To combat knife crime in my area, the police announced a knife amnesty. After a month, stabbing related deaths were down 40%, but choking on whole carrot related deaths shot up a whopping 1800%.
Evidently they haven't learned their lesson, because they've just announced a clampdown on drug use, which will entail a spoon amnesty. Now I have to move house so I can use a full set of cutlery without fear of imprisonment. Hell in a handcart.
Monday 15 September 2008
Thursday 11 September 2008
Buzzards Celebrity Blog Number 4: Hannibal Lecter
I love him. He says, 'I ate his liver with a fine chianti, ufufufufufufuff.' I can't do it, but you know.Tuesday 9 September 2008
I'm tired...
...because I was up late last night attending the National Hack Comedians Banquet, celebrating the start of the "Special Olympics." Honestly, I haven't been this excited since our daytime TV/insurance adverts symposium back in February. It was great, we'd watch Claims Direct ads and all shout "What the fuuuuuck?" in unison afterwards.
Stoke!
I was recently having lunch with my writer friend, Rudy Dingle, who was telling me a little about his creative process. Apparently, he lies on a couch and dictates his novels to a French-speaking bonobo with an electric typewriter. It's a mystery as to why he has yet to be published.
Anyway, he went on for a good while about his work and I eventually lost my rag and told him to shut it. He didn't take too kindly to this and proceeded to punch me in the mouth at the dinner table. Thank God he was wearing boxing gloves at the time.
After I had asked for the bill, and he had agreed to pay for his meal because he had hit me and everything, he regaled me with a story about a recent visit to the delightful city of Stoke-on-Trent, which I will relate to you here;
"Stoke-on-Trent: the last refuge of all the scoundrels, drifters and hobos in the North Staffordshire area. Sure, you might think it's all fun and games, with its Alton Towers and its Potteries and such, but underneath, theres a seamy underbelly of corruption and crime.
I was visiting Stoke one afternoon to buy a new roof for my house, when I became stuck in a nasty traffic jam. I didn't know what the hold-up was at the time, but I later discovered that a Tate & Lyle lorry had overturned, leaving the road "too sweet" to be driven on safely.
After about five minutes, I saw a man looking at me from the pavement. I pretended like I didn't see him, but he just kept staring at me. He was a well-dressed gentleman, resplendent in a tweed suit and hat, and carrying a cane with a brass knob, so I thought he couldn't be that bad. Then, after I made eye contact, he walked over to my car and rapped on the window with his cane.
He looked at me and smiled, he had a sweet, old face so I wound the window down for him, I figured he needed directions or something. I noticed that he kept one hand behind his back as he leaned forward.
"Hello there," I said.
He looked at me, never losing his smile, and smashed me in the face with some pottery before running away, laughing.
Temporarily blinded, I grasped around the car, looking for a handkerchief or something, when the traffic in front started to move away. Soon, noticing my lack of forward momentum, the cars behind me began to beep and rev, and soon I had a line-up of motorists waiting to smash me in the face with pottery.
Needless to say, I didn't get to buy a new roof, and now I must go home and sit on my couch, being soaked by this damnable rain. But even though Stoke is the only place I can buy one, I will go without rather than visit that hellhole again. The horror. The horror."
He finished this story and waited for my response. I did nothing for a few minutes and told him that it all sounded a bit far fetched. I was expecting him to punch me again, but instead he calmly thanked me for my time and then left. The next day, I was sent a bomb through the post that singed my eyebrows beyond all recognition. I don't know, that's what you get when you're friends with these artsy types.
Anyway, he went on for a good while about his work and I eventually lost my rag and told him to shut it. He didn't take too kindly to this and proceeded to punch me in the mouth at the dinner table. Thank God he was wearing boxing gloves at the time.
After I had asked for the bill, and he had agreed to pay for his meal because he had hit me and everything, he regaled me with a story about a recent visit to the delightful city of Stoke-on-Trent, which I will relate to you here;
"Stoke-on-Trent: the last refuge of all the scoundrels, drifters and hobos in the North Staffordshire area. Sure, you might think it's all fun and games, with its Alton Towers and its Potteries and such, but underneath, theres a seamy underbelly of corruption and crime.
I was visiting Stoke one afternoon to buy a new roof for my house, when I became stuck in a nasty traffic jam. I didn't know what the hold-up was at the time, but I later discovered that a Tate & Lyle lorry had overturned, leaving the road "too sweet" to be driven on safely.
After about five minutes, I saw a man looking at me from the pavement. I pretended like I didn't see him, but he just kept staring at me. He was a well-dressed gentleman, resplendent in a tweed suit and hat, and carrying a cane with a brass knob, so I thought he couldn't be that bad. Then, after I made eye contact, he walked over to my car and rapped on the window with his cane.
He looked at me and smiled, he had a sweet, old face so I wound the window down for him, I figured he needed directions or something. I noticed that he kept one hand behind his back as he leaned forward.
"Hello there," I said.
He looked at me, never losing his smile, and smashed me in the face with some pottery before running away, laughing.
Temporarily blinded, I grasped around the car, looking for a handkerchief or something, when the traffic in front started to move away. Soon, noticing my lack of forward momentum, the cars behind me began to beep and rev, and soon I had a line-up of motorists waiting to smash me in the face with pottery.
Needless to say, I didn't get to buy a new roof, and now I must go home and sit on my couch, being soaked by this damnable rain. But even though Stoke is the only place I can buy one, I will go without rather than visit that hellhole again. The horror. The horror."
He finished this story and waited for my response. I did nothing for a few minutes and told him that it all sounded a bit far fetched. I was expecting him to punch me again, but instead he calmly thanked me for my time and then left. The next day, I was sent a bomb through the post that singed my eyebrows beyond all recognition. I don't know, that's what you get when you're friends with these artsy types.
Friday 5 September 2008
The Generation Game
A lot of older people say that kids these days don't know they're born. They might think that they're using metaphors to describe the relatively privileged young people of today, but actually, in the case of my cousin, Horshack, they're being more literal than they think.
You see, since he was born, his parents have kept Horshack in a large moist sack and fed him through a tube.
They're very nervous people, my aunt and uncle. Once, when one of their pet goldfish drowned, my uncle contemplated gassing himself in his car, until he remembered how expensive petrol is these days. In the end, he remembered his lactose intolerance and took a near-fatal overdose of Dairylea Dunkers.
There was a point to all this, but I've forgotten it. The TV's on in the background and one of those Halifax adverts both distracted me and filled me with a homicidal rage only a good round of EST can quench.
You see, since he was born, his parents have kept Horshack in a large moist sack and fed him through a tube.
They're very nervous people, my aunt and uncle. Once, when one of their pet goldfish drowned, my uncle contemplated gassing himself in his car, until he remembered how expensive petrol is these days. In the end, he remembered his lactose intolerance and took a near-fatal overdose of Dairylea Dunkers.
There was a point to all this, but I've forgotten it. The TV's on in the background and one of those Halifax adverts both distracted me and filled me with a homicidal rage only a good round of EST can quench.
Thursday 4 September 2008
The God Delusion
PREACHER: And on the seventh day, He created man.
VOICE FROM THE BACK: No He didn't!
PREACHER: You don't believe that God created the Universe?
VOICE FROM THE BACK: No I don't.
PREACHER: Well then, if He didn't, who did?
VOICE FROM THE BACK: Charles Darwin.
VOICE FROM THE BACK: No He didn't!
PREACHER: You don't believe that God created the Universe?
VOICE FROM THE BACK: No I don't.
PREACHER: Well then, if He didn't, who did?
VOICE FROM THE BACK: Charles Darwin.
Wednesday 3 September 2008
Stray conversation fragments heard whilst walking through town
"A tramp just fingered my sandwich."
"You mean, you pretended you could speak Burmese just to get me into bed?"
"Don't you dare shoot that fucking vole."
"I never asked to be your weighbridge clerk."
"I know your urologist hates me, I can see it in his eyes."
"Have you ever noticed that a lot of ginger blokes are called Luke?"
"Help! I've been stabbed! Someone get a sponge!"
"Must you italicise everything?"
"Shut up a minute, I'm bowling."
"...and the thing is, he's not even a real Colonel. He just wears military regalia and eats raw popcorn."
"This soup is itchy."
"...what I can't comprehend though, is why you insisted on talking like Frank Bruno for the entire evening."
"You could have a Jubilee party under that sombrero, Carol."
"Stop touching his warts! They bite!"
"I wish you'd turn them pikelets over, they'll burn."
"He's got wood stuck in his teeth! Tickle him!"
"You mean, you pretended you could speak Burmese just to get me into bed?"
"Don't you dare shoot that fucking vole."
"I never asked to be your weighbridge clerk."
"I know your urologist hates me, I can see it in his eyes."
"Have you ever noticed that a lot of ginger blokes are called Luke?"
"Help! I've been stabbed! Someone get a sponge!"
"Must you italicise everything?"
"Shut up a minute, I'm bowling."
"...and the thing is, he's not even a real Colonel. He just wears military regalia and eats raw popcorn."
"This soup is itchy."
"...what I can't comprehend though, is why you insisted on talking like Frank Bruno for the entire evening."
"You could have a Jubilee party under that sombrero, Carol."
"Stop touching his warts! They bite!"
"I wish you'd turn them pikelets over, they'll burn."
"He's got wood stuck in his teeth! Tickle him!"
Tuesday 2 September 2008
My debut album...
...will be released both digitally, and in physical formats (CD, USB, LP, Cassette, Braille) on 30th September 2008.
Pineapple "Turner" Zeitgeist is a collection of songs written on the road, more specifically, the Amington Main Road in Tamworth, that will touch your soul and redefine what it is to be human in the 21st Century.
The tracklist is as follows:
1. The Revolution Is Giving Me Faceache
2. Rock Me Like Merlin
3. No Need To Get Emulsional
4. Pork!
5. You Broke My Heart And Messed With My Radio Stations
6. Sssh! I Can Hear Popping
7. The City is a Parasite (Lichfield Blues)
8. The Boy With The Golden Galoshes
9. That's Leprosy!
10. Donde Esta Mi Pan de Muertos? (Where is my dead bread?)
11. Give Iceland Back To The Irish
12. Return Nelson Mandela To Prison
13. Don't Come Too Close, I'm Spasming
14. I Asked You To Dance, You Asked Me To Defenestrate
15. spmalgdnarG, yltfoS eM oT tI oD (Or 'Do it to me softly, Grandglamps' spelled backwards. The entire song is performed backwards, and an advanced copy was recognised by the Welsh Language Music Association for its contribution to the advancement of Welsh language in music. See, even they can't tell the difference.)
Pineapple "Turner" Zeitgeist is a collection of songs written on the road, more specifically, the Amington Main Road in Tamworth, that will touch your soul and redefine what it is to be human in the 21st Century.
The tracklist is as follows:
1. The Revolution Is Giving Me Faceache
2. Rock Me Like Merlin
3. No Need To Get Emulsional
4. Pork!
5. You Broke My Heart And Messed With My Radio Stations
6. Sssh! I Can Hear Popping
7. The City is a Parasite (Lichfield Blues)
8. The Boy With The Golden Galoshes
9. That's Leprosy!
10. Donde Esta Mi Pan de Muertos? (Where is my dead bread?)
11. Give Iceland Back To The Irish
12. Return Nelson Mandela To Prison
13. Don't Come Too Close, I'm Spasming
14. I Asked You To Dance, You Asked Me To Defenestrate
15. spmalgdnarG, yltfoS eM oT tI oD (Or 'Do it to me softly, Grandglamps' spelled backwards. The entire song is performed backwards, and an advanced copy was recognised by the Welsh Language Music Association for its contribution to the advancement of Welsh language in music. See, even they can't tell the difference.)
A scene of domestic bliss...
A middle aged couple sit in comfortable armchairs in a comfortable suburban living room, watching a comfortable TV set, which is standing in a comfortable corner, which is part of the comfortable house that they live their comfortable lives in. Comfortable.
NEWSREADER ON TV: The Chancellor has warned today that the UK faces its worst economic crisis for over sixty years. Despite some encouraging indications from the Bank of England, the credit crunch is now worse than ever.
MAN IN COMFORTABLE ARMCHAIR: Well then. I might as well just go and kill myself.
WOMAN IN COMFORTABLE ARMCHAIR: Hmm.
NEWSREADER ON TV: The Chancellor has warned today that the UK faces its worst economic crisis for over sixty years. Despite some encouraging indications from the Bank of England, the credit crunch is now worse than ever.
MAN IN COMFORTABLE ARMCHAIR: Well then. I might as well just go and kill myself.
WOMAN IN COMFORTABLE ARMCHAIR: Hmm.
Monday 1 September 2008
Diary of a Serial Killer Part 2
Now, the entry you've all been waiting for, Diary of a Serial Killer, Part 2!
13/4
Nightmare day! After lunch (turkey goulash, v.v. stodgy) I was called to the office, to find my solicitor and a group of other men sitting around a desk. Apparently, I'm being fingered for some crimes I may or may not have committed whilst travelling around America in the 80s. Shudder! They want to extradite me apparently, but they're waiting to see if they can get authorisation.
14/4
Still waiting to hear about the extradition. Received a letter from K, apparently his latest play, A Stitch in Time Saves No-one is opening at the Crucible. Seized with a fit of jealous rage, I sent him back a bag of my toenail clippings. Then I sent off a cheque for £400 to the Argos catalogue, because I wanted one of those George Foreman sub-machine guns.
15/4
I didn't get a wink of sleep last night because I have a horrible feeling that I sent the toenails to Argos and the cheque to K. V.frustrated at not being able to kill him, I stapled a picture of him to the back to my cellmate's head before I beat him unconscious with a table leg.
16/4
I love solitary. It gives me time to think. Trouble is, I don't want to think now because I found out today that the extradition is going ahead. One of the guards has brought me a portable TV in; he owes me because I recommended a good Cabernet Sauvignon, but all it would pick up was The Benny Hill Show. Not only did the TV have a poor signal, it was thirty years slow and has questionable attitudes towards women and milkmen.
25/9
Well, I've never been so shocked! I've been given the death sentence. Just for chopping up two fat truckers and feeding them to two fatter truckers! I've said it before and I'll say it again, the law is an ass.
I decided that my lawyer was a buffoon, so I decided to act as my own defence. Admittedly, I probably didn't help matters by beginning, 'Fat piggy people and bottomfeeding hillbillies of the jury.' And now, I am to be killed. So be it. There are worse things that can happen to a fellow in Texas. Like visiting a waffle house.
05/1
The eve of my execution. I was refused my request for a last meal. Apparently, they couldn't source the liver of a sixteen year old virgin in time, so I was given something called a "Big Mack", which I used to grease up the bars of my cell and escape.
Regrettably, the police picked me up about a mile away, trying to get a good table at a gourmet steakhouse, despite the fact that I hadn't made reservations.
06/1
Given the electric chair. V.painful!
10/01
Cremated. Feeling a bit low at the moment.
13/4
Nightmare day! After lunch (turkey goulash, v.v. stodgy) I was called to the office, to find my solicitor and a group of other men sitting around a desk. Apparently, I'm being fingered for some crimes I may or may not have committed whilst travelling around America in the 80s. Shudder! They want to extradite me apparently, but they're waiting to see if they can get authorisation.
14/4
Still waiting to hear about the extradition. Received a letter from K, apparently his latest play, A Stitch in Time Saves No-one is opening at the Crucible. Seized with a fit of jealous rage, I sent him back a bag of my toenail clippings. Then I sent off a cheque for £400 to the Argos catalogue, because I wanted one of those George Foreman sub-machine guns.
15/4
I didn't get a wink of sleep last night because I have a horrible feeling that I sent the toenails to Argos and the cheque to K. V.frustrated at not being able to kill him, I stapled a picture of him to the back to my cellmate's head before I beat him unconscious with a table leg.
16/4
I love solitary. It gives me time to think. Trouble is, I don't want to think now because I found out today that the extradition is going ahead. One of the guards has brought me a portable TV in; he owes me because I recommended a good Cabernet Sauvignon, but all it would pick up was The Benny Hill Show. Not only did the TV have a poor signal, it was thirty years slow and has questionable attitudes towards women and milkmen.
25/9
Well, I've never been so shocked! I've been given the death sentence. Just for chopping up two fat truckers and feeding them to two fatter truckers! I've said it before and I'll say it again, the law is an ass.
I decided that my lawyer was a buffoon, so I decided to act as my own defence. Admittedly, I probably didn't help matters by beginning, 'Fat piggy people and bottomfeeding hillbillies of the jury.' And now, I am to be killed. So be it. There are worse things that can happen to a fellow in Texas. Like visiting a waffle house.
05/1
The eve of my execution. I was refused my request for a last meal. Apparently, they couldn't source the liver of a sixteen year old virgin in time, so I was given something called a "Big Mack", which I used to grease up the bars of my cell and escape.
Regrettably, the police picked me up about a mile away, trying to get a good table at a gourmet steakhouse, despite the fact that I hadn't made reservations.
06/1
Given the electric chair. V.painful!
10/01
Cremated. Feeling a bit low at the moment.
Oh Mein Papa
I'm rather perturbed this week because my father has accidentally joined Al Qaeda. He saw a picture of an Islamic fundamentalist carrying a sign saying, 'Death to the West', and, being a die-hard Birmingham City fan, assumed that the word 'Bromwich' was written on the back.
Now he has to go all the way down to the bank to cancel his standing order. Oh crime! What sacrifices must be made in thy name?!
Now he has to go all the way down to the bank to cancel his standing order. Oh crime! What sacrifices must be made in thy name?!
My letter to the editor...
Dere (sic) Sir,
I reesuntlee (sic) visitid (sic) the locul (sic) VD klinik (sic) for sum (sic) treetmunt (sic). I wuz (sic) absulootly (sic) disgustid (sic) with the condishuns (sic) their (sic).
Seein (sic) the durt (sic) and grime clingin (sic) to the wallz (sic) maid (sic) me feal (sic) fizzically (sic) sic (sic) (sic) (sic) (sic) (sic) (sic)
Yors (sic)
Ben (sic) Davids (sic)
I reesuntlee (sic) visitid (sic) the locul (sic) VD klinik (sic) for sum (sic) treetmunt (sic). I wuz (sic) absulootly (sic) disgustid (sic) with the condishuns (sic) their (sic).
Seein (sic) the durt (sic) and grime clingin (sic) to the wallz (sic) maid (sic) me feal (sic) fizzically (sic) sic (sic) (sic) (sic) (sic) (sic) (sic)
Yors (sic)
Ben (sic) Davids (sic)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
