…don’t you sometimes wish they had more imagination than a five-year-old?

For supposedly creative people…, originally uploaded by bitrot.

When officers had turned up to investigate they found Batchelor still partially dressed and with his flimsy thong on the wrong way round.

It’s so easily done, and after a few cans of Special Brew I’m told the chafing just doesn’t reach the brain. There are hospitals in Glasgow that specialise in reattaching testicles after just such incidents.

To the untrained eye, just two ordinary guys. Can you spot which one has his thong on back-to-front?

I’m pretty sure I’m not.

A blogger blogging himself to death, yesterday

For Halloween, eighteen of us dressed up as the different parts of the Toolbar itself.
- Google blog

I hoped at first that it might be some weird new euphemism, but I’ve now come to the conclusion that they actually dressed as a toolbar.

You know his wife, right?

You know her guinea pig?

It’s dead.

This, according to the Sun, is the biggest story in Britain today.

I mean, seriously. What about the canoe guy? What about Diana and Dodi? What about that nice bachelor man who gave all that money to that nice Mr Brown? About these pressing issues the Sun cares not one jot.

The country has truly gone to hell in a hand-cart, and to be honest it wasn’t even much of a hand-cart. The country has gone to hell in a wheelbarrow.

See, this is how it goes with judges. One day they’re telling you you can’t do 90 in a built-up area, then it’s no murdering on week days, and before you know it’s all gone to their heads and they’re meddling in areas they know nothing about. These things should be left to experts such as Jamie Oliver and Ainsley Harriott.

The country’s gone to the dogs. I no more want an overpaid drag queen in a bad wig to tell me what to eat than I would seek legal advice from Gillian McKeith.

I know one day the world will accept me, but until then I feel I’m best off stopping home, drinking gin and watching Cash In The Attic.

The cricket crisis continues to roll on.

The Orange team continue to deny that they purposefully littered the crease with England cricketers. Captain Michael Orange said, “Yeah, y’know, the lads like England players, so I suppose they might have had one or two in their pockets which could have fallen out near the wicket, but deliberately? Come off it!” This despite the footage above which clearly shows fielder Kevin Orange about to drop a Michael Vaughn, a knowing wink on his face.

Yellow captain Zaheer Yellow has now taken his complaint to the sport’s international governing body. A spokesman today told blogrot: “The rules of cricket make it quite clear that distraction of the batting team by means of shouting, waving or laughing are not allowed. Unfortunately the rules are less clear regarding the dropping of England players on the crease.”

I just think it’s bloody childish. The umpire appears to agree.

Forget the Midlothian Question. This isn’t about the ballot box any more – they’re getting their hands on them far younger now. We must join together and stem this evil tide before it is too late. They can mesmerise our toddlers with their brightly coloured houses and funny voices, but they’ll never take away… our freedom!

“Granny Murray” – harmless cross-dressing presenter of Me Too! or undercover freedom fighter for the SNP?

I’m only kidding, of course: many of my best friends are Scottish. (But not for much longer if they don’t pay me that five quid they owe me.)

Suppose that’s
Checkmate to Death
Then.

A scene from Bergman’s iconic The Seventh Seal. I say iconic, but I could never get into it myself. Even with all those seals it was never a patch on Happy Feet.

So now you really have
“Gone to Manchester”
(To use the old
EastEnders euphemism).

We’ll all say nice things
About you now
And pretend you never
Set fire to that tramp.

At this difficult time, please take a moment to listen to Eminem vs. Frank Butcher.

It hasn’t always been this way, of course. In my day we had loads of stuff to occupy those long six weeks of the soul from July to August, including:

• Brushing up on our Spanish on Sesame Street (e.g. “¿Sabes porqué me llaman la cuenta? ¡Porque amo contar!” – I know, doesn’t work. That’s Spanish for you I’m afraid.)
• Waiting for Daley Thompson’s Decathlon to load on our ZX Spectrum
• Sticking all the stickers back on our Rubik’s Cube in the right order
• Applying tiny amounts of superglue to our friend’s sister’s doll so she had to sleep with her eyes open
• Spending a whole day talking like the Belfast Why Don’t You? gang (“Frr thos wun yu’ll need som glyee”)
• Filling our mouths with biscuit and water and then pretending to vomit on the pavement

Bored? The word hadn’t been invented.

A small boy, yesterday, shortly before he became bored and turned to terrorism.

Timothy McGuckin, of Jamaica Plain, Massachusetts, breaks the world record for buying a telephone whilst being pulled backwards on a giant bungee cord yesterday. It’s the new sport of kings.

It’s hardly the stuff of Ancient Greece, but then they didn’t have a stupid Olympic logo either.

However, on the other hand – the glass-half-full hand, the we-shall-not-succumb-to-the-evildoers hand – England now has a smoking ban in all public places. So, you know, it’s not all bad, is it?

Plus, blogrot’s little smoking ciggy countdown doodah worked a treat, which is yet another bonus.

You see? It’s all in the way you look at it.

Someone said that other bloke, the one with the mouth who sits next to him, was going to get his job? So obviously a hoax I didn’t even give it a second thought.

But how about the other guy – the one who didn’t marry the goat? What’s his story? Bet none of you thought of that, did you?

God, just get over the goat.

Britain’s Prince William, who did not marry a goat yesterday

Audio from Bill Hicks: Rant in E Minor

One day our children will climb onto our knees and ask, “Daddy,” (for that is my name), “did you really have to wash your trousers after every trip to the pub?” Yes, we’ll tell them, those were hard days. I wore my knuckles to the bone on the dial of that Zanussi.

Persil must be bricking it. I hear they have their very best boffins working on new kinds of dirt as you read this.

The man moves his buttocks and needs between 14 and 16 volts to do so, AC or DC.

- Caption for Sexy Lovers in Motion.

Other models include rutting deer, some immigrants getting rounded up by the cops, and Police Raid on a Brothel.