Error: Twitter did not respond. Please wait a few minutes and refresh this page.
Peeps who interviewed me
Trailer for Underneath
Trailer for Shades of Grey
Regular updates of sarcastic and irreverent nonsense.
Hi there, guys!
The other day I was pooting around in the garden when I felt a sudden pain in my finger. Thinking I’d caught a splinter I quickly fetched a pair of tweezers, only to discover that an entire pawn chess piece had somehow gotten itself lodged right under my nail! How ’bout that for a strange occurrence, huh? I’ve no idea where it came from but seeing my favourite board game piece sure put a smile on my face. Although the cute doggy from Monopoly is a funny little tyke and them tiddly winks from Tiddlywinks have a nice shade of colour to ’em, nothing beats the sheer round-headed honesty of a pawn.
‘Course, this leads me to wonder about the poor soul who, through no fault of his own, is now missing a vital component for one of mankind’s greatest games of strategy and wisdom; I just hope he don’t get too upset when he finds out. It kinda reminds me of that time last year when I bought a cheese sandwich – when I opened up the packet there was no sandwich inside, just cheese.
The great thing about pawns is how simple they are. They can take one step forward or one step to the side, nothing more, which is perfect for a chilled out go-slow kinda guy like myself. As anyone who’s fond of ice cream will know – and I love myself a bit of mint choc-chip – it’s no good tearing about the place like one of them sex-starved bishops or hopping around like them horsey pieces do, else you’re likely to spill it all over the place. That little diagonal move can come in ‘specially handy too, like when you need to jump out that way of a hungry dog or if someone isn’t watching where they’re goin’.
Well, I think that’s about it for now. If any of yous is missing a white pawn piece feel free to get in touch. Likewise, if anyone has stumbled upon a cheeseless sandwich then I’d love to hear from you.
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.
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!
Is Popes here and I have confess to make: I getting bored of Italy. Ever since I was child, I immerse in Italy cultures and Italy way of life. Was once source of pride to know that national sport for Italian men was to sleep with brother’s wife and spend all of monies on shampoo and hairsprays, but now I bored of same old same old every day and is time I experience new things from other places for once.
I start off by placing order for curry from nearby curry place. Man on other end of phone was hard to understand so I ask him his name in case I need to ring back. He say his name is Trevor which no sound Indian to me so I think he telling me porking pies. Anyway, food arrive 45 minutes later, deliver by skinny man on motorbike that make lots of noise but no go very fast. I was thinking of ask him if engine is about to fall off, but I end up slam door in his face as I no like his moustache. Already I have fun sample other ways of life.
Okay, so curry is packed into see-through plastic boxes which is very interest for people who like see inner workings of things. I remember I once had fish tank that was see-through, which very useful for watching little fishy swim to and fro. Unfortunate, I forgot feed fish and he suffer slow painful death like man condemned to die by crucifixion on top of hill.
There is two papadums in bag but I no sure what they for. Maybe for frisbees in garden? I pour curry out onto plate and it smell very nice. Now come to taste it and HOLY SHITS IS SPICY AND HOT! Jeezy Chreezy Christ, how is possible to eat when it burn as if devil is crawling around and doing big smelly fart in my throat? Good job I have some communion wafers and holy waters ready for times like this.
Hmmm after few more mouthfuls, I get used to spicy taste – it seem that Italian culture of drink aftershave finally come in handy, no?
For some reason I feeling urge to get drunk on cheap lager and be sick all over someone’s shoes after finishing curry. I think I save that for next week as don’t want to use up all excite at once.
Hello sirs and madams, my name is Srivathkananghm Nagmisrivithikan… or Trevor for short.
If one thing I believe about this globe, is having opportunity of good start in life. I remember when I six years old, I had never experience life in office before and so not know how use photocopy fax machine for sending emails. Is for this reason why I purchase new toy for nephew, Fisher Price Little People Fun Sounds Office Environment, so he have early advantage over others when he go for job applications.
Okay, first thing is that it arrive in box that is big, bright, and happy just like all other Fisher Price toys do. This is bad decision as most box that get delivery to office are brown, covered in bogeys, and sometimes have bad words written on by racist van driver. Is important to get all details right, so we off to bad start already, but things looking better after I finish unpacking. First thing that catch my eye are three plastic partition walls that clip together easily, which good for nephew small hands. I remember when Trevor in accounts department try commit suicide as he no like being lonely and neglect for most of day, so important that nephew get used to working long hours in office cubicle from early age.
Another nice feature is that there is button on top of toy that make noises when press. This mean nephew recognise sound of fire alarm test at 2:30pm each Tuesday afternoon, so he no panic thinking he burn to death when doing poops on lavatories after lunch.
Although toy is good, I wonder why no include fire extinguish? I know that Trevor in project department use extinguish to keep security door open when he go outside for smokings – is important that nephew realise that if he trapped during real fire then he may not be able to put out flames and that exit way might be blocked.
I thank Fisher Price for help give nephew exciting learnings for future.
Hello, dear subjects! I trust you are keeping well and taking good care of yourselves – after all, no-one else is going to bother doing it for you.
Anyway. The other day I was browsing the shelves of my local hardware store and came upon a delightful little stick with a fluffy thingy on the top. I was so impressed by it that I stuffed it up my skirt and walked briskly and purposefully towards the exit. The store is one of those daft local independent shops that can’t afford a security guard, so more fool them I say! Why should I bother putting my hard-earned pennies into the pot if I don’t have to?
It took me a good ten minutes to untangle the mop once I got back home. Lord only knows what hooks and splinters it was catching on, but my trusty old Swiss army penknife is perfect for getting in amongst all those troublesome nooks and crannies. Once I finally had my newly acquired mop standing tall in front of me, my attention was drawn to one particular little warning on the box: Not suitable for minors.
Which didn’t surprise me in the slightest. Given that they’re a bunch of lazy, dirty men who would down tools and go on strike simply because their pick axes are loose and those pet canaries they love so much are dropping like flies, it comes as no surprise that they would be reluctant to spend a few minutes cleaning their square-tiled linoleum kitchen floor. No doubt they see it as someone else’s job to supply them with clean water that is free from cholera and other nastiness. I tell you, that sort of attitude gets right on my shit.
As for the mop itself… well, I dipped it into a bucket of water but wasn’t too sure what I was supposed to be doing with it after that. I called in David Cameron to do the rest, as everyone is always telling me he’s good for that wishy-washy type of nonsense.
He’s bloody useless at everything else, that’s for sure.
Greetings, fine Western peoples of the Internet. For birthday last year I receive modem of 56k to access and surfs websites of glorious information. Since then, I have had much fun reading emails from comrades all over the globals. My most favourite email so far was one of Kylie Minogue doing dance in her underwear and stockings! It take me three days to download and I can only watch it when wife is in bed, but is worth every penny of large phone bill. Kylie has nice bottom and does good locomotions, yes? I think she could be ballet dancer one day, or maybe expensive stripper. I don’t know, choice be up to her.
Anyway, wife saw me browsing Internet other day and ask me to buy her nice gift. I say okay and decide to buy hair net. I love wife dearly, she make best boiled potatoes and pickled cabbage in all of Soviet. Hair net arrive today and now I open box. Hmmm, seems website sent me two instead of one. Must be because modem disconnect whilst I place order and ended up going through twice. Oh well, mean I have one to practice with before using properly. I take it out of box and AAARGH! It look like spider web! I not like spiders much, they always fall in mouth when I snores at night. I take quick shot of vodka to calm my nerves before continue.
Right, so what hair net for then? At first I thinking maybe for keeping spare hair, so can make wig when old and baldy but net have big holes that hair would fall out of. Maybe it for catching stray hairs blowing in wind, like butterfly net is. Thing is, hair net have no handle included in box so that mean have to make own one out of sticks. Only stick I have is for punishing children when they no go up blocked chimney to clear blockage. Perhaps it like fishing net, and I need to leave it out on pavement to trap passing hairs. I hope no-one steal it during night, as post and packing is expense on Internet.
Now I think about, wife have hairy under arms so maybe be good for that. Hopefully it stop spiders too.
So then, nuclear powers – who wants one? I had a meeting with a nuclear engineer man the other day, and he was a very interesting chap. He was telling me all about radioactivity and why you need to wear gloves when picking up lumps of uranium. I had always assumed that uranium would have little finger holes like those ten-pin bowling balls do, but he said they didn’t. Just before he went home, he gave me a free pen and I really like it ‘cos when I press the presser down, the radiation symbol on the side lights up. It reminded me a bit of the Teenage Mutant Hero Turtles and I was a massive fan of them guys back in the day. Well, apart from Raphael that is – he was just a grouch. I liked Donatello’s stick, but Michaelangelo was the best of the lot. I asked the nuclear engineer man if he wanted to go halves on a pizza, but the miserable sod said no. Obviously, his favourite turtle was Raphael.
Right, nuclear power. It sounds BRILL and I have to confess that I’m not a big fan of coal these days. Coal power stations, coal fires, and coalition governments – all of them sound great at first, but after a while they start to get on your tits. I did read that if you crushed a big bit of coal really hard, you could make a diamond. I decided to give this a try, and fished around in my shed for a pair of gloves. I did find them eventually but then I remembered I didn’t have any coal, which put a bit of a downer on things. It reminded me of that time when I went to go and get a lottery ticket, but I somehow lost my £1 coin on the way to the shop. Funds were low at Lib Dem HQ at the time, so we had to go without heating for a week.
Not to be disheartened by my coal-crushing failure, I decided to practice the technique on some eggs. Someone once told me that eggs are really strong, so it was an ideal opportunity to test this theory out. Mind you, I remember when I decided to test out another theory, whereby sitting on an egg would make it hatch into a cute baby chicken – I made a right mess of the chaise longue. Anyway, egg crushing. I somehow lost my gloves, so I had to use an old sock instead. Of course, then I couldn’t remember where I left the eggs.
So, all in all, coal is a load of old crap.
Us snow blokes aren’t usually around for very long, so we have to make do with what we have. I once watched a nature documentary about a species of giant moth who only live for about two days; they hatch, mate furiously with whoever they wake up next to, and then die 48 hours later. Snow people are kind of similar, except we don’t get to participate in socially-acceptable orgies. This is partly because snow vaginas are somewhat thin on the ground, but mostly ‘cos snow penises are, well, thin and carroty.
Talking of carrots, this particular one is a marvellous bit of kit. Organic veg might be a bit wonky and smelly but the extras tend to make up for that. This one came with a free dead spider in the box and once I pulled the legs off, I was able to use them as a beard. And we all know how the chicks dig a man with a beard, amirite? The carrot itself has a nice natural brightness to it, one that gives off the impression that I’ve just come back from a sunny holiday somewhere. And chicks love going on holiday, yeah?
A while back I was asked to test a parsnip. It was great for camouflaging myself during games of hide and seek, but most people said that it made me look anaemic. To be honest, our games of hide and seek tend to get rather boring after a while; if you watch a family of snails going out for a picnic, you’ll see that they leave nasty trails behind them and we tend to do the same thing. We actually have quite a lot in common with snails: an abject fear of salt, for example.
So it’s top marks for organic stuff from me. Stay tuned for next week’s article where I discuss the pros and cons of Brussels sprouts.