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Regular updates of sarcastic and irreverent nonsense.
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.
Hey, gang! With all the wind and the rain that’s been battering the fair shores of the UK recently, I’ve been wondering if Armageddon isn’t just around the corner. It honestly wouldn’t surprise me if we woke up to find Gaia herself knocking on our doors in the morning.
Of course, being such a clever eco-bod means that I’ve been able to thrive in the face of such adversity. Using the recycled remains of my neighbour’s blown-down fence, I built a nice little windmill at the bottom of my garden. I’ve also got several gallons of reclaimed rainwater stored in some Tupperware containers and provided I can find some readily-harvested wheat, I should be able to make half a loaf of bread by the end of the year. In terms of making good use of this freakish weather, the sky is quite literally the limit.
Dear Frigid Twiglet
All my friends are having fun with their iPhones and Androids, yet I have to make do with papyrus scrolls and bits of chalk. Is there any way I can join in with this smartphone-based fun, whilst still maintaining my eco-friendly credentials?
There certainly is! Remember, eco-friendliness is as much a mental state of being as it is about saving the planet from the parasitic nature of mankind. Close your eyes and picture just what ‘Android’ is all about. It represents machinery, petrol, technology, and people who liked to dress up as Darth Vader whilst they burn car tyres down by the river.
Close your eyes again and think about ‘Apple’. Apple is, essentially, nature in a nutshell. I tested this myself once by leaving an apple outside in the garden. As it slowly withered away, a bird flew down to peck at it. A few moments later, a lurking cat pounced on the bird and killed it. Then a dog came and chased the cat away. The very next day that same dog crapped in my garden, so I tied it up and left it to rot just like I did with the apple.
Nature is cruel, but man is a bitch.
Hey there my good disciples, how y’all doing? Have you missed me? Of course you have! That turtle-neck sweater factory at the end of your road, I trust that it’s still keeping you awake at night as it churns out the old turtles non-stop? Or Turts as I like to call them. For those that don’t know, I had a trust fund setup in my name before I died. And when I say ‘died’ I actually mean ‘shot by that man on the grassy knoll’. Anyway, this fund was set up to ensure that there is enough cash to keep them factories ticking over so that there will be an ample supply of Turts for me when I return. And when I say ‘return’, I actually mean ‘immaculate resurrection’.
And why wouldn’t I want to return? It’s kind of stuffy up here sometimes and the bearded bloke who goes around telling people off is getting on my tits. He has a really weird name as well, something like ‘Dog’.
A while ago I had the neat idea of getting a drama group going so we could put on some shows for all the unhappy souls that end up here. I had this amazing idea for a play where I was this wise leader in a country known as ‘Few’ and I had the title of The King of the Fews. The play had a dramatic climax where some bad people come along and try to kill me by nailing my arms to two planks of wood at the top of a grassy knoll. I even thought up some nifty little ideas like me wearing a crown of thorns and some soppy bloke called Peter betraying me because he’s such a big pussy.
I wrote a huge ten-page script out on some really nice paper and proudly presented it to Dog; the miserable sod went bloody mental! I swear, there was steam coming out of his ears and he looked like he was going to start shooting thunderbolts out of his arse. It was then that I decided to make myself scarce and went away to hide under my Turt blanket for a while. All the excitement was wearing and it wasn’t long before I drifted off to sleep. I then had a lovely dream where everyone was walking around wearing white earphones and swiping their fingers across touchscreen smartphones. There were shops on every street corner, all of them bearing my name on the front and burning candles lined every pavement. A secret police force went around making sure that no-one picked their nose lest they dirty the front of their electronic devices.
Imagine Stalinist Russia but instead of that moustachioed twat, there are pictures of cuddly old me all over the place. Now that’s what heaven should be like.
Hello, once again. These last few weeks have seen a rather severe cold snap hit the UK which means everyone has been turning their heating up to full strength. Me? I don’t need to waste money on that sort of thing as I get a nice, warm glow every time I remember that there are people slipping over on the icy pavements. I often sit there cackling with laughter for hours at a time meaning I save money by not having to turn the TV on either.
Dear Nurse Ratched
My iPhone screen has cracked but the people in the Apple store won’t repair it as I didn’t take out the extended warranty. What should I do?
First of all let’s be clear: every single person who works in an Apple shop is, without exception, a complete shit gibbon. Normally I would laugh at your plight but in this instance I’ll make an exception. Please note that I am not actually sympathising with you, I just hate Apple store employees more than I hate pathetic creatures like yourself. First of all, gather up some mud and put it in a display case. Then stand outside the Apple store and announce that you have some of Steve Job’s pre-cardiac arrest shoe scrapings. Make sure you record all of this as I want to hear the sound of bones snapping and vocal chords squealing when the inevitable stampede starts. This leaves you free to pop into the shop and acquire a brand new iPhone. Just for a laugh I suggest that you burn the place down as well. If that doesn’t work you should kill yourself.
Dear Nurse Ratched
In the office people keep using the same spoon for the sugar and the coffee, meaning the sugar bowl gets clogged up with bits of dried coffee all the time. What should I do?
Quite frankly the people who do that sort of thing should be flayed every single day for the rest of their miserable lives. Now, have you seen the film Die Hard with a Vengeance? The bad guy makes bombs by combining two chemicals that are explosive when mixed together, although I have no idea what they are or where you can get them from. Perhaps you could ask Bruce Willis as he seems the sort of level-headed chap who knows what’s what. He managed to dump that skinny Demi Moore wife-bitch of his so he’s no doubt an expert on this kind of thing. Replace the sugar and the coffee with these two chemicals, and the moment anyone tries to use the same spoon in each bowl the entire kitchen will be blown to smithereens. If that doesn’t work you should kill yourself.
George Lucas’ legal team was on a PR offensive last night when news leaked out that the multi-millionaire Star Wars franchise owner might be an anteater. A witness has claimed that she saw him acting strangely in a London restaurant at the weekend. “I was sat at my table when out of the corner of my eye I saw Lucas bend down and a long, thin tongue started protruding from his mouth. At first I thought it might just be a loose bit of spaghetti, but then it started moving around on the floor as if it was looking for some small insects.”
Restaurant owner Marvin Marv confirmed that his establishment were aware of the rumour and he wanted to reassure patrons that they don’t allow any animals in the dining area. When asked if it was true that Lucas had been seen scratching and grooming himself at his table, Marvin responded with “I cannot confirm or deny that at this time.”
Regular movie-goer Fran Rogers stated that it is a well-kept secret that something isn’t quite right with George Lucas. “For instance, have you ever seen him eat an apple? Or even a pear? If you look at the mouth of an anteater there’s no way something like that would fit in its snout, so it makes sense that Lucas wouldn’t try to eat one. And what about a satsuma? No way would an anteater be able to peel one of those.”
A spokesman for Rentokil stated that they received an emergency callout request from a London eatery at the weekend, but that they are still awaiting test results before being able to confirm anything. “I can state that we cordoned off an area once we discovered evidence of claw marks on the floor and on one of the tables.”
“We recovered a long thin ivory-coloured object that could be either a claw or a beansprout.”
Geoff Broccoli here and I am going to let you in on a little secret: fooling people is very easy and is the key to getting what you want. I first realised this when I came back from lunch rubbing my stomach and said “Mmmm, what a lovely apple.” People then started asking me what type of apple I had eaten yet here is the kicker: I hadn’t actually eaten any apples at all. I had fooled every single person with that little lie and it served as my wake up call. Eager to capitalise on my success, the next day I announced “Oooh, the price of Mars Bars these days is shocking,” to which everyone around me agreed. It had been a good three years since I’d last attempted to purchase a Mars Bar.
It wasn’t long until the whole town was under my spell and deeply woven among my web of lies. I told a bus driver I had been waiting for thirty minutes when I had in fact only just arrived at the bus stop; I received a free sachet of tartare sauce in a cafe despite that fact I hadn’t ordered any fish; I told the serving girl in the coffee shop that I wanted a receipt for my skinny latte and chocolate caramel slice so I could claim it on my corporate expenses account… and when I got outside I threw the slice away. I am diabetic and cannot eat sugary snacks. I was also unemployed at the time and so couldn’t claim it on expenses.
The gullibility of mankind is breath-taking in its naivety and this has even spread to the machines that we build for ourselves. Even the GPS in my car can be fooled by telling it I am going somewhere that I am not, although this particular piece of devilry resulted in me crashing into a wall so I haven’t bothered experimenting any further with it.
I went into the ladies changing room at my local gym and pretended to be a peeping tom taking photos of the women in the shower. The camera on my phone was broken so the police could only charge me with voyeurism rather than trespassing with intent; that’s six weeks in jail rather than eight months and I even qualified for legal aid – win-win all round.
I’ve even managed to fool you as my name isn’t Geoff.
57-year old Gerald Markford told of his “Utmost shame and embarrassment,” when he realised that he had run out of paint whilst marking out a 3-mile stretch of road in Devon. The experienced road-worker, who was first employed by the local authority in 1958, said that he had been thinking about his niece’s Christening that was taking place at the weekend when “I looked down and realised that there weren’t any bleedin’ paint in the roller thing. I’d been walking for 300 yards, overalls and all, with not a drop of goodness coming out of my thinger no matter how hard I pulled and tugged on it.”
The road, which has since been repainted fully, was missing numerous important markings which “Could have caused a terrible accident if one of them wonky knocker-lorries had come busting down the road” like they sometimes does. They might have crashed into something big and spilt all them nice apples all over the place.” This would be particularly shocking as Gerald is “very fond of apples, ‘specially them fresh ones. My dear old Marjorie says that she likes to polish up a big red one until it looks like it’s going to burst its sweet goodness all over her face. Chance would be a fine thing, I says!”
Gerald has promised to make sure that this never happens again by “Taking an extra tin pot with me, a practice that I had abandoned back when Saddam started the Gulf War. He was a terrible bugger he was. Scared me stiff whenever I thought of the things he could be doing to me if I was tied up in his chamber of dirty. Marjorie would have a fit if she knew about the things that go through my head sometimes.”
Speaking about his fear of being called up by the army and sent out to fight in the Iraqi desert, he said “If they captured me all I would ask was that they let me keep my overalls on. They are special to me, just you ask my Marjorie!”
“I got years of secrets hiding in the folds of them things.”
Recently released sales figures had Apple corp. rapidly expanding their Indian call-centre operations as news that Samsung managed to outsell the iPhone earlier this year hit home. Apple fan James Frank was left “Dazed and confused,” as he was left considering “whether I should be stocking up on beans and sardines again,” like he did “right before the Y2K millennium bug hit.” Already reeling from the news that Steve Jobs is “No longer around to give me confidence in my purchases,” James has been phoning the helpline “Every other hour since the news broke.” This is partly down to the fact that “I can’t understand a word they’re bloody saying.”
Call centre worker Bob Patel told us that call volumes have “Increased five-fold,” that most callers are “in tears and a state of mild depression,” and also that “One person called up to say they were sharpening the edges of their iPad to slit their own throat with.” The caller was tactfully reminded that “such activities would probably invalidate the warranty.”
James remembers the times when he could “Sit on the train safe in the knowledge that my choice of smartphone was the right one,” and that he would “Wield those apple-white earphones with pride.” In an effort to regain the confidence of the past he has been “Re-watching old clips of Apple Expo,” and making sure that “my turtle-neck sweater is properly starched.”
A Samsung spokesmen told us that whilst the company was pleased with the news, he conceded that “We can’t sit back and relax just yet,” as “Apple fans are already organising themselves and prowling around our in-shop display stands. I think they’re looking for weaknesses as they’re roaring and flexing their claws like the velociraptors from Jurassic Park.”
James Frank spoke philosophically as he explained “This must be how Austin Powers felt when he lost his mojo.”