Clive on 'Elf. Qwestion an' A'nser Seshion

'Allo All, Clive 'ere.
I 'as sum 'ints abowt yer 'elf. See, I 'ad this bird email me askin' me advice, an' she wuz so chuffed wiv wot I tol' 'er, I fort I shood let yer all in on a few fax that may 'ave escap'd yer reelerlisa ... relisisat ... reelisis ... fuck it ... wot you 'adn't figgered out.

Q: I've heard that cardiovascular exercise can prolong life. Is this true?

A: Lis'en. Yer 'art is only gud fer so many beets, an' that's it. Don't waste 'em on eggsercise. Ev'ryfin' wares owt evenchually. Speedin' up yer 'art wil not make you live longer; that's like sayin' you can exten' the life ov yer motor by drivin' it faster. Wanna live longer? Take a bluddy nap.

Q: Should I cut down on meat and eat more fruits and vegetables?

A: You mus' grasp the nat'ral order ov fings. Wot duz a cow eat? 'ay an' corn an' stuff. An' wot are these? Veg'tibles. So a bit ov meat is nuffin' more than a mekanisum ov delivrin' veg'tibles to yer sistim. If you fink you need grain, nosh on a chicken. Beef is a gud convershun ov grass, annuver green leafy veg'tible. Don’t forget, a single chop or sossage can giv' yer 50% ov yer recomended dayly alowance ov veg'tible products, so get yer nashers roun' a bit ov pork girls.

Q: Should I reduce my alcohol intake?

A: Naw, not a' all. Beer comes from grain. Wine is made from froot. Froot an' veg…gud fer yer…remember. Brandy fer eggsample is nuffin' more than convertid wine. That means they take the wa'er owt ov the frooty bit, sose you get even more ov the goodness.

Q: How can I calculate my body/fat ratio?

A: Wel, if you 'ave a body, you has to 'ave body fat, therefore yer rashio is wun to wun. If you 'ad two bodys, yer rashio wud be two to wun, etc. Work it out fer yerself. I fink I've made that plain enuff fer peeple ta figger.

Q: What are some of the advantages of participating in a regular exercise program?

A: Can't fink ov a single wun. My filosofy is, no pain...fank gawd fer that.

Q: Aren't fried foods bad for you?

A: Oh me sainted arnt, ain't yor ears on the same wavelenf as yor brane?. These days foods is fried in vegtible oil. In fact, they is swimmin' in the bleedin' stuff. 'Ow cud gettin' even more veg'tibles be bad fer yer?

Q: Will sit-ups help prevent me from getting a little soft around the middle?

A: Def'nately not! When you exersise a mussle, it gets bigger. Look at all them watelifters fer inst. You shood only be doin' sit-ups if yer want a bigger stummik.

Q: Is chocolate bad for me?

A: Are you crazy? HELLOO ... Coco beens ... veg'tible!!! Chocklate is the best feel-gud food around! Ile tells yer sum uvver fings 'bout chocklate.

It contains sugar, which comes from eever sugar cane or sugar beets, which are bowf plants. Therefore, chocklate is ALL veg'tible. If you eat chocklate-covered cherries, or raysins, or strawbids or oringe slices, you is gettin' froot in yer diet as well. Chocklate-covered nuts 'as to be the top protein food groop. An', since chocklate as loads ov milk, which comes from cows, which eat grass. Friggin' 'ell, duz I 'ave ta spell it out.

To 'ave a balancd diet, eat eqwall 'mounts ov dark an' wite chocklate.

If caleries is a concern ov yors, store yer chocklate on top ov the fridge. Not many peeple know this but caleries are afraid ov ites, an' they will jump out ov the chocklate to protect 'emselves.

Diet tip: Eat a chocklate bar before each meal. It'll take the edge off yer appetite, an' yool eat less ov the foods that don't taste so gud.

If the chocklate melts in yer 'and, you is noshin' it too slow.

Problum: 'Ow to get a pound ov chocklate 'ome from the shop in a car wiv no air condishunin' on a 'ot summers day.
Solushun: Eat it in the car park.

Buewty tip: Chocklate has shit-lodes ov preservertives. Preservertives preserve fings so they don't get old so quick, so they make yer look yunger.
Stan's to common sense dunnit?.

Time manigement tip: Rite "Eat chocklate" at the top ov yer daily "To Do List." That way, yool get at least one fing done proper.

A nice box of chockys can provide yor total daily intake ov caleries in one place. Fink of the energy that cud save. Energy savin' means less emishuns, so less global worming. Fillin' yer gob wiv a bar ov Cadberrys Froot an' Nut is 'elpin' save the planet.

An' me last bit ov advice, if yer can't eat all your chocklate, it will keep in the freezer. But if you can't eat all your chocklate, wots wrong wiv yer? Don't yer wan' a Noble Prize?

Rite, any uvver qwestions?

Q: Is swimming good for your figure?

A: If swimin' is gud fer yer figger, explain wales to me. They ain't eggsactly airodynamik.

Q: Is getting in-shape important for my lifestyle?

A: 'Rownd' is a friggin' shape, same as any uvver shape, or ain't you noticed!
Get a life; sod the style.

Well, I 'opes this 'as cleered up any misconcepshuns you may 'ave 'ad about food an' diets.

Clive

Let me know if yer want's me advice abowt anyfink else.

Catch-up time

You ain't posted nuffink the last few days Zizz.
This is very true Clive. Actually I have been extremely busy. New lodgers moving in, Couch Surfers coming and going, the preparations for the curryfest next week, and, my brother arriving today on a four-day visit.
Wot's all this Ruby malarkey then?
I have a C.S. chap in Italy coming to stay for a few days who wants to cook an Indian banquet for me and friends.
Gor, am I invi'ed?
Only if you behave yourself. I remember the last barbecue. Two glasses of Strongbow and you were making a real pest of yourself.
I fink sumwun slipped me a Micky.
Hardly likely. You are simply incapable of remaining unaffected by alcohol. You have a low tolerance level. It will be dandelion and burdock for you in future. I do not want a repeat performance of of your lewd antics. You had one of the girls in tears.
I 'ad 'er larfin so 'ard, that's why.
It did not appear that way to me.
That's cos you wuz too busy tryin' to pull the tart wiv the big bristols.
That's as maybe. Anyway, did you want something specific.
Yeah. I 'as a joke fer yer.
Go on then. I doubt I will get any peace until you tell me.
Well, see, ev'ry mornin', Bill Clinton takes a jog near 'is 'ome, an' on each run, he 'appens to jog past a prozz standin' on the same street corner, day afta day.
"Fifty dollars!" she would shout from the curb.
"Naw five dollars" 'e'd fire back.
This ritual 'tween the ex-prez an' the 'ooker goes on fer sev'ral days. He'd run by. She'd 'oller, "Fifty dollars" 'E'd yell back, "Five dollars!"
One day, 'is missus, 'Illary decides she wants ta go wiv 'im on 'is jog. As they is nearin' the infamus corner, Bill sudde'ly realises the ol' brass wud bark 'er offer fer all ta 'ear (includin' 'Ills) an' 'e wud 'ave ta come up wiv a gud explanashun. As they jog up ta the corna sure enuff there she wuz, so Bill tries to evade 'er eyes as they cruises past.
She sez nuffin, an' 'e finks 'e 'as got away wiv it until she yells out, "See wot yer gets fer five bucks"
I fort that wuz qwite funny.
Marginally more amusing than your normal jokes I have to admit.
So 'as yer got summink gud ta show us before we packs it in fer the nite?
OK. Here's something clever. Whoever thought this one up was quite inventive.
Mirror imagery.That's pretty gud Zizz. I 'as wun fer you. X-Man .
See ya Zizz, I is goin' to me cupboard now. I 'as a mucky movie ta watch. Nite.
Goodnight Clive.

A Good Day

On a purely personal note, this has been a good day. I was given a car recently, but it needed attention as it had broken down and been left in a parking bay on the sea front.
I have a clever mate who is a wizz with engines and he soon had the problem sorted, so I now have a Peugeot 405 turbo-diesel to motor about in.
I then met up with a lady-friend, and spent a pleasant few hours in her company.
Now, this might not seem much to the average person, mundane even, but when you have been without transport for more than six months, (since the previous car finally died) and consequently rarely go out the front gate, this puts a slightly different perspective on events.
So to celebrate, we will have a little drop of firewater, and drink to the girl with the hairy chest. Pretty little thing. Looks a bit like Mariah Carey.
I fink that's been Photoshopped.
A possibility Clive, but what if it is a chest wig?
Wot if it wuz fer real?
Well, whatever it is, she certainly seems happy to have it.
Got anyfing else good to show then Zizz?
Yes. This I thought was most interesting. The caption reads WATCHING THE BOOM
A cone of water vapour at the tail of an HP-14 glider as it breaks the sound barrier. The image released yesterday (whenever that was) was captured by a high speed camera aboard a York Soaring SGS 1-26 chase plane. The pilot of the HP-14, John DeJong, after the flight reported a slight vibration at the wingtips, very stiff controls and confirmed a final glide of 426 Km!

Apart from being an amazing picture, it is incredible to consider a glider flying that fast.

Here is a similar shot but with a jet-fighter. Interesting picture comparisons.

'Ere Zizz, changin' the suject, I 'ad a email las' night. Signed 'erself 'A Natural Woman'. She wanted me opinions on a matter ov wevver wimmin shud shave ta please their men. Wot you fink?
I think shaving is essential. I mean, I've yet never met a woman with a beard who has appealed to me.
I don't means on 'er chops...yunnow...fanny fluff.
I do not wish to get into discussion with you on such topics in my journal. I have told you before, I want to try to keep it 'clean', and that includes keeping your smut out. If you wish to follow this up, you will have to do it by email. Who is she anyway?
Ain't tellin'.
And why not?
'Cause you know 'er.
Ah-ha! One of my erudite friends winding you up again no doubt.
I ain't sayin' nuffin 'cause me an' this bird 'as a bit ov 'istory that you don't know about. Let's just say, me an' 'er see eye ta eye 'bout certain fings.
You have raised my curiosity. Maybe I will infiltrate your files.
Won't do no good. I 'as it tucked away safe. Put it on me mem'ry stick which I've stuck down me underpants.
In that case, it is perfectly safe from me. That is one area I certainly do not wish to investigate. I shall quell my inquisitiveness.
This seems an appropriate to terminate tonight's discourse.
Goodnight Clive.
Nite Zizz.
(see Pol, I never gave yer away)

Now look at that. 'Imself 'as naffed off an' forgot ta post this. Oppertunity ta show yer sumfing ov mine. It ain't dir'y so Zizz won't say nuffin.

Soppy innit?

Mus' be time ta go. I'll leave yer wiv a funny story.

Me mate George, is a pa'rio'ic geez an' would never buy anyfing that was not made in Britain. 'E decides ta get a new tele, an' goes to 'is local 'lectrical shop. On inspectin' the various sets on display, 'e chooses one, askin' the saleman where it wuz made.
"Oh, no need ta worry Sir," 'e sez "this one's British froo an' froo".
Satisfied wiv the reply, George pays over 'is dosh an' takes it away.
'Alf hour la'er he's back, finds the same salesman an' says "You told me porkies, This set I bought ain't Bri'ish."
"What do you mean Sir? sez the sales moosh."
"Well, I gets it 'ome, opens the box, took the set out, an' on the back it 'as a label sayin' BUILT IN ANTENNA.

Iron Man

I just had to add this. I was just surfing off emails and for no particular reason filled in a questionaire 'Which Superhero are You'. Now I don't know about you, but if you ever do these, as I occasionally do for amusement, I don't see the point of not answering as correctly as possible. Mind you, there's nothing to prove it isn't rigged anyway, so don't start sending comments about questionable authenticity. We've been all through that before.
I fort one ov yer answers was a bit questionable.
Which one?
Do you wear a bra?
Well I don't.
Wot 'bout Fersday night cross-dressers meeting then? Gotcha there. I've seen yer. P'radin' around in yer 'igh 'eels
Clive...FUCK OFF!

Your results:
You are Iron Man

Iron Man 80% Spider-Man 50% Robin 50% Green Lantern 50% Wonder Woman 45% Catwoman 45% Superman 40% Hulk 35% The Flash 35% Supergirl 30% Batman 25%

Inventor. Businessman. Genius.

Click here to take the "Which Superhero am I?" quiz...


They're all getting on a bit now though.

Couch Surf

I belong to a worldwide friendship collective called CouchSurf. I have been a member for about six months and have had the pleasure of hosting members from all over the world, and from these, lasting friendships are emerging. My pleasure is the meeting with new people from all sorts of backgrounds and cultures, and the opportunity to share some of my life's experiences with them. They in turn have somewhere to stay for a few days whilst on route, or, as is beginning to happen now, people are specfically coming to see me.

I wrote about Dorota and Pawel's banquet, so now wish to add a mention of the C.S. guests who joined us for the New Year. Amber and Teresa arrived on Dec. 29th, They are American girls presently living and working in Spain, part of a uni project back home.

The following day Judith and her two travelling companions, Jan and Marilyn arrived. They are from Quebec, but currently studying in Lithuania. So, with South African lodger Leo (pic taker) and Teresa's new Spanish boyfriend, Roberto, we were quite a mini-league of nations.This was us before they trooped off to the beach for the midnight celebrations, returning later to continue the party.
I wanted to take some pics then but me cam'ra wou'dn't work.
That is because I removed the memory card, anticipating you might have thoughts along such lines and capture snaps of my guests in uncompromising positions.

A special mench to Amber (she's the crazy bird blendin' in wiv the wall) with whom I had a most deep and meaningful interaction, resulting in she giving me three weeks to define 'ist'.
(It wuz you who sed she wuz crazy Zizz. Wot the 'ells a ist when it's at 'ome?
Well that is what I have to define Clive. There is a condition. She reserves the right to challenge each and everything I say or claim if it in any way is directed at her personally, ie, suggesting the suffix applies to her.
Like wot duz that mean?
Well, it means she does not subscribe to being an 'ist' herself.
Like 'feminist' an' 'mefferdist'.
Basically,
Or Boodist, eh Zizz. I wudn't 'av minded showin' 'er a few ov me rope tricks.
Any wordsmiths who fancy having a shot at defining 'ist' themselves, please go ahead. I will be most interested to read opinions on this off-beat subject, as I am sure my new-found young American friend will.
Well, I fort she wuz alright, even if she wuz madder than cheese. I'll remember 'er.
And so will I Clive, and not just for the bottle of Temperanillo they brought from the famed Rioja area where they reside.
'Ere Zizz. D'you remember that Monty Pyfon sketch about Oz table wines.
Oh yes. Eric Idle as the Australian wine expert. How did it go?......

......A lot of people in this country pooh-pooh Australian table wines. This is a pity as many fine Australian wines appeal not only to the Australian palate but also to the cognoscenti of Great Britain.

Black Stump Bordeaux is rightly praised as a peppermint flavoured Burgundy, whilst a good Sydney Syrup can rank with any of the world's best sugary wines.

Château Blue, too, has won many prizes; not least for its taste, and its lingering afterburn.

Old Smokey 1968 has been compared favourably to a Welsh claret, whilst the Australian Wino Society thoroughly recommends a 1970 Coq du Rod Laver, which, believe me, has a kick on it like a mule: eight bottles of this and you're really finished. At the opening of the Sydney Bridge Club, they were fishing them out of the main sewers every half an hour.

Of the sparkling wines, the most famous is Perth Pink. This is a bottle with a message in, and the message is 'beware'. This is not a wine for drinking, this is a wine for laying down and avoiding.

Another good fighting wine is Melbourne Old-and-Yellow, which is particularly heavy and should be used only for hand-to-hand combat.

Quite the reverse is true of Château Chunder, which is an appellation contrôlée, specially grown for those keen on regurgitation; a fine wine which really opens up the sluices at both ends.

Real emetic fans will also go for a Hobart Muddy, and a prize winning Cuivre Reserve Château Bottled Nuit San Wogga Wogga, which has a bouquet like an aborigine's armpit.

Classic stuff.

H.N.Y. Addendum - a Tailpiece

'Appy New Year Zizz.
Thank you Clive.
I wuz flattered you included me on yer list. That wuz a first.
You know what they say Clive, 'bad publicity is better than no publicity'. Some people have made a living from it.
'Ere Zizz, why ain't you put in a profile yet?
Well, simply because I don't think earthlings are ready to accept they have an alien living amongst them, let alone actually know how many from my planet, Zog are here. It's okay for my close friends to know, but if this were to leak out......the press for example......well all sorts of unpleasant things could happen.
Yeah I sees what yer mean, like, if they knew there wuz fowsands ov Zoggites like you wand'in' around they might get to worry.
'War of the Worlds' all over again.
But yer cud get famous. Be on talk shows...that Letterman geez, an' Jay Leno. Wot about Jonnerfun Ross, 'e's gud. You cud show em yer tail as proof.
Well as I have spoken about on numerous occasions, what can be proven. When I metamorphasised into humanoid form, I took on almost all the physical components of an earthling. The only way it could be substantiated that I was not as others is by technology not available on this planet.
Yeah I read the report you sent back to the Elders, 'bout, 'cause yer bones is made ov a compound not found on Erf, the atmosphere 'ere is causin' yer body to disintigrate, an this is why you is now fallin' apart.
Not exactly my words, but sums the situation up fairly well.
Well I finks yer should at least show the peoples wot yer look like, and yer 'ome.

Very well.
OK, this is Zog, seen from the asteroid Sekkus, with our sun in the distance.
You will also note the second image. Virsh 2. This is a virtual reality existance where everything that is no longer required on the primary planet is sent - old tecnology, accumalated waste of all sorts, felons, antagonists, substandards.
It's a penal colony and rubbish dump. It is a perfect system and means the homeland remains pollutant free. The inhabitants can enjoy a perfect life, and the minimal taxes that are imposed are used for the benefit of the world. Not to harbour the multiple dross of society.
I can sees 'ow that would work.

And this is me. Not quite what humans would be expected to understand, but we do not need to display a body. Through the eyes, everything can be seen, or be read.
Nice to see you 'as a bit ov colour in yer cheeks at last. You 'as been lookin' a bit pasty recently.

So you see Clive, I don't really need to post a profile. If Earthlings are sufficiently perceptive as to be able to read my mind through this image, then they will understand.

Zingus Bammer Zwickin. That Happy New Year in Zog.

H.N.Y.

My PC clock says it is a couple of minutes before the New Year. We had our party earlier, and the others have gone to the beach now to join in with the celebrations down there. The fireworks should start any second - yep, there they go. Here's your greeting from me.

Let's Do a Bit of Stretching

Home Stretch











Red Neck Stretch











Lada Stretch








Hoped For Stretch













Mishap Stretch








A Texas Stretch











Fer gawd's sake Zizz, wot is this?

Well. She is being stretched.

Yeah I know Mate, but it's a bit outta place amongst the others.

Not really, there is a horse.

I ain't gonna argue wiv you but I fink that is takin' fings too far.

It is an image that will appeal to the BDSM subculture enthusiasts, of which I can tell you, there are plenty. I am starting a new religion.

Why should you change to BooDiSM?

Simple. BooDiSM offers whatever the advantages are of other religions, but eliminates all the hypocrisy. For example, you get someone tangible to worship. Master Boo. A guy to look up to. He works out, smells good and is a definite hit with the ladies.

Compare with some emaciated geyser who can't afford a razor or a decent pair of sandals. Or some aged who has never had sex, (allegedly), but says you have to whip it out just when you get to the short strokes. What sort of advice is that?

And of course you will not be confronted by some bloke in a dress, (unless you attend the Thursday evening cross-dressers' meeting. This week Jeremy will be wearing the latest off the shoulder creations from Top Shop……but that's another story.)

We won't take your hard-earned cash and spend it on expensive buildings, lavishly ordained with precious metals and stained glass, where you can give praise to some virtual entity. With BooDiSM you get 21st century reality. For starters we don't want your money. We will make shed-loads through our web-shop, where you will be able buy quality products at discount prices. BooDiSM WILL SAVE YOU MONEY.

Our meetings will be held in down to earth, dungeonesque venues, captively furnished, where you will receive personal hands-on attention. The experience will be so uplifting; you will want to hang around forever. And if you are a newcomer, don't worry; you will quickly be shown the ropes.

And the music? None of this mass karaoke stuff. With BooDiSM you get to play the organ yourself. Get really involved. (By the way, check out our latest CD - a compilation of greatest hits, including classics like I Know the Ropes by The Boy Scout Trio, and the unforgettable Can I Hang Around with You by Cecil and the The Chain Gang.)

Maybe the guys reading are thinking, "All this is for the girlies. What about us?" Well, you are not forgotten boys. Every month we will have special services performed by Mistress Boodicea. She can whip up a congregation to a fever pitch like no other. If you want to give praise, she will definitely have you on your knees.

WE ARE NOT PREJUDICED. All the other religions have it in for somebody or other. Not BooDiSM. We welcome everybody. Well, maybe not quite everybody. Those bloody kiddie-fiddlers can fuck right off, excuse my French.

Hi Ho Silver

The Lone Ranger was ambushed and captured by an Indian war party. The Indian Chief proclaims, "So, you are the great Lone Ranger. In honour of the Harvest Festival, you will be executed in three days. But, before I kill you, I will grant you three requests. What is your first request?" The Lone Ranger responds, "I'd like to speak to my horse." Chief nods and Silver is brought before the Lone Ranger, who whispers in Silver's ear, and the horse gallops away. Later that evening, Silver returns with a beautiful blonde woman on his back. As the Indian Chief watches, the blonde enters the Lone Ranger's tent and spends the night. The next morning the Indian Chief admits he's impressed. "You have a very fine and loyal horse, but I will still kill you in two days. What is your second request?" The Lone Ranger again asks to speak to his horse. Silver is brought to him and he again whispers in the horse's ear. As before, Silver takes off across the plains and disappears over the horizon. Later that evening, to the Chief's surprise, Silver again returns, this time with a voluptuous brunette, even more attractive than the blonde. She enters the Lone Ranger's tent and spends the night. The following morning the Indian Chief is again impressed. "You are indeed a man of many talents, but I will still kill you tomorrow. What is your last request?" The Lone Ranger responds, "I'd like to speak to my horse, alone." The Chief is curious, but he agrees and Silver is brought to the Lone Ranger's tent. Once they're alone, the Lone Ranger grabs Silver by both ears, looks him square in the eyes and says, "Listen carefully, for the last time... bring POSSE!

'Ere, I knows one as well.

The Lone Ranger an' Tonto were out ridin' the range when they sees a whole hoard of angry Indians bearing down on 'em.

The Lone Ranger turns to 'is mate an' sez "I fink we 'as a bit of a prob now."

Tonto looks back an' sez, "What you mean 'we', Paleface?"

Anyways they get out ov that scrape and decides to try anuvver line ov work. After a bit ov finkin' they opens a mortgage brokers.

One day a bloke comes in and asks fer some money to buy a 'ouse. Tonto is on 'is own in the office an sez, "Sorry mate, you will 'ave to come back tomorrer, I ain't the loan arranger."

'Ere Zizz, wot's the nearest fing to silver?
I have to say I do not know.
The Lone Ranger's arse.
Thank you for that Clive; now go away.


I came across an interesting picture recently. The sort of image that could have almost any origin. This is the write up that goes with it.

Fresh frozen muscle biopsy section from the vastus lateralis muscle of a ten month old intact female Border Collie dog with congenital nemaline rod myopathy. The section was stained with modified Gomori trichrome stain. Numerous rod bodies are present within atrophic fibers. Rod bodies were not visible using standard hematoxylin and eosin stain.

Just thought you might be interested to know that

Nearing Year's End

It's close to midnight...where have I heard that line before.
Michael Jackson's Friller.
Quite right Clive. An eventful year is coming to a close, with quite a number of disappoinments towards the end. But it seems, now that I have got rid of one or two nagging elements, improvements are happening daily, so in my view, ...(from the chair) ...thank you Clive, it augurs well for 2007.
I fort an auger was a borin' tool.
I would agree it certainly isn't a particularly interesting piece of hardware, but in this instance, we are talking a different spelling.
Oh, I gets yer drift, like fings is lookin' up. Prospects is rosy.
Let us say confidence is ascending.

Tells yer what Zizz, that crumpet that arrived yesterday an' today is 'ittin' it off. Listen to 'em.
I know Clive. Now they have discovered the karaoke program on the lounge laptop, there is no stopping them. Personally, I cannot abide karaoke. I would rather listen to Frank Ifield yodel, and that is not a prospect to dwell too long upon.
I know Zizz. You is like me - inta rock, an' you don't care much for country or western eiver. What's that fing that Jasper Carrott did a few years back - summink about c&w music.
Oh yes. I recall. He came up with the conclusion that all country music is based on just five subjects. Mothers, Prisons, Farms, Trucks and Trains, and wrote the definitive c&w song.

Since they took me mother off ta prison
Things down on the farm ain't been the same
The day they fin'ly let her out the jailhouse
She run her goddamn truck into a train.

Nite Y'all

Get Out of That One

OK. This is my last post for tonight. It's after 5am, and I should get a bit of sleep. I have a couple of American girls arriving later in advance of the NYE Zizzeybash.
An' more comin' on Saturday.
Indeed; three more young ladies, from Canada.
I don't know 'ow you copes Zizz.
It's a tough life Clive, but somebody has to keep the flag flying. Your flag's been flyin' at 'alf mast fer ages.
Not totally correct Clive, but certainly a bevvy of new talent around the place could promote redirection to the erection.
That's pretty poe'ical for this time of the mornin' .
Flagging inspirations from a fertile mind my diminutive compadre.
Well I ain't quite ready fer kip meself yet. Alright if I watches a film on yer big screen? I 'as a new one from the vid shop - 'Mutant Muvvers from Mars Meet the Zombie Morons'.
A lesbian love story I presume?
Dunno Zizz. I can only go on wot it sez on the box. Reckons it's loaded wiv SFX, wotever them are.
Special Effects Clive, and with a title like that, it would have to be.
So it's goodnight from me...
...an' goodnight from 'im. I s'pose I 'as to be Morecambe, 'cause you is the wise one.
How true Clive, how true.

Clive 'ere. Zizz 'as nipped out, so I is postin' some fings ov me own.

I read the uvver day, the success ov the 'Wonder Bra' for under-endowed wimmin 'as encouraged the designers to come out wiv a bra fer the ones wiv big nokkers. It's called the 'Sheep Dog Bra' - it rounds 'em up an' points 'em in the right direction.

I dunno 'bout that, but this crumpet on the right...I fink she'd 'ave to go to a construction company to get 'er flopper stoppers built. Course we knows they ain't real. Gawd, if you 'ad a pair of jugs like that you'd keep fallin' over. Long live Photoshop.

I was goin' out wiv a bird a while back an' wanted to get 'er some lingery for 'er birfday, so pops into Marks an' Sparks, but couldn't see anyfing much, so asked the tart be'ind the counter what she 'ad.
She says, "We have three sorts of bras, the 'Salvation Army', the 'Totalitarian' and the 'Political Agitator'."
" What's the diff'rence?" I enquires, all agog.
"The Salvation Army is fer the uplift of the fallen; the Totalitarian is fer the suppression of the masses; an' the Political Agitator is fer makin' mountains out ov mole 'ills", she replies.

Mind you, my ol' dad sed the best prezz to buy a bird is a sweater. Can't go wrong 'e said. If it is too big, she'll be flattered, if it is the right size she'll admire yer good judgement, an' if it's too small, she'll wear it.

D'yer know why birds don't make good mechanics? Eyes left. S'pose this is a sorta bumper interlock.

'Ere, summink I 'as to tell yer; I comes out the pub the uvver night. I'd chucked a few down an' done all me dosh, but 'ad a good time. So anyways, there I am, swayin' me way 'ome, and I comes up to this car wiv its bonnet up an' the geezer peerin' at the engine. I sez to 'im "What's up mate?"
He sez "Piston Broke."
I sez "Same 'ere."

I used to feel sorry fer ol' Zizz, cos the doctor cut 'im down to one glass ov grog a day. 'E soon got round that problem after 'e copped a gander at this moosh on the internet. 'E 'as it well sorted.

It's like Zizz an' 'is smokin'. 'E told the quack 'e only 'ad the occasional fag. Bones wuz well impressed , self control an' all that; but 'e didn't exactly 'ave the full picture. This ain't Zizz of course, but you 'as probly got me drift. Not slow to catch on is Zizz. 'E might be getting on a bit but 'e still 'as all 'is marbles.

I tells yer wot. 'E 'as got some fancy PC stuff but 'e don't look after it. I means...'ang on...I'll swing 'is camera round...look at this bloody keyboard. Friggin' disgrace I calls it.

I fink I 'ad better piss orf now 'cause 'e will be comin' back soon. 'E gets right ratty when 'e fin's out I 'as been usin' 'is, gear. I fink 'e 'as gone out on the pull. 'If 'e scores, I 'ope it ain't as chubby 'as the last one. Blimey, she wuz a big girl. Reminded me ov a Doogle Dog.

That remin's me. I 'eard a good 'one the uvver day. When the free wise men went into the barn to see Mary an' Joe's new chavvie, the fird bloke was a tall sod, an' 'e banged 'is 'ead on the door frame.
"Jeeesssuuss" 'Chriiiisst 'e yells out.
Joe looked at Mary an' said "That's a better name than Clyde".

I is a bit like Zizz when it comes to this relig'us stuff. I can't grasp the concept. After all, there is so many dif'rent ones, an' they all fink they is right, but none ov them 'ave any proof. So I s'pose you 'as to believe what you want...or not...as the case may be.

I jus' 'as time to show yer summink else. No, it ain't gonna be porno...bloody perverts. (Well, s'pose it could be...),
This is a snap taken on a French nudist beach, seconds b'fore the world record for the 'igh jump from a 'neelin' position was achieved. A unique picture, as I am sure you will agree.

Seems I as a bit ov time left 'cause 'imself is makin' a coffee, so 'ere's me fav'rite joke at the mo.

A man goes into a rest'rant wiv a full-grown ostrich behind him. The waitress asks them for their orders.

The man says, "A 'amburger, fries an' a Coke,"
She then turns to the ostrich, "And for you?"
"I'll 'ave the same" says the ostrich.
A short time later the waitress returns wiv the orders. "That will be £9.40 please,"
The man reaches in 'is pocket and pulls out the exact amount fer payment.

The next day, the man an' the ostrich go in again, an' the man says, "A 'amburger, fries, an' a Coke. "The ostrich says, "I'll 'ave the same." When it's time to pay, again the man reaches in is sky an' comes up wiv the exact amount.

This becomes quite reg'lar 'til, the two go in one day. "The usual?" asks the waitress.

"No, this is Fridy night, so I will 'ave a steak, a baked tatty an' salad," says the man.

"An' the same fer me" says the ostrich".

Whe it is time to pay, the girl says. "That will be £32.62." Once again the man pulls the exact amount out 'is pocket and puts it on the table.

The waitress can't 'old back 'er curiosity any longer. "Scuse me, Sir. 'Ow do you manage to always come up wiv the exact money ev'ry time?"

"Well," says the man, "Sev'ral years ago I wuz cleanin' out the attic an' found an ol' lamp. When I rubbed it a Genie appeared an' offered me two wishes. I 'ad a fink, an' me first wish was that if I ever 'ad to pay fer summink, I would jus' put me 'and in me pocket an' the right amount of money would always be there."

"That's brilliant!" says the waitress. "Most people would wish fer a million quid or somefing like that, but you'll always be as rich as you want fer as long as you live!"

"That's right. Wevver it's a carton ov milk or a Rolls Royce, the exact amount is always there," sez the man.

The waitress then says, "But, Sir, what's wiv the ostrich?"

The man sighs, an' answers, "Me second wish was fer a tall chick wiv a big butt an' long legs, who agrees wiv ev'ryfing I say!"

I 'as to be orf now. I'll be seeing yer.

TTFN from Clive.