- RT @MammasaurusBlog: Everyone should brush, floss, and barf thrice daily wp.me/p1RBiE-17p via @MichaelCargill1 5 hours ago
Regular updates of sarcastic and irreverent nonsense.
03/05/2014Posted by on
Hi there! My name is David Wrongford and I’m here to tell you all about my innovative new dental routine.
Dental hygiene is important not only for dentists but also for the general wellbeing of society as a whole. I’ll explain my point via the use of an analogy about food: if you bought an apple, you wouldn’t set it down next to another apple that had turned rotten; instead, you’d finish it off before your greedy neighbour noticed it.
See? Makes perfect sense. Food analogies are good because food is tasty and most people will have consumed at least one bit of food at some point in their lives.
My dental routine starts off with three minutes of vigorous brushing, a process that practically guarantees drawing some blood from the stubborn bastards that are my gums. As the saying goes: old enough to bleed, yes indeed. Following on from that, whilst my gums are still screaming furiously at me, I give them a good kicking with the flossing cord – and by Jove do they kick up a stink! I did ask my dentist if there’s such a thing as barbed flossing wire but he said he didn’t know of any.
Finally, and this is my favourite part, we come to the pisté tea resistancé: the barfing. I select two fingers from my right hand, press the tips of them against the back of my throat, and let the magic of nature do the rest. Out come all those nasty bits of offal from the night before and all of a sudden my head will be spinning with delight and happiness. Don’t be shy or nervous about it, just let it all out. You ever seen a cow do a doo-doo? It just expels it’s nonsense as quick as a flash and carries right on with its business as if nothing happened. In fact cats are a bit like that as well and everyone loves cats.
If you find that a chunk of sweetcorn or a sliver of a noodle gets stuck in between your teeth, don’t worry: I like to leave it there as a final ‘up yours’ to my gums.
Lastly, be sure to ‘go naked’ with your fingers during the barfing stage; I did experiment with some protective sheaths a while ago but found that the rubber kills the sensation somewhat.
03/03/2014Posted by on
Last week mummy bought me a pet rabbit as a surprise for being such a good boy and because she said rabbits are really cute. The rabbit is really funny and likes to run around in circles and I have named him Playboy after seeing a picture of a lady in a bunny costume on a magazine that daddy sometimes takes with him into the toilet. For some reason he always spends a long time in there and comes out all red faced and has to go for a sleep-sleep afterwards.
I put the rabbit on my bed and he started doing lots of poos that look like raisins and then he started eating them probably because raisins are really nice. I decided to copy him and did a poo on the bed and tried to eat it but it tasted like peanuts and got stuck in the roof of my mouth. When mummy came in and saw me she started shouting and said a word that began with ‘c’ but definitely wasn’t ‘cute’ which is what she says to the rabbit and I did a cry.
Yesterday I let the rabbit out and he was running around and did a big wee on the carpet that smelled like Sugar Puffs but he didn’t try to eat it which was weird because Sugar Puffs are the best ever cereal. I wanted to give him some of my favourite juice but mummy told me not to and then I tried to see if he wanted to play on my Xbox but he started biting the controller and now the joysticks don’t work properly which means all the angry people do swears at me when I play online which makes me do a cry.
Seeing as its winter I thought he might be cold so I gave him some of my clothes but I accidentally dropped my belt on his head and he stopped moving and now mummy says we have to take him to the vets for a special injection. I remember when I had a special injection at school and they gave me a sticker to wear afterwards so I hope Playboy doesn’t mind if his fur gets all sticky.
02/26/2014Posted by on
Last night, during a conversation with my buddies, I was astounded when I discovered that something I had always taken for granted as being the holy, heavenly truth had been taken away from me:
In 2006, scientists decided that Pluto was no longer a planet.
I felt as if someone had reached deep inside me and ripped my heart out. Pluto has been a part of our democratic culture ever since my science teacher first pointed at a poster of the solar system and told the class, repeatedly, that Pluto is a planet. It was something that everyone accepted as the truth and no-one had any reason to think otherwise.
Of course these days the teachers seem more interested in having sex with their pupils than giving them an education, which is directly responsible for the current situation where everyone’s favourite celestial body is Jupiter – as clear a indication as any that the liberals are poisoning society. Liberals are naturally attracted to anything that is big, centralised, and has the kind of gravitational pull that impinges on everyone’s freedoms, so it stands to reason that they’re behind this particular outrage.
Me? I always favoured Pluto, that little guy at the back minding his own business as he slowly worked his way up in the world. He was a pioneer, a maverick who had to make do with what little scraps of radioactive warmth were left after all the fat lazy planets who sit there doing nothing had taken their bites first. I know for a fact that Saturn doesn’t do shit except flaunt and wave his rings around like a big pussy, biding his time until he can jump on the gay marriage bandwagon.
Just what sort of message does all this send out to our kids? It tells them that no matter how many lawns they’re willing to mow each summer and no matter how many unpaid intern positions they decide to try their hand at, some fat pervert who calls himself a scientist can just come along and take it all away from them.
It’s pure horse shit.
01/07/2014Posted by on
As some of ya’ll already know, I’ve been struggling to make ends meet since I retired from the ring as no-one’s willing to sponsor me no more. Turns out that demand for a large fella who can suffocate small children in between his thighs is dwindling; I’ve had rejection letters from just about everyone, including Nike, Adidas, and even them people who make that Vaseline stuff. That last one hurt real bad seeing as how much of it I’ve used over the years.
Things are so bad that I’ve had to resort to buying tinned foods just to keep my energy levels up, which brings me onto today’s breakfast – baked beans.
Now I’ve never been much of a reader but the instructions on how to open this gosh-darn tin are mighty hard to read, so mayhaps one of y’all can gimme a hand? Oh, silly me, I had it all upside down! And now looky, there’s one of them ringy pull things staring right up at me. Why’d they have to hide it away like that, folks get all confused with such trickery.
Okay, now that the lid’s off I can see some little cocoon things swimming around in some kind of red goo. Now, I guess that thems are the beans but they’re far too small for me to get hold of so I’ll have to use a cocktail stick to jab ‘em before they start hatching. Hmmm, they taste kinda squishy; kinda nice; but also kinda cold and, if I’m honest, I prefer a hot breakfast to a cold one. Let me just pour them into my pants for a minute, there’s plenty of warm down there.
Gosh darn it, the goo is starting to seep through the spandex! Gimme a sec while I scoop it all back out and finish it off in one go. Okay, well, this time it was much warmer but there were several crunchy little hairs mixed up with the sauce. I’m not sure where they came from but it was like eating raw spaghetti… and boy, do I like my spaghetti!
Well, it has to be said, these baked beans ain’t half bad. I think I might give the barbecue frankfurters a try next week.
12/01/2013Posted by on
Something that always shocks me is the reaction I get after telling someone that I like to tip my local doctor. As far as I’m concerned, a civilised country should strive to support the more vulnerable members of society and my experiences suggest that most doctors don’t have so much as two pennies to rub together.
For instance, when was the last time you saw a doctor listening to music? Pretty much never, right? And you want to know why? It’s because those headphone things they’re always wearing round their necks are the exact same ones that the medical world was using back in the 1950s. Take a look at any old hospital photos if you don’t believe me, but I’m telling you there’s no way that that big old-fashioned connector on the end will ever fit in any modern MP3 player.
Tipping your doc is also nice from a morale-boosting perspective. Just the other week, as I was pulling my trousers back up, I spotted a weary look on the doctor’s face as he peeled off his disposable gloves and threw them in the bin. Right there and then, I could see that he was in dire need of an extra little incentive to turn up for work the next day and that it was time for me to put my hand in my pocket. Knowing that I had to be quick, I waggled my finger around the inside of my wallet as expertly as he had rummaged around in my lower colon, before producing the princely sum of £2.45 and placing it on the table in front of him.
The look on his face was priceless!
Mind you, if there’s one thing that does annoy me about doctors, it’s the fact that the tight-arsed bastards never seem to have a bowl of complimentary mints in reception any more.
10/19/2013Posted by on
…it stands to reason that there’s simply no need for you to ever speak if I’m in the building.
Wsssht! Why are you talking? I already know what you’re going to say, so why bore everyone with your tedious prose? And even if it turns out that I was wrong about what you were going to chat about – which isn’t likely – I’ll simply TALK OVER THE TOP OF YOU UNTIL YOU REALISE HOW FUTILE YOUR VOCAL CHORDS ARE.
By the way, did you see the re-run of Santa Barbara on channel 125 last night? Oh, it was marvellous. Bridget was worried that Jerome was cheating on her again and there was another misunderstanding when… WHY ARE YOU TELLING ME YOU USED TO WATCH IT BACK IN THE DAY? I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE GOING TO SAY BECAUSE I WATCHED IT LAST NIGHT.
I remember a few years ago when management were thinking about getting Neil Armstrong, the former astronaut, to come in and give a motivational talk to us. Can you believe it? Neil Armstrong! He’s a legend! A pioneer! And a complete waste of the annual entertainment budget.
I marched into their meeting and told them what a bunch of fools there were, explaining that I recently read two newspaper articles and recorded at least one documentary on the Apollo Moon Landings… so what the hell could Neil tell us that I didn’t already know? I even offered to do the talk myself but they declined the offer and ended up spending the cash on a staff BBQ instead.
It was horrendous, the caterers were cooking the sausages all wrong and wouldn’t listen to a word I said to them.
10/04/2013Posted by on
Hi, gang! My name is Jeremy Jez and I’m a member of the 23rd Alrdridge Scout Group.
Now, if there’s one thing that Akela is always telling me it’s that I should be going out and doing things for myself, and it’s for that reason that I’ve decided to become more independent. And what better way to do that than to take a close look at a tape measure? All the important people use them, like plumbers and electricians, and I once saw a car park attendant using one to see if someone had double-parked or not. Cool, eh?
After asking my mum to turn the light on for me, I went into the garage and found dad’s measuring tape on the shelf. It’s one of those special ones where the tape rolls back into the holster thing when you let go, so I’ve got to make sure I don’t cut myself on the sharp edges. Someone should invent a sellotape that can do that as well, ‘cos it always seems to get stuck to my fingers.
First of all I decided to try and measure the hallway, but it turns out that the tape wasn’t long enough which is a bit rubbish. Does that mean you have to buy two of them if you want to measure a room in your house? That must cost LOADS.
I then measured my Xbox, which was quite big, but not as big as my TV. I got out my sleeping bag that I took to summer camp and measured the wee stain from when I wet the bed because I thought I heard a bear outside the tent – turned out it was just the patrol leader coming back from the toilet.
Actually, that reminds me: my patrol leader is always boasting about how big his willy is, so this is a great chance to see if it’s true. Hmmm, the tape says mine is three inches long – that’s really good, right?
No way will anyone else be able to beat that!
09/27/2013Posted by on
People often say that Posh Spice, AKA Victoria Beckham, is nothing more than a clothes horse, which I think is unfair. If anything, she’s more like a giraffe.
Frank R, France.
Fool your neighbour into thinking he left the oven on by setting fire to his house when he’s out. The look on his face when he learns the truth will be priceless.
Geoff B, Worcs.
Is anyone else jealous of homeless people? It’s socially acceptable for them to get drunk during the day, and most of them seem to have a personal guide dog to help them across the busy roads.
Susan S, Surrey.
“The cat sat on the mat,” sang my five year old niece as she skipped around the garden. Yet I don’t even own a cat. It says a lot about modern society if children are being encouraged to tell such outrageous lies from a young age.
R Flops, Belgium.
Is anyone else worried about the ever-increasing encroachment of CCTV cameras on our lives? Last month I went to Disney Land Florida for the first time, yet when I arrived there was a map with a big arrow saying “You are here.” It’s the way they’re so blatant about it that scares me most.
S Patel, London.
Fool others into thinking you’re blind by randomly bumping into people and saying “Sorry, I’m blind” whilst wearing a pair of cheap sunglasses.
Terry W, Hull.
Banging two halves of an empty pistachio shell together is the perfect way to make people think that a herd of miniature horses are galloping up behind them.
Frank T, Bolton.
09/10/2013Posted by on
My newest book is finally available! Hurrah! And there’s free copies going, er, free.
For this particular book, I delved back into the realms of historical fiction. Set in the Warsaw Ghetto during World War II, it’s a story about the struggle for survival that the Jews had to endure every single day. At the hands of their Nazi tormentors they battled against starvation, disease, and deportations to concentration camps… until some of them decided to fight back.
Anyone willing to leave a review of some kind on Amazon can make use of the Smashwords code below for a free digital copy. I’m also giving away five paperback copies, so anyone who wants to be in with a chance of winning can leave their email address in a comment below.
As ever, I owe thanks to many people for helping me out with the editing. OCD Reader is one of them and she is bloomin’ marvellous, as are Patti, Ignite, Elle, Lindsay, Joo, Tonya, and Amy Hildebrand from Goodreads, along with many other people in the UK Amazon Kindle group.
Please feel free to help me spread the word by making liberal use of the Facebook, Twitter, etc. sharing buttons at the very bottom of this post…!
The book is available through these direct links:
Smashwords - code for a free copy is SB55G
Remember to leave your email address if you want to win a paperback copy!
You can get a taster for the book by scrolling down past the cover image and reading the post called Cattle.
Like any girl who is loved by her family, Abigail Nussbaum loves to chase butterflies, enjoys lying on her back looking for shapes in the clouds, and happily teaches young children to make daisy chains.
In the eyes of certain people, however, Abigail has committed a heinous crime. The year is 1940; the place is Poland; Abigail happens to be Jewish.
Along with half a million other Jews, Abigail and her family are evicted from their home and forced to live in the bombed out ruins of Warsaw, the Polish capital.
Although a handful decide to fight back, is the uprising strong enough to save Abigail’s spirit?
09/07/2013Posted by on
Although Abigail enjoyed train journeys, she hated it when there were busy crowds. The adults always towered high above her and their heavy overcoats wafted in front of her face, blocking out the light. She let out a sigh and wondered why no-one was talking.
After spotting a small gap, she squeezed into it to give herself some more room. The yellow badge that was pinned to her jacket ripped off and fell to the floor, causing someone above her to tut loudly; Abigail decided not to pick it up again.
She spotted a man in a smart uniform – surely, he must know where they were going.
“Excuse me,” she politely enquired. “Where are we going?”
The man’s expression was one of death. “Auschwitz,” he replied.
My new novel, Saying Goodbye to Warsaw, is due for release soon. Set in the Warsaw Ghetto during WWII, it is a story of tragedy and this is a little taster for what is to come.