative, mistress!"

Tuesday, February 19, 2008

Communist furniture, and other terrors

Che Lounge




A tea cup in a storm. Or should that be storming a tea-cup?

Monday, February 18, 2008

Supercilious web quiz of the day!

I noticed that they were advertising something called 'The Dumb Quiz' on Facebook today. Well, thought I to myself, if they can get away with sneering at the intellectual capacity of their readers, then why can't I? That's right!

So here you go. If you want to find out how you rank on the dumb scale ('Cretinous jackanape who is not fit to wipe the little toe of a MENSA member' being the lowest, and 'Lip-curlingly superior intellectual being' being the highest), just answer the following ten questions...


1. What is the opposite of hot?

2. How many buns do you get if you add one bun to three buns?

3. What do you normally open to get in or out of a house?

4. How many legs does a dog normally have?

5. Are there 24 hours in the day?

6. What one-syllable word starting with 'B' rhymes with 'Match'?

7. Is Australia a country town, a city, or a nation?

8. What one-letter word, beginning with 'I', do you sometimes use to refer to yourself?

9. My name is Tim. What is my name?

10. A particle of mass m rests upon a rough horizontal plane with a coeffiecient of kinetic friction mu=1/4 and is connected by light elastic strin, with elastic constant k, to a fixed point, P, in the plane. If the string is just taut find the initial speed, V, that the particle needs if it is projected directly away from P such that it just returns to its inititial position.

HOW YOU SCORED: 1-9 questions right. Bad luck, feller - you are officially DUMB.


This post is entitled 'Supercilious web quiz of the day'. Astute readers will have noticed that this quiz isn't very super, but it is very silious, so hey. At least I got one part right.

Sunday, February 17, 2008

Yet another misleading title, I'm afraid

I was reading this here essay about Benjamin Franklin in the New Yorker. It's got a bit about his autobiography here:

Franklin began writing his autobiography. He never finished it; it breaks off in 1758, just after he tells the story of sailing to London.

I didn't think about it then, but it came to me later, that it would be a very unusual autobiography indeed if it was finished. You can hardly write the complete story of your life without including in it an account of your death, and by the time you get around to completing all the details of that, you will have already run out of time.

'Complete autobiography' is one thing. But as misleading titles go, Final Fantasy XII has got to be up there. Well, if that's final, you might say, what happened to Final Fantasies I through to XI? Final Fantasy, in case you didn't know, is a computer game series, which certainly lost credibiliy the minute they released Final Fantasy II. Final? The increasingly-less-final-as-it-goes-on computer game series, more like. (Apparently they're just getting ready to release XIII.)

Douglas Adams was at least good-humoured when he released volumes four and five of 'The Hitchikers Guide to the Galaxy' trilogy, referring to it as 'increasingly inaccurately named..'. George Lucas, however, was quite possibly being sadistic when he called his first Star Wars film 'Episode 4' and his fourth Star Wars film 'Episode 1'. Perhaps he liked the thought of viewers deciding to watch the final episode, and then proceeding to fight over whether this final episode would be the third (which is the sixth) or the sixth (which is the third). It would be uncharitable, after all, to suggest that he couldn't count.

Not to mention Schubert's so-called Unfinished symphony (actually finished after his death by other composers), or the blatant rip-off that was The Neverending Story: as Lionel Hutz says to Homer, "Mr. Simpson, this is the most blatant case of fraudulent advertising since my suit against the film, "The Never-Ending Story"."

Still, it's not all bad. It's probably a relief that The Song That Never Ends actually does end. The rhymes were never that good anyway.

Saturday, February 16, 2008

The Tower of Scrabel

So, let me tell you about a game of scrabble I had online yesterday against Alexis. It went something like this: she got a Bingo (seven letter word) in her first move. Then she got another Bingo in her second move, using the X. Then I got stuck with about six vowels to one consonant, and had to exchange tiles. Then Alexis got the Z. Then she got the J. Then she played another bingo. (She also got all the Ss. And both blank tiles.) Then I got the Q and wasn't able to play it because I didn't have any Is or Us in order to make QU or QI words. Then, um, the game ended. There was over a 200 point difference between the two of us.

I don't know whether I'm cut out for scrabble. Maybe I'll take up a safer game, like Patience - with a pack of two cards instead of the usual 52. Then again, considering my luck, they'd probably be the wrong cards anyway... !

Thursday, February 14, 2008

Send in the hounds

Look... me and the McDonald's people got this little misunderstanding. See, they're McDonald's... I'm McDowell's. They got the Golden Arches, mine is the Golden Arcs. They got the Big Mac, I got the Big Mick. We both got two all-beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles and onions, but their buns have sesame seeds. My buns have no seeds. - Cleo McDowell

Well, as any regular watcher of crime dramas will be able to tell you, they do things differently in Austria. Instead of solving crimes by the usual combination of careful fact checking by dedicated staff, backed up by the latest scientific methodology, they are usually solved by a handsome and dashing midde-aged detective who owns a dog, sometimes backed up by other quirky underlings, including a suspicious looking character who hangs around illegal car clubs, a chubby dude who drives fast, and a glamorous woman who is often underestimated. Yes, I'm referring to the show Kommissar Rex, and anyone who tells me that it doesn't give a realistic overview of crime solving in modern-day Austria is a cad and a liar.

Lately, I've come into possession of hard scientific evidence of a similar system of crime-solving in Italy: a boxed-edition of Turbo, an Italian production about a crime-solving border collie - who, um, solves crimes. I can't think of anything else offhand that's particularly good about this production, but, hey. Dog, solves crimes. Works for me.

To be fair, the first episode has an awesome opening. Turbo and his owner, Luca Sepe, are driving into the countryside on a fishing holiday, when they get called back to the scene of a crime: an evil clown and his accomplice bearing guns are holding up a department store. Sepe catches the clown but is just about to get gunned down by the clown's accomplice, when Turbo impressively rushes forward and hurls himself snarling at the dude, only to get shot himself. Cut to the sound of an ambulance siren (okay, it's probably the police car siren) and an image of Sepe holding Turbo in the seat as they draw into a hospital (all right, it's probably the vet, but be quiet! The dog's in danger here!) Then we cut to Turbo lying in bed, hooked up to some beeping machine, breathing into a respirator, and Sepe leaning over him, whispering, "I love you, Turbo!" *Sniff*. Now, that would melt a heart of stone, that would.

The Turbo shows ran on Italian television in about 2000-2001, and are actually telemovies. This means they're a bit long and in the middle start to go off in all sorts of directions, usually unrelated to dogs or criminals. Being an Italian telemovie, on the other hand, it has a lot of Italians pashing, and even, at one point, a love interest for Turbo. Entertainingly, detective Sepe gets romantically intertwined with the woman whose case he is investigating. (The movie actually ends with a shot of him pashing her in her hospital bed, while Turbo wriggles in between the two and barks at the camera.)


- Shouty knife-wielding psychopath: check.

- Heroic and hilarious first scene which begins with an angry clown and ends with a dog in a hospital bed: check.

- Gallopy dog shots down dark alleyways: check, but nowhere near enough.

- Pashing Italians: check.

- Lines like: "These canned hams will take your mind off that other dog for the moment.": check.

- Corny 1980's style plastic face mask worn by the villain: check.

- Dog jumping through a glass window to corner a villain and thereby save the day: check.

This show is an obvious rip-off of Kommissar Rex, which ran all over Europe from 1994 to 2004. Since the dawn of time, however, Man has longed to see evil European villains chased down shady alleways by righteous Hounds of Justice. However unoriginally, Turbo fulfills this longing. For that, I give this boxed-set DVD edition a hearty four and a half paw-prints out of five.

Lesson for the day!


1. THIS is a normal beagle picture.

2. And THIS is a gratuitous beagle picture.

Now, can you see the difference?


(Just thought I'd join in the internetwide gratuitous beagle love.)

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

Attention, holidaymakers...

When you come back from your holiday, be sure to talk about the 'breezes of force nine pleasantness!' and 'near catastrophic levels of relaxation encountered!' and of 'fun at near national disaster levels!' It makes you sound like more of a bad-arse that way. Or a wanker.

Either way, it'll amuse your friends and/or work colleagues.

Monday, February 11, 2008

Apology of the year!

No, not that one, this one...
The Ottawa Citizen and Southam News wish to apologize for our apology to Mark Steyn, published Oct. 22. In correcting the incorrect statements about Mr. Steyn published Oct. 15, we incorrectly published the incorrect correction. We accept and regret that our original regrets were unacceptable and we apologize to Mr. Steyn for any distress caused by our previous apology.
After all, isn't it often the case in this day and age that we find ourselves having to apologise for our previous apologies, and offer our deep and profound regrets over previously deeply held and profoundly believed regrets? These courageous demonstrations of sorrow over previous courageous demonstrations of sorrow give us all a chance to move on from the deep pain (that our previous moving on from the deep pain it was causing) had caused.

Indeed, there may be some who object to all this apologising over previous apologies: to those people I say, "I could not fail to disagree with you less." And isn't that something we can all disagree upon?

Saturday, February 09, 2008

Friday, February 08, 2008

Important question!

When poets give birth to twins, do they call them couplets?

Romanticism's long-lost half cousin

Billy 'Bingo' Coleridge was the long-lost half cousin of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. (He was finally found by that great poet and writer of 'Biographia Literaria' in the London Gentlemen's Club for Old Young Fogeys attempting to take a pinch of snuff with an elephant.)

Here are some of his poems.


This morn I wandered by a spanking stream
And lay my head besides a spanking rill
And had an absolutely spanking dream! -
What ho! - of spanking yellow daffodills!

Each yellow head by dingling yellow head
Nodded to and fro within the prinking breeze -
As if to say, "Good day, old chap, good day," -
This floral dreaming was a spanking wheeze!

Couplets on the Skylark

Oh! Heavenwards I turned my view
To contemplate th'eternal blue -
And hark! So far away, and high -
A creature sported in the sky!
Yea, 'twas a jolly spanking lark
Enjoying larksome birdly larks
In larksome fashion. Larking hither,
Larking larksomely lark-like thither!
Flying midst its larksome perks,
Blithesomely larking in its lurks!
If ever larksome lark there were
It was that laughing lark, good sir!
It wheeled and turned in heavn's airs -
Bereft of spanking worldly cares!

Familiar Faces

Where are they now, the old familiar faces?
Raffles, Cholmondly, Baron Chips; Gloucester, Churchill, Randolph Phipps?
And I haven't seen young Rolmondley since I lost him at the races -
Where are they now, the old familiar faces?

Shortly after finding his long-lost half cousin, Coleridge 'accidentally' misplaced him again in the Manchester Zoo. He later tried to blame the whole event on a person from Porlock.

Wednesday, February 06, 2008

It's good to be the Kingsley

Before you criticise the Kingsley, you must first walk in his shoes socks for a day.

A concise summary of my body functions during the course of today

The morning began with a good nose pick. I personally recommend that all mornings begin with a good nose pick, and indeed, there is hardly a morning of mine that does not begin with a good nose pick. However, at some periods of the year (hot days during summer, for instance) it is recommended that this nose picking policy is reconsidered, as a blood nose may be the result. Nevertheless, it is an excellent method that nature has furnished for cleaning out one's nasal passages and airways during the morning, with the tools readily provided (at one's fingertips, as it were).

As I had been sleeping somewhat fitfully, and rolling around a lot, my elbows had been aching from prolonged periods of rest on their sides. However, this ache quickly dissipated as I rose from my bed. I continued to the toilet, where I had the usual satisfactory morning piss.

There was very little to do at work, so I leaned forward on the desk, which again caused a slight ache in my arms. My back ached slightly as well, but let's not go on about it. Once or twice I rose from the seat to get a drink or go to the toilet for another piss. While not bad as pisses go, I was not able to lose myself in the experience as much as I would have at home due to the imminent presence of work colleagues in the bathroom.

In addition, there were several slight ructions in my stomach due to a consolidated programme of food consumption throughout the course of Monday and Tuesday. As a result, my lunch was somewhat light, a milkshake followed by a Cornflake Honeyjoy (disappointing).

Despite a slight wooziness throughout the afternoon, I continued in this manner through to the end of the day, where a walk in the fresh air and a coffee made me feel somewhat better. When I arrived home late in the evening I continued to the toilet to make a poo, which turned out to be slight, but not insignificant. Then I had a shower.

This has been a concise summary of the bodily functions of Timothy H Train during the course of today, Wednesday, 6 February, 2008.

Monday, February 04, 2008

Crush your puny opponents and trod their bones beneath the photocopier!

As you'll probably know, I post on this blog from time to time about the Company I work for. I hope I'm not giving too much away, but this is their logo. Perhaps you might recognise it:

Their aims are innovation, efficiency, service, and eating as many small rodents and/or human babies as possible.

Today, I was lucky enough to be present at the company annual awards ceremony, an 'inspiring 'event where we learnt about many of the 'hard-working', 'committed' and 'creative' efforts put in by our colleagues. Two awards were given out, and by chance I was lucky enough to remember the details of both of the 'thank you' speeches. They are given below.

This victory is indeed a sweet and glorious one! I thank the mighty CEO Zorgax* for assisting me in my labours. Tonight, I shall feast upon the blood and skulls of my opponents and their children's children, crushing their bones and hearing the lamentations of their women as I thunder onwards! But I am a just and humble victor: I courtesly invite all you, my underlings, to join me in partaking in the festal cup of victory later this evening at the local blood bank. Actually, don't be surprised if I don't drink too much blood myself: I'm trying to cut back. It's a bit fattening. However, the rich ichor of mine enemies shall flow tonight, nevertheless, and it shall certainly be an enjoyable occasion!

On such an event, only two things really need be said: firstly, I would like to thank one and all of you for voting for me on this occasion, and if you didn't vote for me, NEVER LET IT HAPPEN AGAIN. Secondly, now that I have in my possession the Talisman of Zorgax, all that I need is the Sword of the Black Realms, and ALL POWER SHALL BE MINE! Then - NAUGHT BUT A DRASTIC RISE IN INTEREST RATES AND/OR A BULL MARKET SHALL STOP ME! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Awesome, guys! This is the most awesomely awesome thing to ever happen to me in an this awesome life of mine, full of awesomeness! I most righteously and awesomelly thank you for this awesomeness, and all the awesomelly awesome people within this room!

Awesome guys! Thanks so much!

PS We shall slaughter the Clan of the Photocopier at dawn. Draw your swords, mine supporters, and we will crush these puny rebels, and drink from their skulls! Bwa ha ha ha, and all that.

On the whole, I think, it's a good company, and a good place to be at.

*Names have been altered slightly to protect the guilty.

Unwillingly, a smut meme

Well, just when I thought it was safe to come back onto the internet, I've been tagged with a smut meme. Now, it's not that I'm not grateful or anything, it's just that I'm not bloody grateful. I mean, who writes these bloody things? And can't they let us internet voyeurs go around the internet in peace, reading other people's blogs anonymously and never expecting to be challenged. Gah!

Still, I guess it's one of the difficulties you get on the net from time to time. Faced with this smut meme, I've been considering several options.

1) Lie completely and utterly. (This is a protection from any potential embarassment, and really, does anyone expect anything else from me? Don't answer that.)

2) Tell the truth. (Yeep!)

3) Post an elaborate excuse on my blog as to why I will not do the smut meme while simultaneously not appearing to be timid or a coward. (Nope, can't think of any).

4) Only post the questions to the smut meme, letting my ever-astute readership figure out the answers themselves, as a kind of cooperative experience. (I could post it under the title 'So, tell me about my sexuality', or something. Actually, that could could be kinda fun.)

Or there's always the last one, option 5):

5) Actually do the smut meme.

Oh, all right then. But I'm not tagging anyone for this thingo. (Though it's tempting to tag Nottlesby and Prude.)

1. Chocolate or Whipped Cream:
Yes, please.

2. Leather or PVC:
Depends whether I'm eating chocolate or whipped cream.

3. Outdoor Sex or Indoor Sex:
What's this got to do with... oh, it's one of those questions, is it? Well, both have their virtues, I'm sure.

4. In the Jacuzzi or In Bed:
I'm not even sure what a jacuzzi is. It sounds like a type of carnivorous plant. In bed, thanks.

5. Bad Sex or No Sex:
Chastity, all the way!

6. Dominate or Be Dominated:
No idea.

7. Thigh highs or Bodystocking:
A ludicrous question. I would prefer if the person in question was wearing a few volumes of Wordsworth.

8. Fast or Slow:
Both, and both at the same time, thanks. Especially when it comes to whipped cream.

9. Rough or Gentle:

10. Bite or Suck:
Again, I refer you to 1).

11. Role play or Reality:
All the world's a stage/
And all the men and women merely players.

12. Dirty Talking or Dirty Talking To:
Fuck, no.

13. Edible panties or No Panties:
Bugger off. I prefer chocolate.

14. Spanking paddle or Bare-handed:
What the hell is a spanking paddle?

Actually, please don't answer that.

15. Landing Strip or Kojak:
What kind of freak goes around calling their genitals either of these things? Can you imagine using one of these terms in 'Where do you come from'? ('And babies come out of the Kojak!')

These expressions are hideous. Let us never use them again.

16. Multiple Sessions or One Good Fuck:
If by 'Fuck', you mean 'Readings of the poetry of Yeats', then multiple sessions, please.

17. Moaning or Screaming:
As the occasion suits. But, as some schmuck said, 'Moderation in all things - even this sentence'.

18. Older (Wo)men or Young (Wo)men:
Who are you asking these things, anyway? Don Juan?

19. Threeway or No Way:
Option 3: Go away.

20. Swing or No Swinging:
Don't be an idiot.

Now let us never speak of this meme again.

Saturday, February 02, 2008

No, really

Being distracted by a daisy, I did not see the approaching herd of stampeding elephants until it was too late.

Friday, February 01, 2008

Lady Chatterley's Mother

A novel, in three paragraphs.

"Now Constance," said the small woman into the receiver of the telephone, "I don't approve of this affair you are having with the gardener. It's just not the done thing!"

"Oh, all right." said Lady Chatterley over the phone. "But botherations, mother! You never let me have any fun!"

Lady Chatterley's mother took a sip of tea and sighed with satisfaction. She'd been waiting for a whole year to say that. Getting this telephone was the best thing she'd ever done.

Email: timhtrain - at -

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