I went to the Manchester Apple Store the other day for a quick prod of the wares. I was mucking about with a MacBook laptop when I was approached by some goon wearing an official Apple T-shirt and dangly badge.
“Need any help there, mate?” asked the goon.
I replied that I was just browsing.
“Yeah, cool,” he grinned. “Are you a Mac user yourself?”
“No,” I said, “PC I’m afraid.”
“Ah,” he said, leaning in with the air of a man about to reveal to me a life-altering truth, “the inferior operating system!”
Honestly, what a dick. The crazy-eyed zealot went on to tell me that Microsoft Office is better on the Mac because it was written (by Microsoft) for the Mac first then ported (by Microsoft) to Microsoft Windows. Eventually I had to pull down his dangly badge and twang it up into his chin to escape.
I should know better. You wouldn’t walk into a Mormon temple without expecting to be told we’re all going to heaven in a magic spaceship. But must I really have to put up with this brainwashed pigshit every time I want to dribble over some overpriced technology? Where are my human rights in all this?
It is for this reason that Bill Gates will always win. Just like Blair, who needs an argument when the opposition are all maniacs?
Photo: a man hurries past the den of crazies clutching a talismanic John Lewis bag. By me.
You know I wouldn’t normally take an interest in a bizarre goat item, but something about the Sun story Man’s sex with goat caught my attention. I think it was the quote from Detective Inspector Dave Crinnion:
I saw the goat the next day — it did not seem too upset but it is difficult to tell.
Difficult, sure – but not impossible. Was it rocking quietly in a corner and crying, Dave? Was it listening to all its old Sade albums? Was it cutting the sleeves off jackets and letting the phone ring out? These are the signs you need to look for.
Just another example of the police’s shoddy attitude to goat welfare in this country. And meanwhile a couple of suspected terrorists get 250 dedicated officers crawling all over them. I feel some balance is called for.
Link from Darren.
In an amazing coincidence, ITV has exclusively revealed that the renowned livestock pleasurer Rebecca Loos sings like a hog being brought to climax.
Performing on ITV’s Celebrity X Factor as part of the novelty double-act Pig-Wank And Squidgy, Loos has demonstrated a voice described by some as sounding like “a pig, ill with stress, rutting furiously in a gas mask.”
The news has come as a shock to other superstar celebrities who hitherto had supposed Loos’s talents to be without bounds. Worldwide recording artiste Rowetta Satchell commented yesterday:
She’s not a star. She’s famous for something horrible… and pigs.
Asked about his partner’s unique musical ear, James Hewitt said, “Anyone for sherry?”
Wayne Rooney was not available for comment.
Listening to Boris Johnstons mumbling about education this morning it struck me that the current Tory party will never let lack of experience get in the way of putting a media-friendly face into a position of responsibility. And so I present to you (once Blair finishes fucking everything up) the next Chancellor of the Exchequer, the Rt Hon Adam Rickets:
As you can see, Mr Rickets once appeared on the cover of Attitude magazine with a wad of £20 notes stuffed into his pants. When did Gordon Brown ever do such a thing? This man’s dedication to the British economy truly knows no limits.
Adam also once went to Turkey on holiday, and hence after a short spell at the Treasury is expected to be moved to the Foreign Office where he will be in charge of sorting out Iraq with his parliamentary colleague Giles Brandreth.
VOTE CONSERVATIVE
Ow!! In the latest in my domestic injury series, I have just slipped on the kitchen floor while wearing socks and stubbed my toe. Luckily there were no cheese graters involved but still, it bloody hurt.
I should know better of course. A friend of mine once told me a sock-related story from his student days. One of his flat-mates, a kick-boxing supremo, had decided for whatever reason to kick his way into another flat-mate’s locked room. He confidently predicted that a sound kick to the hinge side of the door would have it down in one blow. It’s probably fair to say he had been drinking.
Tragically (for him, amusingly for us), our friend had neglected to consider… the Sock Factor.
In came the kick and out went the top hinge. The top of the door bent inwards and his sock-clad foot slipped all the way to the top just as it snapped back. Van Damme Lite was left hanging from the door frame by his now broken big toe. His quick-thinking pals put some weight against the top of the door, upon which his toe was released and he fell back to earth, fracturing his coccyx.
I’ve no idea if that’s true or not, but I think about it pretty much every time I put on a pair of socks. Tonight I let my guard down and just look at what happened.
THINK ONCE. THINK TWICE. THINK SOCKS.
“Behold, the atheist’s nightmare!”
Creationism goes bananas.
David Blaine’s attempt to break the world record for dying in front of the biggest audience was foiled last night by bungling ALIENS, blogrot can reveal.
SARCOPHAGUS
A cheer went up from the crowd as bonkers illusionist Blaine STOPPED BREATHING in his giant sarcophagus-cum-fishbowl in New York.
THONG
But within seconds the emaciated public nuisance was being pulled to safety by SILVER THONG-WEARING SEXY ALIENS. Blogrot captured the moment when the BBC captured this moment, mistaking the aliens for DIVERS.
MOUTH
As the crowd shouted out, “No! It’s part of the act! Leave him to die!” the meddling extra-terrestrials gave Blaine mouth-to-some-kind-of-wierd-alien-mouth-thing and BROUGHT HIM BACK TO LIFE.
BIG ONE
New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg later commented, “It’s OK for them, with their fancy-pants spaceship and the ability to travel across galaxies. But we’re stuck with the attention-seeking little pr*ck all over again. We really thought this was the big one.”
NOSE CONE
Blaine later announced his intention to be reunited with his rescuers during his follow-up suicide attempt, when he will spend seven days STRAPPED TO THE NOSE CONE OF THE SPACE SHUTTLE during its next mission.
Well, not really. But I’m 12,323 days in and no death so far, so extrapolating this trend leads me to believe that I am immortal. QED.
If I can’t get a front page with this I’ll go back to the agitated dust for a bit.
Well, not really. But they can make a speck of dust feel a bit queasy which, we’re assured, is the same thing in principle.
Well, not really, but it was a slow news day.
Continuing to put the mad into Ajmadinejad, the Iranian president has decided to let women attend football matches in order to promote chastity.
“The presence of women and families in public places promotes chastity,” he said.
See, I told you. Sadly they’ll be just too late to enjoy Grandstand, but he’s said it’s OK for them to watch re-runs.
Oh, and he wants to bomb everything too. Complete nut job.
Today seems as good a day as any for Scott Adams to ponder this critical ecumenical matter:
I respect the Mormons for doing a great job of creating good citizens. Whatever they’re doing seems to be working. You rarely hear about a gang of violent Mormons terrorizing a town. But must I also respect their practice of wearing special underpants to ward off evil?
It’s a good question – perhaps one of the big questions, in fact. My own opinion is that anyone who wears “special underpants” – for whatever reason, sacred or secular – automatically commands a certain amount of respect. But that’s just my view and you’re free to challenge it, which I think is sort of the point Scott is making.
When I was at junior school, a boy who we’ll call Benny used to wear special brown underpants from Littlewoods. In his case it was due to his frequent and uncontrolled bouts of diarrhoea, the after-effects of which were better disguised when changing for P.E. by wearing pre-browned grundies. Even at that young age I noticed that this wearing of special underpants seemed to generate a kind of mystical aura, often reflected in the circle of empty desks that were left around him as a sign of respect.
Anyway, enough of this talking in metaphors. What I’m saying here (in part two of my Easter Underwear Address) is: respect other people’s underpants and all other kinds of underwear, and Happy Easter.
See what I did there? News reaches me via Papa J that the chimp who played Cheeta alongside Johnny Weismuller has now become the oldest chimp in captivity, at the grand old age of 74. He hasn’t been resting on his laurels since the glory days either:
He’s been busy in his post-film life, producing colorful paintings that have been shown in the National Museum of London, among other locations.
The National what? I must look it up next time I’m in Paris, Scotland. (In the accompanying audio stream, Cheeta’s “companion” Dan Westfall comments: “Well, it’s abstract, obviously, although we like to call it ape-stract.”)
Later on, Dan is asked about the secret of Cheeta’s longevity:
Being in captivity and, er, having all the good food and all the love and everything, y’know. I guess it’s like an old person – why do they live so long?
I’ve often asked myself the same question, but I never put it down to them living in captivity. You can tell Dan has thought this through, and he puts up a compelling argument. Also in common with lots of old people, Cheeta is diabetic and spends all day watching Tarzan repeats on TV. The only parallel Dan fails to mention is that they both drink a lot of PG Tips.
Data-centric gadget-crazy long-distance business traveller? Then worry no more: all your prayers have just been answered! When your plane goes down over the Pacific, you’ll be the first to be found, floating pocket-upwards, thanks to the bloody ludicrous Inflating Flashbag!
Likewise, your keys will be protected in the event of a side-on car crash! The list goes on…
God, I wish I’d though of this: Millionaires24.com is an exclusive e-mail service for the super-rich only. The feature set includes both sending and receiving e-mails (whatever they might be), at the bargain price of just $399 per month. You also get one of a “limited” batch of “just 10,000″ chinless.wonder@millionaires24.com addresses with which to impress your chums and prove once and for all that you’d pay top dollar for cat shit just as long as it had been dipped in platinum first.
Coming soon from bitrot.net: FreshAirUnbreathedByProles.com…