Educate your children

Don't make kids play with fire-trucks and space men... make them play with something truly representative of their corporate futures...

Toys of Truth

Err... I was just, er.. well, so! How are you anyway?

Worst nightmares #231
Participant: My friend Pookey
When: The other week
What happened?

My friend pookey got caught masturbating.

By his girlfriend's mother.

"Avec" or "Sans"

My sister had the task of finding out about the presence of nipple on her boss's fake-boobies. She tried to enlist the help of her friend in this trickiest of subjects...

So next i asked Richard how i could ask whether he had nipples:

just ask!

Err...can you sign this latest requisition for me, oh and your 3.30 has cancelled his car has broken down, and the latest gromits/widgets have arrived from Japan, they need your sign off as acceptable, and err your Breasts: nipples? or 'sans' nipples....oh and we've run out of red Bic's & A5 notepads.

Grubby

Ok. I am a grubby boy. This is true. And is eptimised by my ability to commit amazing faux-pas at the most inoportune times. Like on a date.

I went to see Shrek 2 a while ago. I went with this really awesome girl, and it was a wicked date. We were getting on well, and Shrek 2 is a great movie, really funny and cute. Great date movie. So we're there, we're getting a bit cosy. It's all great. Great great great.

Ah-choo! A sneeze, luckily caught by my hand, turned away from her, so we're all fine. Movie carries on... then I feel an urge to be affectionate, it's kinda "that time" in the movie. Reaching over, I take my new love's hand, caress it and hold it gently to my lips to kiss it.

Her recoil was unexpected! I was like "Oh no! she doesn't like me! Too forward! Hope I haven't ruined it!"

Apparently the gesture was actually really sweet. Smearing the gooey, sticky contents of my snot-blasted hand all over her delicate palms was the bit she found disagreeable.

--

Yes. a grubby boy. But what a funny story - if only because we're still together. My sister and I were out, young London style recently, catching a movie. She hadn't heard this grande idiocy, and I knew she would giggle. We chatted on the way home from our movie and I regailed her with the humourous tale. I gesticulate quite vigorously when I recount my stories, and as such I re-enacted the moment for her.

Raising my hands to demonstrate what I had done led to a shock. My hands were green. Not green as in "a bit pale", but full on, bright shiny green. My face must have been a picture. Sis lost her cool and spat laughing at my hand. I was dumbfounded, there I was telling this story about snotty hands and I had this green crazy shaky messy mitten... It took ages to work out what the hell had caused it... turned out I had been rubbing my Odeon ticked absent mindedly and it had emptied it's colouring all over me.

Now, this all raised a question. It went from ticket to hand quite easily. Did it come off my hand? No. Not for ages. Typing at work with gloves on is tricker than you think.

I'm sure if you look at my hand now and squint a bit it still looks green. Serves me right really, my hair took 3 years to get over the time I died it with Green food colouring.

What? You try being a 15 yr old boy and wanting to buy L'Oreal... you can't: the peer pressure is intolerable. Mum's cupboard hides lots of alternatives!

Like I said: grubby boy. Only now I'm a green-grubby boy. Shrek? Eat you little green heart out.

Breast-days, an update

Check back through my blog and you'll see a post about my sister's boss. To quickly recap, he likes women's clothes. And sometimes wears fake breasts. A friend of hers was pointed at my blog, and found that post the most entertaining.

This was his response:

nah.....I can't get my head round it.......I mean what a decision to have to make everyday.....I mean whats makes one day a Breasts 'in' day and the next a Breasts 'out' day.....

7.30am...wake up
7.45am...sh*t/Shower/Shave/paint nails!
8.00am...get dressed for work...ohh that nice little blue number, plain shirt, breasts!...oh but I do have that important meeting at 12...now is it a breasts meeting or not...hmmmm.....let me think!

do they have nipples?

that's me that is

Me!

You know when you google yourself, and amongst the scientists, dodgy weblogs and photos of other people's cats you actually find something about you that you'd completely forgotten about... that photo. Hmmm. I remember posing for it. They said... "Look Intense". I couldn't find any temporary canvas shelter initially, but then-realising my mistake-I looked startled, and a little angry - and that's when they took the photo.

Really?

Ok, so we have a leaky creaky mean and eeky washing machine.

So we asked to get it fixed. After the initial (and typical) mess that was arranging a visit for the repair person, we finally sorted it so they could come fix the source of the creeping mould, rank smell and lagoon that is one corner of the kitchen.

Upon arriving he turned historian and archeologist. Apparently our washing machine is from the stone age. He reckons coke still cost 25p a can when the thing was made. He wasn't even out of Uni. Fair enough, because it is knackered - only one setting works (lucky number 5 for all you Virgos out there). It leaks. It pours: it shakes like the rippling aftermath of a booty shake at a Sir Mix-A-Lot concert. It's busted. Cheap nasty pop. So can he fix it?

Well, no. He called the landlord on our behalf and told him he is mean for making us use such a piece of junk. Great work! New washing machine! Yeah!

But it's not quite that simple. Remember I said this washing machine was old? Well, the repair man wanted to take it away with him. But he couldn't figure out how to get it out from under the table top. The gap between the kitchen cabinets and the wall is too thin. Which lead him to ask: how'd it get in there in the first place?

The conclusion was interesting.

They must have built the kitchen around the washing machine.

Some things are not a joke

Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia

The irony of fear...